Ladies of Intrigue

by Michelle Griep

  Sunshine haloed a woman slightly taller than herself, but judging by the smoothness of her skin and brilliance of eye, she was roughly the same age as Helen. The visitor was dressed in an emerald pelisse devoid of any decoration or embellishments. Blue skirts peeked out beneath, their former brilliance subdued by several years of wear. But whatever elegance the lady’s clothing lacked, her lovely smile more than made up for it. Portrait artists would pay dearly to capture a beauty such as this.

  “Good day,” she said. “Are you Helen Fletcher?”

  “Yes.” Helen nodded at the wicker basket clutched in the woman’s grasp. “And you must be the good fairy who’s left food at our door the past two days.”

  “I am Esther Seaton, but I adore the alias Good Fairy.” She angled her face, and a true pixie could not have looked more mischievous. “Mind if I borrow it sometime?”

  “Not at all. Come in.” Helen stepped aside, allowing the lady to pass and setting her offering upon the table at the center of the room.

  “Welcome to Treporth, Miss Fletcher. I trust you are settling in well.” The lady swept out her hand, encompassing the interior of the small cottage. Then slowly her fingers dropped, as did her smile. “I heard of the scuffle at your arrival, and for that, I apologize. Truly, the folk around here are not a bad sort, and I am sorry for the impression you must have.”

  “It was harrowing, but I will not allow one bad experience to taint my opinion of all.”

  Miss Seaton’s grin returned in full, and she crossed the room to gather Helen’s hands in her own. “I have the feeling we shall be the best of friends.”

  A cough rattled out from Father’s chamber, and Esther’s gaze drifted toward it. “How is your father today?”

  Shame tightened Helen’s throat. Had she not moments earlier begrudged the roughness of a cloth, given along with a roof overhead and food for their bellies? She squeezed the lady’s fingers then pulled back. “He is rallied this morn. I am hoping he shall be on his feet in no time.”

  “Really? I’d been led to believe otherwise.” The lady’s brow knit together but unraveled as quickly. “Still, I am glad of your report.”

  “And I am glad for your provisions. You have been more than generous.”

  A delicate shrug lifted Miss Seaton’s shoulders. “Do not thank me. I merely deliver. It is my brother who provides.”

  “Then I hope to meet him someday and thank him in person.”

  Miss Seaton arched a brow. “Would you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then come to dinner this evening at Seaton Hall. There’s a government official recently arrived, and the conversation will no doubt turn tedious. Politics is not my topic of choice.” She leaned closer. “I am sure you and I can find much to divert ourselves. Do say you’ll come.”

  Helen bit her lip. Should she spend an entire evening away from Father? Somehow, it did not seem right, for he was the sole purpose she’d come here. “I am grateful for your invitation, Miss Seaton, but—”

  “Esther, please.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the warmth in the woman’s voice. “Very well, Esther, I should like to go, but—”

  “Your father wishes you to go, child.” The words traveled out the open door of her father’s chamber.

  “There you have it.” Esther grinned. “Will you?”

  Helen studied the worn floorboards, as if an answer might be found on the swept wood. She hadn’t left Ireland for socializing, but this would be a prime opportunity to thank their benefactor. What was the right thing to do?

  Slowly, she lifted her head. “My answer is yes.”

  Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

  Isaac set the pen in the holder and leaned back in his chair. Two years of hard work had finally elevated the negative numbers to zero. A blessing, that. As was the improved state of his tenants. Perhaps his Robin Hood days were truly behind him.

  But …

  Sighing, he scrubbed a hand along his jaw. The relief was strange—like a rotted tooth pulled from his mouth, one that had festered far too long. It was good to have the thing removed, but hard not to continue probing the gap left behind. If he gathered his crew for just one more shipment, positive numbers could seed the new venture he’d been planning, and then some. Yet would that not be dangerous with a revenue man sniffing about?

  Or as greedy as Brannigan?

  He laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Well God … what would You have me do?

  The clock ticked overloud on the mantel. Windowpanes rattled from a gust of wind. In the hearth, flames licked lumps of coal, the low crackling the only other sound in the room.

  Isaac grimaced. Just as I thought. No answer. Again.

  “Here you are.” His sister flounced through the door, a sweet pout painted on her lips. “I sent Roberts half an hour ago to retrieve you. Can you not be finished with your paperwork? Our guests are arrived.”

  “Guests?” Sitting upright, he closed the ledger and frowned at her. “I thought only Mr. Farris would be joining us.”

  “Oh! I forgot to tell you.” Lamplight sparkled in his sister’s amber gaze. “I invited the parson’s daughter, Miss Helen Fletcher.”

  “She’s arrived, then?” He shoved back his chair and stood, doubt rising along for the ride. How many other matters had he let slide these past months? “I didn’t realize she’d be here so soon.”

  “I daresay you’d not notice should the world stop spinning.”

  “Such saltiness from you, Esther?” He rounded his desk, trying in vain to keep a sheepish grin from twitching his lips. “I suppose I deserve it.”

  She returned his smile. “That and more.”

  Isaac’s heart warmed. This sister of his would make a fine wife for some deserving man—yet another thing he’d put off pursuing. But no more. Now that his financial preoccupation was at an end, he’d have more time to escort her to dinners and dances where she could meet some eligible bachelors.

  Crooking his arm, he offered her a wink along with it. “Shall we?”

  She rested her fingers atop his sleeve, and they left behind the confines of his study.

  “I think you shall like Miss Fletcher.” The way his sister tipped her chin, a cat with a saucer of milk couldn’t have looked more pleased.

  “And why is that?”

  “Besides her beauty, she seems quite amiable, especially given the circumstances of her arrival.”

  “Indeed.” He blew out a low breath. Taking in Parson Fletcher despite his poor health had been a gamble—a wager all would be sorry to lose. “How is the parson faring? I own I’ve neglected him of late, but I intend to rectify that.”

  “Despite what Miss Fletcher says, I fear he’s not long for this earth.”

  He patted her hand, a worthless consolation, but what else could he do?

  The hallway emptied into the foyer, and he steered his sister to the farthest door on the right. Allowing her to pass before him, he trailed her skirts.

  “Brother, may I introduce Mr. Farris and Miss Fletcher?” She beamed at their guests then swept her hand toward him. “And here, at last, is my wayward sibling, Mr. Isaac Seaton.”

  Before he could get a good look at the parson’s daughter, a curly haired man, red of lips and cheeks, dashed up to him and reached for his hand, pumping his arm as he might a well handle. His clothes were surprisingly tailored in the latest fashion, odd for a government official whose job could sometimes turn violent. Whose nephew or cousin was this? For surely the fellow had not landed the position by merit alone.

  “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Seaton.” The man’s voice was as overeager as his grip. Even more irritating, the fellow’s gaze never left Esther. “I am thrilled to have met your fine sister. I know we shall get on quite merrily.”

  Isaac cleared his throat, shoving down a remark every bit as salty as his sister’s. “I trust your business here will not take very long, Mr. Farris.”

  Hopefully. For besides the f
act that Farris was a revenue man on the prowl for smugglers, Isaac could not stomach the man’s obvious interest in his sister, in spite of his wishing to see her married. Something was wrong about Farris.

  “I shall do my best to remain in the area as long as possible.” Farris finally let go and swooped over to Esther.

  Which gave Isaac full view of Miss Fletcher.

  Her gown flowed along delicate curves, so slight her bearing, so small her frame. The woman floated toward him, almost like … a bird.

  His gaze shot to her face, where brown eyes flashed recognition. Her lips parted.

  His breath caught.

  One wrong word, and a noose would bite into his neck.

  Chapter Three

  What did one say to an abductor? A smuggler? A thief? So many accusations clogged Helen’s throat that none got out. What manner of man was this Isaac Seaton, to so brashly pillage a ship at dock, dare to take her by force on a wild ride, yet now stand here calmly in the guise of a gentleman?

  A very polished one, apparently. He captured her hand in his and bowed over her glove, pressing his lips to her fingers. Straightening, he arched a brow, his gaze tethering her to him in a way that quickened her pulse. “I am enchanted to meet you, Miss Fletcher.”

  She snatched back her hand, denying the urge to rub where his breath had heated her skin. Perhaps such charm would silence other women, but not her. She opened her mouth—

  But before she could speak, he continued. “I am happy you are arrived safely from Ireland. No doubt your previous charges shall miss their governess, yet your father must be exceedingly grateful for your presence here.”

  She clamped her lips, trapping angry indictments behind her teeth. So, that was his game. Remind her of Father’s debt before she snapped at the hand that fed. An audacious move, yet not surprising, for had he not shown such boldness aboard the Nancarrow?

  Esther swooped over and linked arms with her. “Let us take this conversation into the dining room, shall we? I, for one, am famished.”

  Grateful for Esther’s rescue, Helen kept step with her hostess, leaving Mr. Farris and the smuggler to follow.

  Esther dipped her head toward her as they traversed a hall, their steps echoing on a floor absent of carpeting. “I am glad you are here.” Her voice lowered for Helen’s ears alone. “I’m not certain I trust that Mr. Farris. He seems an awfully forward fellow.”

  La! She could say the same of the lady’s brother. Helen’s step hitched, and she begged off Esther’s arm. Did this lady know of her brother’s smuggling escapades?

  They entered a dining room surprisingly devoid of finery. Plain paneled walls surrounded them. Drapery, striped with too many years spent in the sun, hung on the windows. The table was set with plain white ironstone on linen a step above sailcloth. Ought not a thief have more riches than this?

  Confused, Helen sank into a chair.

  And the smuggling gentleman sat next to her.

  Directly across the table, Mr. Farris leaned forward, nearly colliding with a bowl of soup being placed in front of him by a servant. “Tell me, Miss Fletcher, as Mr. Seaton intimated you are recently arrived from Ireland, did you by chance happen to hear of the fate of the ship Nancarrow?”

  She sipped a spoonful of beef bouillon, savoring the saltiness along with the thought that she might be the one to bring criminals to justice. “As a matter of fact, sir, I was aboard that very ship. Furthermore—”

  Isaac Seaton’s spoon clanked against the edge of his bowl. “Excuse me, but how does your father fare, Miss Fletcher?”

  Drat the man! Well did he know her father would’ve expired long ago had he not intervened with medical care. She lifted her face to the bully. “He is weak, yet lives.”

  He flashed a smile, the gleam in his eye far too knowing. “I am glad of it.”

  Mr. Farris shoved his bowl aside, ignoring the broth. “Were you on board for long after it harbored, Miss Fletcher?”

  “Indeed.” She glanced sideways at the big man next to her. “I was there when the brigands attacked.”

  “Were you? Splendid!”

  Mr. Seaton’s gaze shot to hers. Was that slight dip of his head a request or a threat?

  Esther motioned to a servant for the first remove. “I fail to see how such a frightening experience could be splendid, Mr. Farris.”

  “Nor I.” Isaac Seaton’s deep voice filled the room. “This is hardly a conversation fit for dinner. Tell us of your own travels—”

  “I shall.” Mr. Farris waved off a refill of his wineglass. “But first I must know, Miss Fletcher, what you saw, or more importantly who you saw. Would you be able to recognize any of the men should I apprehend them?”

  The smuggler at her side ran his palms along his trousers, a movement only she could witness. Clearly, he waited to see if she’d hand him over as easily as the footman passed a platter to Esther.

  Should she? There was no debating Isaac Seaton had broken the law and therefore ought to be held accountable. But by implicating him, was she sentencing her ailing father to destitution? Was it right to repay her benefactor with such a harsh retribution? She’d not even thanked him yet for his provision. How had something so straightforward tangled into such a snarl?

  She set down her fork and nodded for her plate to be removed. “It all happened very quickly, Mr. Farris, and it was near to dark.”

  “Justice might hinge upon your word, so please, consider. This is a serious matter, for the shipment taken belonged to the Brannigans. They do not take loss lightly.”

  She studied Mr. Farris’s fleshy face for a hint of what that might mean, but he merely blinked. “What exactly would justice imply?” she asked.

  The man’s thick lips parted in a smile. “Why, the noose, of course.”

  Isaac Seaton tossed back the contents of his entire drink.

  Esther placed her hand on Mr. Farris’s arm. “My brother is correct. This conversation is not fit for dinner.”

  Mr. Farris looked from Esther’s hand to her face. “Forgive my manners, Miss Seaton. I would do anything to please you.” Then his gaze shot back to Helen. “But I must ask, Miss Fletcher, is there any hope of you identifying the lawbreakers?”

  “If you please, sir!” Isaac Seaton’s fist rattled the tableware. “I believe my sister and I have made it quite clear this conversation is ended.”

  Mr. Farris’s lower lip quivered, like a tot who’d been scolded.

  And the sight kindled the first ember of compassion Helen had felt for the man all evening. She offered him a weak smile. “I am sorry to disappoint, Mr. Farris, but every one of the brigands wore a mask. I am afraid I wouldn’t be much help to you, and so there truly is nothing more to say.”

  “I am sorry to hear it.” His quivering ceased, and his voice hardened to a sharp edge. “Such thievery has got to stop, and so it shall, for I will not leave Treporth until the criminals are caught.”

  Every bite of dinner stuck in Isaac’s throat like a fish bone—and fish was not on the menu. Mr. Farris alternated between fawning over Esther and Miss Fletcher, though Esther tallied the lion’s share of the man’s compliments. At least the fellow had dropped the topic of smuggling, for now.

  Esther dabbed her mouth with her napkin then pushed back her seat. “Shall we retire into the drawing room? Unless you men would prefer to take port beforehand?”

  He stifled a smirk. No doubt Farris would jump at the chance to drink with the leader of those he sought.

  “I think not, Sister, for I trust Mr. Farris would agree that your company, ladies, is more desirable.”

  “Well said, sir. Shall we?” Farris shot up from his chair and immediately offered his arm to Esther.

  She slipped Isaac a withering glance, then ever the gracious hostess, allowed the man to lead her toward the door.

  Miss Fletcher followed—until Isaac stopped her with a touch to her sleeve before she could escape. “A word, Miss Fletcher.”

  The fabric between her should
er blades drew taut as a sail in the wind, but she turned with a quirk to her brow. “Yes. I should like a word with you, sir.”

  As master of Seaton Hall, he’d met women from all stations of society—but none so curious as this petite governess. “You are quite the contradiction.”

  She tipped her pert little chin. “What do you mean?”

  “You wish to speak with a … What was it you called me when we last met?” In his mind he traveled back to that darkened night in front of the Candlelight Inn, with those big brown eyes assessing him and a severe retort on her lips. “Ahh, yes. You called me a miscreant. By your own word, you disdain who I am, so why not reveal me to Mr. Farris?”

  “I came here to thank you, sir, not indict you. You paid my passage, you provide for my father, and for that I acknowledge your generosity.” Her gaze hardened. “But for keeping my silence, I consider that debt now paid in full.”

  “I required no repayment. It was a gift, free and clear.”

  She retreated a step, angling her face to study him. “You are wrong, Mr. Seaton. It is you who are the contradiction.”

  He sucked in a breath. The same rosewater scent she’d worn the night he’d abducted her hung in the air, a fragrance as delightful as her intriguing mind. “I?”

  “You play the part, no”—she swept out her hand—“you embody the essence of a gentleman. Upright. Noble, even.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yet it is an undeniable fact that you led a mob to rob a ship and threaten the lives of the crew.”

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I’d hardly call eight men a mob, nor were any of the crew’s lives in danger. I merely removed what was mine in the first place.”

  “Mr. Farris said that shipment belonged to Brannigan.”

  The name curled his hands into fists, a base reaction, yet entirely unstoppable. “You have no idea who that is. Or what the Brannigans are capable of.”

  “What I know, sir, is that smuggling is wrong. Stealing for any reason shows a lack of trust in God’s provision. And deception is as equally abhorrent. You are guilty of both.”