by Laura Beers
Oliver stopped and stared out into the Thames estuary. “I don’t think I could ever tire of this view.”
“I found a footpath down to the water,” Emmeline informed him. “It isn’t far from here.”
“Lead the way, my lady.”
Emmeline led him a short distance before she removed her hand from his. “It is best if we go one at a time down the footpath,” she suggested. “It isn’t treacherous, but it is rather narrow.”
He followed her down the path, and it wasn’t long before he stepped onto the sand. His eyes scanned the large cove and noticed an upcropping of rocks that sat randomly along the beach. The welcoming sound of the water slapping against the shore could be heard.
They started walking side by side. “You must have enjoyed coming here to Lockhart Manor as a child,” Oliver said.
“Sadly, I didn’t know this place existed until I spoke to my father’s solicitor,” she shared.
“Do you know why your father never spoke of this place?”
“The solicitor mentioned that my father watched his parents wither away here, so I must assume that is the reason.”
“I wonder why he didn’t just sell the property, then.”
“I know not,” she replied, “but my uncle never mentioned the property, either.”
Oliver glanced over at her and asked, “What do you intend to do about your uncle?”
“When we arrive back in Town, I will send him a letter informing him that we have taken up ownership of Lockhart Manor.”
“If you would like, I could have my solicitor write a missive to your uncle,” Oliver suggested.
Emmeline bobbed her head. “That is most kind of you.”
“It is a small thing, and you must know that I would do anything to ensure you are taken care of,” Oliver asserted.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Oliver stopped and placed his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. “I am in earnest, Emme,” he said. “I promise that you will never want for anything in this life.”
She met his gaze with an expression of profound sadness, causing his heart to lurch at the sight of it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” she replied.
He took a step closer. “I daresay it’s not nothing.”
“You can’t give me the one thing that I want,” she said in almost a whisper.
He felt like a boor as he responded, “I have my reasons.”
“I understand.”
“It has nothing to do with you, Emme,” he pressed. “You must believe me.”
Her eyes left his, shifting towards the water, and he could see her blinking back tears. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, but he knew it wasn’t his place.
They stood in silence for a long moment, and Oliver knew it was time for him to tell his wife that he was leaving soon. He had already come up with a believable lie.
“I wanted to discuss something with you,” he started. “I am going to be leaving—”
Emmeline cut him off as she pointed towards the water. “What is that?”
Oliver turned and saw a barrel floating in the water, the metal bands reflecting off the moonlight. His alert eyes scanned the water, and he saw multiple barrels floating in the small waves.
Smugglers.
He grabbed Emmeline’s hand and led her towards an outcropping. As he ducked behind the rocks, he said in a low, hushed voice, “You need to run back to Lockhart Manor as fast as you can.”
“Why?”
“You must trust me.”
Emmeline tilted her chin stubbornly. “Not until you tell me what is going on.”
Knowing time was of the essence, he quickly explained, “It is common for smugglers to drop the barrels from their ship into the water and let the current bring them to shore. Then, they follow behind in rowboats.”
Oliver slowly raised his head above the rocks, and he could hear the sound of oars slapping against the water before he saw the two rowboats in the distance.
“Blazes,” he muttered.
“What is wrong?”
“If you ran back to Lockhart Manor now, there is a chance that the smugglers will see you,” Oliver said. “We have no choice but to remain where we are.”
He was grateful that he had his muff pistol in his right boot, but he knew it would do little against a band of smugglers. Besides, he had to keep Emmeline safe. He couldn’t very well confront the smugglers without putting her in danger. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew he could do little at the moment except keep an eye on the scene before them.
It felt like hours but was probably only moments before the rowboats came closer to shore. He watched as the smugglers jumped out of the boats and dragged them onto the sand. He counted a total of six men, all dressed in dark clothing.
The men stepped into the water and retrieved the barrels. They tossed them up on their shoulders as if they weighed no more than a bag of feathers and headed towards the cliff. To Oliver’s surprise, they disappeared for a moment and reemerged with empty hands.
The smugglers repeated their actions until eighteen barrels had been removed from the water and stored somewhere along the cliff’s wall. Then, they pushed the rowboats back into the water, disappearing into the night.
Oliver turned towards Emmeline and ordered, “Stay here.” His tone brooked no argument.
She nodded her understanding.
He remained low as he left the safety of the rocks and headed towards where he saw the smugglers disappear near the cliff. As he approached, he saw a small crevice in the cliff’s wall and stepped inside. It was dark and damp, but he could make out the outline of the barrels stacked up against the wall.
He hurried back to Emmeline and shared, “There is a small cave in the cliff’s wall where the smugglers put the barrels.”
“What do we do?” Emmeline asked.
“There is nothing we can do now,” he said. “But tomorrow we will ride into the village and inform the constable of what transpired here.”
Emmeline’s wide eyes watched him, but she remained quiet.
Reaching for her hand, he assured her, “You need not fear for your safety. No harm shall come to you as long as I am here.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Shall we return to the manor?”
Emmeline nodded. “I think that would be for the best.”
Oliver kept hold of her hand as they silently headed towards the path that would take them back to the manor. It wasn’t until they arrived at the main door of the manor that Oliver stopped and spoke up. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head. “I have never been so afraid.”
“It was just a band of smugglers,” he said, keeping his voice light.
“What if they had seen us?”
“Then I would have had no choice but to fight them off.”
Emmeline frowned. “I am in earnest, Oliver.”
“As am I.”
“What could you have done against a band of smugglers?”
Oliver took his other hand and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I would do anything to keep you safe, my dear.”
He saw her visibly relax as she stared up at him. “That is kind of you to say.”
“There is nothing kind about it,” he replied. “It is the truth.”
Oliver’s eyes dropped to her lips, and he watched as she parted them in response. That was all the invitation he needed. He leaned closer, but just as his lips were about to brush against hers, the main door opened, causing Emmeline to step back.
“Excuse me, milord,” the butler said as he quickly closed the door.
Oliver stifled his groan at the interruption. He had been so close to kissing his wife again, which was something he had desperately wanted to do since their last kiss.
Emmeline gave him a timid smile. “I should retire for the evening,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“Would you like
me to escort you to your bedchamber?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she replied, “but I thank you for the offer.”
Oliver opened the door for her and stood to the side as she entered, then followed her inside.
“Good night, Wife,” he said.
“Good night, Husband.”
Oliver watched Emmeline as she walked up the stairs and disappeared down the hall, knowing he would miss her dreadfully when he left for the peninsula.
Chapter Fifteen
Emmeline slowed her horse’s gait as the village came into view, and she was pleased to see that Oliver followed suit.
“You ride superbly,” Oliver commented, glancing over at her.
“Thank you,” she replied. “You do, as well.”
Oliver smiled. “Do you recall the time your father chided you for riding astride on your property?”
She smiled wryly. “Which time?”
“There was more than once?” He chuckled.
“I would ride astride whenever I could convince the grooms to forego the sidesaddle,” she explained, “which was quite often.”
“That does not surprise me.”
She grew nostalgic at that memory. “What I wouldn’t give to have my father here to scold me one more time.”
“I apologize for—”
Speaking over him, she replied, “You did nothing wrong. The more I speak about them, the better I feel.”
“In that case,” he began, then hesitated before asking, “can you tell me what happened the day they died?”
Emmeline lowered her gaze to her horse, and her voice became strained. “It is not a day that I like to revisit.”
“If you would prefer not to, I understand.”
“No, it is time that I shared the events of that day with someone,” she said, bringing her gaze back up, “and I would like it to be you.”
Oliver nodded his understanding, his eyes holding sympathy.
With a shaky breath, she said, “My father had business in Town, and my mother decided to join him to do some shopping. I would have gone, but I was not feeling up to it that morning.” She hesitated. “Three days later, my uncle arrived at our country estate and informed us that my parents were killed by highwaymen.”
She adjusted the reins in her hand as she continued. “They were attacked about an hour outside of London, and the highwaymen left no survivors.”
“They killed the driver and footmen?”
“Yes, they were merciless,” she replied. “The constable believes my father tried to fight back, based on the wounds on his hands, which may have aggravated the highwaymen.”
“How terrible.”
“My whole life turned upside down that day. I went from being a carefree maiden to a grieving orphan.”
With compassion in his voice, he asked, “Were your aunt and uncle unkind to you?”
“Not intentionally, but I always felt like an afterthought to them,” she admitted. “They were always focused on Charlotte and ensuring that she married well.”
“I’m sorry you felt that way.”
“Charlotte was not only my cousin, but my dear friend, as well.” She sighed. “I suppose their deaths have tainted me in a way.”
“May I ask how?”
“I have learned that everything that has been given to me can be taken away in a moment. Frankly, I now expect bad things to befall me, and if they don’t, I am genuinely surprised.”
Oliver considered her for a moment, then said, “That is a sad way to live.”
“I disagree,” she replied. “It makes me grateful for what I do have in my life.”
“Which is?”
She smiled. “You.”
“Me?”
“I must admit that I’m pleased you traveled all the way to Lockhart Manor to bring me home,” she said.
“I thought you would be upset.”
Emmeline shook her head. “No, it makes me appreciate that you won’t ever leave me,” she replied.
Oliver shifted his gaze to straight ahead. “What if I have to leave Town for business?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
“Then I shall go with you.”
A barely discernable frown came to his lips. “What if that is an impossibility?”
“I suppose I would stay behind at Hawthorne House and await your return.”
Oliver grew quiet, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. As they entered the village, Emmeline saw the vicar standing on the pavement speaking to an elderly woman with a basket in her hand.
She dismounted and held the reins loosely in her hands as she waited for Mr. Lawson to acknowledge her. His round face was framed with short, thinning grey hair, and he had a small bald spot on the top of his head. He glanced up as the woman resumed walking down the pavement, and a smile spread across his face.
“Lady Oliver,” he greeted. “What a pleasant surprise to see you this fine morning.”
Emmeline gestured towards Oliver, who had come to stand next to her. “Mr. Lawson, allow me to introduce you to my husband, Lord Oliver.”
The vicar tipped his head politely at Oliver. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“Mr. Lawson is the vicar,” Emmeline explained.
“It is true,” Mr. Lawson replied. “I have been the vicar in Whitstable for nearly twenty years.”
“That is an impressive feat,” Oliver acknowledged.
Mr. Lawson waved his hand in front of him. “It is an honor to serve the patrons of my parish, and to do so in such a serene village.”
Oliver grew solemn as he asked, “Where may we find the constable?”
“If you are looking for Constable Philmont, then you will need to continue down this road to the mercantile to find him,” Mr. Lawson said.
“He owns the mercantile?” Oliver questioned.
Mr. Lawson nodded. “He has for the past five years, and he was just sworn in as the constable last year,” he shared. “We don’t have the crime to justify a full-time constable, especially since we have a night watchman that roams the streets after dark looking for any petty offenders.”
“What happens if a serious crime is committed?” Emmeline asked.
“I’m not sure. The most serious crime committed around here is being inebriated in public,” Mr. Lawson remarked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“We thank you for your time, Mr. Lawson, but we need to speak to Constable Philmont about an urgent matter,” Oliver said.
Mr. Lawson stepped back and offered them a polite smile. “I wish you luck, my lord, and I hope you will consider spending additional time in Whitstable.”
As they walked their horses down the street, Emmeline saw a worn sign hanging above the door that read “Mercantile”. They were about to secure their horses when a tall, broad-shouldered man walked out of the shop. He had blond, curly hair and a square jaw.
“Welcome to the mercantile, milord,” he greeted with a slight bow. “I am the constable of this village.”
With a questioning look, Oliver remarked, “It would almost seem as if you were expecting us.”
Constable Philmont chuckled. “My apologies, but I saw Mr. Lawson gesturing towards my shop through the window. Since the sign outside makes it easy to find the mercantile, I assumed you required my services as the constable.” He glanced between them. “Am I wrong to assume that you need my assistance?”
“You are not wrong,” Oliver confirmed.
“Did one of your household staff steal from you?” the constable asked. “If so, we take theft very seriously here.”
“As do I, but that is not why we are here,” Oliver replied. “May we speak somewhere privately?”
Constable Philmont waved them towards his shop. “If you come in, we can speak in my office.” He stepped inside and ordered, “Timothy, come watch Lord and Lady Oliver’s horses.”
A thin boy, no older than ten, hurried outside and held his hand out for the reins.
After they handed off the reins
to the boy, Oliver extended his arm to Emmeline and led her inside. They followed the constable towards the back and into a small office with a lone window along the back wall.
The constable closed the door and gestured towards two chairs that sat in front of a desk. “Please have a seat,” he encouraged as he came around his desk.
Once Emmeline was situated, the men took their seats.
With an expectant look, Constable Philmont asked, “How may I help you today?”
“Last night, Her Ladyship and I were walking along the beach near our manor and we saw smugglers come ashore,” Oliver revealed.
Constable Philmont’s brow shot up. “Smugglers?” he repeated. “Are you sure?”
“We know what we saw,” Oliver replied in an authoritative voice. “We watched as they collected barrels from the water and hid them in a crevice inside of the cliff’s wall.”
Leaning back in his seat, the constable stared at them with a look of disbelief on his face. “Why would smugglers come ashore at Whitstable?” he asked. “It makes more sense for them to continue up the coast and follow the Thames to ports around London.”
“I do not know their intentions,” Oliver remarked dryly. “I can only confirm that they are using your shores to deposit smuggled goods.”
“I don’t mean to downplay the significance of this finding, but I am wholly unprepared to deal with smugglers,” the constable admitted. “I suppose I can organize the local militia, but it is comprised mostly of farmers and shop workers.”
“They will need to make their presence known on the beach so the smugglers will know that they have been spotted,” Oliver said. “With any luck, the smugglers will move on to another location that is better equipped to handle them.”
The constable tapped his finger on his desk. “Can you show me where the barrels are being stored?”
“I would be happy to,” Oliver agreed.
Removing a pocket watch from his brown waistcoat, the constable studied it for a moment. “I will need to close up shop for a while, but I have a delivery coming in thirty minutes that I must contend with. Would it be permissible if I ride out to Lockhart Manor in an hour or so?”
Rising, Oliver replied, “That would be more than acceptable.”
