Honour's Debt

by Joan Vincent

  Maddie did not have to force the sad pose she assumed. “My father has been unable to receive visitors for some time. Only Mr. Balfor sees him these days. We fear ...” She pointedly looked away.

  “I did not mean to distress you.” The captain uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “My apologies, Miss Vincouer.”

  His gaze, when Maddie met it, was concerned but questioning. “Do not worry, Captain,” she replied with a tinge of sharpness. She thought the intent blue eyes that watched her were more troubled at having revealed his disbelief that her father was indisposed than in having saddened her. “My father has been near death several times. Since word reached us of my cousin Jamey’s death ...”

  True tears filled her eyes. Maddie’s hands fluttered in an unconscious gesture of sorrow. She was relieved to see the cook at the door.

  Corrie bustled into the room with a large plate of scones. The butler Maves followed with a silver tray laden with the accoutrements for tea. They deposited their trays on the table nearest their young mistress and left.

  Maddie poured tea and served scones. When she finished, she sat beside her aunt and stirred the hot brew in her cup. “Have you had any success, Captain?”

  Medworth opened his mouth, shut it, and then said wryly, “Not of late.”

  “I am sure that cannot be correct, my dear Captain Medworth,” Aunt Prissy assured him. “You are a most efficient young man. Surely you have had success?” She smiled and added artlessly, “In something?”

  The captain watched the play of emotions cross Miss Vincouer’s features. He wished yet again that his instincts did not tell him something was awry. And that she was not so well chaperoned. Glancing at Miss Benton he wondered how aware she was of her implied meaning. “You are too kind. But your neighbours have not been particularly cooperative.”

  “That ’tis not so, sir. They are most helpful,” Miss Benton insisted.

  “But they do not wish to give up their French brandy.”

  “Of course they do not,” she agreed. “My dear Papa—”

  Maddie sharply elbowed her aunt. In doing so she jostled the cup Pricilla held and splattered tea across the older woman’s day gown. “I am so sorry, Aunt Prissy.” Maddie dabbed at the wet spots on her aunt’s dress.

  “What were you saying about your father, Miss Benton,” the captain prompted.

  Maddie ignored him. “Go change your gown, Aunt. I would not want you to take a chill.”

  “Oh, no, I do not wish that to happen,” Miss Benton agreed. She handed her cup and saucer to her niece and stood. “Please excuse me, Captain.”

  He rose and bowed. “I quite understand, Miss Benton.” He winked at Maddie. “You can tell me about your father and his French brandy another time.”

  Aunt Prissy stared at Medworth. “I did not mean Papa,” she squeaked, “that is—”

  Maddie put a hand to her aunt’s elbow and guided her to the door. “Do not worry about it. The captain teases.”

  Medworth gave a slight bow in acknowledgment.

  “That was not kind of you nor well done, sir,” Maddie scolded when her aunt was gone.

  “I imagine your father has a bottle or two of French spirits in his cellar,” he prompted.

  “It has been so long since ...” Maddie turned away from the sharp eyes of the captain.

  Medworth approached and raised her face with a finger beneath her chin. “You can trust me, Miss Vincouer.”

  Maddie fought to hide the deep longing for someone to lean on that his words prompted, someone in whom to confide. She momentarily considered it as she met his warm gaze. No, it was too dangerous. Maddie pulled back from his touch. “There is no French brandy in our cellar. Would you like to search it?”

  “I do not think that will be necessary. Today.” Medworth lowered his hand. “There are rumours that a new supply of brandy and fabrics shall come across the channel at any time. I don’t suppose you have heard anything about it?”

  “I have not,” she answered glad it was the truth. “I do not get out as much as I did before my father’s illness became so serious.”

  “But you were in Hayward earlier today. You spoke with Mr. Lambert.” Medworth saw irritation widen Maddie’s eyes.

  “You had me watched? What relevance can any action of mine have to you, Captain?” she demanded.

  “More than I am free to tell you at this time,” he returned. “Miss Vincouer—Madeline—”

  “I have not granted you leave to use my given name.”

  Medworth tightened his lips. He took a deep breath. “My men have uncovered a tale about a set of tunnels used by smugglers in the area. Do you know of any?”

  “I divide whatever time I have between household and estate duties, Captain Medworth. I do not drink French brandy,” she challenged with a lift of her chin.

  “Miss,” Maves opened the sitting room door, “your father.”

  Maddie’s glare softened. “You will excuse me, sir.” At his bow, she continued, “Maves, please show the captain out.”

  “Miss Vincouer, there was also a report of a stranger in Hayward today. He may or may not be involved in the current rash of smuggling that the entire neighbourhood takes so lightly. I suspect most everyone participates in it.”

  He grimaced and held up a hand to forestall the words he could see poised on her lips. “Do you think they also condone the military and government secrets these smugglers carry to Bonaparte? Good day.”

  On the steps of Hart Cottage the captain put on his bicorne and drew on his gloves. Miss Vincouer hides something, he thought as he sauntered down the steps, but does it have anything to do with French brandy?

  * * *

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” Maddie told Maves as she surreptitiously peaked past the curtain and watched the captain ride away. “Is there French brandy in the cellar?”

  “It is possible, miss.”

  “Is that why you are troubled?”

  Maves’ frown deepened. “There isn’t a cellar in this area that doesn’t hold something French. ‘Tis too bad Captain Medworth isn’t more like Captain Longford.” He sighed. With a palsied hand he pulled a missive from his pocket.

  “I think this may present more of a problem.”

  Taking it, she grimaced in dismay at the sight of Cousin Sanford’s franking mark.

  “You’d best read it, miss. If he plans on coming like he said in his last letter—”

  “You need not remind me, Maves,” Maddie told him. He was one of the key players in keeping her father’s death a secret. She broke the seal and unfolded the page.

  The butler waited, his grey head bowed, his chin tucked to his neck, and his hands clasped behind his back. “Is it bad news, miss?”

  Maddie looked up, a huge smile on her lips. “It seems the Bennets have invited Agatha for another visit.”

  “They will not be coming here?”

  “Not at this time. Aunt Prissy will be vastly relieved. Sanford makes her nervous.” The worst of her worries put to rest, Maddie chuckled. “But then, who does not.”

  * * *

  Hawking Friday Evening

  “Lieutenant Topken, are you certain your information is correct?” Captain Medworth demanded.

  “Halby wouldn’t bear tales, sir. He knows you can send him back to the prison hulks whenever you want.”

  “Tell me all of it.”

  “Halby followed the stranger like he was told. The fellow went to Hawking—to Mol’s Place. Yes, sir,” he nodded agreement with the captain’s grim smile. “You’ve suspected that was a meeting place for the free traders ever since you arrived.

  “There was a long wait after the gent went in and then two blokes with a mort came. The mort, a pretty sort, he said, made eyes at the newcomer. There was about to be a fight, but Mr. Lambert stopped it.

  “Another odd thing—Halby claimed Lambert said he was Jonah Partridge. The other man said he was Quentin Broyal.”

  “Is Broyal known to Halby or any of
the men?”

  Topken shook his head. “But Halby overheard Lambert tell Broyal there was to be a gathering tomorrow night near Limes Point. He said he wouldn’t do anything unless Broyal took part.”

  The captain shook his head. “He spoke loud enough for all to hear?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Halby made like he was drunk. They paid him no mind. Besides it’s widely known that he served time for smuggling. They wouldn’t suspect him of going over to the other side.”

  “That was my reasoning. But I wonder if it is working too well.” Medworth studied the map on the table. “What else did he say?”

  “Halby heard two o’clock mentioned but wasn’t certain what it meant. I suggest you place men not only at Limes Point but also to the northeast and southwest of it.”

  Medworth made four quick marks on the map. “Place the men at these points. I will lead the group at Limes Point. You shall take the one farthest to the south. Put Chalmbers and Peters in charge of the other two groups.

  “Also send men to the Martello Towers near Folkestone. The first tower is on the cliffs above East Wear Bay, the second is fifty feet lower, and the third stands on the cliffs above Copt Point. They are almost complete and should prove excellent lookouts. Make sure each has a fast horse. Instruct them to bring word of any sighting to the squad nearest the landing.

  “Under no circumstances are any of the free traders to be permitted to escape,” Medworth told him. “Remind everyone to be on the lookout for tricks such as the one played on Longford. We do not want to fall into that kind of ridicule.”

  “No one needs to be cautioned about that, sir. The local folks love telling and retelling that tale.” He frowned, and then brightened. “Tomorrow night may be what you’ve hoped for.”

  “I trust so. See to the men. I shall join you in a few minutes.” After Topken left, Captain Medworth poured a glass of port. He raised it.

  “To Miss Benton—who says I must be successful at something.”

  At last, he thought, an opportunity to put a warning shot across the local gentry’s bow. With luck I will learn if the local leader is Lambert. And Mr. Broyal, he mused, if you are one of them, you will also be caught in our net.

  Chapter Eight

  Hart Cottage May 20th Saturday Mid-morning

  Maves tapped lightly on the open office door. “Miss, I am sorry to disturb you.”

  Maddie looked up from the household ledgers. “What is it?”

  With a shake of his head, the butler tottered forward with a missive in his hand. “I have been afraid this would come, miss. Didn’t want to throw more on your plate, so didn’t speak of it afore. But this time a lad waits to take an answer back.”

  While she read through the curt note, the curl of fear around Maddie’s heart that was always with her tightened a notch. She looked up, alarmed and read aloud, “Vincouer, we’ll be usin’ the caves like afore. Our agreement stands as in years past.” She swallowed hard and asked, “Father agreed to hiding contraband in the past?”

  “Yes, miss. I believe it began a short time after Mrs. Vincouer, bless her soul, passed on.” He looked away and coughed, then added, “You may recall Mr. Matthew was not himself after that.”

  “I knew he bought French brandy and some silks from the free traders—but this—” Maddie lifted the letter from her lap. “This is most dangerous for us. Especially now.”

  “Pardon me, miss, but it wasn’t when Captain Longford was in charge of the Preventive men.”

  “But now there is Captain Medworth. He’s far too sharp for my comfort.”

  “Well, yes, Medworth does put us in a bit of a pickle. But if you do not honour the agreement,” he motioned toward the letter she held, “they will begin to suspect—” The butler shook his head. “The free traders will come calling, miss. They’ll insist on seeing Mr. Matthew. I doubt they’ll be fobbed off like everyone else.”

  Maddie blanched. “With whom did father deal?”

  “I never knew. ’Tis not what a person pursuing such a career would want known,” Maves regretted.

  “Where are these tunnels located?”

  The butler shrugged. His gaze went to the floor.

  “Where?” Maddie demanded.

  Mavis raised his head and met her gaze steadily. After a long pause he grimaced and surrendered. “One is in the area of Limes Point. But it really doesn’t matter where any of them are. It doesn’t change anything here.”

  “You think I should send word that we agree to this?”

  “’Tis not for me to say, but it would be the safest thing to do under the present circumstances,” the old man advised.

  Present circumstances, Maddie thought putting a hand to her head to try to stifle the splitting headache that was developing. “Why would Father ever consent to such a thing? Captain Medworth mentioned these men trade in government secrets.”

  Maves clasped his palsied hands behind his back and stared at the floor again. “They just want to use a tunnel to store brandy, wine, and fabrics. Don’t see how there could be any government secrets in that,” he ended stubbornly.

  Miss Benton strolled into the office saying, “Ahh, there you are, Maddie. I have ...” She looked from Maves’ downcast head to her niece’s fierce expression. “My dear, what has occurred?”

  Maddie swallowed hard. She looked to Maves who shrugged. Raspberries and fiddlesticks, she silently swore but could see no other choice. Maddie handed the note to her aunt.

  Pricilla scanned the scrap of foolscap. “Do not let this upset you.”

  Utter surprise stilled the words of reassurance Maddie meant to speak.

  “There really is no choice in the matter,” Aunt Prissy told her. “In fact,” she continued, “it was a good thing my father passed on after selling your father the land where the tunnel lies. He probably turned in his grave when he learned Matthew, for a time, refused access to the free traders. Father did so enjoy his brandy.” She smiled at the memory. “Your mother’s wedding gown was of French silk.

  “Maves, go to the cellars and bring us a bottle of the, ahh, contraband,” Pricilla ordered. “I think we could all do with a dram or two.” She put a hand to her niece’s cheek.

  “You foreswore liquid refreshment of the French persuasion in strong terms to young Captain Medworth. I doubt he will question you on this topic again after such a vehement denial. You can imbibe with no worry of having to perjure yourself.”

  Maddie gaped at her for a second, then chuckled.

  “Just so, my dear, just so,” winked Aunt Prissy.

  * * *

  Folkestone Saturday Afternoon

  Quentin scrawled his initials at the bottom of the note to Jenks and set his quill aside. “Bloody hell,” he swore under his breath, staring at the QB when in fact, he should have written “Broyal.” He still was not accustomed to the fact that he was now Quentin Bellaport, Viscount Broyal.

  The thought brought a well of sadness that nearly overwhelmed Quentin. He put his elbows on the desktop and pressed his forehead into the heels of his hands.

  Thomas.

  Would that nightmare never go away?

  “Yes, Thomas would have been a fine ...”

  Quentin saw his father’s eyes fill with tears. He could not finish.

  “You were happy only when away from here—from Bellum.” The Earl of Margonaut looked away from his son. His tone condemned. “Thomas was here with me. He should have been safe. You were wounded three times, you should have—”

  “I have sold out as you—wished, my lord,” Quentin offered, unwilling, unable to hear any more.

  Quentin jerked his mind from the past. He lifted his head, then lit a candle and held the wax jack to it. Moments later he sealed the missive. A look at his watch revealed the day was not far enough along to leave his room.

  Partridge was to meet him outside the Black Bull at midnight. It was but one in the afternoon. Plenty of time to get this missive off to Jenks at Dover. He could be settled in thes
e rooms by the morrow’s morn.

  The picture the Vincouer ladies made in front of the confectionary that had hovered constantly at the back of his mind slipped to the fore unbidden. A strong desire to see Maddie jolted Quentin. But a few more days and this business will be complete. Then I may call on Miss Vincouer.

  Struck by the absurdity of longing to see a woman he had never met, Quentin grimaced. ‘Tis but the debt I owe her cousin and the fact that I admire her spirit. He pushed her image aside and drew out another sheet of paper.

  I will write a report to Castlereagh, and then go for a jaunt before I return to the Black Bull. The more I know of the lay of the land the safer I will be.

  * * *

  A Preventive officer speaking with the lad holding Perseus’ reins in the yard at the Cherry Inn was not a welcome sight to Broyal. Castlereagh had been very insistent that he not become known to the local authorities.

  Quentin beckoned to the lad holding his horse.

  The officer followed when the lackey moved towards Broyal. He offered his hand. “Good day, sir. Captain George Medworth.”

  Broyal shook it, debating what tack to take.

  “Mr. Broyal?” the captain asked.

  Taking Perseus’ reins from the lad, Quentin gave him a coin in dismissal. “Sir, you have the advantage. Have we met?”

  “No, Mr. Broyal,” Medworth said. “A mutual acquaintance pointed you out earlier this morning.

  “Did you enjoy your ride to Limes Point? The scenery is quite good, especially the view from the point. But it is not as impressive as that from the cliffs near Dover.”

  “May I ask whose acquaintance we share?” Broyal noticed Medworth tap his riding crop against his leg and knew his question was unexpected. From the look in the captain’s eye, it did not please.

  “Mr. Lambert.”

  “I do not recall a Lambert among my acquaintances.”

  “Milden Lambert—of Hayward.”