Memoirs of a Hoyden

by Joan Smith

  We urged our steeds forward ever faster, yet the man pulled farther ahead of us. We owed our eventual suc­cess to a jackrabbit. The helpful creature darted across the man’s path, causing his mount to shy. By the time he got it calmed down, we were not three paces behind him. “Halt or I’ll shoot!” I shouted.

  The man’s head turned slowly, and I found myself aiming a loaded and cocked pistol between Lord Kes­trel’s cold gray eyes. It was impossible, but there he was, astride the finest piece of horseflesh I had ever seen, and I’ve seen some handsome animals. His eyes seemed to shoot fire. Angry lines etched twin valleys from his nose to his thin lips. In my astonishment I heard myself say, “Where did you get that mount? That’s not what you were riding.”

  “Don’t point the pistol at him, Marion,” Ronald said nervously. “It might go off.”

  My finger quivered with the urge to fire it. Kestrel’s hateful smirk did nothing to alleviate the feeling. “Let her do her worst,” he taunted.

  I wasn’t quite angry enough to kill him, but I meant to show him a lesson. I lifted the muzzle high enough to lift his hat from his head, and took aim. Kestrel must have known what I was doing, but he sat solid as a mountain, not even flinching. That only served to in­crease my wrath. I squeezed the trigger; nothing hap­pened. It didn’t move a millimeter. I squeezed again, harder, and still the trigger remained as unmoving as Kestrel.

  “Next time you buy a gun, check to see the trigger hasn’t been welded to prevent firing. That one’s been fixed up as a room ornament. Why do you think I passed it up?”

  I suffered a momentary lapse of sense and threw it at his head. He moved then, ducking to avoid being hit. “A display of childish temper from one of your years, Miss Mathieson?” He looked up to the sky. “I was sure it would be falling down on our heads from astonish­ment.”

  Ronald broke the tension by laughing. “The sky’s seen her wrath before, Kestrel,” he called.

  After a moment’s raillery at my expense, Kestrel’s appetite for embarrassing me was assuaged and he re­turned to more important matters. “I thought you two were safely on the road south.”

  “We learned the Frenchies have definitely come this way, and we have come to help you,” I told him, add­ing a little detail about the farmer.

  Kestrel’s words were only a growl in his throat, but had they been audible, there isn’t a doubt in the world they would have been extremely profane. Rather than praising our efforts, he was as angry as a hornet that we were here. But as we were, we resumed the chase together.

  “Where did you get that fine mount?” I repeated. “I can’t believe such a treasure is hired out by an inn.”

  “I keep her at a little coaching house on the edge of town. I pass this way often, going between London and home.”

  “Then your home must be nearby. Where is it, ex­actly?”

  “Not far from Margate,” he answered curtly.

  His mood didn’t encourage any questions on this in­teresting subject. I was curious to hear more about the style in which he lived. “What’s his name—the stal­lion’s, I mean?”

  “I call him Pegasus.”

  “The winged steed—well named! I shouldn’t mind purchasing one of his brothers.”

  “Ladies can’t handle a stallion. A mare or a gelding, perhaps.”

  “I have ridden camels in my time, sir, and not only tame hejyns either. I could handle Pegasus with one hand tied behind my back.’’

  This proud boast was deemed beneath argument. Kestrel just gave me a disparaging look. I decided then and there that if I could not put Pegasus through his paces, I would put Lord Kestrel through his. By “could not” I mean had not the opportunity, not that I felt inadequate to the task. We continued on in silence for another mile.

  “We ought to be getting close by now. Do you think they’ve stopped? One of these farms out­side Dover could be their headquarters,” I mentioned.

  Kestrel seemed impatient with us. “I suggest you and Mr. Kidd go into Dover—or on to Canterbury for your lecture. If you hurry, you can still make it. I’ll handle it from here.”

  “I’ve already postponed the lecture. We will help you, and don’t bother trying to get rid of us.”

  Kestrel reined up and turned to face Ronald and my­self full on. “It’s time to put an end to this charade. I know where the Frenchies are. I’ll take care of it.”

  “How?” I answered hotly. “How do you suddenly know where they are when you haven’t had a notion all day? And how will you handle them, all alone? I think you overestimate your abilities, sir. You hadn’t the wits to take your pistol with you yesterday afternoon when you already knew they were after you, but amused your­self playing coachman instead.”

  Kestrel took a deep breath and finally decided to hu­mor us with an explanation. “As I see you and Mr. Kidd have been discussing my ineffectualness as a cour­ier, I might as well explain the situation. And as to ineffectualness, the only reason you’re here, Miss Mathieson, is because I thought you had some money that would come in useful. Despite your self-endowed rep­utation for excellence in everything, you managed to lose it. I wanted to be overtaken and robbed yesterday. I knew when I examined my curricle before leaving London that I would be followed. Several messages of the sort I was carrying have gone astray recently.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I threw in. “All the more rea­son to be prepared.”

  “None of mine has been taken, however,” he said through clenched jaws. “Other couriers have been way­laid. I decided it was time to put a stop to it. We have a leak at the Foreign Office, obviously, as our every trip is known in advance. My job was to be stopped, and follow the Frenchies to their master. It won’t be another Frenchie, but a traitor in the Foreign Office who is in charge of this plot. There’s definitely inside help. I know all our men, and as I’ve followed the Frenchies this far, I know now where they’re heading. The only employee who lives nearby is Sir Herbert Longville. The Fren­chies are doubtlessly heading to Longville Manor.”

  “Heading? They’ll be miles ahead of you. They’ll be there and gone by now.’’

  “Espionage is not carried out by the broad light of day for everyone to see. They’ll sneak in after dark, which is why I’ve been at pains to stay a little behind them.”

  This explanation quite took the wind out of my sails. Kestrel’s dilatory pace was explained now. He hadn’t wanted to overtake the Frenchies, but to remain a dis­creet distance behind them. It took me a few seconds to discover a flaw in his plan.

  “There’s no reason to think they’ll go to Longville Manor. Sir Herbert is only their London informant. Once they have the information, they’ll take it straight along to Boney.”

  “Not till it’s been looked over by Longville, to make sure it’s genuine, I think!” Kestrel snapped. “And how do you think they’ll get it to France? Longville Manor is right on the coast. Smugglers are the usual means of communication across the Channel. I learned at the Saracen’s Head a shipment is due to arrive tonight. Even you must have realized I had some reason for stopping there.”

  “But isn’t Longville in London?” I asked. Foolish of me.

  “No, he goes home every Friday afternoon. This is Friday. He’ll be there, and by God, I’ll catch the old bleater if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Kestrel appeared less incompetent now that I knew the whole truth. The determined face scowling into the distance looked much more capable than the languor­ous, bored face I had seen earlier. His riding skill was also enviable.

  Ronald was the next one to speak. “The message you were carrying—I take it that was some sort of hoax?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “It was genuine. We knew it was someone from the Foreign Office who was the leak, and he would know if the message was phony. It was a risk we had to take. Now that you see the importance of my mission, you realize I can’t have amateurs getting in my way.”

  Amateurs! That was his opinion of our assistance. I opened my li
ps to object, but before I could speak, Kestrel stepped in. “Pray spare me the lecture on your dealings with emirs and Arabs, Miss Mathieson. I’m sure you quelled a dozen desert tribes by your own hand, but your knowledge of camels and your few words of Arabic will be of no use in catching Longville. There’s too much at stake to have a lady gumming up the works.”

  I swallowed my quart of spleen all in one gulp, not to ingratiate this bigheaded jackass, but to learn his plan for trapping Longville. This wasn’t the moment to let pride stand in my way. “What do you plan to do?” I asked, with a civility that caused me heartburn.

  “I plan to stop him, once and for all.”

  “Could you be a little more specific? Do you plan to lie in wait for the smugglers to arrive? Or will you find some pretext to actually get into the manor and keep an eye on things from inside? That shouldn’t be impossi­ble, as I deduce you are acquainted with Longville. And what about the orders to our army? You said they were genuine orders, and that there was the necessity for speed in delivering them.”

  “My groom delivered a copy to Colonel Hackley.”

  “I see.” Once again Kestrel surprised me by having a soupçon of common sense after all. “About my other questions—where will you go to catch the spies?”

  “That need not interest you,” he said bluntly. “You’ve shown a lack of ability to follow orders. I sent you and Kidd south to the coast. You shouldn’t be here at all. Pray go to Canterbury. Bore the kipper-crunch­ing crowd there, and leave me free to do my job.” On this rude speech, he turned and galloped away.

  Ronald looked a question at me. “He was a little distraught,” I decided, though his words stung like a nettle. Amateur indeed! A “few words of Arabic” and some management of ignorant Bedouins was his as­sessment of my accomplishments. To add that bit about “boring” my audience was entirely gratuitous. They had been spellbound in London. Tom Moore himself sat mesmerized throughout.

  “We might as well go back,” Ronald said.

  “Go back, and miss out on the exciting part after we’ve come this far? Ronald, I’m disappointed in you. Naturally we must follow Kestrel and learn what he’s up to. Do you trust him to handle Longville by himself? I certainly do not.”

  “Kestrel is top of the trees, Marion. You may be sure he has some plan. I think it would be best if we just do as he said.”

  I was beginning to think we were perhaps de trop, but having come this far, I couldn’t bear to miss out on the excitement. “When were you upgraded from my secretary to my adviser, Mr. Kidd? I don’t recall that promotion. I mean to follow Kestrel. Anything could happen. Of course, if you are afraid of a handful of Frenchies, then you must by all means desert me. You won’t forget to look for my lap case at Chatham? I wouldn’t want to lose those three chapters of the next Aurelia.”

  Ronald shook his head. “There’s no need to con me. I’ll go along, but if we end up getting Kestrel killed and losing the letter to the Frenchies, it’s on your shoul­ders. I officially register my objection here and now.”

  “Objection duly noted. And when I save Kestrel’s life and the letter, will you remember your objection, my good secretary?”

  Ronald knew I was only teasing. A “Mr. Kidd” will usually bring him to heel. His mood was just fine as we waited in the road to see which turn Kestrel took. We would have to keep a considerable distance behind Kestrel, as he looked over his shoulder from time to time to be sure we weren’t following. We turned our mounts around as though leaving, but when Kestrel turned right, we weren’t far behind him.

  A thrill of pleasure trembled up my spine. I hadn’t had such fun since the frigate docked in England. I felt a new adventure was stirring, offering the possibility of not only helping my country and gathering material for Aurelia, but of showing Lord Kestrel a much-needed lesson as well. Amateur indeed! Boring my audience!

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  The road signs on the corner where Kestrel turned said Dover three miles, Hythe five miles, in the opposite direction. Kestrel did not continue north toward Dover as he had indicated he would, but south toward Hythe. Already the land was taking on the appearance of ter­ritory reclaimed from the sea, with Romney Marsh a few miles ahead.

  That would be an unattractive area populated by a few farms, many sheep, and many bands of smugglers, but where we rode, the coast was still rocky. Some beauty was added by the ocean, visible at times, and always reminding one of its presence by the smell. Kestrel took many a sharp look around to insure he wasn’t being followed, which required Ronald and me to be put to the unusual and uncomfortable shift of riding in the ditch, but eventually he turned his mount in at a fine old iron gate. When we reached it a little later, we saw a prosperous private estate. While waiting to stop the first passerby and ascertain that the place was indeed Longville Manor, we laid our plans.

  “One of us must have an accident,” I said. “Kes­trel’s an idiot. He’s going to waltz straight in and accuse Longville to his face. Much chance he’ll have of catch­ing the spies once he’s revealed himself. Longville will kill him.”

  “I can’t believe Kestrel would do that. He ain’t the gudgeon we’ve been thinking,” Ronald replied. “In fact, I still think we should go on and leave him in peace.”

  “In pieces is more like it. He’ll need our help before this is over. Are you ready?”

  “I take it I’m the one who’s going to have an acci­dent? I knew how it would be. I need my cane.” He hopped down from his perch and procured himself a stout fallen branch, on which he would hold the weight of his sprained ankle when we went to Sir Herbert’s door to seek assistance.

  Ronald thought my spraining an ankle would cause greater pity, and a greater chance of being invited to remain to dinner, but I wanted to be free to move about the house. Before going to the door, however, we waited quite half an hour to make sure Kestrel wasn’t just mak­ing a brief visit. We figured that half an hour at such a time of day (i.e., nearly dinnertime) meant he was re­maining to dine. At the appointed time Ronald clam­bered down from his mount, leaned on the branch and my arm, and I lifted the brass knocker.

  The house appeared at first glance to be dismayingly innocent. A country-style butler, well fed and wearing a black jacket, answered the door. He showed no alarm or suspicion at our plight, but with a true Christian kindness invited us into a small waiting parlor, and even offered wine. I peeped around the entrance hall and into the main saloon, but saw no sign of Kestrel or Sir Her­bert.

  “Would you like me to call a doctor to look at the lad’s ankle?” the butler offered.

  We hadn’t gone so far as to actually sprain Ronald’s ankle, so this had to be talked away. We had only rubbed it, to make it red. “It isn’t primarily the ankle, really. Mr. Kidd has a weakness of constitution picked up during his travels in the Orient,” I explained vaguely. “If he could rest an hour or so, he’ll be fine.”

  “The Orient, eh?” the butler enquired with quick interest.

  It was my aim to meet the man of the house, and I hoped my reputation might fulfill that aim. “Yes, I am Miss Mathieson,” I replied, looking from the corner of my eye to see if he recognized the name.

  “From India, are you?” he asked. This told me my fame had not spread to the provinces. Oates was wise to have arranged the lecture tour.

  “No, the Orient.”

  While the butler stood smiling, there was the sound of light footfalls at the doorway, and a young lady came into the room. She appeared as innocent and provincial as the rest of the house. She was a pretty enough girl, with brown hair and dark eyes. Her gown, I suspected, was local in origin, and her coiffure nonexistent. Her hair just sat on her head, curled but not arranged.

  Ronald hopped to his feet with an alacrity that belied a sprained ankle. A sharp squeeze on the derriere caused a good, convincing wince. I noticed he looked with favor on the young provincial, and she displayed an equal interest in him. “Ronald, you’d best sit down,” I reminded him.


  I offered the girl my hand. “I am Miss Mathieson, and this is my secretary, Mr. Kidd.”

  “Miss Longville,” she replied, smiling, but not with the smile that hinted at recognition.

  “My secretary had a dizzy spell on the road beyond your place, and fell from his mount. I fear he has twisted his ankle. I hope you will excuse our encroach­ing manners, Miss Longville, but the only thing for these dizzy spells is a short period of lying down.”

  She turned to the butler. “You may leave us, Rug­gers,” she said. As soon as the butler left, she returned her gaze to Ronald. It was a brightly curious, antici­patory look. Ronald is not the most handsome man in the world, but with a provincial I daresay he might cause a favorable impression. “What has been done with your mount and your personal things?” she enquired.

  “We left our mounts tethered out front,” he an­swered.

  “I’ll see to them.”

  She swept from the room, leaving us to wonder what she had in mind. Was she going to have the nags sta­bled? Why not ask the butler to do it? “Country man­ners,” I explained to Ronald.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he said, smiling fondly at the door.

  “She’s not an antidote. I wonder where Kestrel is, and Sir Herbert. I think you must have a fainting spell when she returns, Ronald. If we can get you into a bed, we’ll be here for an hour at least. I hope she offers us dinner. Won’t Kestrel stare to see me sitting across from him!”

  “They’ll all stare if you plan to go to the table in that dusty traveling suit.”

  “Bother! One forgets the restrictions of English so­ciety. I hope Miss Longville has something I can fit into. She’s such a little squab, her gowns will be above my ankles. And these vulgar red slippers! They’re com­fortable, though.”