Smuggler's Glory

by King, Rebecca

  “I’ll go and find a bucket to get some water,” Bertie said, moving toward the door.

  Simon nodded silently to Archie, who beat the old man to the door. “I’ll go. If you tell me where the well is, I’ll get it.”

  Francesca felt the tension rise in the room but was at a loss to understand the cause. Her gaze turned to Simon, who seemed to be unaware that he was still stroking her hand. The gentle rhythmic motion was distracting and making it difficult for her to think but she couldn’t bring herself to break the contact. Simon’s hand over hers felt incredibly warm at a time when she felt chilled to the bone. She knew that as far as he was concerned, it was a simple kindly gesture aimed at placating a hysterical female. For her, it was another reminder of what lay between them that could never be acknowledged and it broke her heart. She fought the urge to lay her head on his broad shoulder and sob her heart out for her imminent loss.

  She was still lost in thought when, moments later, Archie appeared in the door with a full bucket of water in his hand.

  “Simon, can I have a word with you?” He handed the bucket to Pie along with a warning look. Pie had been in the business long enough to know what that look meant, and the news wasn’t good.

  Simon sighed deeply, knowing exactly what was coming. He gave Francesca’s hand one last pat, warning her to stay beside the warmth of the fire, and left. He was immediately drenched by the relentless deluge that hammered down on him as he stalked across the stable yard. Tonight, for about the first time since his arrival in Much Hampton, he felt as though he was perfectly safe. There was no sense of being watched. His instincts weren’t screaming at him to keep his ears open and his path indirect. For tonight at least, the damage had already been done.

  Thanks to Hugo’s contacts, he now knew enough about Madeline’s background to know that the outcome had really been inevitable. A woman couldn’t get involved with the kind of people she had been associated with, without expecting at least some backlash. More importantly, she couldn’t try to escape the brutality by simply disappearing and expect not to be found. Unfortunately in Madeline’s case, the backlash had been swift and brutal, and on Francesca’s doorstep.

  He shook his head regretfully at the dark mound that lay at Archie’s feet. He could see the hilt of the blade sticking out from her side even through the darkness.

  “Several hours?”

  Archie nodded. “Professional job too, by the looks of it.”

  “Not surprising really, given what we know of her,” Simon sighed, wondering why Madeline had felt the need to drag Francesca, an innocent, into her problems the way she had. Although he could understand her need to escape the ruthless clutches of a cold-hearted mercenary, there were hundreds of places she could have chosen to hide. North of the border perhaps? Or even abroad. Why run to Francesca? Had she been sent there because of Thistledown? He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t mere coincidence that had prompted Madeline to insist on accompanying Francesca to Thistledown. Someone had forced her into going, and that someone had ultimately taken her life. Had she failed in her allotted task, whatever it was?

  “What do you want to do with her?” Archie asked, covering Madeline’s body with her cloak.

  “We’ll place her in the barn for now. It’s abandoned but at least it is dry. We can move her in the morning.”

  “Do you want me to go to Launceston to arrange a removal?”

  “I think it is necessary. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

  “What about her?” Archie asked, nodding toward the house.

  Simon shook his head and puffed out his cheeks. “She’ll be devastated,” he replied sadly, staring down at Madeline. Given what he knew, he didn’t regret her death. He deeply regretted the impact it was going to have on Francesca and her future at Thistledown though. “Grab her feet, I don’t know about you but I want to get warm and dry right now. I’m sick of these cold winds.”

  They arrived at the kitchen door minutes later, sodden and solemn. Simon knew by the look on Francesca’s face that she knew what he was going to say. He could see no way of softening the news. How could one break the news of a brutal murder by person or persons unknown?

  “It’s Madeline, isn’t it?” Francesca whispered, her voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The gravity in his voice stopped her from actually asking the question. She didn’t need to ask and he didn’t need to say the words, for her to know instinctively that her friend and companion was dead.

  “How?”

  “Stabbed,” Simon replied, walking slowly toward her. “Beside the well, I’m afraid.” He only half heard Bertie’s soft curse behind him, but paid him no mind. His attention was firmly locked on the woman before him.

  Francesca felt her world wobble alarmingly for a moment and her dreams begin to crumble at her feet. Tears dripped from her eyelashes, but she couldn’t utter a word.

  “By the well?” she whispered, closing her eyes at the sight of Simon’s single nod.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca,” he murmured gently, wishing he could ease her pain.

  Francesca swallowed the raw emotion that lodged itself in her throat, and swiped a hand down her face, blinking rapidly against the fresh flood of tears that immediately replaced the first, and the second, and the third.

  “Well, I guess that’s that, then.” Strangely, she wasn’t certain if she was crying because of the death of her friend, or the lost of her life at Thistledown. “What do we do now?” She glanced at Simon, wondering how one explained away a brutal murder to the authorities.

  “I think that the fewer people who know about her death, the better. I don’t want the locals getting wind of the fact that you are here alone.” He hated to be so brutal but couldn’t see any way around explaining what they had to do. “Before first light we are going to take her away from here. Archie here will see to it that she is laid to rest properly.”

  “I can’t be there?” Francesca gasped, horrified that her friend’s burial would be so undignified.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca, but there is no way to hide a body long enough to arrange the kind of funeral you want for her and we cannot arrange a funeral without notifying the local constable and that would raise a lot of questions that right now, we can’t answer. As far as we know, Madeline didn’t have any other relatives, so we have nobody who needs to be informed. It is best for everyone right now, if this remains strictly between us.”

  “But why? Where will you take her?” Tears began to flow faster as her desperate gaze flew from one man to the other. Strangely, nobody seemed able to meet her desperate gaze.

  Bertie moved to her side and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Please, my dear, don’t stress yourself so. You made her final days much nicer than they might otherwise have been. She had this beautiful house to live in, and spent many hours with you, which is where I am sure she really wanted to be. Because of the dangers that face us now, you need to accept that her burial has to be shrouded in secrecy, for all of our sakes.”

  Francesca took a deep breath and felt her stomach dip sickeningly. She suddenly wished that when she had run outside, she hadn’t bumped into Simon and had continued running, right out into the moors and beyond. Somehow, she knew that despite her best protests, she wouldn’t be able to stop the men carrying out the removal of Madeline’s body and arranging her burial without her knowledge. She wondered if there was some kind of law against it, but these were men serving king and country. She would probably be committing a crime by hampering them in carrying out their duties. Still, she ached for the sad loss of her companion. Lifting sad eyes to Simon, she felt the desperate need to be by herself. The house didn’t seem so threatening now, she thought blankly.

  “Where are you going?” Simon frowned at her when she began to walk toward the hallway door. He wondered if she should be left alone at all. The strange remoteness about her was alarming, and he didn’t like it o
ne bit. Wondering if he should fetch a doctor to give her a sedative or something, he watched her leave.

  “Just give her time,” Bertie said softly. “It’s a shock to us all. Although I didn’t know Madeline all that well,” he said, “well, she downright hated me as you know, nobody deserves to meet their end in such a brutal way.”

  “Where do you want her to be buried?” Archie asked. “Launceston?”

  “Yeah, it’s close enough to here so that when this is all over, Francesca can visit her grave if she wants to,” Simon replied quietly. It felt as though a heavy weight had settled in his chest and it was an altogether unfamiliar feeling that didn’t sit well on him. Rubbing absently at his chest, he sat down at the table and motioned for everyone to join him. It was time they discussed who was going to do what to bring this investigation to an end, preferably before Francesca was the next victim.

  It was late by the time Bertie and Archie took to their beds. Pie had offered to take first watch, followed by Archie and then Simon at first light. They had immediately refused Bertie’s offer of taking his share of the watch, warning him that they were a well-oiled machine, used to such practices, and would be more efficient if they were left to get on with it. The relief on Bertie’s face wasn’t unnoticed but his offer had gone a long way toward earning the respect of the latest arrivals.

  Simon paused on the threshold of his bedroom and stared blankly at the empty bed. He should take his clothes off, climb between the sheets and get whatever sleep he could, while he could. But a deeper, more protective side of him wouldn’t let him rest so easily. Not until he had seen for himself that she really was alright.

  Walking quietly down the corridor, he eased open Francesca’s door moments later, shaking his head at her for forgetting to lock it. He frowned at the empty bed. A surge of fear began to build, and he quickly began to search the upper floor, including Madeline’s room. Panic grew to alarming proportions by the time he burst into the kitchen, to find Pie quietly closing the sitting room door.

  “In here,” he whispered quietly, nodding toward the closed door. “Appeared like a ghost a few minutes ago, sat on the chaise and passed out.”

  Simon eased the door open, his heart lurching at the heartbreaking sight of her curled up in a tight ball before the roaring fire. Even from the doorway he could see the gentle glint of tears on her too pale cheeks. She looked so alone, so miserable that he couldn’t stand to leave her like it.

  “You going to carry her up?” Pie whispered, watching Simon squat down before her and study her closely.

  She was oblivious to the blunt fingertip that gently stroked the tears away.

  Shaking his head silently, he rose to his feet and sat in the chair beside the fire. “I’ll stay here for the night.”

  Pie studied his friend’s face for several minutes before turning his attention to the woman fast asleep between them. He had never seen this softer side of Simon and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Although he felt fairly certain their relationship wasn’t of an intimate nature – yet, he was fairly certain that they cared deeply for each other. Only Simon was the very last person Pie had ever thought willing, much less able to fall hard for a woman.

  Francesca was beautiful admittedly, but certainly not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her blonde hair was darker than most, giving it an usual tint that looked almost brown and although she was slender, she was almost too thin, giving her an ethereal look that warned she could break if you were too rough with her. She was a stark contrast to Simon’s tall, dark and distinctly masculine appearance.

  Still, her presence in Simon’s life brought about something in him that was enlightening, and Pie wasn’t entirely sure it was a bad thing. As long as Simon kept his mind on the real reason he had been sent to Much Hampton and didn’t focus too much on Francesca’s problems, Pie didn’t have a problem with her.

  Shaking his head at the folly of the lovelorn, he quietly left the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Francesca?”

  Francesca grumbled and tried to push the hand that was shaking her off her shoulder.

  “Darling, come on, wake up.”

  “Go away, Simon,” she grumbled, rolling over and willing sleep to return. For some reason she didn’t want to face the new day. A frown began to creep across her brow, only to steel her breath when the memories of the night before came flooding back.

  Her eyes sprang open and she found herself staring directly into Simon’s direct blue gaze that was only inches away.

  Simon sat carefully on the edge of the bed, tentatively drawing her hand into the warmth of his.

  Francesca immediately felt her stomach dip and knew she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say. She wanted to cover her ears and tell him to stop; she didn’t want to hear it, but something kept her quiet. She knew she would hear it at some point throughout the forthcoming arduous day, so she may as well get it over and done with.

  “It’s not even dawn yet,” she sighed, glancing toward the window. Sometime during the night someone, Simon she suspected, had carried her to her bed and tucked her in. Although she was still wearing the clothes she had worn yesterday, she was safely ensconced in her own room. Strangely, she had no fear of being there and had no unwanted memories of strange men intruding on her private space.

  “Madeline is ready to go,” Simon began, bracing himself for more of Francesca’s tears. “I wondered if you wanted to say goodbye before she went.” He had carefully removed the blade embedded in her side, and covered her over to prevent Francesca from seeing too much of the gruesome detail. Although he had prevented her from attending the funeral, he wasn’t harsh enough to forbid her from bidding her friend a final goodbye.

  Francesca considered that for a moment. Did she really want to see her friend in death? Something inside her quaked at the thought. It sounded cold and callous, but she really couldn’t bring herself to go outside, into the biting winds, and study the empty body of her companion. Even to say goodbye. She simply couldn’t do it.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “Archie is going to arrange burial for her in Launceston. We have contacts in the right places that won’t ask too many questions. When all of this is over, I’ll take you there so you know where she is. She will be close enough for you to go and visit her grave whenever you want.”

  “But I just can’t go and attend her funeral?” Francesca asked incredulously.

  Simon didn’t want to explain the various steps they would take to lose anyone that was following. For all intents and purposes a cart, loaded with hay and straw would go to Bodmin. Nobody needed to know that on the way, the cart would take several circuitous routes, double back numerous times and finally arrive at a different location many hours later. The right people would then be informed and the body quietly removed and stored. When the cart had left, the body would be buried under the cover of dark, in a quiet corner of the most isolated graveyard they could find.

  “I’m sorry, Francesca, I wish it could be different.”

  For some reason Francesca felt inordinately angry. Not only at Simon for the ridiculous need to be so secretive about everything that happened around him, but at the man who had the audacity to invade her personal space. She even felt anger toward Madeline for changing so much during the course of their acquaintance that Francesca was left wondering if she really knew the woman at all. She struggled with the wild urge to kick something, thump someone, to scream and rant and rave at anyone and anything.

  Instead she flopped back on the bed and stared blankly at the canopy above her.

  “I can’t see her,” she finally admitted, refusing to look at him. “Just take her.” With that, she rolled over, curling into a tight ball. She sensed Simon studying her but refused to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence, and drew the covers up to her ears instead to block out the sound of him leaving. It was some time before he quietly left the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a
quiet click.

  As far as she was concerned, he could keep his secrets and take them with him when he left. A small voice inside her warned her that she didn’t really mean it, but she refused to listen. The anger gave her something to focus on, something to think about other than the growing ache in her chest that refused to budge.

  Only a few short weeks ago, she had briefly considered she was in control of her future. That she was a woman who was, for once, answerable to nobody. A woman who was financially secure enough to decide what she wanted to do and when. Now? Now she knew that if her family got wind of the fact that she was living alone; if the villagers found out she was living in such a huge place all by herself, or even worse, Mr Lindsay uncovered her solitary occupancy of Thistledown, they would all descend upon her like flies on a piece of meat.

  She lay for some time beneath the covers, refusing to face the world. That is, until the loud rumbling of her stomach answered the gentle waft of toast emanating from the kitchen, driving her to leave the safe confines of her bed. She splashed cold water into the bowl on her dresser and set about her ablutions, changing her clothing for a pale blue walking dress after only the briefest hesitation over her black clothes. To wear black so blatantly would only raise questions if anyone from the village happened to catch sight of her.

  Minutes later she quietly entered the kitchen, pausing just inside the door to study the almost domestic scene before her. Pie was seated before the fire polishing his boots. Bertie was at the fire, stirring a pot of what smelled like broth. Her gaze landed on the all too familiar sight of Simon sitting at the table, poring over yesterday’s broadsheet obtained while he was at Launceston. It was Simon who seemed to sense her presence.

  He glanced up and immediately lurched from his seat, moving toward her with a frown of concern on his face.

  “Francesca, you’re up. How do you feel now?” he whispered, absorbing the reassuring sight of her dressed and looking more restored. Sometime during the morning she seemed to have gotten herself under tight control and now stood before him almost defiantly. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not, at the sight of the slightly militant look in her eyes.