by Jayne Davis
“How old are you, Danny?” Connie asked. With all the damage to his face, she couldn’t tell.
“Twelve,” Mrs Trasker said. “He’s been going out on the boats since my man drowned, but he’s still a child.”
Connie took a deep breath—everyone was looking to her for guidance. The first thing was to try to make Danny more comfortable.
“Mrs Curnow, you helped me with the poultices for Mrs Strickland, please prepare the same for Danny.” She glanced across the room. “Sukey and Bessie can help you.”
“Yes, my lady.” The cook bustled off, looking pleased at the excuse to be out of the way.
“Warren, fetch water and clean cloths, then you may wait outside. Make sure no-one else comes in.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Mary, Katie, Barton.” The other two maids and the footman were still gawping at Danny. “I’m sure you all have something to do elsewhere.”
They mumbled something and shuffled out. Warren returned with the water, and Connie stood back while Mrs Trasker gave her son a cloth wrung out in cold water to hold over his eye, cleaned his other cuts, and checked the rest of him for damage.
“Nothing broken then?” she asked at last. Danny mumbled a ‘no’.
Mrs Trasker didn’t ask who’d done it. She knew.
Mrs Curnow returned with the poultices, and Connie helped Mrs Trasker fasten them over the worst of Danny’s bruises.
“Where is the nearest bed?”
“My room is just down there.” Mrs Curnow pointed to a door to one side.
“Help him to lie down there. Could you sit with him? I will call if I need you.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Danny flinched away as Mrs Curnow reached out a hand to help him up.
“Ma, he said he’d do the same to Bessie if you wouldn’t do it with him.” Tears began trickling down his face again. “Then he said Sukey was old enough to take your place.”
Mrs Trasker sank onto a chair, covering her face with her hands.
Connie looked at Mrs Curnow, a sick feeling settling in her stomach as the implications of Danny’s last words dawned on her. The cook looked as horrified as she felt.
“Take him to rest, Mrs Curnow. Then get someone to find Archer and send him here.”
Archer arrived a few minutes later, but did not know which farms Lord Wingrave was visiting. “Said he might not be back until six or so, my lady.”
Hours away. She’d have to deal with this herself.
“Who did this, Mrs Trasker? We cannot help if we don’t know what the threat is.” Although she had a very good idea.
“I can’t tell you,” Mrs Trasker said. “It won’t happen again if I give him what he wants.”
“Tom Kelly,” Archer said. “Or Joss Sandow, maybe, or Sam Hall.”
Mrs Trasker’s face drained of its remaining colour. Connie feared the woman was about to faint.
“Who told you that?” Mrs Trasker whispered.
Archer glanced at Connie, who nodded.
“No-one told me,” Archer said. “It was a guess. I’ve been drinking in the village, and I’ve seen the way people act around them.”
“Sandow. He’s the one in charge of the smuggling. He’s been after me since my Bobby died.” Mrs Trasker rubbed the tears from her cheeks. “I know I don’t look much now, but that’s not why he wants me anyway. He likes power, my lady. I won’t do it with him, and that’s enough for him to do that to my Danny.”
“Why now?” Connie asked, suspecting she already knew.
“He made sure I got no help from the other villagers,” Mrs Trasker explained. “They’d sell me food, but no-one was allowed to give me work. Danny took stuff to be sold elsewhere when he wasn’t on the boats, but it’s all gone now. I’d nearly given up, then Sukey said I could work here.”
So now Mrs Trasker had a source of money, the man had resorted to other means. Connie felt sick—she had to do something.
“Archer, how long will it take you to find Lord Wingrave?”
“I don’t know my way around yet, my lady. He could get back before me, even.”
“Where could they go?” She was talking to herself, really. She knew no-one in the area, and the only person she knew of was the steward.
“Get Warren in here.” He must be in contact with Nancarrow about household wages, so he would know where the man lived. “No, tell him to find paper and pen, then look out Mr Nancarrow’s address.”
Money—she would have to look in Will’s desk. Had Will taken the chaise?
“He’s doing it, my lady,” Archer said, when he returned. “It’ll take a while for a message… Oh, are you going to send the Traskers to him?”
Connie nodded. “Unless you can think of a better idea.”
Archer shook his head.
“Is the chaise the only carriage we have? Is it here?”
“Yes, my lady. Lord Wingrave took Mercury. It’ll be a tight fit in the chaise, but we’ll manage.”
“I’ll write a letter for you to take. Warren can give you directions, and I’ll send Lord Wingrave after you as soon as he returns.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Now all she had to do was to persuade Mrs Trasker to abandon any possessions she still had in her house in Ashmouth.
Will watched until the chaise drew out of sight, before turning Mercury back towards Ashton Tracey. Archer’s explanation had been hurried but, together with the state of the young lad’s face, had been enough to show him that Connie had just helped to thwart a violent and vindictive man. Quick thinking on her part, and he was thankful she had enough confidence to take matters into her own hands. But once Sandow realised his victims were out of his reach, Connie would likely be a target for his vengeance.
He could not let anything happen to her.
In the stable yard, he was relieved to find Stubbs mucking out a stall. That was one member of staff, at least, who was not out carrying tales to Ashmouth.
Both Warren and Connie were waiting for him in the entrance hall.
“I met Archer on the road,” Will told them as he came through the door. “Warren, it would be better if it got about that Mrs Trasker left here immediately when Danny came for her.” They couldn’t keep Connie’s actions secret for very long, but there was no need to give Sandow any help in finding out.
Warren did not meet Will’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”
“Really?” Will kept his voice calm with an effort. “Then let me explain. Sandow—”
Warren’s eyes shifted to his own, then away again.
“I see you do know what I mean. This Sandow will not be pleased that all the staff here helped Mrs Trasker to escape him.”
Warren swallowed. “No, my lord. But I… they…”
“It doesn’t matter which of you did or didn’t help, it only matters that if word gets about, I will make it clear that everyone did.”
Will took a step closer, thrusting his face close to the butler’s. “You, and the rest of the staff, know about the smuggling, and about the methods Sandow uses. It’s not your responsibility to try to stop him, but it is your responsibility to keep the staff from actively helping him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“If not, I—”
“My lord?” Connie put a hand on his arm as she spoke, then turned to the butler. “Warren, I’m sure you understand what Lord Wingrave means.”
Will felt her hand tighten on his arm, and bit back the words he was about to say. “You may tell the other staff,” he finished.
“Now, Warren, if you please.” Connie kept her eyes on the butler until he bowed and headed for the kitchens. Then she released Will’s arm and walked into the parlour.
Will followed, closing the door behind him.
“Will, I’m sorry for interrupting you.”
He threw his wig onto a chair and ran a hand through his hair. “Why did you stop me?”
“I thought you were about to threaten him with losing
his job.”
“I was, my staff should not…” He stopped, drawing a deep breath.
“He already knows his job depends on your whim,” she explained. “We don’t know what… I mean, this Sandow might have…”
“Might have threatened any of the staff,” Will said. “You’re right, of course.”
Connie sat down, and he saw some of the tension leave her. “You don’t mind that I sent them off with Archer?” she asked.
“No, I would have done the same.” At least, he hoped he would have done so.
“Will Mr Nancarrow help them? I sent a letter with Archer, but he doesn’t know me.”
“Archer showed me the letter. I added my signature to it as well.”
“Thank you.”
Will took the chair facing hers, leaning forward to help make his point. “Connie, this man will find out eventually that you helped the Traskers. Quite soon, if anyone in Ashton St Andrew saw Archer go through with the chaise.”
“Will he be able to find them?”
“That wasn’t…” He sighed—trust Connie not to think of herself first. “No, hopefully not. I added to the note that Nancarrow should send them as far away as he could, and not let anyone else know where they go. I authorised him to charge as much as he needed to the estate.”
He had to trust that Nancarrow wasn’t in league with the smugglers; unlikely, he hoped, beyond the purchase of an occasional tub of spirits. He would go and see the man tomorrow.
“I wasn’t thinking about the Traskers, Connie. Once Sandow finds out what you’ve done, he could want revenge on you. Or me, I suppose.”
“Oh.”
“Did that not occur to you?”
“Not at the time, no. Not that I would have done anything differently.” Her chin rose.
“It does mean that you are confined to the house, however, unless you have me or Archer with you. Preferably both of us.”
He had no idea how many men Sandow could call on to do something as drastic as harming Connie, but he had to assume the threat was greater than one man. Archer would be back later tonight; he’d have to ask what else he’d found out.
After dinner, Will retired to the library. He needed to plan what to do about Sandow, and the image of Danny Trasker’s battered face kept intruding, along with the fear in Mrs Trasker’s eyes. Mrs Strickland had failed the man paying her, although even that twisted version of logic did not warrant the retribution meted out to her. What Sandow was doing to the Traskers, however, went far beyond protecting a money-making enterprise.
Sandow was bound to find out that Connie had helped take the Traskers out of his reach, and he was certain she would be a target at some point. A magistrate would do nothing—there had, as yet, been no direct threat to himself or Connie.
Whatever doubts he’d had before about interfering in the village smuggling were gone. Sandow had to be stopped.
Chapter 29
Saturday 5th July
Will hurried down the stairs and into the parlour, relieved to see he hadn’t missed breakfast with Connie.
“Another fruitless night?” she asked, greeting him with a smile.
“I’m afraid so.” He poured himself a cup of coffee.
Warren entered. “Archer asked if he could speak to you, my lord.”
“I’ll be at the stables in any—”
Warren coughed. “He’s waiting in the hall, my lord.”
“Send him in, then.” It must be important if Archer had insisted.
“I’ve been to the village, my lord,” Archer said when he entered the room. “There’s a letter for you.”
Will took it; it was addressed to his father. “Thank you, Archer. I’ll give you a reply in an hour. Have Mercury ready then, please.”
“Right you are, my lord.”
Mindful of Warren in the hall, Connie didn’t ask Will who the letter was from. But he held it towards her so she could read the direction.
“Archer managed that well,” she said, keeping her voice low.
Will nodded, opening the letter and scanning the lines. He read one side of the sheet and turned it over. His lips thinned, one hand curling into a fist.
“What is it?”
He took a deep breath. “Connie, we said you would be the one to rewrite that woman’s letters to my father.”
“Yes. What of it?”
He passed the letter over.
Connie skimmed over Mrs Strickland’s descriptions of Connie’s own activities, given in tedious detail, although she noted the absence of any comment about the cellars. Will’s trips to Exeter and his farm visits were covered briefly, then the crabbed writing mentioned his lordship leaving the house at night, with an apology for not knowing any more.
Connie looked up. “She doesn’t say where she thinks you’ve been at night.” She didn’t understand why he was angry.
“Turn over.”
She read on. Mrs Strickland described Lady Elberton’s visit, and then apologised again, but this time for not being able to reassure his lordship on the other matter, but she was incapacitated and did not trust the maids to inspect Lady Wingrave’s room.
Heat rose to her face as she worked out the implications. “She’s reporting on whether you… we…”
“She’s leaving,” Will said, his voice rising. “I will not—”
“Will!” Connie hissed. “Warren.”
“Connie, I’m sorry—”
“No.” It wasn’t his fault. “You are not your father, you are not responsible.” She waved the letter. “In any case, no-one has spied on us yet.”
He nodded, his fist uncurling. “Unfortunately that woman has to stay here for now—if I turn her off, she’ll go straight to my father.”
That made sense. “Will she report to Sandow, do you think? About what happened with Mrs Trasker?”
Will shook his head. “I doubt it. She might get the blame for allowing you to send them off.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She held up the letter. “Do you want me to rewrite this? What do you want to change?”
“Add a bit at the beginning, saying you’re Mrs Curnow, writing it at Mrs Strickland’s dictation because she had a fall. Omit Lady Elberton. I’ll just have to hope that she doesn’t let it be known she’s been here.”
Connie chuckled. “Being seen off by your new wife isn’t exactly a flattering story.”
“Ha, no. Also omit the part about my being out of the house at night, and the end.”
“I could say the other matter is satisfactory,” Connie suggested, not meeting his gaze.
His hand tensed where it rested on the table. “Yes,” he said, after a brief pause.
“I’ll do it now, so you can give it to Archer.” She stood to get paper and pen from the escritoire.
“Connie.” He said nothing more until she turned to face him. “Connie, I keep my word once I give it.”
Of course he did, but why did he feel the need to tell her now?
“If you change your mind, will you let me know?”
Oh, his promise to give her a month. Her blush before was nothing to this one. She had been wondering if she had been right to ask for so long, but it didn’t feel right to discuss it at the breakfast table. She muttered something incoherent and went to sit at the escritoire, making herself concentrate on producing a consistent hand, and spelling, that could belong to the cook.
When he left to go to see Nancarrow, she relived that last request from him. There’d been intensity in his blue eyes, an odd note in his voice.
They’d been married nearly two weeks now, and she no longer had the excuse of not knowing him. Did she still want to wait another fortnight?
Will urged Mercury to a trot as he left Ottery St Mary behind. Nancarrow had reassured him that the Traskers were safely ensconced in a cottage on an estate beyond Honiton, and said that he was also making enquiries about renting rooms in Taunton, should it become necessary. That was all well and good, but the Traskers couldn’t live like t
hat forever.
Which brought his thoughts back again to the smugglers. He’d taken Connie’s rewritten letter to Ashton St Andrew on his way through, and there’d been a letter from Pendrick awaiting him with details of estimated purchase prices for smuggled goods. Will had wondered about the number of tubs of spirits or bales of silk the village fishing boats could carry, but they probably used a larger vessel than the ones he’d seen. Then there was possibly wool leaving the country as well.
He’d asked Nancarrow what he knew, but the steward had only been able to confirm the price he paid for diluted spirits. Nancarrow hadn’t been surprised to be asked, either—smuggling really was part of everyday life in this part of the country, in a way Will hadn’t realised when living in London.
It was a lovely day to be riding, with enough of a breeze to keep him cool, and Will’s thoughts turned to that morning’s discussion. Connie had been more embarrassed by his comment about changing her mind than the idea of Mrs Strickland spying on their bedroom activities. Did that mean she’d been thinking about it?
He hoped so; he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep away from that connecting door each night. Her confusion was attractive in itself—a complete contrast to the bold ‘come hither’ looks that had initiated his other amorous encounters. Would she blush like that as he unlaced her gown? Her stays? What about—?
“Oy!”
Mercury snorted and side-stepped at his sudden jerk on the reins, and Will glimpsed the cart behind him.
“Bin follering you for near on a mile!” The carter whipped his horse into a trot to go past. “Coming to something when Dolly here can go faster than that fancy prad.”
Damn it; he’d let Mercury slow almost to a stop while his mind had been on other things.
He started counting; thirteen days since they married, seventeen days to go.
It doesn’t matter.
He wanted her to want him to make love with her, not just allow him. If that took longer than the promised month, so be it.
Concentrate on what to do about Sandow, and making sure Connie is provided for.
