Sauce for the Gander (The Marstone Series Book 1)

by Jayne Davis

  Will stood too. He hadn’t expected to be given a reward, but a word of thanks would have been gratifying.

  “Your father is in town,” Talbot went on. “You would be well advised to remain here and catch up on your sleep. Good day.”

  “You are welcome to remain, Wingrave,” Sir John said. “Ask for anything you need.” He followed Talbot out of the room.

  Tregarth slipped back in as his father left.

  “Well? What did they say?”

  “Not a lot,” Will said sourly. He couldn’t work out why Talbot had asked him about his way of life, but he was too tired to think about that now. “Fancy a game of cards?”

  “Sergeant Potter, my lady.”

  Connie looked up from her sewing as Warren ushered the visitor into the parlour. The sergeant stood by the door, hat under one arm, his red uniform spick and span.

  He bowed. “Captain Burke sent me to collect Vance, my lady, and to give his thanks for looking after him.”

  Connie’s heart sank. If the captain had come she might have been able to persuade him that she was nervous while Lord Wingrave was away, and was worried for herself in case the smugglers resented the fact that they had offered help to the wounded soldiers. Sergeant Potter would not have the authority to leave a man or two here. Should she write to the captain? No, she wouldn’t be able to convey her worries convincingly in a letter, particularly as there had been no sign of trouble so far.

  “Very well. You may tell Captain Burke that we were pleased to be able to help.”

  Potter bowed, and Warren showed him out.

  She debated asking Archer to be more alert, now there was no clear reason for smugglers to stay away, but the groom was intelligent. He’d work out the implications of the removal of Vance quickly enough.

  Picking up the muslin gown, she tried to concentrate on her stitches and ignore the continual questions—had Will found someone to talk to, had he been believed, when would he return?

  “So how’s this marriage business going?” Tregarth asked, dealing the cards.

  “Well enough.” Will wasn’t going to admit to that promise of a month.

  “Come on, Wingrave. You hated the idea, now you just say ‘well enough’. Is she bracket-faced? A giggler? A bluestock—?”

  “For God’s sake, Tregarth. I’ve left her possibly at the mercy of a vicious criminal, and you—”

  “Sorry, old man. Seriously, though—if you’re so worried you must at least like her?”

  “Yes, I do.” More than like. “That matter I wrote…” He broke off and rubbed his forehead. What day was it today? Wednesday. It was only two days since he’d posted the letter to Tregarth about being a guardian. It probably hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Tregarth, how do you feel about being made guardian of any children I might have?”

  “You don’t need… Are you serious?”

  “I am.” He explained Connie’s—and his—worries.

  Tregarth nodded when Will’s explanation came to an end. “Of course I will do it, if you wish it. Do I need to sign anything?”

  “I don’t know,” Will admitted. “I’ll get my man in Exeter to sort out the documents.”

  “Just don’t get yourself killed before then.” Tregarth laughed, and picked up his cards, sorting them out in his hand. “Your exchange.”

  Will closed his eyes. The guardianship didn’t matter yet, nor his will—he didn’t have anything of his own to leave her.

  “Harry—if anything does happen to me, you’ll make sure she’s all right? Her father’s as bad as mine. Either of them would use her for their own ends.”

  Tregarth laid his cards down. “You don’t think anything is going to happen, do you?”

  “No, not if I can help it. But I want to know she’ll be safe, have someone to look after her interests.”

  “You have my word,” Tregarth said.

  Will let out a breath of relief. He knew he could rely on his friend, but it was good to have it confirmed all the same. “Thank you.” He picked up his cards.

  “That’s three guineas you owe me,” Tregarth said an hour later, sweeping the cards together and shuffling them again. “I can see why you decided not to top up your funds by gambling.”

  “I’m distracted.” Will’s usual ability to concentrate on the odds seemed to have deserted him; visions of Mrs Strickland’s battered face, and young Danny Trasker’s bruises, kept intruding. Deciding to leave Connie behind could be the most reckless thing he’d done, but it was too late to change that. “Besides, I’ve no stake money, and if I had there are better things to spend it on.”

  “Good grief, Will, marriage has changed you.”

  “Are we going to play or not?” Will did not want to start this discussion again, even though he knew his friend was only baiting him.

  “Not,” Tregarth said, glancing at his watch. “I said I’d meet Jolyon at his club. I’ll see you later.”

  Left to his own devices once Tregarth had gone, Will browsed the books in Sir John’s library, but nothing appealed. His comment about lack of money brought to mind his musings during the ride here about taking over the smuggling. If he did so, he could also make sure that no further treasonous transport of spies went on.

  He found paper and pen, and sat down at Sir John’s desk. The income would be useful, very useful, but taking over wouldn’t be a simple matter. He made a list of the problems: Connie, the villagers, learning the business.

  He added Marstone as an afterthought—his father would sell Ashton Tracey if it ever came out that Will had involved himself in smuggling. But he’d need to keep his involvement as secret as possible anyway; any scandal would affect Connie and their children.

  Connie—she wouldn’t like the idea, but he might be able to persuade her it was the only way of stopping someone else with Sandow’s methods from taking over.

  He leaned back in the chair. Getting the villagers to agree would have to be a matter of persuasion, too, and also tied in with learning the business. It was only Sandow and his lieutenants he needed to get rid of; there must be others who knew enough to carry on the trade.

  Rubbing his face, he gave up and folded the paper into a pocket. He needed to give the matter more thought, but not when he was this tired.

  What was Connie doing? Was she having problems with the injured men in the house?

  Worrying would get him nowhere. He rang the bell and asked Jenkins to find him something to eat. He needed to keep his strength up for the journey home.

  By mid-afternoon, with no word from Talbot or Sir John, Will had reached the stage of pacing up and down in the library. Another half hour, he told himself, glancing yet again at the clock on the mantelpiece. If they hadn’t returned by then to tell him what he should do, he’d set off for home.

  He paused at the sound of voices in the hall.

  Sir John entered. “Were you about to leave?” he asked, eyeing the saddle bags that Will had left ready on a chair.

  “Soon, if I’d had no word. I’ve left my wife in a dangerous situation, and I’m not going to kick my heels here much longer.”

  “Wait another couple of hours, Wingrave. I’m told your instructions will be here by seven.”

  Another couple of hours? “I could be well on my way by then, damn it.”

  “Riding?”

  Will nodded, reluctant to admit he didn’t have enough ready money for a post-chaise. He couldn’t ask…

  Yes, he could. It was Connie’s safety he was concerned about.

  “I’ve only enough ready cash to hire horses,” he confessed. “Could I trouble you, if Tregarth doesn’t return, to lend me enough—?”

  “You can have a post-chaise and four, if you wait for Talbot to send word,” Sir John countered. “Calm down, Wingrave. By the time I’ve got you the money, and you’ve managed to find a carriage to hire at short notice—not easy, I can tell you—Talbot’s vehicle will be here.”

  Will took a deep breath; he hadn’t thought about
that. “Very well.”

  “Good.” Sir John took some papers from a cabinet by the window. “I only returned to get these, but I’ll be back with your instructions.” He gazed at Will, eyes intent. “You will wait, won’t you?”

  “I give you my word, sir.” He’d rather be doing something, but Sir John’s suggestion made sense. And it would have been a wasted journey if he left before Talbot had decided what to do.

  Sir John returned not long after six, bringing with him a set of folded papers.

  “You are to replace the blank papers with these,” he said, handing the packet to Will. “Send the man on his way as soon as you are satisfied he will survive the journey.”

  “Aren’t you going to send someone to arrest him? And Sandow, the leader of—”

  “It appears not,” Sir John said, still holding out the papers. “You will have to deal with the local criminals yourself.”

  Will glared at Sir John, who merely lifted an eyebrow. Then he sighed—he’d spent years feeling bitter at his father for not allowing him any responsibilities; he should not now be annoyed at being given this obligation.

  He took the papers and, after receiving a nod from Sir John, opened them out. They looked the same as before, as far as he could tell. Small handwriting, lists of numbers and names.

  “Why are you sending—?”

  “You don’t need to know, Wingrave,” Sir John replied.

  Will’s brows drew together. “I’m to trust that these are not giving away vital information, am I?”

  “Yes. If it’s any consolation, I have no idea whether or not those are the same papers. I trust Talbot to be acting as a patriot.”

  Will took a deep breath. He’d trusted Sir John by confiding in him; he had to trust his judgement about Talbot.

  “The post-chaise is waiting,” Sir John added.

  Chapter 35

  Thursday 10th July

  Connie continued to prepare valerian tea for the spy every few hours, adding sufficient laudanum to keep him drowsy. She needed to keep Warren from realising that the man was more than a mere smuggler, but also ensure that the spy remained unaware of who she was. He must not realise that anyone knew about the packet he was carrying.

  She longed to talk to Will about it.

  No, what she really wanted was to feel the comforting pressure of his arms around her shoulders, and the relief of sharing the responsibility. But he was not here, and she was capable of managing alone.

  Between visits to the spy, she tried to concentrate on her sewing.

  How long would he be away? At least three days, he’d said, so she couldn’t expect him back until tonight, at the earliest. It could well be longer, if he’d had trouble changing horses.

  Finally she flung the fabric down. Exercise. She hadn’t had any exercise for the last couple of days. She could at least walk around the house, even if Archer wasn’t available to escort her further. Or she could go to the stables and find out if there was a lady’s saddle in case she wanted to learn to ride once this business was over. Surely the stables were close enough to the house to be safe.

  Anything but sitting here waiting.

  Connie greeted the mare Will used for the chaise, rubbing her nose.

  “She’s called Dolly, my lady.” Archer spoke from behind her. “I wanted to speak to you, but I didn’t want Warren sticking his long nose in.”

  “Is something wrong, Archer?”

  Archer glanced behind him. Stubbs was doing something with a harness on the other side of the stable yard, well out of earshot.

  “It’s Danny Trasker, my lady. He’s here.”

  “Here?” Connie cleared her throat. “I mean, how did he get here?”

  “Walked from Honiton. I caught him hiding in the woods, said he was keeping watch in case Sandow came. You helped his ma, he wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.”

  “But he’s only twelve, what…?”

  Well, even twenty-five-year-old husbands didn’t always think things through first, but that was better not said.

  “Got to admire his courage, if not his sense,” Archer said.

  Yes, indeed. “Sandow mustn’t find out he’s here. He’ll get the family’s whereabouts from him.”

  Archer shook his head. “No, my lady. He said someone’s been asking about the family in Honiton, and Mr Nancarrow moved them on.”

  Good, Nancarrow was doing his best for them.

  “Danny doesn’t know where they were going,” Archer added.

  “Sandow might still try.” She didn’t like to imagine what he might do to the lad—Danny had already flouted him once. “Danny himself will be in danger. Can’t you persuade him to go back?”

  “I did try, my lady. He could be useful, though. Seems happy enough staying in the woods. I give him a tarpaulin against the rain, and some food. He’ll keep an eye out for anyone coming to the house round the back.”

  “Thank you, Archer.” The more allies they had the better, even if the latest was only a boy.

  She asked about a side saddle, and waited while Stubbs and Archer hunted in the tack room and eventually unearthed one. That passed half an hour. She’d visit the spy again and then try to read for a while.

  Friday 11th July

  Will dismounted in the stable yard with relief. Home at last, even if it was the early hours of the morning and everyone had gone to bed hours ago. He’d left the post-chaise at the inn where Mercury had been stabled for the last few days, as he had to get his mount back to Ashton Tracey in any case. Sir John had been right to make him wait—the journey had been a couple of hours faster. He’d managed to doze a little on the way, but he still felt deathly tired.

  Archer appeared as Will led Mercury into a stall, fully dressed and apparently wide awake.

  “Keeping watch, Archer? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, my lord.” He lowered his voice. “Soldier’s gone, spy’s still there, sleeping. My lady seems worried, but is safe.”

  “Good man.”

  “I’ll see to Mercury, my lord.”

  Will thanked him, picked up his saddle bags and headed for the back of the house. He knocked on the kitchen door, pleased to find it was locked. It was several minutes before he got a response.

  “Who’s there?” It sounded like Mrs Curnow.

  “Wingrave.”

  Bolts grated, and the door swung open. Will slipped in, bolting the door behind him.

  “Welcome back, my lord. Was you wanting anything to eat?” Mrs Curnow was swathed in a voluminous robe.

  “Some ale, if you please, then you may retire again.”

  Best not to surprise anyone sitting with the spy. He lit a candle, picked up the mug of ale, and went through the servants’ door into the hall, sensing rather than seeing a flash of movement on the stairs.

  Connie?

  All he could make out in the gloom was the pale shape of her robe, waiting on the landing. His pulse accelerated as he drew closer, taking in the hair tumbling down her back, her night clothes, and her welcoming smile.

  Don’t read too much into it.

  “Sorry to wake you,” he said, resisting the impulse to drop the candle and the ale and pull her into his arms.

  “I was already awake. I’m glad you’re back safely, Will.”

  He sucked in a breath as her hand came up to touch his cheek, feeling bereft when she withdrew it again.

  “What are we to do?” she asked.

  “Give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll tell you.”

  She nodded, and headed for her room. His eyes followed the sway of her hips until she closed her door, then he shook his head abruptly.

  She only wants to know what’s happened.

  He took a pull of the ale before removing his coat, neckcloth, and boots, and splashed some water on his face. Rubbing a hand across his jaw he felt more than a day’s worth of stubble, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He would make himself more presentable in the morning.

>   The connecting door was already open, revealing Connie sitting on her window seat, her legs tucked up under her robe. A lamp gave the room a warm glow.

  Will pulled a chair over and sank into it. He should be tired, but the sight of his wife in her night clothes was taking his mind off his weariness.

  “How is our spy?” he asked.

  He listened carefully while Connie related the happenings of the last few days.

  “You did well.” Very well. He’d known she would cope—his worries while he’d been away had been about the threat from someone outside, not her ability to cope with the wounded men and the servants.

  “Thank you,” Connie said. Looking back now, it didn’t seem that she had done much, but his appreciation warmed her. He had done well too—riding all that way in such a short time. He must be exhausted.

  “I told my story,” he said. “They gave me these for the spy to take.” He held out some folded papers.

  She opened them out and tilted them towards the lamp light. “Are they the same?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me.” He grimaced as he spoke.

  “I suppose we don’t need to know.” She turned her attention back to the papers. “It will take me a couple of hours to replace these,” she said, thinking as she spoke. “I’ll have to take the packet away, and return it. I’ll need to leave some time between, in case Warren gets suspicious.”

  “Will you stop the laudanum? We need to get rid of him as soon as we can.”

  “When I’ve put these back, I think,” she replied. “Must we leave it to Warren to tell the smugglers he’s ready to be moved?”

  “I’ll think about that in the morning.” Sitting up in the chair, he rolled his shoulders.

  Connie stood, crossing to the chest and placing the folded papers between the pages of one of her books. She felt his gaze following her; even in this dim light it sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

  She leaned on the chest for a moment, taking in his long legs stretched out in front of him, his broad shoulders, and the shadow in the open neck of his shirt, but also the lines of fatigue on his face. She’d been tired herself, before he returned, but the pleasure of seeing him, the anticipation of what could happen between them, had dispelled that.