by Joan Smith
“Aye, we’ll tend to that first,” Glover said. “I’ll het up more water while you have your tea, melord. T’other lad won’t mind waiting.”
Ravencroft took the tray and Amy led him to the dining room, which was empty of furniture. “There’s an old tumbledown sofa and table in the drawing room,” she said, leading him forward.
There was no fire in the grate, and the heat from the kitchen did not penetrate this far. The walls were discolored and the floors dirty. The windows were intact, however, and still covered with the fading grandeur of scarlet hangings, to lend privacy.
Amy tossed her hat aside and shook out her hair before pouring the tea into the rough cups borrowed from the kitchen at home. Though there was no milk, George had added a bowl of sugar and two tin spoons to the tray. The hot liquid was welcome.
“I’m sorry the place is so – rustic,” she said.
“This can’t be the Dower House,” Ravencroft said, looking around the small room.
“No, it’s just a little cottage grandpapa had built for his spinster sister in the old days. Lady Emily could not get along with his wife, but Ashworth wanted to keep her close by.”
“I am surprised you aren’t singing ‘I told you so,’ ” he said, with a quizzing glance. “I belittled your notion of setting this place up, but it is proving useful.”
“I was thinking of something else,” she said, frowning into her tea cup.
“That I owe you an apology, perhaps?”
“No, actually I was wondering what happened to Felix.” She looked a question at him. “He left the Hall in high feather to meet you hours ago, imagining himself the saviour of England. what has happened to him?”
A flush suffused his saturnine countenance. “That is something else I want to apologize for, Amy. “
Her expression of surprise was for the use of her first name. Ravencroft didn’t notice he had used it. “When I saw your father, and realized he was in no condition to send those messages Fitz has been receiving, I assumed they must have been sent by Felix. I had not thought of him as a likely source before,” he said, in typical English understatement. “But then it occurred to me that he might be acting in a way to conceal his intelligence.”
Amy could no longer suppress a snort of laughter.
“Yes, well,” Ravencroft continued with a sheepish look, “I really didn’t know him at all, except to say ‘Good day’ to. But then when I mentioned the name Bransom, and he began prating of old Lord Branksome, who has had one foot in the grave this decade, I began to doubt.”
“What finally convinced you he lacks the nous to be the Cougar’s successor?”
“His general demeanor, and the fact that he took a snit when I assured him he need not play the fool with me. He excused himself at nine o’clock and told me had an important social obligation. I followed him, still half believing he was trying to keep me in the dark about some clever doings. He went to the Rose and Thistle, where it seems he had an assignment of a purely social nature with a – er person.” After a conscious look and an awkward pause, he added, “A game of cards, I expect.”
Amy was tired of all this pretense. “No, it would more likely be an amorous rendezvous with Blanche Baker,” she said. “She is the prettiest of the girls who frequent the back rooms at the Rose and Thistle.” His head jerked up and she added daringly, “But no doubt you know that, as you were there yourself when you first arrived at Easton.”
“She was pointed out to me,” he admitted. Amy sniffed. To aggravate her, he added with a considering look, “Actually, I preferred the little redhead. Sally, they called her.”
Amy leveled at him a glance that would curdle cream. “There is no accounting for taste. So now you are convinced Felix is not working for the Cougar. I trust you didn’t reveal too much to him?”
“We had hardly got beyond generalities. I believe I used the phrase, ‘this assault on the very foundations of the nation,’ meaning our currency. He appears to have taken the notion some anonymous Frenchmen are planning to assassinate old Farmer George and his lady, Queen Charlotte.” They exchanged a disbelieving shake of the head at his idiocy.
“But he had marked a map with places where Bransom might be buried,” she said. “At least that is what I thought he was doing.”
“Oh he did grasp the notion that Branksome was murdered, and suggested half a dozen likely hiding places for a corpse. In any case, he thinks it all has to do with the planned royal assassination. It was at that point that he decided we – meaning I – must report the matter to Cabinet. Having done his bit for England, he went off to the hero’s reward – wine, woman and song.”
“It is just as well,” Amy said. “God only knows what he would have made of poor Bransom’s body, buried in the coal pile. So that is that. The mystery of Felix’s whereabouts is explained.”
Ravencroft studied her a long moment, his eyes lingering on her tousled curls, that glinted in the lamplight. She was powdered in coal dust, that lent an air of diablerie to her formerly prissy face. Her ragamuffin outfit concealed her body, but lent her a certain gamin charm.
“That leaves only the larger mystery,” he said, lifting an eyebrow in question. He watched with interest while the significance of his statement sank in. It didn’t take her two seconds to understand him, and another one to pretend she didn’t.
She said, in a voice as close to nonchalant as she could make it, “You are referring, of course, to who killed poor Mr. Bransom.”
“No, my feline friend, I am referring to the person who has been in correspondence with Sir George, sending him information regarding the doings here at Easton. The letters came from Bratty Hall, the replies were directed there, which is why I hit on Felix. The only other possible person is your saucy self, Miss Bratty.”
His intent, penetrating stare never left her face as he spoke. Amy knew he knew. She would just have to admit it and brazen it out in an effort to continue playing her role.
“Congratulations, milord,” she said. “You have finally figured it out, after I actually told you this very morning that I am acting as the Cougar for the nonce.”
“You told me?” He paused a moment, frowning, then said, “I beg to differ, Miss Bratty.”
“I told you. You asked in so many words who the Cougar was. I said, ‘I am.’ I told you, you just refused to hear. You could not get your insular mind around the notion that a woman could do equally well what you men do.”
Amy waited for the expected outburst, the announcement that she must desist her work, at once. He sat, worrying his lower lip. After a moment, she continued, “Well, now that it is out in the open, our job will be a little easier. The next item is to discover who Alphonse is working with here in England.”
He put up a hand as if to ward off a blow. “Not so fast, Miss Bratty. I appreciate your help, and I know Sir George will also want to thank you. You have done your duty, told us what you know. I shall handle the matter from this point.”
Her disappointment was the greater for being delayed. But she would not beg. That would put her in an inferior position. She would quite simply tell him she was not retiring. “I am happy to be able to assist Sir George, and shall continue to do so, to the best of my ability. Now, about Alphonse’s English connection–”
“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand, Miss Bratty.”
Desperation lent a hard edge to her words and anger lit her eyes. “I understand perfectly well, sir. My mind, I hope, is not deficient. You were willing to work with that ass of a Felix, who wouldn’t know a clue from a clock, because he is a man. But you will not work with me.”
His lean face colored in frustration. “Yes, but – you’re a lady! “
“And one does not argue with a lady,” she said, staring hard at him. He just shook his head. “I do have the misfortune to be a lady. What of it? Do I need whiskers, or any other uniquely male accoutrement to do what I have been doing these past weeks? I feel like a female Shylock. Has not a lady eyes? H
as not a lady hands, senses, brains?”
“I presume you have a brain, ma’am, and I beg you will use it. You must know your reputation would be ruined if it were known you were rousting about the countryside with grooms and footmen, dressed as one of them. A lady’s reputation is her most precious possession.”
“Yes, a fine trick you gentlemen have played on us!” she scoffed. “Our ability to do nothing but sit in a corner stitching and simpering is a pearl beyond price. What any man worth his salt would want with such a dolly is beyond my comprehension.
“I have done worse things than roust about with grooms and footmen, milord, but I shan’t sully your ears by telling you the details. What I can tell you is that I enjoyed those unladylike activities more than sewing. If my reputation is ruined because I want to help England, so be it.” Having finished her rant, she added more quietly, “Not that anyone need know.”
“You put me in an untenable position, ma’am,” he replied, trying for a reasonable tone. “Your papa doesn’t know what you are doing. Sir George doesn’t know. I am convinced neither would approve. Only I know, and permitting such folly would suggest tacit approval. If your own common sense doesn’t convince you, then I must apply to the head of your house to restrain you.”
“And would that be Lord Ashworth, or the clever one of the family, Cousin Felix?” she asked with a sneer.
His scowl was as good as an admission of defeat. “I expect that is half the problem. There has been no one to restrain you.”
“Restrain me? You make me sound like a raving lunatic.”
“You’re acting like one,” he charged.
Her chin rose, and her eyes flashed. From the mouth of the creature who looked like a street urchin came accents of withering contempt. “I do not request or require your approval, tacit or spoken, milord. Nor do I care for the good opinion of anyone foolish enough to despise me for doing my duty as an Englishwoman. It is my lunacy that alerted Sir George to what is afoot here on the coast. It was my lunacy that discovered Bransom was murdered, and it will be my lunacy that finds his murderer. I doubt very much you will succeed without my help. What is required is familiarity with the local people and their ways.”
He studied her a moment through narrowed eyes. “You have not made clear just how you did learn of Bransom’s murder, Miss Bratty.”
“No, I haven’t. I wouldn’t want to shock you. I shan’t burden your conscience or your reputation by informing you fully how I discovered it.”
“No need,” he said with a dismissive wave of his shapely fingers. “I know Bransom was working with the Gentlemen. Your George is obviously one of them. He told you. I expect you have instructed him not to assist me without your approval. I have already made my own connection in that quarter. Cocker seems an agreeable fellow. Why work with inferiors when you can work with the chief?”
Amy read a sly reference to herself in that ‘inferiors.’ As he was being intransigent, she was not of a mind to enlighten him as to her own involvement with the Gentlemen.
“That is your affair,” she said.
“I suggest you go home, Miss Bratty. I trust that not even your love of adventure stretches to bathing a naked male corpse. I shall send a telegraph to Sir George this very night. By tomorrow he will send his instructions. Meanwhile, Glover and Spinks can take turns here.”
“Disposing of Bransom’s corpse, while necessary, is not the matter of paramount importance, milord,” she said coldly. “Finding the man who is disseminating the forged banknotes is what you should be concentrating on. But you refuse my help, so I shall say no more. You are quite right that I have no desire to bathe a naked male corpse. I have more important things to do.”
She rose and strode from the room, her grand exit hampered by her too large boots, that dragged along the floor.
Ravencroft watched her go with grave misgivings. In his heart, he agreed with much of what she had said. He even admired her pluck. But he knew, better than she, the consequences of her behaviour if it should become known. He merely scoffed at her warning that he could not solve the case without her help. He had solved more complicated ones. The difficulty would be keeping her out of mischief.
Amy was in a fury as she rode home on the dispirited nag. It was just as she feared. Ravencroft planned to cut her out entirely. She was only a lady, so obviously she was a fool. Well, she would show him. She had a few ideas about who was working with Alphonse, and tomorrow she would begin to investigate them.
As she prepared for bed, she heard again in her mind every word Ravencroft had said, and knew it was only what any gentleman would say. It wasn’t really his fault. She remembered she had not bathed and bandaged his wound, and worried that it would not be done properly. She felt a softening of her fury when she remembered his tenderness when he held her in his arms after she fainted. But that, of course, was just pity. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anything from him. But it had been exciting ...
Chapter Twelve
Lord Ravencroft found Cocker less help than he had hoped and expected. The leader of the Gentleman was a big, burly man with red hair, not noticeably intelligent but with a certain native shrewdness. Ravencroft’s suggestion that he masquerade as one of the Gentlemen was refused.
“The last fellow that tried that near queered my game,” Cocker said. “The Frenchies smelled a rat – and Bransom was better suited for the role than yourself, your lordship.” He stared at Lord Ravencroft’s elegant jacket, his white hands and lean, aristocratic face.
“Naturally I would alter my appearance.”
“No turning a silk purse into a sow’s ear. I couldn’t let you try it. Bransom disappeared after one run. I’ve no proof, but between you and me and the fence post, I think the lads from France got him. He paid too much attention when they was talking the bongjaw between themselves. It’s my belief they set up a trap for the poor innocent. Now a dandy gent like yourself wouldn’t want to play so rough, eh? Stick to your court balls and let us as knows how do the dirty work. Anyhow, there’s nothing but brandy coming ashore in my cargo. If you want a tip, try Joe Kirby’s gang.”
“Where do they bring their cargo in?”
Cocker smiled a sly smile. “There’s honor amongst the Gentlemen, same as if we was thieves.”
“I’m not a Preventiveman,” Ravencroft growled. “You know I’m not after the smugglers. I like my brandy as well as the next fellow.”
“Joe don’t bring in brandy.” Ravencroft’s eyes lit up. This was it. “His line is silk.”
He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Well, where can I find him?”
Cocker held up his right hand and rubbed his thumb against his fingers. Ravencroft reached in his pocket and dropped a golden coin into the outstretched hand.
As Cocker pocketed the coin, a grin split his face. “Same place as you can find me on a dark night. The bay east of Bratty Hall. There’s no argument betwixt me and Joe, seeing as we deal in different merchandise, like.”
Ravencroft glared at being tricked, “Who buys his stuff?”
“I don’t worry my head over that. That’s his business.”
Ravencroft’s nostrils flared with the strain of ingratiating this infuriating man. “My golden boy didn’t buy me much, did it?”
Cocker stood a moment, undecided. Then he said, “Seeing as how it’s for England, I’ll let you in on a little something, but you didn’t hear it from Jack Cocker. Kirby and his boys are doing very well for themselves. Yessir, very well indeed. Joe’s bought up a half interest in a pub, and his right hand man bought ten acres of orchard off the Nevils. Silk don’t bring in that kind of money.” He shook his head in dismay. “Fools, flaunting it like that. It turns law-abiding folks agin us. I put my blunt into Consols.”
“Any idea when they might be bringing in another load?”
“We share the dark nights. I brought in my load night before last. He’ll bring his before the moon waxes much. Maybe tonight.”
; Ravencroft clapped him on the back. “Thanks, Cocker,” he said with a grin. “And by the way, that barrel you sold me was excellent stuff.”
Cocker’s huge chest expanded, threatening the bone buttons on his shirt. “I only deal in the best.”
Ravencroft left, already planning what he must do that night.
At Bratty Hall, Amy was also making plans. She knew that Cocker wasn’t bringing in the paper money. She also knew that Joe Kirby was the other likely suspect, and that he used her papa’s bay. His men came from the far side of Easton, however, and she had no acquaintances amongst them. If she were to discover anything, she would have to hide nearby the next time they were bringing in a load. She couldn’t use the rock that overlooked the bay; Kirby would have his spotsman stationed there. She would have to be far enough away or well enough concealed to avoid detection, yet close enough to watch and overhear. There were other rocks nearby, and one deformed old fir tree.
She didn’t believe the common smugglers knew what was coming in along with their cargo of silk. Joe would keep that dangerous information and the profits for himself. Perhaps he would need one other trusted ally.
She didn’t even know what sort of container was used for the cargo. Not barrels, presumably, but some sort of packing cases. One of them would hold not silk but paper, and it would be carried to Alphonse’s distributor. That case must be marked in some way to distinguish it from the others. If she could discern the mark, she would only have to keep an eye on one case.
She had no idea where the silk was stored, or how it was distributed. She must watch and follow when the cases were hauled away from the coast. It promised to be a long night, for she would have to be there to conceal herself well before the Gentlemen arrived. As George was now in her confidence, she would enlist his help.
It would be not only dangerous, but also tedious waiting for the lugger to come in. But it would be worth it all to take her findings and throw them in Lord Ravencroft’s arrogant, sneering face. But first she had to learn when the next load of silk might be arriving. The Gentlemen worked at the dark of the moon, when there was no moon at all, or only a sliver.
