“’Tis a scandal, that’s what it is. A criminal scandal. They ought to be locked up for such impudence, the lot of ’em.”
“Then nearly every man in Romney Marsh—indeed, on the south coast—would be locked up. Chalford says they are all in league with the smugglers.”
A frown flitted across Nancy’s brow. “That Amos, the second footman—you know the one, Miss Adrie. Well, he give me a red silk ribbon yester mornin’. You don’t suppose …”
Adriana blinked at her. “Amos? Goodness, I shouldn’t think so.” Then she paused to consider the matter. “On the other hand, I don’t see why not. He did seem tired at breakfast, and I daresay that if they went after the cargo yesterday, they would have needed help unloading it and taking it wherever they take such stuff. And they’d have done all that in the dead of night.”
The more she thought about it, the more she began to believe that Amos and possibly Jacob, the youngest footman, might well be in league with the local smugglers. She said nothing about the notion over dinner, however, nor did she mention it to Chalford later that night. Believing that he tolerated the Gentlemen, but uncertain as to the exact extent of his displeasure over their use of his boat—and wanting, moreover, to learn a great deal more about the free traders herself—she preferred to feel her way carefully.
8
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, WHEN Lady Henrietta requested her company while she made her rounds to oversee the preparations for the French invasion, Adriana agreed with more alacrity than she might otherwise have felt, hoping that she might thus find an opportunity to discover more about the smugglers. Donning her traveling dress in preparation for the expedition, she wondered if she might more sensibly wear it on future yacht outings.
“I don’t think so, Miss Adrie,” said Nancy when the suggestion was made to her. “’Tis wool, sure enough, and warm, but the train’d be a nuisance, and when it gets damp, as it would out on the water all day, you’d begin smellin’ like a wet sheep. You’ll be wantin’ one of a good, heavy silk material instead, tight enough wove that the damp’ll just bead up and roll away.”
Lady Henrietta agreed when the subject was broached to her a half-hour later in her carriage. “Joshua’s mama had such a gown, I believe,” she said. “She was forever going out upon the sea. There was a hat of some sort, too, to protect her complexion from the sun. It had a veil that tied down ’round her neck somehow. I might look and see if I can find the hat. The gown would do you no good, of course. ’Tis years and years out of date and much too small. She was a dainty thing, was Eugenia, though to look at Joshua, you’d never think it.”
“What happened to her?” Adriana asked. “When I saw her portrait in the long gallery, I asked Joshua about her, but he turned the subject rather deftly and somehow I never quite liked to ask again. I hope it was nothing horrid.”
“Death is always horrid,” said Lady Hetta with a sad smile, “but it was rather a common ailment when all is said and done. I’m afraid she died in childbirth. Joshua was”—she did rapid calculations on her fingers—“ten years old, I believe. He was away at school, of course, at Harrow. Lord, how that child did hate to go away from Thunderhill, even then. Right miserable he was. But it was worse after Eugenia and her poor stillborn babe were laid to rest. Chalford—his papa, that is—was forced to take extreme measures before Joshua could be persuaded to go back to school.” Lady Henrietta paused, reflecting on the past.
“Extreme measures, ma’am?” Adriana prompted.
“He thrashed him,” Lady Henrietta said simply.
“How dreadful!” Adriana exclaimed, remembering her feelings when her own mother had died. There had been such a confusion of fury and grief within her that she had been all but unmanageable. She remembered hating Alston and her father for not having died in her mother’s stead. Though she had been older than ten years—past twelve, in fact—when she suffered her loss, Joshua, she thought, must have experienced those same feelings.
“That was a dreadful day,” said Lady Henrietta, interrupting her reverie, “but in all fairness, I doubt any other method would have answered, and Joshua had been impertinent, a thing Chalford would not tolerate from any of his children. When he died some two years later, there was no one to force Joshua to behave when he came home, for of course he was at school then, too, although most fortunately it was shortly before the long vacation that Chalford died. I doubt anyone could have got Joshua back to Harrow after his papa was laid to rest. I couldn’t cope with him at all, nor could dear Lydia, for she was no more than sixteen then herself. So Corbett and Adelaide came as soon as they could to help look after things. But Corbett was a gentle, meek man, not at all the sort to influence a silent, willful, unhappy boy.”
“So it was Lady Adelaide who took control?” suggested Adriana, wondering how that august dame had ever become wed to a man as such her sister described.
Lady Henrietta smiled. “She tried, I suppose, and with regard to the running of the castle, Joshua made no attempt to oppose her at first. Nor did anyone else. But she made little headway when it came to ordering Joshua himself. He withdrew into himself to a truly frightening degree after his father’s death, and when Adelaide spoke to him, he would agree with whatever she said and then go his own way. There was nothing she could do about it, because of course he was Marquess of Chalford by then, and no one knew his worth so well as Adelaide. She believed his silence was a sign of maturity, and she applauded what she called his calm demeanor and gentlemanly self-control.”
Adriana winced at the vision these casual words brought to her mind, and she fairly quaked within at another, possibly more pertinent, reflection: Lady Adelaide’s opinion, if she ever chanced to learn that Joshua’s wife had attempted to batter him to a pulp with her fists out of exasperation with that same calm demeanor and control, simply didn’t bear thinking of.
Not wishing to discuss that issue any further, she focused her attention on another point. “Surely he did not leave school altogether at the age of twelve, ma’am.”
“No, of course not. Most fortunately, despite his youth, he took quite seriously his obligations to his brother and sister, and he knew he could not force Ned to go to school if he did not go himself. He went on from Harrow to Cambridge, and when he was done, he swore he’d never live anywhere but Thunderhill again.” She looked apologetically at Adriana. “Adelaide says I chatter like a magpie. I hope you don’t mind my talking like this.”
“Of course I don’t. Have you lived here all your life?”
“Yes indeed, though I did travel north the year before Eugenia died to visit Adelaide in Yorkshire—that’s where Lord Corbett’s home was. Such an exciting journey, and I did so much enjoy walking on the moors each morning. Adelaide didn’t fancy the weather there, though, so I cannot be surprised that she never went back after Corbett passed on in the influenza epidemic the year after Aubrey died. Corbett had left his steward to look after things in Yorkshire, and some cousin or other inherited the estates—for they had neither chick nor child—so Adelaide never returned. She devoted herself to raising Joshua, Ned, and dearest Lydia instead. Lydia married two years later, and then Ned found his Molly the year of that ridiculous peace treaty, and now dearest Joshua has found you.” She patted Adriana’s knee. “You cannot know how delighted I am that he has fallen in love at last, my dear. He will be so much happier now, will he not?”
“I hope so, ma’am,” Adriana said.
“Not that he has been unhappy, precisely,” Lady Hetta added quickly, “but it cannot be good for him to have only the castle to occupy his thoughts. He needs a family of his own, and so I told him, but I know he only went to London out of a wish to do his duty. He did not realize the result would be so pleasant.”
Fortunately, since Adriana had no idea of how to respond to this, her companion looked away out of the window, seeming not to expect response. How was it, she wondered, that persons like Lady Hetta and Norfolk, who ought to know Chalford, could be so certain that he loved her when sh
e had not the slightest notion herself whether he did or not? For her part, there was just as much evidence to argue that he had merely acquired in her the mistress his precious castle had lacked.
There were moments, certainly, when she thought he felt strong affection for her, moments when she glimpsed a particular warmth in his eyes or when his attitude toward her was notably sensual or protective. But there were other moments when, having thought she understood his motive for something, she discovered it to be something else entirely, like when she first learned that it had been his idea to procure a special license. Even the jealousy she had detected after he had learned of Braverstoke’s invitation to sail with him might be explained easily by the fact that he felt possessive of Thunderhill’s mistress. Certainly, he had never said anything to indicate that he loved her.
These unprofitable reflections came to an end when Lady Henrietta sat up straight and exclaimed, “Goodness, here we are, my dear! How quickly a journey passes in congenial company.”
When the carriage came to a halt in the churchyard in the village of Saltwood and the young footman jumped down from his perch to assist them to alight, Adriana looked about her with interest. It was a small village, little more than the church standing lonely in a field with the high walls of a castle some distance behind it, and a small green surrounded by weatherboarded cottages nearby. Beyond and below them to the east, between their present position and the deep-blue waters of the Channel, she could see the rooftops of Hythe.
Lady Henrietta said, “’Tis a quaint village, is it not? Saltwood Castle is its only real reason to exist nowadays. But come, we are to meet with the ladies’ committee in the rectory.”
Adriana soon discovered that Lady Henrietta’s helpers were a varied lot. The committee in Saltwood numbered four women. The one at Shepway Cross had but two. And at Burmarsh when they crossed the stream by way of the ancient railed footbridge and entered the church hall, they found but one solitary, plump little lady to greet them.
“Goodness, where are the others, Mrs. Latchmore?” asked Lady Henrietta with a frown.
“Everyone’s busy, ma’am, but I’ve brung the list from Mary Flack.” She held out a crumpled bundle of notes. “That’s the lot. We all did our bit.”
Moments later, as they recrossed the footbridge, Lady Henrietta said with a sigh, “Adelaide is perfectly right, you know. Volunteers simply must be used up quickly or they cannot be counted upon. There were many more when we began our task, but now everyone is always busy, and we simply must know what goods and foodstuffs there are in order to know what must be done when word comes that the French are on their way.”
Adriana gestured toward the notes Lady Henrietta still held in her hand. “It looks as though they have done the job, ma’am.”
Her companion shook her head, stuffing the notes into the large reticule she carried. “These will prove to be well nigh illegible, my dear. That is why I prefer to meet with the people who make the lists. Many of them are nearly illiterate, but they are the best their villages have to offer.”
Despite the brief time they had been inside the church, Adriana noted as they approached the carriage that both the coachman and the young footman had slumped in their respective places and were dozing in the warm sun. With a twinkling look she directed her companion’s attention toward the two.
Lady Henrietta clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Really, I cannot think what comes over them.”
“Might there have been a run last night, ma’am?”
Lady Henrietta raised her brows. “Last night? I suppose so, but what would that have to say to the purpose?”
“Well, Joshua said nearly every able-bodied man in Kent is involved in some degree with the smugglers, so I wondered.”
Lady Henrietta nodded. “It would explain their impertinence in falling asleep just when they are wanted. Here, Wittersham, wake up!” she cried, jabbing the coachman with the handle of her reticule.
“What are you about, man? And you, Jacob, wake up.”
Both men started, then straightened themselves, offering rapid apologies. Jacob, who had been sitting on his step, jumped up, tugging his tunic into place over his long, skinny torso before hastening to help them into the carriage.
They drove on to Dymchurch, the unspoiled little coastal town crouched behind a massive sea barrier built by the Romans and known as Dymchurch Wall. As they passed along the curving main street, Adriana found herself thinking not of Romans or of Lady Henrietta’s volunteers but of free traders, wondering how she might discover more information about them.
“Down there by the wall,” said Lady Henrietta, “you can see the martello tower they are building to protect the sluice gates. Of course, they ought to have begun work two years ago, only that milksop, Prime Minister Addington, refused to spend any money whatsoever for defense.”
“Well, after all, ma’am, he thought he would be able to arrange a lasting peace with the French.”
“And so he disbanded our military and stopped all the funds meant to build defenses along this coast,” said Lady Henrietta tartly. “I’d no patience with the man. Thank heaven Mr. Pitt is back in power, and none too soon.”
“Why is this tower so important?” Adriana asked. She could see that the structure, a round stone form, narrower at the top than at the bottom, already rose some twenty feet above the shore. “And what are the sluice gates, precisely?”
“Why, they control the water level of Romney Marsh, my dear. The whole marsh is below high-tide level. Dymchurch itself is more than seven feet below. Without those gates, the whole thing would be awash in no time. Indeed, that is one of our defense plans, to flood everything if necessary.”
“That seems a trifle hard on the inhabitants.”
“Sacrifice is often necessary for the greater good, my dear,” replied Lady Henrietta calmly.
There was nothing to say to that, and they had arrived at the church, opposite the town hall in a side street. Alighting from the carriage, Adriana followed Lady Henrietta into the dimly lit hall, where a group of five ladies awaited them. Lady Hetta introduced her and was quickly submerged in details of their inventory. Having sat through enough of that sort of thing for one day, Adriana soon made her excuses and went back outside.
Wittersham was pacing up and down near the hedge separating churchyard from roadway, but Jacob lolled against the rear of the carriage again, eyes shut, arms folded across his chest, in much the same position he had taken in Burmarsh. Adriana, shaking her head at Wittersham when he moved to approach her, went straight toward the rear of the carriage, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Oh, Jacob,” she crooned softly. “Jacob, do wake up.” When he blinked, then straightened so quickly that he nearly lost his balance, her grin broadened. “I daresay you must be very tired, Jacob. Whatever did you do last night when you ought to have been sleeping the sleep of the innocent?”
He glanced in Wittersham’s direction, then back at Adriana. “I dunno what ye mean, m’lady.”
“Yes, you do, Jacob, and you needn’t fear that I am angry with you, for I am not. Not at all. I think it must be dreadfully exciting to be a landsman for the free traders. If ladies could do such things, I should join you in a twink.”
The lad looked horrified. “Ye mustn’t think such things. Indeed, it ain’t fittin’ fer such a fine lady.” Then, realizing that he had pretty well condemned himself out of his own mouth, he glanced fearfully in Wittersham’s direction again. “We oughtn’t to speak of such, m’lady.”
“What? Will Wittersham squeak beef on you? You see, I know some slang, Jacob. I am not at all nice in my ways, sometimes, and I have a burning wish to know more about smuggling. Pray do not tell me you have naught to do with such, stuff. Why, you must be very brave, and very clever, too, to evade the riding officer so easily as I’m told you do. It all sounds most exciting.”
He blinked. Clearly he had never thought of himself as particularly brave before. Squaring his shoulders and drawi
ng himself to his full six-foot height, he looked down at her with pride. “It ain’t so hard bein’ shut o’ Mr. Petticrow, m’lady, that it ain’t. More like a game it be, us’n agin him. When he’s south, we be north, and turn about. Some o’ the lads keep watch, o’ course, but we knows the route he means to take long afore he’s in ’is saddle.”
“His lordship said poor Mr. Petticrow has to watch five whole miles of coastline,” Adriana said. “It hardly seems fair.”
Jacob’s look was one of amused tolerance now. “Mr. Petticrow be a nice gentleman, m’lady, and none wishes ’im ill, so it be as well that he have a good, long route and can be kept well out o’ harm’s way, partikler since ’e won’t take gelt fer to turn ’is eyes ter the wall—money, that is, ter look the other way,” he added when she looked bewildered. “There’s some as ain’t so tolerant o’ their riding officers as we be.”
“It seems odd to me that he never caught wind of the daylight run the other day,” Adriana said innocently.
Jacob stared at her. “What be ye knowin’ about that, m’lady?” Then, before she could speak, his brow cleared and he said, “Oh, aye, the lads said ye was aboard Sea Dragon when the master discovered she’d been out. That were a near thing fer Mr. Curry, that were.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, m’lady, in the general way o’ things, the master do look t’other way. But though he don’t look ter cross the Gentlemen, he didn’t like ’em usin’ ’is boat, ’n’ that’s a fact.”
“Why, he didn’t seem very angry,” Adriana said, “only a little displeased. I was there, Jacob, and I can tell you he didn’t so much as raise his voice to Captain Curry.”
The footman grimaced. “He don’t never raise his voice, m’lady, but that don’t mean poor Mr. Curry weren’t shakin’ in ’is boots when he realized ’is lordship ’ad discovered he’d been a-helpin’ of the Gentlemen, ’n’ all. When the master’s angry, his voice can freeze the marrow in a man’s bones, and that’s a fact. So if it be all the same to you, ma’am, I’d as lief ye don’t go a-tellin’ ’im ye think I be part o’ the business. I’m right sorry I nodded off t’day, but ’tis all a man can do to stay awake when he’s just a-settin’ about in the sun, even if he hasn’t been up all hours the night before. I’d not like the master to think I’d been out ’n’ about and then shirkin’ m’ duty.”
Amanda Scott Page 12
