by Carla Kelly
He gave her no argument, grabbing up a handful and returning to his stool, where he munched and swallowed, his eyes closed with satisfaction.
With another theatrical sigh, Mrs Wilson put the remaining biscuits in the day-old bin and returned to the back room, but not before giving Grace a slow wink.
Intrigued, Grace followed her. ‘What are you doing, Mrs Wilson?’ she whispered, her eyes still on the Runner in the other room.
Mrs Wilson spoke softly. ‘Remember my black draught? And have you any idea what a nice addition that, plus jalap, make to my biscuits?’
Grace could barely stifle her laughter. ‘Jalap and black draught? He will…’ She couldn’t speak.
‘Indeed he will.’ Mrs Wilson glanced into the shop, where the Runner was fishing out the rest of the laxative-loaded biscuits from the bin. ‘I give him twenty minutes.’
‘Mrs Wilson, you are a better actress than Siddons,’ Grace whispered. ‘I really thought you were agitated with yourself.’
‘Agitated that I didn’t think of it sooner,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m hoping Mr Smathers will follow him.’
* * *
Fifteen minutes was closer. Ignoring the Runner, Grace swept out of the shop. She had just put covers on the remaining pastries when she heard a strangled sound. She turned to see the Runner on his feet, clutching his stomach.
‘Open the door!’ he demanded.
He tried to walk to the door, but seconds later was bent over and scrambling fast.
Grace watched him stumble into the street, digging at his trouser buttons. Mr Smathers ran to him and led him between two buildings down the street.
Grace threw down the broom and dashed across the street, looking once in the direction where the men had gone. She hurried to the candlemaker, who stood in his open doorway. Smoothly, he stepped aside and pushed her towards the stairs. She took them two at a time. Rob opened the door, grabbing her in his arms after he had closed the door behind him.
She held herself off for an anxious moment, looking at his black eye and the gash by his ear from Lord Thomson’s cane. She sniffed. Mrs Gentry had doused his shoulder with vinegar, just as Bobby had said. The widow and her son stood close together, watching them.
‘Thank you, Mrs Gentry,’ Grace said and put her arms carefully around Rob, who buried his face in her neck, holding her so close her feet came off the floor. ‘Rob, you’ll hurt yourself,’ she scolded.
‘Nay, lass. Lord Thomson already did that for me,’ he said, but released her. He beamed at the Gentrys. ‘I was running down the street, desperate to hide, and there was Mrs Gentry, sweeping in front of her uncle’s shop.’
Rob sounded like he still could not believe his good fortune. ‘Calm as a summer day, she was, Gracie. She just yanked me inside.’ He gave Gracie another hug. ‘And here I didn’t think I had friends, this side of the Atlantic.’
Mrs Gentry blushed. ‘D’ye think I’ve forgotten how you rescued my Bobby and found that penny in the mud?’
‘Anyone would have done that.’
‘Fact is, you’re the one who did. I don’t forget a kindness,’ she said, with all the dignity of a lady, and a sailor’s widow, who depended on day-old bread and the kindness of
Quimby. She gestured towards the table. ‘Sit down for some tea and we’ll talk.’
Rob was too restless to settle for long. ‘I daren’t stay here,’ he said, setting down his cup. ‘I daren’t put the Gentrys in such danger, not with Ugly Butler so close.’ He rubbed his shoulder. ‘I doubt I can make it to Plymouth. I need to find a safer place to hide. It can’t be long until we’re released from captivity.’ He slammed his hand on the table then. ‘I’ve been saying that for weeks now!’
Grace put her finger to his lips. ‘Please, Rob.’
He kissed her finger, then glanced at Mrs Gentry, embarrassed. ‘Please, ma’am, I’m not a bounder. I’ve proposed to Grace and she’s accepted.’
Mrs Gentry nodded, as though something of this nature transpired in her rented room daily. ‘You’ll do. Grace always shows good sense.’ She went to the window, then put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, my!’
Rob stood up, but Grace tugged him down. ‘You can’t go to the window!’
Mrs Gentry returned to the table. ‘Something of a bowel disorder must have happened to that horrible man who’s been in the bakery. He’s barely in the alley, his trousers down around his ankles.’ She laughed. ‘Mr Smathers is trying not to watch.’
‘Gracie, what did you do?’ Rob asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said, biting her lip to keep from smiling. ‘Our Mrs Wilson fortified some biscuits with jalap and that black draught of hers you might remember.’
‘Great God Almighty,’ Rob exclaimed. ‘Remind me to avoid her bad side.’
Bobby ran to the window and peered out. He whooped, then scurried back to the table. ‘Mama, you would thrash me if I ever did that in public!’
‘Indeed I would,’ she scolded. ‘Let us hope someone tells the constable. I would like to see that man declared a public nuisance!’
It was just a matter of time; they had no other resource except time. After a few minutes, they heard a whistle. Mrs Gentry sidled to the window, careful not to be seen. ‘It’s the constable,’ she said from her vantage point. ‘And wouldn’t you know it, he is taking…what is his name…’
‘Reilly,’ Grace and Rob said together.
‘…by the arm and leading him to the magistrate’s, I shouldn’t doubt.’ She turned away in silent amusement. ‘He didn’t even give him time to pull up his trousers! Oh, he’ll trip! And there is Mr Smathers right behind.’ She glanced out the window, then covered her eyes. ‘Oh, dear! Mr Reilly is in no shape to be walking down a street.’ She turned to Rob quickly. ‘You could leave now while all this is going on, if you had somewhere to go, Rob.’ She looked at Grace, her eyes kind. ‘He told me his whole story, Grace. I know who he is.’
Rob was on his feet now, pulling Grace up with him.
‘Gracie, d’ye have any ideas? I can’t endanger the Gentrys one more minute.’
‘No, you can’t. And, yes, I do have an idea. We’ll know soon enough if it’s a good one.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was a good idea; even Lady Tutt thought so, when they arrived at Tutt Manor after dark, out of breath from running.
Getting away had been almost too simple. Rob had acted immediately, kissing Bobby and Mrs Gentry, then grabbing Grace’s hand and pulling her down the stairs with him. When she started out of the front door, he pulled her back.
‘No, Gracie.’
‘But they’re not in sight.’
He pointed toward the centre of town, where Emery still stood.
‘That’s just Emery,’ she whispered back.
‘What did that note from Mr Selway say? The one you found on the mantelpiece?’ he reminded her.
‘Trust no one,’ she repeated, turning to the candlemaker. ‘Do you have a back door?’
‘I have better than that,’ he told them. ‘Come along.’
What he had was a tunnel. The candlemaker pulled aside a rug in the back room where rows and rows of candle moulds stood at attention and revealed the trapdoor. He pulled on the ring with a flourish and pointed down.
‘It’ll take you to the bank of the river,’ he told them, as he handed Grace a candle.
Rob nodded his thanks to the proprietor. Grace looked down dubiously, then at the candlemaker. ‘And here I thought yours was such a prosaic business,’ she told him, which made him smile.
‘You’d be amazed what went on in Quimby two hundred years ago, when candle tariffs were outrageous.’ He winked at her. ‘Come to think of it, if you see any French brandy down there, that’s our little secret.’
Grace handed the candle to Rob and followed him into the gloom. He held out his hand when she reached the bottom step, then pulled her close and kissed her. She clung to him, trying not to hurt his shoulder, but eager for his touch.
‘Lady Tutt? You’re certain?’ was all he asked, when they could talk again. He held the candle as they crouched and walked into the musty darkness.
‘Everyone in the village had probably heard her opinion of the United States, which attacked the poor, outnumbered Royal Navy. What better place, Rob?’
She heard his chuckle in the semi-gloom. ‘Ah, yes. She pretty well has decided that Yankee Doodle is a monster, compared to John Bull.’
‘What is more important, she is still convinced you saved her life,’ Grace reminded him.
‘Dearest, I did,’ he replied. ‘Ow, that’s my sore shoulder!’
* * *
Lady Tutt did think it was a good idea, when her butler opened the door, blanched and actually ran down the hall to fetch her. She came on the trot, too, at least as much of a trot as she could manage.
‘Lady Tutt,’ Rob said, holding out both hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I am throwing myself on your mercy.’
‘It’s about time,’ she replied. ‘Chimesby, lock that door.’
* * *
Over a light supper so overwhelming that even Rob, the bottomless pit since Dartmoor, finally yielded, Lady Tutt proved to be a fountain of information.
‘I have sources,’ was all she would say, as she told them on good authority that the constable had indeed arranged a search of the entire village and environs. ‘It will begin in the wee hours.’
‘Then I am no safer here than anywhere in Devon,’ Rob said. Grace took his hand.
Lady Tutt poured herself another cup of tea. ‘Actually, Rob, you are… ahem…safe as houses here.’ She cleared her throat and Grace smiled, thinking of the times she had heard Lady Tutt do that precisely when she had extraordinary news. Her smile faded quickly, considering the gravity of their situation. What could the widow of Quimby’s most encroaching mushroom do?
‘We owe this all to my late husband, Sir Barnabas Tutt. I’ll show you. Chimesby, give us a light.’
Purple feather bobbing on her turban, Lady Tutt told Grace to take a lamp. She led them upstairs behind the butler. ‘Grace, you will probably remember when this house was built.’
‘I think I was twelve.’
Rob stopped on the stairs. ‘You’re pulling my leg, Gracie. This house is at least two hundred years old!’
Grace and Lady Tutt laughed together, and she felt the
tiniest bit of hope. ‘Rob, Lady Tutt’s husband was elevated to a knighthood and he built this house—’
‘Mansion,’ Lady Tutt corrected.
‘…mansion in the Tudor style.’
‘Never let it be said that Sir Barnabas would have a knighthood without a proper manor,’ Lady Tutt said.
‘He did a good job,’ Rob replied. ‘You fooled me.’
Chimesby stopped in front of the second bedchamber past the landing. With a flourish, he opened the door and ushered them in. Eyes wide, Grace took in the canopied bed, such as Queen Elizabeth might have enjoyed on a stately progress about her realm, the elaborately carved clothespress and chairs.
‘It’s magnificent,’ Rob said, but the frown remained between his eyes. ‘Lady Tutt, I don’t see how brocaded curtains, as authentic-looking as they are, will save me in a search.’
‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ Lady Tutt chided. ‘Chimesby, lead on!’
‘Lead where?’ Grace asked, puzzled.
‘Here.’ Chimesby stood in front of the elaborate bell pull by the fireplace and tugged on a much smaller, scarcely visible cord behind it. Grace jumped back when a portion of the panelled wall slid aside.
‘I’ll be damned,’ Rob said. He ducked his head through the opening and gestured to Grace. ‘Gracie, it’s a little room. Look, a bed and bookshelf.’
Grace stepped inside. She set her lamp on the bookshelf and looked around. ‘Rob, with enough food, you could probably hide here until the treaty is ratified.’
He nodded, then ducked out of the room. Grace joined him in the main chamber again.
‘What is this?’ Rob asked Lady Tutt.
‘It’s a priest’s hole, of course,’ she said, obviously pleased with herself. ‘Sir Barnabas spared no expense to be authentic.’ She looked inside, then turned a kindly eye on Rob. ‘You, sir, will take up residence in here. We can bring you food later. There is a ventilation shaft that runs next to the main chimney. I hope you have no fears of tight spaces.’
‘Ma’am, I’m a sailing master on a privateer,’ he said. ‘This hole looks almost luxurious.’
The old woman pinked up like a maiden. ‘I wish Barnabas were alive to see his priest’s hole in use!’
‘I wish he were, too,’ Grace said, putting her hand on the woman’s sleeve. ‘Lady Tutt, you’re a wonder.’
Lady Tutt grew serious then. ‘Rob Inman saved my life.’ She hesitated, then looked Rob in the eye. ‘And I might, just might, have been slightly wrong about your navy.’
‘Aye, Lady Tutt, after all, we are the injured par—’
Never let it be said there wasn’t a sentence Lady Tutt couldn’t ride over. She patted Rob’s arm. ‘I am certain that your United States of America didn’t intend to cause all that trouble with the shipping lanes. That’s what I mean.’
Bless Rob’s heart. He gave a slight bow and smiled at Lady Tutt. ‘I am convinced you are right, and, yes, I will tell President Madison, the next time I see him, that he shouldn’t pick on a little island like this one.’
Lady Tutt seemed unsure what to say to that, but there wasn’t time to say anything, anyway. Standing closest to the door, Grace heard someone pounding up the stairs. She stepped aside as Lady Tutt’s mousy companion, dressed in nightgown and cap, threw herself into the room, her eyes wide.
‘Lady Tutt! The constable is here! And he has the effrontery to think he and his minions can search the manor!’
The companion’s indignation brought a glitter to her eyes, similar to the one in Lady Tutt’s eyes. This is the most excitement you dears have had in eons, Grace thought, touched at their willingness to court danger on an enemy’s behalf.
‘He’s come sooner than I thought,’ Rob murmured. ‘Maybe they’re crossing off the outlying manors first.’ He stepped inside the priest’s hole again and held out his hand for Grace. ‘Maybe you had better disappear, too. You’re as out of place at Chez Tutt as I am. How could you explain yourself here at nearly midnight?’
Lady Tutt’s companion nodded vigorously. ‘That would mean needles under your fingernails, or the rack, to ferret out information!’
‘I shouldn’t think Quimby’s constable would stoop to that,’ Rob said. He smiled his thanks to both women. ‘My dears, you’re nonpareil.’ He blew them a kiss as the door closed. ‘I’ll tell President Madison that, too.’
Her ear to the sliding panel, Grace listened as the outer door closed. She could feel her heart pounding in her breast. ‘I wonder if this is how those priests felt, two hundred years ago,’ she whispered, her voice shaky.
Rob patted the space beside him. ‘I doubt any of them had a lovely companion to share their confinement with,’ he told her. ‘Grace, it’s a new house. No old ghosts.’
‘I forgot.’ She sat down.
He lay back with a yawn, tugging her down beside him. She needed no urging. His arm tightened around her shoulder as she rested her head on his chest.
‘What a day this has been,’ he whispered, as heavier footsteps even than Lady Tutt pounded up the stairs. ‘Grace, you’re trembling.’
‘I’m afraid,’ she whispered.
‘You? Tough-as-nails Grace Curtis? The woman who has shouldered all her burdens alone for so many years? Great shoulders, I might add.’
‘Yes, that one,’ she told him. ‘Life was simpler before I chose you.’
He hugged her closer. ‘But not nearly as fun, eh?’
She put up a shaking hand to stifle her tears as the bedroom door opened. ‘I’m afraid,’ she repeated.
‘Me, too,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’d give anything fo
r a boring watch in the mid-Atlantic about now.’
The search of the bedchamber ended almost as soon as it had begun. Grace began to relax as the sounds retreated down the hall and eventually down the stairs. She strained her ears to hear other sounds of search, but Sir Barnabas had built a strong house.
* * *
An hour at least, after the last searcher must have left, they heard Lady Tutt outside the hidden panel.
‘Yoo hoo! Yoo hoo!’
Rob got up and spoke through the secret panel. ‘Lady Tutt, even if it’s all clear, we’re staying in here until closer to dawn. I won’t have Grace traipsing about with Lord Thomson’s thugs on the loose.’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ came her voice through the substantial panelling. ‘Goodnight, dearies.’
He lay down again. ‘I thought she might insist you come out,’ he told her, as he unbuttoned her dress. ‘Maybe she’s a bit of a rascal, too.’ His hand went inside her bodice, his fingers familiar to her.
Words seemed superfluous to Grace as she helped with her buttons, then sat up and removed it, and her chemise, too.
‘I might have agreed with you earlier, dearest,’ she said. She started on Rob’s buttons as he gently massaged her breast. ‘I think—no, I am certain—that Lady Tutt is a shrewd customer. Practical, too,’ she added with a sigh, as she tugged off Rob’s trousers so that he wouldn’t hurt his shoulder. ‘Let me know if this pains you.’
He was made of sterner stuff, apparently, but Grace should have known that already. After almost two months spent celebrating the signing of the Treaty of Ghent nearly every night, Grace had a pretty firm idea how Rob Inman felt about special occasions, or no occasion at all. She knew what pleased him: how much he enjoyed the way she ran her tongue around his ear; the soft sighs and their increasing urgency she never held back when she climaxed; the way she enveloped him in her arms and legs, holding him tight, keeping away his own demons, as he exorcised hers.
‘Grace, I’ve missed you the past few nights,’ he whispered when he still lay on top of her, unwilling to leave. ‘I wish I could marry you tomorrow. Tonight, even.’
