My thoughts were distracted as I rounded the hedgerow and nearly sauntered past Kate.
“Ella?” she called.
I turned and blinked at her. She sat on a bench angled into a corner of the shrubbery, surrounded by the bright colors of lady’s slippers and bachelor’s buttons. A book lay open on her lap.
“Kate. I was just looking for you.”
Her gaze drifted to the clematis bloom I still held in my hands. “Down by the river?”
“Yes.” I glanced behind me distractedly, and when I turned back a tight smile stretched her lips.
“I suppose you saw the wherry men, then?”
“Just one.”
“And?”
I refused to take the bait. “He told me you had gone back toward the house.”
But this answer seemed to satisfy her anyway, for her shoulders relaxed and she tilted her head knowingly. “Then you must have spoken to Achilles.”
“Hector, actually. Well, Jack.”
She arched her eyebrows as she slid over to let me sit beside her.
“That’s his real name.”
“I see.” There was a world of speculation in those two words. “Well, Achilles isn’t really Achilles, either. He had no idea what I was talking about when I told him that’s what we called him. His name is Harry, and he’s from Scratby.”
I eyed her smile with some misgiving. “You’ve spoken with him.”
“A few times. He’s here at Greenlaws often enough delivering supplies.” She gave me a nudge with her shoulder. “Oh, don’t give me that look. He’s harmless.”
I wasn’t so certain of that, but until I knew better I decided not to press the matter. “So what are you doing out here? Escaping the house?”
Her mouth twisted. “And Reynard.”
I had wondered if he was still visiting. After the events he’d witnessed yesterday at the church, I had no desire to see him. I wasn’t sure I could tolerate any of the sarcastic remarks he was sure to make about it.
“Do you know why he still comes here?” As impertinent as the question was, I knew Kate wouldn’t take offense. “Since Olivia’s passing he doesn’t really have a reason to visit, so why does he continue?”
She closed her book, running her fingers along the spine. “He made some promise to Olivia to look in on us from time to time should anything happen to her.”
I frowned. “That’s odd.”
“Yes.” She scoffed. “Who knew Olivia cared.”
“Or that Reynard was the type of person to take familial duty so seriously.”
“True. But he did visit Olivia quite frequently. Something drew him here.”
I supposed she was right. Maybe he’d cared about her more than we realized. The two of them had been remarkably alike.
But it was apparent from Kate’s expression that she was thinking something else. Her eyes had narrowed and her lips had pursed. I studied her, trying to understand what it might be.
She glanced up, and upon noticing my curiosity, determinedly masked her disapproving expression with a smile. “Was there some reason in particular you sought me out? Or were you simply in need of my sparkling wit?”
I wondered what she was keeping from me, and whether it was as remarkable as my encounters with the Lantern Man.
I opened my mouth to tell her about Robert, about his proposal, but no words emerged. For I knew if I told her about that, I would need to tell her about Father, and Sergeant Watkins, and the fines. And the Lantern Man. I simply wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.
Kate deserved to know about her brother’s proposal. She deserved a chance to express her opinion. But couldn’t that wait until I was more certain of my own feelings on the matter? Until I knew whether there were other options open to me? And what if I didn’t like her answer? What if it swayed my decision before I’d even begun to know my own mind? Would I later resent her input? Would she resent me if I chose not to listen to her?
Perhaps it was best for the time being to remain silent.
I summoned a smile of my own. “Nothing in particular.”
She tilted her head quizzically, so I leaned in closer to distract her.
“What are you reading?”
Chapter 17
T
hat night I stood motionless in the shadow cast by my window curtains and stared out over the fens. The reeds and grasses swayed together in the wind, their pale tips catching the light of the moon like the white caps of ocean waves crashing against the shore. There was no fog to mar the landscape. The day had been too mild for it. But still I searched for any sign that someone was watching the cottage from among the tall marsh grasses. There were too many suspicions swirling around my head, as yet hazy and insubstantial but troubling nonetheless.
From time to time the light breeze passed through the window, ruffling the curtains and the hair at my temples. The cool night air felt good on my face, blunting the sharp edges of the megrim that throbbed in my temples and stabbed behind my eyes. I’d spent hours at my writing desk earlier, examining and reexamining the household accounts, shuffling numbers, trying to figure out some way to pay the fine without selling our cottage. But there simply wasn’t enough money or property left to sell to yield more than a third of the total amount needed.
From where I stood, this left me with four options, the first of which I refused to entertain. As angry and disappointed as I was with Father, I was not going to watch him be carted off to debtors’ prison.
The second choice was little better. We could sell the cottage for a fraction of what it was worth, if anyone would buy it in its current state of disrepair. But that would mean we would have to find other lodgings, most likely in a city like Norwich or London, and I could only imagine how horribly Father would fare there, surrounded by dozens, if not scores, of pubs and taverns.
So in truth, I had but two viable choices. I could accept Robert’s proposal of marriage. He would pay Father’s fine, plus a bit more to bribe Sergeant Watkins to leave us alone. I would move to Greenlaws as Robert’s wife, and Father would remain at Penleaf Cottage until his inevitable demise. My future would be secured.
I sighed and turned away from the window to sink back down in the chair before my writing desk. So why did that option twist my stomach in knots?
I had originally thought to ask Robert for the money to pay the fine, but now I couldn’t very well do so without promising him my hand. I would feel too indebted to him to ever decline his proposal. But could I really marry him and pretend I wasn’t just another promise kept, another duty performed? Pretend that I wouldn’t always be competing with the memory of Olivia and all the passion and excitement she had brought into his life?
My hands clenched at the painful remembrance of his confession in the churchyard. I might have accepted his explanation and apology. I might have been reconciled to them. But that didn’t mean I was in any way satisfied or content with the knowledge.
If I ever did decide to marry Robert, I didn’t want it to be out of a sense of guilt or obligation. We were already too bogged down in a mire of duty and responsibility, and I refused to add to it. At the least, I needed time to give his proposal serious consideration. Time to wait for a reply from my grandfather and great-aunt.
Unfortunately, time was not something Sergeant Watkins would be willing to give us much of. So it seemed I had no choice but to turn to my fourth option, though it stung my conscience to do so.
I glanced up at the meager collection of books arranged near the corner of my desk. Flanked between my mother’s Bible and the three-book set of Sense and Sensibility Kate had given me for Christmas stood my brother’s much-loved copy of Robinson Crusoe, one of his few possessions I still owned. He’d taken it with him when he left for Portugal, but one of his fellow officers had been kind enough to send it to me, along with Erik’s last unfinished letter. It was tucked between pages 63 and 64 even now.
I reached out to carefully run my finger over the worn spine, wondering if
I buried my nose in its pages, if amidst the leather and ink I could still smell the sandalwood cologne he had insisted on dousing himself with. Erik had declared the scent fashionable and Kate had agreed, insisting it was quite appealing, but I had never appreciated the aroma. Until it was no longer around.
I closed my eyes against the guilt that welled up inside me, praying he and Mother would forgive what I had to do. I could simply see no other way. Had there been any other noble or wealthy families nearby, I could have offered my services as a governess or a companion, but the closest family who might require such staff lived more than ten miles distant, and the amount of my wages would not even make a tiny dent in the fine we owed. And as for Sergeant Watkins’s degrading insinuation, I would sooner drown myself in the marsh than let him touch me.
No. Here in this isolated stretch of Norfolk, there was only one reliable method for someone like myself to make money.
Smuggling.
It was my only alternative. At least until I’d paid Father’s fine.
I’d circled around and around the problem until my head ached, and I could see no other solution. Pushing away from my desk, I snatched up my cloak and dashed down the steps before I lost my nerve. It was better to do what needed to be done than continue to stew over it. My conscience would never be salved.
Preparations had already been made. Somehow I’d known it would come to this. Now it was only a matter of whether I had the courage, the daring—foolish though it might be—to do what needed to be done.
I paused just long enough to light the lantern sitting by the front door and then hurried around the house toward the path leading to the dock. I didn’t dare look back, already struggling with my nerves and reconsidering the wisdom of my actions.
My first thought had been to go to Mr. Ingles and offer to join his local band of smugglers, but then I’d realized such a thing was impossible. Not only would I burn with mortification, but if they rejected me—as they were almost certain to do—I would have to live with that humiliation for as long as I remained in Thurlton. I would see it in their eyes, and those of their wives and neighbors every Sunday, every time I walked through town or purchased something in one of their shops. The knowledge of how far I had fallen would always be there.
No. Imprudent as it might seem, it would be easier to approach these men masking as Lantern Men, no matter how dangerous they might be, than to broach that social barrier with the locals.
In any case, the likelihood of Mr. Ingles having a large enough amount of money at hand to loan me the sum I needed to pay my father’s debt in exchange for my services was extremely slim. Most of his blunt was almost certainly tied up in contraband, and much of the profits he earned likely went on to investors elsewhere, in Norwich or London. Otherwise, why weren’t he and the other villagers spending it on themselves? Their belongings were few, their table spreads modest. These weren’t men with an excess of money to spend, nor the wiles to conceal it so thoroughly if they had. The men of Thurlton certainly made a better wage from smuggling than they would as day laborers or other menial jobs, but their resources were still humble.
I carefully picked my way across the dock to the end, staring out over the murky, eddying waters of our channel. There was no way of knowing how long I would have to wait, or if he would even appear, but given the pattern of our other encounters I had every reason to believe he was near. Watching. Waiting.
I gripped the handle of my lantern tighter and closed my eyes, listening for any sounds beyond that of the wind in the grasses and the burble of the water. As always, I sensed him before I heard or saw him. One moment I was alone, and the next I was not. Some subtle change in the air sent tingles racing across my nerves like fire set to kindling.
I held my breath, trying to feel the reverberations of his footfalls across the wood of the dock as he approached. They were faint at first, but grew stronger with each step as he drew closer. I counted the soft thuds of his feet, hoping I’d estimated his stride correctly, praying he didn’t halt too far away. My heart rose into my throat and my muscles tensed as I realized he’d passed the point of no return.
The next thump of his foot landing against the planks was followed by a resounding crack. My head reared back in shock, half-surprised my dubious scheme had worked. Prodding myself into action before he could recover himself, I swiveled around in time to see his forearms crash into the dock boards in front of him as he plummeted downward with a sharp grunt.
I rushed forward as he dangled half on and half under the dock, his right leg having punched through the boards I had tampered with. Earlier in the evening, I’d removed two of the slats of wood running across the deck and flipped them over to saw them nearly in half, leaving only the faintest sliver of wood at their top to keep them in one piece. When I replaced them with the cut side down, their damage was undetectable, save for the missing nails normally holding them in place, which I felt almost certain the Lantern Man would fail to notice in the dark of night. I’d both hoped and feared the boards would break as planned, and momentarily trap him.
While he struggled to pull his foot back through the broken boards, muttering curses that surely weren’t meant for a young lady’s ears, I leaned down and pulled the hood of his cloak away from his face. He reared back awkwardly as I lifted my lantern to see his face, no doubt blinding him. When I saw him clearly for the first time, I couldn’t say I was surprised. After my last visit to Greenlaws my suspicions had been aroused.
“Bloody—” He bit off an oath. “Get that out of my face.”
I complied, but only because I now knew his identity. “But of course, Jack.”
He glowered up at me, and then resumed his efforts to climb out of the hole. I considered offering my assistance. After all, I hadn’t meant to hurt him, just restrain him for a short time. But seeing his extreme agitation, I thought better of it.
Let him be angry. I was the one who had been deceived, and stalked, and lied to. It would do him a bit of good to suffer this indignity.
In any case, it was the work of only a few moments before he was back on his feet. He hobbled once and then lifted his right ankle, rolling it round and round.
“Are you injured?” I couldn’t help asking.
He lifted his dark eyes to glare at me. “Just a slight twinge. So if your intention was to maim me, you’ve failed.”
I scowled. “If I’d wanted to harm you, I would have bashed you on the head with my lantern while you were caught in that hole.”
He slowly straightened to his full height, which I’d somehow forgotten was at least a foot taller than me. I felt a tremor of unease, but I arched my chin, determined not to be cowed.
“Why are you pretending to be a Lantern Man?” I demanded.
He considered my question for a second or two longer than was necessary, which let me know he was debating how he should respond. “How else was I to encourage foolhardy females to stay out of the marshes at night?” His mouth twisted into a wry smirk. “Little good it did.”
But I was not to be deterred. “So I wouldn’t stumble upon whatever you were smuggling?”
He didn’t react. Or at least not how I expected. “What are you talking about?” he replied with a frown.
I narrowed my eyes. “I know you’re a smuggler.”
“No. I’m not.” He spoke very slowly, as if I were stupid. “I’m a wherry man.”
For a moment, I began to question my own conclusions. What if the barrels and crates I’d seen him unloading at Hardley Mill weren’t contraband? What if my suspicions had grown out of proportion because of his strange behavior? He seemed so composed, so unmoved by my accusation.
But then a thought occurred to me.
“Yes, because all of the wherry men I know speak such precise English,” I drawled.
He stiffened minutely, and I knew I had him. When he’d spoken to me in the garden at Greenlaws just two days before, he’d affected a rougher accent, but he’d never bothered to do so during
the times we’d met in the marsh. Just as he’d forgotten to do so now.
I pressed my point. “Besides, wherry men don’t traipse about the marshes at night in disguise. Not unless whatever they’re plying on their crafts is illegal.” I arched my eyebrows, waiting for him to reply.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he responded tersely. “I’m not about to admit to anything.”
“Of course not,” I replied, realizing this was the opening I needed. “Just as I won’t. If…”
“If what?”
“If you take me on as part of your crew.”
I waited for his reaction, but again he gave me none. Until he crossed his arms over his chest and affected a bored stance.
“Now why would I do that?”
I furrowed my brow, irritated that he hadn’t already understood my implication. “So that I don’t expose you and your entire enterprise.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll do that.”
I tensed. “Why not?”
He sidled a step closer, looming over me. “Because you’ve never exposed the local men working as smugglers. Because you know that if you call the revenue men’s attention to the marshes around Thurlton that you also risk revealing your local men’s illegal activities.” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “And I don’t think you want to do that.”
My grip tightened around the handle of my lantern. “Then…then I’ll tell Mr. Rockland that the wherry men delivering his supplies are smugglers,” I declared, hating the betraying tremble in my voice. Especially when Jack’s smirk only grew wider.
He shrugged. “Tell him.”
I frowned, wondering how he could be so certain Robert wouldn’t care. Or at least that he wouldn’t do anything about it. Did Robert already know?
I shook that thought aside to contemplate later.
I had bigger problems, for this confrontation was not going as I’d planned. How had Jack known I wouldn’t actually expose them? How could he be so smug that I would remain silent? I needed something else to threaten him with, for I refused to beg. Not to a stranger who had so blithely duped me, and stolen a kiss for extra measure.
Secrets in the Mist Page 16
