Secrets in the Mist

by Anna Lee Huber

  I stared across the boat at Jack’s averted eyes. He seemed determined not to look at us as he maneuvered the skiff out into the waterway, so I resolved to do the same. I gazed out into the darkness that still masked much of the marsh from our eyes. A small bit of blue had spread upward in the eastern sky, but it was difficult to see through the reeds and grasses blocking the horizon. Daylight would come swiftly now. There was no stopping it.

  “Your promptness does not disappoint,” Reynard said, breaking the silence. “However, your loyalty seems to be somewhat lacking.”

  My muscles tightened even as I struggled not show him that his words had affected me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as his hand lifted to rest on the edge of the sensitive skin revealed between my spencer’s collar and my bonnet.

  “I know it was you who revealed that Watkins was being bribed.” His words gusted against my ear as he leaned closer, his mouth hovering next to the brim of my bonnet. “I know it was you who caused him to charge into Thurlton demanding to know who’d tattled on him. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t without admitting he was right. My eyes flicked to Jack, who was now watching us. Or more accurately, watching Reynard. The fierceness of his features gave me some hope that he would not let Reynard kill me. If he could prevent it in time.

  “Because of you,” Reynard continued, “one of my men had to kill Watkins. He’d been relieved of his position, you see, and was raving about revenge, threatening to reveal all. It had to be done. And I’m afraid that, my dear Miss Winterton, is on your head.”

  His words pinched in my chest as guilt washed over me. I knew that was exactly what he wanted me to feel, just as I knew I hadn’t been the one to kill Watkins. I hadn’t pulled the trigger. But I had set in motion the events that caused his death. I could not dismiss that fact.

  Watkins had been a despicable man who deserved to lose his position as a riding officer, but he hadn’t deserved to be murdered, and his body dumped in the marshes or some isolated shallow grave where no one could mourn him. I’d wondered why Dibs would shoot a riding officer and risk bringing more revenue men to Thurlton looking for him, but now it was clear no one would be searching for Watkins. No one of consequence anyway.

  Reynard’s fingers brushed a trail across the back of my neck that was at once a caress and a threat. “I thought I made myself clear, but you seem to delight in defying me. Not that I don’t appreciate your spirit.” His voice dropped even lower. “But your efforts are best channeled elsewhere. Olivia was much the same.”

  My breathing hitched upon hearing Olivia’s name.

  “Fortunately, she proved to be an able pupil.”

  I wanted to squirm at the lecherous tone of his voice, but then it abruptly changed.

  “Until she discovered she was carrying Rockland’s—or my—brat. Then she developed a rather inconvenient conscience.” He sighed. “So unpleasant how she had to die, especially when she was still young and beautiful.”

  My empty stomach turned over at the implication of his words. I stared wide-eyed across the boat at Jack. Even if he could not hear Reynard’s words, he must have recognized how terrible they were simply from the look on my face. His brow creased in concern, but he continued to row, never breaking his rhythm.

  Did Robert know? Had he guessed that his wife had been murdered? That the carriage accident that killed Olivia and her unborn child had somehow been intentional? Had he known…and done nothing about it?

  The thought further sickened me. That the man I had known and loved since he was a boy could be capable of such cold indifference… I didn’t want to even think it was possible, but Robert had already done so many terrible things I’d never imagined he could do that nothing seemed unbelievable anymore.

  Reynard pressed his lips against my ear, shifting my bonnet back on my head, the silk ribbon pulling against the faded bruises on my neck. “You would do well to learn from her example.”

  His teeth clamped down on my earlobe and I jumped. He didn’t bite hard enough to draw blood, but I felt the scrape of his teeth regardless. It made my insides crawl. I closed my eyes, fighting my fear and revulsion for this man.

  When he finally pulled away, I couldn’t look at him, not without either striking him or breaking down in tears. I couldn’t face Jack either. So I sat stiffly, waiting for the prickling sensation along my skin to subside and the fear choking me to sink back into my stomach. It was a long time before they did.

  Chapter 33

  I

  n the end, I was proven correct. Reynard did not board the wherry boat. He didn’t even deign to row the small skiff back to Greenlaws himself, but waited for Freddy to take Jack’s place at the oars. He wouldn’t risk being apprehended. He would let the rest of us face that possibility.

  I turned away from him the moment I boarded the boat to join the others, including Colonel Junot now dressed as an exceedingly unattractive and lumpy-figured lady’s maid. However, Reynard was not finished with me.

  “Harry, search her reticule.”

  I whirled about in surprise. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, merely stared at his henchman waiting for him to do his bidding. Harry scowled and stomped forward to take my bag. Knowing resistance was futile, I removed it from my wrist with a frown.

  Fortunately, Harry was kind enough not to remove most of the more personal items for Reynard’s inspection, though I suspected that was less out of sympathy and more because he’d already found what he was looking for. He extracted the pistol I’d taken from my father’s desk that morning and held it out for all to see.

  Reynard tsked.

  “The others carry weapons,” I argued. “I’ve seen them.” Assorted knives and daggers, and even a pistol or two. “I thought it only prudent to possess one as well. To discourage the crew of the ship carrying us to France from becoming too friendly, if nothing else.”

  Reynard shook his head and Harry passed me back my reticule while keeping the gun. I wanted to howl in frustration, but I knew my reaction would only elicit amusement from the others.

  “Do ye even know how to use this?” Harry asked, examining the weapon as Reynard’s skiff finally began to pull away.

  “Not really,” I lied, hoping he would pass the loaded pistol back to me. All I needed was that single shot.

  He rolled his eyes and moved away. I swallowed my irritation and followed him toward the stern of the boat. I was forced to stop short when Harry suddenly swiveled around, arched a single eyebrow, and pointed toward the bow. Sighing loudly, I did as I was told, though it chafed to do so.

  I skirted past Jack, who was shrugging into a livery jacket, the better to portray a footman accompanying me and my maid abroad. No family of quality would allow a young female to travel without a male escort, even if he was merely a servant. I couldn’t help but note how dignified he looked in his uniform. With his height, broad shoulders, and good looks, he could have been the footman of a duke, or possibly even royalty.

  Colonel Junot leaned against the canvas stretched across the cargo hold, looking decidedly masculine despite his mauve dress with puffed sleeves and white poke bonnet wrapped in pale pink ribbon. I started to tell him that no one would believe he was a female if he stood like that, but then stopped. I was required to play my part, but that didn’t mean I had to instruct the Frenchman in how to play his. The likelihood of him listening to me was slim anyway. He and Reynard had ignored me when I expressed concern that dressing him in overly feminine attire would only draw more attention to his masculinity.

  Dismissing the tiresome Frenchman from my mind, I perched on the edge of the hold several feet away and considered my options now that my pistol had been confiscated. I clenched my fists as renewed fury swept through my veins. It was true Reynard had unnerved me with his threats and intimation that he’d arranged Olivia’s early demise, but if he thought this new information would convince me to cooperate he was sorely mistaken. It
only made me more determined to see him captured and punished, even if it meant my own imprisonment as well.

  I glanced up as Jack moved forward to stand next to the mast. He wrapped his hand around the pole, staring out over the marsh as we drew closer to Breydon Water and the ruins of the Roman fort. Colonel Junot shifted a step closer to look beyond me at the crumbled stone walls. He did not speak at first, but I could sense his interest, and assumed it was the normal curiosity many held in the remnants of Rome’s once great empire.

  But then he scoffed. “Is that the gammy viscount’s manor?”

  If I had not been watching Jack, I probably would have missed how his hand tightened around the wooden pole, his knuckles turning white. I frowned in confusion. “Do you mean Lord Waveney?” I asked, feeling my own interest pique. The man who had sent us money through my father’s solicitor was crippled?

  Colonel Junot turned his derisive glare on me, though it lost some of its bite coming beneath the flared brim of his bonnet. “My apologies. Did I injure your genteel sensibilities?”

  Ignoring his nasty behavior for the moment, I arched my eyebrows in disbelief. “How do you know him?”

  “I don’t. But Monsieur Reynard said he has been trying to halt his trade with France.”

  And by trade, I knew he meant smuggling.

  “He said that because the viscount is too lame to hold a commission in your army, he’s playing soldier at home, inventing his own battles.”

  I lifted my chin, glaring down my nose at him. “You do know, such insolence from a lady’s maid would see you sacked. Have a care you mind your tongue.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but I turned a cold shoulder to him, as any haughty mistress would do to a servant she had chastised. Correcting him broke my vow to remain silent, but I secretly hoped my reproach would have the opposite effect.

  I fully expected the Frenchman to make some snide retort, but incredibly he held his tongue. I realized why when I saw the wherry boat approaching us from the direction of Yarmouth. It was nothing more than a coal barge returning inland, but it passed closer to us than I would have guessed the others felt comfortable with. I considered calling out to them, but swiftly recognized how foolhardy that would be. The wherry men on the other boat could do nothing to aid me, and my drawing attention to our enterprise would only place them in danger.

  So I remained silent, though that didn’t stop me from eyeing the other wherry longingly. Which was how I noticed that our boat was sitting rather low in the water by comparison. Lower than I recalled it sitting on our last sojourn to Yarmouth.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I studied the canvas covering the hold. I knew my traveling trunks were stored beneath for appearances’ sake, but not what other cargo we carried. The sharp stench of coal—a wherry boat’s traditional cargo—lingered from previous hauls, but it was not strong enough to suggest any was stored on board now. I knew better than to ask the others about it, but I began to suspect we were hauling something more than a prisoner of war to Yarmouth and further on to France. And it was something heavy.

  I gritted my teeth and thought harder, but by the time we sailed into Yarmouth inspiration had still not come to me. Everyone was playing their roles well now. Jack stood tall and at attention—but of course he always did that—while Colonel Junot slumped his shoulders to disguise his height. Having the simplest tasks of all, Dibs and Rory lounged against the sides of the hold, and Harry steered us through the busy river port.

  For this task, the wherry boat would be delivering me and Colonel Junot directly to the ship anchored out in the North Sea. Why they could not have done the same thing the last time I’d smuggled, I didn’t know, except that perhaps they’d been testing me and my resourcefulness and acting skills. Maybe Reynard had already been thinking ahead to this operation.

  Or maybe they had worried my presence would draw unnecessary attention to the other smugglers’ activities. I still didn’t know what they’d done that day while I was visiting the Reliance. To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought. Now I wondered if that was a mistake.

  The quay bustled with early morning activity, and I could see numerous revenue men milling about, completing their assigned tasks or watching the river. Their distinctive collar badges made them easy to pick out amongst the mass of men. Up ahead, I could see the Customs House near the end of the quay, and I knew once we passed it my chances of alerting anyone to our cargo grew slim. I had to draw their attention now. But how?

  Harry had taken my pistol. I’d thought to fire it into the air or at a harmless object, drawing the revenue men’s gaze and eventually a boarding party, but that option was no longer open to me. He’d also directed me away from the back of the boat, where the smallest items of cargo were stowed. Tossing items overboard would surely have captured the customs officials’ notice.

  I realized the simplest thing to do, of course, would be to wave my arms and shout, but the quay was too far away for my voice to travel over the noise of the busy port, and the smugglers were much too close. They would be next to me before I could do much more than flap my arms once.

  I briefly considered jumping from the wherry, but that would be suicide. The heavy skirts of my gown would wrap around my legs and pull me under the water to drown, if another passing boat didn’t strike me in the head first.

  Panic inched along my skin, making it more difficult for me to think, knowing that with each heartbeat I was moving closer to failure. I glanced about me, searching for something, anything, until my eyes landed on the Frenchman. If I could remove his bonnet or provoke him to behave strangely, perhaps that would be enough. Perhaps that would draw the revenue men down on us.

  Without allowing myself time to reconsider, I sauntered over to stare up into his face. I started to form a harsh insult to his manhood, but from the sharp look in his eye, I knew that would never work. So I latched on to the only thing I could think of.

  I kissed him.

  Lurching forward, I pressed my lips to his, pushing both our bonnets askew. At the same time, I reached up and tried to rip the hat from his head. The ribbon under his chin held fast, preventing me from completely removing it before he shoved me backward, but the damage had been done, and he knew it. Before I could blink, he backhanded me across the face with a stinging blow, knocking me to my knees.

  The pain stunned me, but I also felt a quiet elation, knowing that if the sight of two apparent women kissing each other didn’t capture the customs men’s attention, then a servant striking her mistress so violently would. I could already hear shouts from the shore, and the thud of footfalls as the men scrambled about the wherry. I attempted to stagger to my feet, knowing I was too vulnerable in this position at the edge of the deck, but a rush of movement nearby brought my head up just in time to see Dibs cock a pistol and point it in my face.

  My breath seized as I stared directly into the barrel, wondering idly if this might be the same gun that had killed Watkins. Was this the end for me as well?

  I had no time to react, other than to squeeze my eyes shut as he pulled the trigger.

  The shot rang out so close to me I inhaled the sharp odor of the gunpowder, and felt its heat on my face. My ears rang from the repercussion, but somehow I never felt the impact of a bullet. I blinked open my eyes to find Jack wrestling with Dibs for control of the pistol.

  “You fool,” he exclaimed, towering over the shorter man as he punched him and then yanked the gun from his grasp. “Do you want to be charged with murder as well?” I noticed his lower class accent had slipped.

  “Wha’ does it matter?” Dibs pressed a hand over the eye Jack had struck and glared down at me with the good one. “We’re all gonna be hanged for treason.”

  “Not if ye keep yer gob shut.” Jack shoved him further down the deck, back to his post, and flung the weapon into the river. Still scowling, he turned to offer me his hand to help me up. “Stay close,” he murmured next to my ear as I gained my feet.

  I didn’t know w
hether he was instructing me to do so because he meant to salvage what seemed irreparable, or because he was worried someone else would attempt to harm me. At any rate, I remained close to his side as I noted a revenue cutter drawing up along our flank. The men lining the ship had their rifles aimed at us, and the gun ports holding their cannons were open.

  I felt the other smugglers’ eyes cutting toward me in fury, but I did not dare look at them. Only Jack seemed oddly unperturbed, but was that simply because he was calm under pressure or because he was glad I’d scuttled their plan?

  An officer with graying hair at the temples and a bicorne hat ordered his men to secure lines to our boat. Then he followed a trio of men aboard, pivoting left and then right to study each of us with a hard look. He stared between me and Colonel Junot the longest.

  “Remove your bonnets,” he ordered.

  I complied swiftly, tugging the ribbons beneath my chin and pulling the confection from my head. A few strands of my auburn hair fell loose, trailing around my face.

  The Frenchman took his time, as if postponing the inevitable. It was obvious from the customs official’s expression that he already suspected he was not a woman. When Colonel Junot finally succeeded in taking off his bonnet, the official’s scowl turned black.

  “Why are you attempting to impersonate a female?”

  Colonel Junot set his mouth into a stubborn line. When he refused to answer, the official turned to me. His gaze narrowed on the side of my face that still smarted from the colonel’s strike. I could only guess it was discolored.

  “Answer me. Why is he playing the part of a woman?”

  I could almost hear the other smugglers cursing under their breath.

  “Because he’s a captured officer of the French army, and he’s attempting to flee the country.”

  The colonel did curse aloud then, loudly and savagely in French. Words that made me wish I was not quite so fluent in the language.

  The customs official apparently concurred, snapping at the man in French to hold his tongue. Then he commanded two of his men to bind the colonel’s wrists and detain him aboard the cutter. He paced a small circle on the deck as we waited for his men to follow his orders and two other revenue men boarded to take their places. As he pivoted to march in my direction again, I pushed the hair back from my face, trying to capture his eye. Once I had his attention I cut my gaze toward the hold, trying to communicate to him without words.