Sea Wraith

by Jocelyn Kelley

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “Yes, and you need not feel bad that, in London, you let me think we could be more than friends.” She smiled. “Don’t you see? It is better this way. You are not obligated to me now that I will be Arthyn’s wife. We can remain friends, and we are most certain to see each other in Town when your work permits.” Her smile broadened. “See? It is a perfect solution.”

  “I wish I could agree.”

  “Be happy for me.” She leaned toward him, but did not touch him. “I made a bad choice in Yorkshire when I agreed to marry Sir Henry, but now I have made a good choice. A very good choice. You said you were pleased to see me looking so happy this morning, so be pleased for me again.”

  “I am pleased you are happy,” he replied. “I would want nothing less for you.” He added no more. What could he tell her but the truth? And the time, no matter how much he wished otherwise, was not right for that. He would not do anything to endanger her life, even if it meant breaking his heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Constantine jumped to his feet as the door to the inner office opened. For more than an hour, he had been kept waiting on a bench facing the room’s single desk, but he had expected that. Lord Sidmouth was a busy man with responsibilities throughout England.

  A plump man with the thickest black eyebrows Constantine had ever seen walked out of the office. His clothing, made by a fine tailor, was wrinkled, as if he had worn it day and night for the past month.

  “Lastingham?” He looked down his long nose at Constantine, even though he was not as tall.

  “Yes. Is Lord Sidmouth ready to see me now?”

  “He cannot see you today, but wonders what you are doing here instead of doing your work in Cornwall.”

  “I was recalled.”

  “By whom?”

  He pulled out the crumpled and soiled papers that had not weathered the trip to Town well. Smoothing them, he handed the pages to the officious man who must be one of the secretaries serving the minister.

  The man read the first page, nodded, then read the second, nodding again. His bushy brows rose when he began the third page. “Where did you get this?”

  “Lord Pitchford gave it to me.”

  “Where did he get it?”

  “He led me to believe that it came from this office.”

  “It did.” He folded the pages and thrust them under his coat. “At least the first two did. I know because I wrote them myself. I did not, however, write the third page. It is a poor forgery of my neat hand.”

  “But it could have been written by someone else in the Home Office.”

  He scowled, his eyebrows jutting out almost as far as his protruding nose. “Quite to the contrary, Lastingham. All correspondence on your assignment is my responsibility.”

  “Then, somewhere between your desk and St. Gundred, someone replaced the original page with the one recalling me to London.”

  “Yes, but it must have been exchanged in Cornwall. The responses to your reports always go by courier as far as Penzance. As you recall, we decided against sending the courier directly to St. Gundred, because that would draw too much attention. The page must have been slipped in after the packet was delivered to Penzance.”

  Constantine’s fingers closed into fists. “What were the instructions on the original page?”

  “Let me check.” He went to the desk and pulled open a drawer. Lifting out a stack of papers, he sorted through them. He glanced over his shoulder, and Constantine stayed back, knowing other confidential orders were in that pile. “Ah, here it is. You were instructed to meet Cundy and his smugglers. They are bringing valuable information about the wreckers and their plan to destroy a naval vessel carrying cannon and gunpowder.”

  His stomach cramped. He knew the smugglers, who had worked with him throughout his time in Cornwall, and counted them as friends. When Wraith had needed a gang, Cundy and his men had volunteered because they were eager to rid the shore of the wreckers who made their smuggling impossible.

  Then the full impact of the other man’s words struck him. “A naval ship loaded with weapons?”

  “Yes. It would seem the wreckers have plans beyond scavenging and murder on a small scale.”

  He swore vividly, then asked, “When was I supposed to meet the smugglers?”

  The man looked down at the page, his face losing all color, save for his brows. “Tomorrow night.”

  Constantine ran toward the door.

  “Lastingham!”

  “What?” he demanded as he pulled it open.

  “It may be a trap.” The man put the page back on the pile, and Constantine could not help wondering how many other lives were jeopardized by information written in a cool, emotionless hand on those papers.

  “Of course it is a trap. The wreckers plan to trap my allies.”

  “The trap may be for you.”

  “Why would it be for me when I was sent here?”

  “Because whoever exchanged the page knows you will ride neck-or-nothing right to the shore where he will be waiting to kill you.”

  Constantine smiled icily. “Trust me. He will not find it as easy as that.”

  “You know who. . .?”

  “No, but I intend to find out after I try to stop what they plan tomorrow night.”

  * * * *

  “They are ‘ere, Miss Nethercott” Helen burst into the solar. “All of them are ‘ere.”

  Sian did not have to ask who “they” were. Jumping to her feet, she tossed aside the menu for the wedding breakfast she had been reviewing with Mrs. Jenkin. She ran out into the hall and toward the front of the house. The housekeeper followed more slowly.

  “China! Jade!” she cried as she saw her sisters handing their bonnets and shawls to the footmen by the door. When they had not reached Bannatyne Hall before night fell, she had assumed they would arrive on the morrow.

  They turned as one to smile at her. China, the oldest, with her auburn hair that caught fire in the lamplight. Jade, who looked enough like Sian to be her twin, save she was a bit shorter and her hair a paler blond. Her distended belly revealed her condition that would have made it impossible to travel a few weeks from now.

  As she hugged her sisters, listening to them try to congratulate her at the same time, Sian heard deep laughter. For a moment, even more excitement burst through her when she thought one of the male voices belonged to Constantine. Had she lost her mind? She was no longer in love with Lord Lastingham, as she tried to think of him now that he was no longer a part of her daily life. She was marrying Arthyn because he was Wraith, the man she could not keep from loving no matter how hard she tried.

  Sian greeted her brothers-in-law. Gideon Bannatyne, viscount and current owner of Bannatyne Hall, had the dashing good looks that had caught every miss’s eye in London. Tall, with black hair and eyes as dark, he had once possessed a tarnished reputation, but she knew that reputation—if it had ever been true—changed the first time he spoke with Jade. Alexander Braddock, a marquess whose family’s estate was even farther north than Nethercott Castle, had hair as dark as Gideon’s, but remarkable blue eyes that sparkled with merriment and offered no hint of the curse that once inflicted the men of his family.

  Each of them hugged her, and Gideon said, “If your ears have been burning, it is because your sisters spoke nonstop of you and your wedding from London to Land’s End.”

  “We did not go all the way to Land’s End.” Jade laughed as she tapped him on the arm.

  “Which means they still have more to say.” Alexander gave a fake moan. “My poor ears.”

  “No one will have anything more to say,” Sian interjected, “until you have a chance to rest, especially you, Jade.”

  With another laugh, Jade said, “Especially me and China, as she is in the same condition I am.”

  “Congratulations!” Delighted, Sian kissed her older sister’s cheek and then Alexander’s.

  “We waited so we could tell you when we sa
w you,” China said, “but we had no idea that you would have such exciting news of your own. When shall we meet your intended?”

  “At dinner tonight, if he can get here. There has been another round of measles in St. Gundred, and he is busy helping comfort the villagers. No more questions. You need to rest.” As she put her arm around the waist of each of her sisters and walked with them toward the stairs, Gideon called her name. She looked back to see his face was abruptly somber. “Yes?”

  “After you settle your sisters, could I speak with you in the solar?”

  “Certainly.” Trying to silence her curiosity about why Gideon wished to talk with her alone, she smiled at her sisters. “Mrs. Jenkin has your rooms ready, and we can eat whenever you feel rested.”

  “Listen to her,” China said with a smile. “She sounds as if she is the mistress of your house, Jade.”

  Climbing the steps slowly, Jade replied, “And I am grateful for that. The trip took more from me than I anticipated.”

  “Then leave everything to me and Mrs. Jenkin and Oates.” Sian did not hurry them up the stairs. “Rest, but do not go into the nursery yet. The mural is not quite done.”

  “You had better hurry.” Jade put her hand onto her bulging belly. “I do not think this one has plans to wait any longer than necessary.”

  “I should have had it done, but other things got in the way.”

  Jade’s smile returned. “Like planning a wedding?”

  Sian laughed along with her sisters as she made sure both were resting comfortably before she went downstairs. Only when she stood alone in the foyer could she let her strained smile fall away. Somehow, she must tell her sisters and their husbands about the wreckers and the trouble in the village . . . and Wraith. She could not be completely honest with them, and she hoped she would be able to think before she spoke and said the very thing that betrayed the man she loved.

  * * * *

  Gideon stood by one of the tall windows when Sian came into Bannatyne Hall’s solar. When she saw Alexander staring at the unlit hearth, her heart froze in mid-beat. Neither man could hide the tension that stiffened their shoulders.

  “You wanted to talk with me, Gideon?” she asked quietly.

  He glanced at Alexander, who went to the doorway and drew the double doors closed before standing in front of them like a Beefeater.

  “What is wrong?” She looked from one man’s taut face to the other.

  “I had hoped I was wrong,” Gideon said as he took her hand and seated her at the far end of the room. “But I was not.”

  “Wrong? About what?”

  “You plan to marry Arthyn Trembeth.”

  “Yes.”

  “He lives in St. Gundred?”

  “Yes, he is the curate, helping Mr. Hallett now and having the living when the vicar retires.” She frowned. “But, Gideon, you know that. The living is yours, after all.”

  “I do know.” He squatted in front of her, so their eyes were even. “Sian, I know that no curate was appointed to aid the vicar.”

  “But you must be mistaken. Everyone in St. Gundred knows he came here to succeed Mr. Hallett.”

  He shook his head. “When Jade received your letter with the news of your betrothal, we were overjoyed. Then I realized you could not be marrying the curate of St. Gundred parish, because I had not asked for anyone to be appointed. Certainly no successor has been named for the living. I checked, and no one can find any record of Arthyn Trembeth being sent here. He has been false with you.”

  She stared at him. Words formed and fell apart in her mind. So many questions, but the only one that passed her lips was, “Do my sisters know?”

  Again he shook his head. “Alexander and I agreed that we did not want to upset them in their delicate conditions. Also I wanted to tell you first, in case you could explain what others could not.”

  Explain? What? Why Arthyn had lied to her? Why had he plied her with out-and-outers? The answer came as swiftly as the question. To become Wraith, he had needed an excuse to be near the village and the shore, an alias that would not be questioned. How could she explain that to Gideon and Alexander?

  Her only choice was the truth. At least, some of it.

  Dampening her suddenly dry lips, she said, “Arthyn has good reasons for being in St. Gundred, Gideon. It is connected with the wreckers.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know all the details.” That again was the truth, because Wraith avoided answering her questions, and Arthyn seldom spoke of the wreckers. “But I know he has good reasons for being here.”

  “And you trust him?” Gideon asked, standing.

  From her memory came an echo in Wraith’s voice, “Do ye trust me, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she said, meaning it with all her heart.

  Gideon looked past her to Alexander. Some message she could not read passed between the two men.

  She was about to ask them what it meant, when her eyes were caught by a flash of light beyond the gardens. “Oh, no!” she cried as she jumped to her feet and ran to window. “The wreckers! They are on the cliffs tonight!”

  Everything became a blur of motion as Gideon raced past her as Alexander threw the doors open so hard they slammed into the wall. At Gideon’s shouted orders, the household staff quickly put out all lights on the seaside of the house. Alexander took guns to the men in the stables, who were to stand guard outside. Other weapons were passed around to footmen and Oates. At every entrance to the Hall, a sentry was posted.

  Sian went to her room and, in the darkness, stared out the window. Lights flashed on and off in a steady rhythm. She could not see the ship they were trying to crash on the rocks.

  “Oh, Miss Nethercott, this is so ‘orrible!” moaned Helen from behind her. “I wish we ‘ad never left Nethercott Castle.”

  Her reply was halted by a distant popping sound. With a gasp, she opened the window. The noise became the sharp retort of gunfire.

  “They are shootin’!” cried the maid. “Why do they think they can ‘it a ship from the cliffs?”

  “They are not firing at a ship. They are shooting at another section of the cliffs.” She wrapped her arms around herself, but nothing could ease the cold convulsing within her. Wraith had warned of a coming war, and now it had began.

  Someone must have risen to leader in the gang once led—at least publicly—by Gillis. Or was it the true leader, stepping forward now that Gillis was dead? One thing was clear. That person wanted full control of the shore and did not care who died for him to obtain it. But one man would be determined to halt him.

  Wraith.

  Her nails bit into her arms, and she winced with every shot, feeling as if each one struck her. Wraith was clever and had as many lives as a cat, but how many had he already used up?

  “Sian?” called her sister Jade from outside the room. “Are you in there?”

  “I am here.” She pushed away from the window and hurried to her sister. “You should not be on your feet.”

  “Gideon wants us to go to the small parlor on the far side of the house.”

  Sian glanced back at the window, then, motioning for Helen to follow, she put her arm around her sister and assisted her down the stairs. None of them spoke, even when the sounds of guns could be heard past the Hall’s thick walls.

  The female servants had already gathered in the cramped room. A pair of footmen stood by the windows, their guns at ready. Everyone wore an identical expression of fear and anger.

  China rose from where she had been sitting by the hearth and gave her seat to Jade, then squeezed onto the settee beside her when Sian insisted they both sit.

  “No,” Jade said in answer to a question Sian had not heard while she scanned the room, making sure everyone was accounted for, “Gideon had no idea it had gotten this bad. Even when he asked Lord Lastingham to check into reports of increased activity along the shore, he could not have guessed it would be like this.”

  “‘Tis Wraith!” Helen’s voice rose ov
er the rest of the agitated conversations in the room.

  “Wraith?” asked Jade and China at the same time. They looked at Sian as China added, “A ghost? You have a ghost here?”

  “Yes,” she replied, aiming a frown at Helen, “but—”

  “Why didn’t you tell us as soon as we arrived?” China’s eyes glittered with excitement.

  “The ghost is not important now.”

  Sian realized everyone in the room was listening to their conversation. The servants were shocked, and some looked fearful. Her sisters were confused.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “There is a ghost. It came with me from Nethercott Castle.”

  Gasps swirled through the room, and one of the maids dropped to her knees, moaning with terror. Mrs. Jenkin hurried to her side and began to soothe her, even though the housekeeper’s face was colorless.

  “But that is not Wraith,” Sian went on. “Wraith is alive, a man who covers his face with a domino. He is involved with the wreckers, but he is not like those who have been luring ships in and killing their crews.”

  “How can you be certain of that?” Gideon asked, glancing at Alexander, as he crossed the room to put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “If he hides his face, he must fear being captured.”

  “Or retribution.” Alexander’s brows lowered in a fearsome frown. “During the war with the French, some traitors brought us information, but refused to show their faces because they were scared their countrymen would slay them.”

  “Whichever it is, how can you be so certain of his plans, Sian?” Gideon’s eyes locked with hers.

  Because I love him, and I know in my heart that he is a good man. Should she say that? Maybe she should say: Because he has done many good things in St. Gundred while serving as curate. No, she could not reveal that, not even to her family.

  Instead she said simply, “Because he told me.”

  “You have talked with this criminal?” gasped China.

  Jade put her hand on her sister’s arm. “Sometimes one must cross the line from the proper world to the improper one to discover the truth.” She smiled up at her husband. “Is that not true, Gideon?”