‘If I do find the financier, another will soon fill his boots,’ said Jack. ‘I do not begrudge ordinary folk making money to help feed their families; it is the gangs I want to stop. They torture and kill farmers and fishermen who will not lend them their horses and boats for the run. They threaten wives and daughters of landlords if they do not buy their goods. However, I have said it before; it is the law that needs to be changed regarding taxes on imports. Only then will the smuggling trade decrease.’
‘The law is wrong in many areas. A judge can see fit to have a child hung for stealing a handkerchief, yet lets a smuggler walk free due to lack of evidence. It has been at least twenty years since the last smuggler was convicted in these parts.’
Jack’s voice seemed a little further away when he next spoke, as if he was nearer the window. It was a voice she had once loved to hear. Even now it stirred her, which made what he said harder to bear.
‘Did you say that my housekeeper’s late husband, Henry Kestle, was planning to sell information before he was caught poaching?’
‘I did. In other areas I have found that judges understand the hunger that drives a man to poach and are usually more lenient in such cases. They prefer to give a gaol sentence rather than the hangman’s noose.’
For a moment there was silence and Jenna strained to hear Jack’s reply. Eventually it came.
‘Perhaps the situation is not as bleak as you think, Enoch. I have found out that there is a man they call Lambskin who has a penchant for art and china.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘I would rather not say,’ replied Jack.
Jenna felt her legs weaken as she slid slowly to the floor. He had questioned her after their lovemaking and like a lovesick fool she had answered.
‘This Lambskin must have plenty of money to waste,’ said his friend.
‘Yes. He must have wealth at his fingertips but the greed to have more.’
‘Lambskin,’ Enoch mused. ‘It is a strange name.’
‘Perhaps it is not his name at all,’ replied Jack.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What if it is a nickname? I have heard the name used as slang for judges on account of their woollen lined robes.’
‘You believe he is a judge?’
‘Why not? People see a judge as the paragon of the law and all that is good. Such a man wields great power and is feared for the sentences he can hand out. Fear can buy a man’s silence, and those who will not hold their tongue can be lawfully disposed of. No one would question the hanging of an informer if he is found guilty of another crime.’
‘Even so,’ replied Enoch uneasily, ‘a judge …’
‘Am I right to assume Henry Kestle approached Henley and Tilbury?’ Enoch must have nodded in reply, for Jack said, ‘He was caught poaching, and brought before Judge Buller. Yet Buller showed no leniency when it is usual to do so for such a crime. Perhaps it was because Buller had discovered that Kestle was planning to inform on him.’
Jenna felt a wave of nausea sweep over her as she listened. Jack knew more about her late husband than she did. Was Jack at his hanging by design?
‘And he learnt about this impending betrayal from his spy,’ Enoch added. ‘What better place to hide than in plain sight? But … Judge Buller. Who would believe such an accusation?’
‘No one is untouchable,’ she heard Jack point out.
‘Even so, Jack, although I do not like the man, we need more evidence than our surmising.’
‘Everyone has a weakness and perhaps the paintings will be his undoing.’
Jenna heard a drink being poured. ‘Why would Buller smuggle paintings into the country when he has enough money to buy them?’ asked Enoch.
Jack’s voice grew a little louder, and for a fleeting moment Jenna thought he was about to open the door.
‘When a collector wants what is not for sale,’ said Jack steadily, ‘he arranges for them to be stolen to order.’
There was a pause and Jenna tilted her head to listen.
‘If it really is Buller,’ said Enoch, ‘it would explain the lack of sentencing for smugglers in this area. How will we know what paintings have been smuggled? We would need someone to identify them and even then we would have to prove they came from across the water.’
‘The trail would have to be followed back to France,’ said Jack, ‘but first we need to know if the paintings are in his possession.’
Jenna saw Jack’s coat hanging on the hook by the door. She slowly stood and reached for the sleeve. It would provide the last piece of evidence she would need. Turning it she found all the buttons intact. Still hopeful that her brother was mistaken, she reached for the other.
‘Do you really believe it is Buller?’ she heard Jack’s friend ask on the other side of the door.
Jenna lifted the sleeve and saw broken threads, sticking out like black spider’s legs, where the buttons had once been. She dropped it as if it burned her and returned to the door.
‘Does he like to collect art?’ asked Jack.
‘He does,’ came a solemn reply.
‘Then, yes, I do. If the paintings are in his collection, it will provide the evidence we need.’
‘Fortunately, I still have the invitations to his evening party in my desk drawer, although I am not sure how that will help. We do not know what the paintings look like.’
Jenna had heard all she needed to hear. Silas had spoken the truth and she wanted to make Jack pay for using her and killing her brother. She briskly opened the door. She wanted to meet Lambskin and tell him who Jack was.
‘I know what the paintings look like,’ she told the surprised men looking back at her. ‘Take me to this judge’s home and I will identify them.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ said Jack, escorting her back out of the room. ‘Excuse us, Enoch, while I have a word with my housekeeper.’
In the hall, Jenna shook her arm free. ‘I thought I could help,’ she retorted.
‘Well, you can’t,’ said Jack, shutting the door. ‘How much did you hear?’
Uneasily, Jenna stepped away. ‘Enough to know that you need my help.’
‘I did not want him to know who you were,’ Jack said irritably. ‘Now he knows it was you who told me about Lambskin.’
‘You were the one who was happy to share our bedroom talk,’ Jenna replied tersely.
‘Our conversation was not what I consider bedroom talk.’ Jack held Jenna’s shoulders and made her face him. ‘If I was going to make bedroom talk with you, it would not be about smuggling or your snake of a brother.’
His angry frown framed his dark brown eyes and for a brief moment Jenna faltered, but it did not last long. Those same dark eyes had seen her brother’s battered body. It was his strong hands that beat him.
‘No matter the subject,’ she said coolly, ‘you shared it all the same.’
‘Enoch can be trusted.’
‘But not me. Why did you not tell me that you are a thief-taker and the one to capture my brother?’
He let his hands fall away.
‘Being a thief-taker is dangerous work,’ he said, looking away. ‘It was safer for you not to know my business.’
‘You did not trust me to keep your secret?’
He glanced up and saw from her expression she was hurting. He softened towards her. Lifting a hand, he let the back of a single finger graze her cheek. ‘It is not a matter of trust. Let us not argue, Jenna,’ he soothed.
Jenna closed her eyes to blot him out, but she could still feel his touch upon her skin. He is so convincing and appears so earnest, thought Jenna. It is hard not to be swayed, but I must not be. She moved her cheek away from his touch and heard Jack sigh.
‘I see that you are angry with me and I deserve it. It was not gentlemanly to slip away before you woke.’
Jenna’s eyes narrowed. Until this morning, she had trusted him completely. She would have done anything for him – all he had to do was ask. N
ow she knew her trust in him was misplaced. Now she found herself questioning everything he had done or said, or where he went when he did not work on the farm. Melwyn sprung to mind.
‘What sort of business was so important that you could not say goodbye?’ she asked.
‘There was a man I wanted to see and did not want to wake you.’ She was not impressed by his answer and he could see it in her face. His patience with her was wearing thin. ‘As your employer, it is I who should ask you where you have been all day.’
‘Thank you for reminding me of my position in this house.’
‘Jenna …’
‘I went to the village.’
‘Without a basket?’ he asked. ‘I saw it when I returned. It was not the shops you visited.’
‘I have been visiting a man too.’
His frown deepened. ‘What man?’
‘You see,’ Jenna argued, ‘you do not trust me.’
‘That is not the case.’
‘Then prove it. Take me to this judge called Lambskin and I will identify the paintings.’
‘I don’t want you involved,’ he repeated. ‘I want you out of harm’s way.’
‘Those are fine words, Jack,’ she said, reaching for the door, ‘but I am already involved, whether you like it or not.’
‘Can we trust her not to be in cahoots with the smugglers?’ asked Enoch, looking at her muddied skirts as Jack finished lighting the fire.
Jack stood and glanced irritably at Jenna. ‘Yes,’ he answered reluctantly.
Enoch remained seated, looking at her over the steeple of his lightly clasped fingers.
‘How will you recognise the paintings?’ he asked her. ‘Judge Buller has many.’
Jenna stood in front of him, her hands tightly clasped. ‘I helped carry them on one of the runs. The cargo was dropped and the landing men wanted to check the goods were undamaged. I was told they were for the boss. They called him Lambskin. I held the lantern while they looked them over. The goods were paintings and vases. The vases would be hard to distinguish amongst others of a similar design, but the paintings are unique. I have a good memory and will recognise them again.’
‘Do you know this man called Lambskin?’ asked Enoch. His eyes were steely grey and she saw hardness in them as he looked at her. She wondered if Jack ever saw it.
‘I do not.’
‘And your brother, does he know him?’
‘He … does not, but I believe he has heard of him.’
Jack took no part in the questioning, preferring to keep his back to her and look out of the window.
‘We will have to school you in upper class etiquette. My wife will take you under her wing. If the reason for your presence is discovered it would be very dangerous.’
Jack turned around. He had heard enough.
‘Jenna cannot go. I won’t allow it.’
‘May I remind you that you will not be paid unless this man is caught,’ said Enoch. ‘She is our only chance.’
‘Then I will not be paid until I find another way.’
‘She is not your wife to command, Jack.’
‘Even so I do not want her to do this.’
Ignoring his reply, Enoch looked at Jenna’s muddied dress. ‘I can provide her with suitable clothing. Do you think she can masquerade as a gentlewoman?’
‘She has a gift for imitation,’ was Jack’s terse reply.
Jenna did not like being discussed as if she was not there.
‘It is not up to Jack whether I help or not. I can play the role well with a little tuition.’
Enoch raised his brows. ‘She has spirit. And she is right: it is not up to you whether she goes.’ Enoch pushed himself up to standing. ‘I want Buller caught and I think this might work.’
Jack realised he was outnumbered.
‘I will not allow her to go alone. I will go with her.’
‘Then it is fortunate that Judge Buller mistook you for William Pitt the Younger, as he has given me enough invitations for all four of us.’
‘Four?’
‘You don’t think that my wife would let me go to such a house without her, do you?’
‘You do not fear for your wife?’
‘I do not. She is not the one who will have to find and identify the paintings without raising suspicions. Jenna is going to do that. And who better to trick a room full of guests than a Cartwright?’
Jenna felt her heart sink. Even this man, who she did not know well, knew about her family’s reputation and recognised that she was no better.
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Jenna, lifting her chin. ‘I am a Cartwright and as you have implied, I was born to deceive.’
That evening, much to Jack’s frustration, Jenna was whisked away by Enoch and taken to his country home overlooking the peaceful Galva estuary. She arrived in the dark and was shown to one of the smaller bedrooms. Alone, her confidence began to waver. The memory of Jack’s stern face as the carriage pulled away stayed with her and she began to wonder what would happen tomorrow evening. That night she slept fitfully and what little sleep she had was plagued with terrifying dreams that saw her running for her life.
In the morning, Jenna’s mood lifted a little as she discovered that Galva House was situated on a hill and had one of the finest views in Cornwall. Although it was winter, the tidal waters below were a wonder to see. Large flocks of waders and peregrine falcons frequented the salt marshes of the estuary. Their antics continuously changed the scene before her, providing a strange comfort for her grief. In the summer, Jenna knew that the dark murky waters would turn turquoise blue and its beauty and birds would increase tenfold. It would be hard to leave Galva House, she thought, if one were lucky enough to own it.
Her time doing little but admiring the view did not last long. As soon as she finished her breakfast, which was thoughtfully brought to her room, Lady Pickering came to find her. For a moment the woman looked at Jenna as if she were an oddity.
‘My husband has asked me to teach you how to be a lady, and told me that you will be accompanying us tonight when we dine with Judge Buller.’ Her eyes did a sweep of Jenna’s dress, still muddy from the night before. ‘Take a turn of the room so I may see you properly,’ she instructed, with a wave of her hand.
Jenna did as she was asked.
‘You have clear skin and healthy hair,’ Lady Pickering mused, tilting her head to one side as if she were studying a painting.
‘I have been fortunate.’
‘Your voice is pleasing to the ear. Are you able to control your vulgarities?’
Jenna kept walking. ‘I was not aware I had any.’
Lady Pickering considered her answer. ‘My husband told me that you were not uncouth.’
‘But you did not believe him,’ said Jenna, realising she was coming to the end of the room. She made a wide arc and began to retrace her steps towards Lady Pickering who appeared to be watching her feet.
‘I like to form my own opinion,’ replied Lady Pickering, without looking up. ‘However, you do walk with a certain dignity.’
Jenna stopped in surprise. ‘I do?’
Her assessor’s face broke into a smile, and she lifted her gaze. For the first time the two women’s eyes met.
‘Yes.’ The older woman studied her for a moment. ‘You do not appear nervous. It is not pleasant to be observed and scrutinised, but you seem quite at ease.’
‘I have attended several Mop Fayres; I am used to being observed and scrutinised.’
‘It is a cross we all have to bear.’ At Jenna’s questioning look, Lady Pickering added, ‘Unfortunately, it is a young woman’s lot, no matter her circumstances, to be observed and judged before her hand is asked for.’ She instructed Jenna to come closer with a modest wave of her hand. Jenna obeyed. Lady Pickering immediately began to walk around her to assess her figure. ‘My daughter is married and lives elsewhere, but she has left several gowns here which will fit you well. You have a natural grace to your movement, better than some of my fri
ends. Have you any experience of the aristocracy?’
‘Only seeing the possessions my family stole from them.’
Lady Pickering laughed. ‘You have wit that will delight the judge. I think today may be quite amusing.’ Energised, she beckoned Jenna to follow her.
‘You are willing to teach me how to be a lady?’ Jenna asked hopefully, following her out of the room.
‘I cannot teach you all that you will need to know to pass yourself off as a gentlewoman, so we will concentrate on what you will need for tonight. I hope you are a quick learner, for we do not have much time.’
Lady Pickering took the role as her tutor so seriously it was as if she had spent her life waiting for such an opportunity. Standing stiffly by Jenna’s side, her mentor showed Jenna how to be escorted into dinner and accept a chair at a table. She described at great length how the table would be laid with a large selection of dishes but it was deemed good manners only to take from a few. She showed Jenna how to toast her neighbour’s health, what topics to discuss and what to avoid. She made her practice leaving the table at the end of the meal to follow the hostess out of the room so the men could converse alone. At the end, when Jenna’s head was heavy with it all, Lady Pickering smiled, clapped her hands twice, and made her do it all again.
On the third session, Jenna was made to wear linen hoops stiffened with whalebone under her skirt so she could feel what it was like manoeuvring and sitting in them without, as Lady Pickering said, ‘disgracing herself’. Finally, at the end of the fact-filled day, they returned to Jenna’s bedroom where they found two maids carefully laying a gown upon the bed. Lady Pickering nodded to them and the maids, instinctively knowing what she wanted, soundlessly retreated and left the room.
‘They will be back shortly with some water and to help you dress,’ said Lady Pickering, casting a glance over the gown. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to Jenna. ‘Now I must leave you so I can be made ready. If you need anything, just ask one of the maids.’ She looked Jenna up and down with a whimsical smile upon her face, before turning with a swish of her dress and leaving a waft of perfume in her wake.
Jenna was finally alone and free of scrutiny. She looked at the gown on the bed and cautiously approached it. Her eyes widened at the silk creation. The ivory gown was exquisite, with narrow pleated robing that fell from the back of the neckline to skim the floor. The skirt, made of the finest handwoven French silk, was delicately patterned with lines of floral and leafy motifs in silk thread. Jenna lifted a single sleeve. They were scalloped, double cuffed and trimmed in pink edging to match the thick padded trim that zigzagged down the front panels of the gown. She lifted the dress up and held it against herself. It felt heavy and luxurious in her hands, and far too expensive for the likes of her. Jenna’s mouth turned dry as she laid it back down on the bed. For the first time, she began to doubt her ability to deceive – despite still having the desire to.
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