The Thief's Daughter

by Victoria Cornwall

  ‘You will not tell him that I am rejoicing in his discomfort.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘Then we have a secret between us. You see, secrets can be shared.’ All heads in the room turned as dinner was announced. ‘May I escort you into dinner?’ he asked hopefully.

  She saw Jack break away from William and Horace to join her. She placed her hand firmly in Edgar’s.

  ‘I would be delighted,’ she answered, smiling, and allowed him to lead her away.

  Judge Buller and his wife sat at opposite ends of the table. Although the guests were at liberty to choose their own seats, the rules of good manners meant that preferred seats were not always the ones secured. Jenna found herself seated near the hostess and away from Enoch, Lady Pickering and Jack. Fortunately, Edgar took a seat opposite her and much to Jack’s brooding resentment made it his duty to entertain her.

  The first course consisted of soup, vegetables, boiled fish and meat. It was enough food to feed her brother’s family for a week and the injustice of it all almost threatened to overwhelm her. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Now was not the time to allow her emotions loose rein, she told herself.

  Jenna gave the appearance of enjoying the dishes laid before her, but she ate very little. Nerves were beginning to build and although she found it easy to talk to Edgar, she had a growing concern that she would make a mistake and be unmasked. When the first course and tablecloth were removed, and replaced by a new cloth and further dishes, she felt a sense of achievement, which strengthened her nerve. The feeling was heady, until she realised everyone was looking at her waiting for an answer to a question she had not heard.

  Edgar came to her rescue. ‘I think she did not realise you were speaking to her, Aunt,’ he said loudly across the table. He turned to Jenna. ‘She asked if you have travelled?’

  Jenna blinked. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Enoch move uneasily in his seat.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Buller. I did not realise you were speaking to me.’

  Needlessly the woman raised her voice. ‘I said “have you travelled?’”

  ‘No, I have not, although I would like to.’

  The questioner persisted. ‘And where would you like to go?’

  What did she know about the world to enable her to give a good reason to visit another place? She felt her mouth go dry and quickly took a sip from her glass.

  ‘Somewhere quite different from England – perhaps the Fiji Islands.’

  Enoch almost choked, but Edgar’s face brightened.

  ‘How adventurous,’ he remarked, with a whimsical smile.

  ‘Why should male explorers have all the fun of discovering exotic locations?’ Jenna added. ‘If I could travel anywhere I would like to go to the Fiji Islands where the sea is turquoise blue and the inhabitants and their culture are so very different from our own.’

  Jack smiled. She had seen that smile before, when she had read a difficult passage, or proudly shown him her written hand. He was proud of her, and even though she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t help feeling glad that he felt it.

  For the first time, Judge Buller took an interest in her. ‘Surely the islands are filled with uncivilised savages.’

  ‘They have their own rules, hierarchy and laws. Just because we do not recognise them, that does not mean they are savages. They are a proud people, who love and care for their families as we do. If they come to this country and learn of the law we live under, they may consider us to be uncivilised.’

  ‘It is true,’ said Enoch. ‘I wonder what the inhabitants of Fiji would think of us when they hear that we have over two hundred crimes that are punishable by hanging, including the cutting down of a young tree.’

  ‘They would think we are the savages!’ said Edgar, laughing.

  ‘I will leave the Fiji islands to you, my dear,’ replied Mrs Buller. ‘I would rather stick to the tried and tested. Two years ago Charles and I undertook the grand tour of Europe. Charles has a weakness for art and we spent much of the time visiting the museums along the way.’

  ‘Did you follow the route that so many young gentlemen favour?’ asked Horace.

  Mrs Buller nodded. ‘We did. Charles missed out on the opportunity when he was younger.’

  ‘My father was a tyrant,’ interrupted the judge, ‘and refused to support me in the experience. When a man has little support, he either falls by the wayside or it makes him tough. I think we can see,’ he said, waving at the laden table, ‘that I did not fall by the wayside.’ There was a ripple of laughter.

  ‘I would rather see the country than the museums, though,’ William replied, ‘and I hear the conversation of a French woman is particularly interesting.’

  ‘I hope you are not suggesting that English women are not interesting?’ said his wife.

  ‘You always interest me, but the younger ones have their heads filled with art, music and nothing more.’ He looked across to Jenna. ‘Although you are an exception. You are quite divine.’ Jenna felt ridiculously pleased with the compliment. ‘Tell us a little about your family.’

  She heard Jack’s voice. ‘Your wife will grow concerned at the interest you are showing in Jenna,’ he teased William, hoping to divert his attention away. It was kindly meant, but Jenna was in no mood to accept his help.

  She arched a brow at him then turned to William. ‘My ancestors made their money trading fine jewellery.’

  Enoch fingered his collar uncomfortably.

  ‘And have you inherited their expertise?’ asked Horace.

  ‘I can tell the difference between a gem and glass.’

  There was a short silence. ‘I believe you have now worried all the husbands in the room, Jenna,’ Jack said evenly. ‘They are concerned that their wives will ask for your expert opinion after dinner.’

  If Jack was hoping to break the tension in the room that had suddenly reared its head, it worked. All the guests burst into laughter to prove there were no concerns for the gifts given and received. The gentlemen’s wine was changed to port and the ladies’ to sweet wine as the laughter slowly died away. Enoch seamlessly steered the conversation back to the museums the judge and his wife had visited on their last grand tour. They were content to speak at length until Charles Buller suddenly looked at Jenna.

  ‘Do you have an interest in art?’ he asked her suddenly as the second course was removed and dishes of dried fruit, nuts and sweetmeats were brought in to replace them. ‘I only ask as I saw you looking at my art collection in the drawing room earlier.’

  ‘My husband has a great art collection which he is very proud of,’ interrupted his wife fondly.

  Jenna saw a chance of being alone with him. ‘I do. You have a fine collection, sir. Do you have any more?’

  ‘I do. I will show them to you if you like.’

  ‘It is not something I would find an interest in,’ said Edgar under his breath.

  ‘Mind your manners,’ said Buller. Laughter and conversation hushed and Edgar reddened. ‘My nephew does not appreciate the skill of the artist or the intelligence of the message it portrays, Miss Trago.’

  Jenna felt for Edgar as all eyes turned to him. He examined a dried piece of fruit in his fingers as his neck developed red blotches of heat. She heard him take a deep breath.

  ‘I am to be transferred inland, Uncle,’ he said, popping the fruit into his mouth and meeting his uncle’s gaze. ‘I will no longer be stationed near the coast to watch for smugglers.’

  Jack and Enoch exchanged glances across the table.

  The judge’s eyes narrowed. ‘Transferred? I will put a stop to this. It will not do.’

  William watched his glass being refilled. ‘Why should the transfer concern you, Charles?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle,’ Edgar sneered. ‘Why should it concern you? It is I who is being transferred.’

  Judge Buller pursed his lips, but did not answer.

  Lifting a single hand, Enoch refused the manservant who approached to refill his
glass. ‘I hope this transfer is not inconvenient for you, Edgar. I did not catch your surname earlier. What is it?’

  ‘My name is Tilbury,’ replied Edgar. ‘I was informed of my transfer this morning and no, it is not inconvenient for me as I welcome it, but there are others who will not be so pleased.’

  After dinner the hostess led the ladies into another room. Lady Pickering remained by her side, and Jenna began to suspect that she had been given orders to keep an eye on her. When Horace’s wife presented Jenna with her necklace to inspect, Lady Pickering paled quite significantly. Jenna, however, was not in the least concerned as she had spent much of her childhood watching her parents examine stolen jewellery. As Lady Pickering fanned herself anxiously, Jenna’s examination, and final verdict, spurred others to offer their jewellery too. Out of the five pieces, only one was made of glass. Thankfully, the owner already knew this, as the original was at home in her safe.

  Raucous laughter at Jenna’s unusual skills replaced the usual sedate after dinner conversation that might be expected from gentlewomen. Jenna’s entertainment was a success and some of the women sighed reluctantly when it was time to join the gentlemen.

  Jack approached her immediately and took her aside. ‘Be careful of Tilbury. He is connected with Buller in more ways than by blood.’

  She felt his hand support her elbow and heard his words of warning, but he did not really care for her. All he cared about was foiling the smuggling gang.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said, attempting to move away. His hand tightened on her elbow.

  ‘What is the matter with you? Are you still angry that I left your bed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then your pride has been hurt and it is this that makes you angry.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You thought that I smuggled for you but in reality I had reasons of my own to go. Discovering this has hurt your pride and now you flirt with Tilbury to wound me.’ He lowered his head. ‘The truth is,’ he whispered against her ear, ‘I would still have gone if the only reason was for you.’

  His words brushed her sensitive ear and sent shivers down her back. She pulled her elbow away.

  ‘I felt guilty that you had been injured for me. You let me think that there was something between us. Now I know that words mean nothing – especially if a man speaks them when he is in his cups. I would never have lain with you if I thought …’

  Jenna could not bear to think how freely, and foolishly, she had given herself to him. Desperate to put some distance between them, she walked away, only to be halted abruptly by his hand in the crook of her arm. She tried to shake it away but his fingers only tightened further. Jack’s eyes darkened and she could see his mounting anger in their hidden depths.

  ‘I have only been drunk once in recent times,’ he said solemnly, ‘and I remember and meant every word that I spoke.’

  Jenna faltered. He had said such nice things to her and he was telling her he meant them all.

  ‘Tell me what is bothering you,’ he said more kindly. ‘Something has come between us and I am determined to find out what it is.’

  ‘I saw my brother yesterday,’ she said under her breath. ‘He was badly beaten.’

  ‘So that is where you spent your day. His beating does not surprise me and I doubt it surprised him.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I told him to expect it. A man cannot lie with snakes and not expect to get bitten.’

  Jenna’s stomach lurched. Jack had killed her brother. She wanted to be sick.

  ‘You feel he deserved it? Perhaps he is not the only one who deserves to be punished.’ Jenna left him and began to cross the room. Jack followed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked under his breath.

  ‘I have a task to achieve.’

  ‘The paintings can wait until you are calmer.’

  ‘The paintings are not the only reason I am here. You see,’ she said, arching a brow, ‘you are not the only one who is capable of duplicity.’

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, but it was too late. They had already arrived at her target audience and he would receive no answer from her now.

  ‘Sir,’ Jenna said to the judge’s back, ‘you promised me a private tour of your paintings.’

  The judge, glad to have his conversation with Horace’s wife interrupted, turned immediately. ‘I did,’ he said, looking down his long thin nose at her. ‘Do you mind, Mr Trago, if I steal your pretty companion away from you?’

  ‘I mind very much,’ he answered. ‘But I believe I have little choice in the matter. If I have learnt anything from my cousin, it is that she has a mind of her own.’ As he turned to leave, he looked down upon her. ‘I just hope she remembers that,’ he said solemnly as he walked away.

  Judge Buller took great pride in showing Jenna the paintings in his collection. Every room in his large house was adorned with expensive works of art that varied from collections of mythology and portraits, to landscapes and still life. Although Judge Buller’s enthusiasm did not waver, Jenna’s appreciation dwindled the further away from Enoch and Jack she was taken. There was a sinister strength in the judge that unnerved her, born from her growing isolation from the other guests. While he appeared content, she grew quieter.

  Alone, they entered yet another large room, where she pretended to study a painting of the sea. Judge Buller looked down at her with interest, ignoring his art collection for the first time.

  ‘Something has been troubling me since dinner,’ he said ominously. ‘I have the strangest feeling we have met before.’

  Jenna was confident that they had not. Perhaps it was this mistaken identity that was adding to the tension.

  ‘You are mistaken. We have not met before.’

  ‘You certainly look familiar, but if you say we have not met, then I must concede to the fact.’

  Despite his answer, he did not look convinced. Jenna began to feel uncomfortable under his lingering gaze. It was as if he was waiting for her to say something more. The air of expectation was palpable. It was the time for the charade to end, but now that the moment had arrived, she felt sick to her stomach.

  ‘I have something to tell you,’ she said quietly.

  Judge Buller met her gaze with watery eyes and a wet smile. His guests believed him to be the perfect host, taking an interested guest on a tour of his home. How little they knew about this man dressed in finest linen and silk, thought Jenna. Who would have thought he was the head of a smuggling gang and had such dubious morals? And he did have dubious morals, perhaps even no morals at all. She knew by telling him that Jack was on his trail, he would make him suffer. She wanted Jack to suffer – didn’t she?

  Jenna looked away and moved to another painting. He followed her, watched her tilt her head as if to study the painting, but in reality she saw none of it. She was thinking of Silas, his face unrecognisable, his body contorted in pain, his blood spattered on the floor and walls. He had not looked like her brother, but then he had spoken and she knew it was him. The voice she knew as well as her own told her Jack had done it and the nightmare she had found herself in grew worse.

  She tried to imagine Jack beating him until he was a broken mess, yet no matter how she tried she couldn’t. Can such a man kill another? Jenna felt aware of the judge waiting for her to say more. She focused on the painting in front of her.

  ‘Such a beautiful dark sea,’ she murmured absently, hoping to delay the confession for a moment. Reservation had set in, as once the words were spoken there would be no going back. Jack had shown only concern for her welfare and a desire for her to have a better life. He had offered to pay Silas’s debts. He had saved her life from a musket shot.

  The judge had stepped closer to the painting and was speaking, pulling her from her thoughts. ‘I agree, but dark seas also have power and hide great danger,’ he replied.

  She looked at his back. What evidence did she have of Jack’s involvemen
t, but for Silas’s dying words? Silas had no affection for Jack, only mounting jealousy. The judge took a step back again which brought him to her side.

  ‘What confession do you have to make?’ the judge reminded her. She glanced sideways at him and noticed his grey eyes grow hard as granite.

  Jenna opened her mouth, her mind still whirring at what she was about to do. She was not only going to betray Jack, but also those who were trying to uphold the law and stop the smuggling in Cornwall. When did right and wrong become so blurred? When did her morals become as twisted as her own family’s? If she truly thought Jack had hurt her brother, why did she not report him? Why take revenge in this sordid manner? She knew why. Loving a man and discovering he could hurt you in this way is enough to turn anyone’s mind for a while. She was strong once and knew right from wrong. Revenge is for the weak.

  ‘Miss Trago, what confession do you have to make to me?’ she heard him ask again.

  Jenna turned doe like eyes to him. ‘I confess that I find landscapes rather boring. Do you have any paintings of horses?’

  A short silence followed as he studied her face, but then his manner brightened. ‘Indeed. I have recently acquired two that may interest you. I felt your interest in my collection was waning. Now I know why. Eh?’

  Jenna felt a flood of relief sweep through her body and the tension between them appeared to lift. Moments later, he led her to an ill lit room where further paintings were stored wrapped in cloth. Jenna held the candle as the judge carefully exposed the paintings so she could view them. She knew what she would see long before the last piece of cloth was flicked aside to fully expose the canvases beneath – the two distinctive equine paintings she had seen on the beach all those weeks ago.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The carriage ride home was a time to reflect. Sir Enoch’s and Lady Pickering’s mood was greatly improved from their nervous bickering only four hours before. Jenna and Jack listened in silence as they recounted the evening and its final successful conclusion.