Rapture Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Ainsworth was wrong. Someone else knew that they were at the farmhouse—Sam Gates and his good friend, the cobbler’s son, Billy Ford. The two boys, when able to escape from the parental eye, trampled at will through the countryside, and the stables at the abandoned farmhouse was a favorite place of theirs to hunt rats with Billy’s small terrier, Tiger. About midday when they’d slipped into the stables with the eager dog, they’d been astonished to find a pair of horses standing tied in the alleyway in the center of the building. Sam recognized the squire’s horse, an elegant bay gelding with one white hind foot: his father had replaced a thrown shoe only a few days ago. A complete set of new shoes had been put on Ainsworth’s dappled gray gelding the same day, so Sam had no trouble identifying the second horse.

  Hearing the squire and Ainsworth’s voices approaching, Sam and Billy grabbed Tiger and the two boys and dog scooted out the back of the stables through a loose board. The presence of the squire and his friend at the abandoned farmstead was notable and of a curious nature. Sam and Billy tied the dog a short distance away and returned to watch the two men. From their hiding place in a small patch of woods off to the side of the barn, the boys observed the squire and Ainsworth making several trips from the stables to the house carrying various items. After a while the boys grew bored and wandered back to the dog, deciding to ask the vicar if he would let them hunt in his stables. There wouldn’t be as much sport since the vicar kept a half-dozen or so cats around the place, but they might be able to find an unwary rat or two.

  It was late in the day by the time Sam made his way to The Crown where he knew that at this hour he would find his father enjoying a well-deserved tankard of ale. Entering the inn, he found his father sitting at a table with Jeb Brown and Mrs. Gilbert. At Sam’s approach, knowing growing boys, Mrs. Gilbert smiled and said, “Go into the kitchen and have Flora or one of the girls fix you a sandwich.”

  Grinning, he said, “Thank you—I’m fair starved to death,” and disappeared into the back of the inn. He reappeared several minutes later with crumbs on his chin and an impressive milk mustache framing his mouth, indicating he’d been fed well. As was his wont he sidled onto the remaining empty chair and half-dozing listened to the conversation of the adults.

  Sam was almost asleep but he jerked wide-awake when Mrs. Gilbert said, “There’s no telling what the squire and that unpleasant friend of his are capable of doing. At least we don’t have to worry about them right now—when I saw Walker in the village yesterday, he mentioned that they were going to Newhaven today.”

  “But they didn’t go to Newhaven,” Sam said innocently. Three pairs of narrowed adult eyes swiveled in his direction. He swallowed and muttered, “Well, at least, they weren’t there this afternoon. Me and Billy saw them out at the old Godart place earlier today.” “And what were you doing at the Godart place?” Caleb asked in a tone that told Sam he’d better have a good reason for having been at the deserted farmstead.

  Earnestly, Sam said, “We were only going to hunt rats in the barn with Billy’s dog.”

  Caleb grunted and Sam breathed easier.

  “When did you see them?” asked Mrs. Gilbert, frowning. Sam hunched a shoulder. “Don’t know the time, but it was this afternoon—Billy had to work for his da until nearly noon and it was after that.”

  “That place has been standing empty for years,” observed Jeb. “Can’t imagine it would hold any interest for the squire and his friend. What were they doing?”

  “I dunno,” Sam said. “Their horses was in the stables and they had brought some things in their saddlebags that they took into the house.” Apologetically, he said, “Me and Billy got bored watching them and so we walked on over to the vicar’s and he let us hunt in his stables.” His face brightened. “Tiger got three rats! Vicar was pleased.”

  Caleb, trailed by a lagging Sam, left a few minutes later. Alone at the table, Mrs. Gilbert looked at Jeb. “You still thinking of shoving off tonight after dark?”

  “Barometer hasn’t budged in a few days,” Jeb admitted, “but my bad knee is starting to ache. Kept me awake half the night.”

  Jeb’s “bad knee” had proven to be an excellent indicator of the weather in the past and knowing that if it was bothering him that there’d most likely be a storm blowing in before too many more days went by, Mrs. Gilbert nodded wisely. “Storm coming.”

  “Yep. I believe so.”

  “If you’re sailing tonight, you’ll have to see Miss Emily first. . . .” Mrs. Gilbert said, thinking aloud. “Might be a good thing,” she added, “when you see her you tell her what young Sam just told us.”

  “Thought crossed my mind.” His expression troubled, Jeb said, “I wonder what they were up to out at the Godart place. Seems suspicious like, them being there—especially since they’re supposed to have been in Newhaven today.”

  “Which is why,” Mrs. Gilbert said briskly, rising to her feet, “you’ll tell Miss Emily when you see her.”

  Emily and Cornelia spent the afternoon packing what they would need for the first few days at Windmere. Emily was still resistant to the idea, unable to take seriously the notion that Ainsworth would substitute her in place of Anne. Every time she tried to renew the argument, Cornelia would stop her with a sharp look and the grim question: “Do you really want to take the chance?” Making a face, Emily returned to her packing, thinking that Cornelia was overreacting.

  While the ladies were busy packing, Barnaby sent a message by Tom the footman to Windmere, stating that he and Lamb were returning home and requesting that his carriage be driven over to pick them up late that afternoon. To the stable at The Birches, he sent word to have his and Lamb’s horses saddled and readied to leave.

  Lamb had everything packed and the valises sitting by the front door within a matter of a few hours. Such was not the case with Emily and Cornelia. Since neither lady was confident that Jeffery wouldn’t burn their belongings when he discovered they’d left, they ended up with considerably more things than originally planned.

  With little to do but wait, Barnaby paced, impatient for the news that the women were finally packed and that the coach had arrived from Windmere. Jeffery and Ainsworth may have gone to Newhaven and weren’t expected back until well into the evening, but Barnaby didn’t want to take any chances on them returning unexpectedly. The sooner they were gone from The Birches and at Windmere, the better he would like it.

  Emily and Cornelia managed to cram everything they could not bear to leave behind to Jeffery’s tender mercies into two rather alarmingly large trunks and an equally large pair of bandboxes. Once the two trunks were muscled down the stairs into the entry hall and the bandboxes placed on top of them, everyone breathed easier.

  With Lamb in the front of the house, on the lookout for the coach, Barnaby and the two women were closeted in the small green salon at the rear of the house. Conversation was sporadic and there were long stretches of silence; the three of them were waiting tensely for the news that the coach had arrived.

  A tap on the door brought everyone to their feet, but when Walker entered the room, he looked at Emily and said apologetically, “No, the coach has not arrived, but there is an, ah, friend of yours waiting to see you in the kitchen.”

  Emily immediately guessed the identity of her visitor and the reason for the visit. Blessing the coach’s delay, giving Barnaby and Cornelia a quick smile, she said, “I’ll only be a moment.” When Barnaby looked ready to object, she added, “It is important. Walker will stay right by my side—I’ll be quite safe.”

  Grabbing her blue-and-oyster silk-and-velvet reticule, she slipped into the hall. Shutting the door behind her, Emily asked, “Is it Jeb? He’s going to sail tonight?”

  Walker nodded, his face troubled. “And he was full of news of the squire and Mr. Ainsworth: they are not in Newhaven, but have been busy out at the old Godart place. Sam saw them there this afternoon.”

  Barely suppressing a gasp, Emily said, “So that’s where they intended to take Ann
e!”

  There was no time for further conversation and, with Walker at her heels, her fingers clutching the reticule, Emily sped toward the kitchen. This afternoon had been so frantic that it was only when she’d put the money for the next shipment into her reticule just before leaving her room to walk with Cornelia to the green salon had she given a thought to Jeb’s impending trip, or the smuggling enterprise at all. Barnaby might have thought she was unduly quiet in the green salon, but Emily had been thinking hard about the ramifications her removal to Windmere would have on the smuggling operation. Mrs. Gilbert and the others needed to know what was happening.

  Jeb’s arrival tonight couldn’t have been better timed and she was relieved that she could kill two birds with one stone: he’d have the money and he could tell Mrs. Gilbert of the removal to Windmere.

  All of the servants knew what was going on, but they all maintained the fiction that Jeb had merely come for a friendly visit with Jane, his niece, and lone remaining housemaid at The Birches. When Emily rushed into the kitchen, Jeb rose to his feet, kissed Jane on her cheek and said that he’d be off now—once he had a private word with Miss.

  Daylight was fading as Emily and Jeb stepped out the kitchen door and hurried toward the stables where Jeb had left Caleb’s horse. As they walked, their heads close together, Emily brought Jeb current with the happenings at The Birches. Even though they were alone, they both kept their voices just above a whisper, always wary of being overheard.

  “Make certain Mrs. Gilbert knows that we will be at Windmere before you leave tonight,” she ordered as they rounded a curve and the house disappeared from sight. The stables were hidden beyond another curve just ahead and at this particular stretch of road, between the two curves, they were out of sight from anyone at the stables or the house. Stopping in the middle of the narrow road she opened her reticule and hastily handed Jeb the small leather pouch. It disappeared inside his worn brown jacket.

  “What if you’re needed unexpectedly?” Jeb asked quietly, worry in his eyes. “How will we let you know? Can’t have Sam slipping into the kitchen at Windmere with a message for you.”

  Emily considered his concerns. They were valid. Smuggling was an uncertain business and beyond knowing the tides there wasn’t ever any set timetable for Jeb’s return and the unloading of the contraband goods. The only constant was that the smuggled items from France were unloaded on moonless nights or, to avoid the revenuers, in the midst of a storm—if possible. While still at sea, using a lantern, Jeb was able to signal his approach to Mr. Meek whose small cottage was situated on a chalk bluff above the pounding surf. Once Mr. Meek was alerted to Jeb’s impending arrival, having acknowledged Jeb’s signal with his own lantern, he hastened to The Crown and Mrs. Gilbert. She spread the word amongst the small crew that helped with the unloading and the transportation to London. As their leader, Emily was always there to lend a hand where needed. With the loyal band of servants at The Birches benefiting from the smuggling operation, it was simple enough for Sam to get her word that a landing was in the offing. But at Windmere . . .

  Emily bit her lip. How was she to get word of a landing and, almost as important, slip out of the house in the dead of night and ride to the village?

  “Do you know of anyone at Windmere we can trust?” she asked Jeb, keeping her voice low.

  Jeb pulled on his ear. “Mrs. Spalding’s sister, Mrs. Eason, is the cook there . . . I expect she knows how to keep her mouth shut and would help us.”

  Emily didn’t like it but time was passing and she had to make a decision. As they stood there talking, a feeling of unease swept over her and she glanced around. There was the faintest breeze rattling the bare branches of the trees near the road, but even without leaves to obscure the view, the woods were full of shadows and odd patches of darkness. She saw nothing to alarm her, but unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched, she didn’t linger and began to walk once more. When she spoke to Jeb, her voice was even lower than previously. “Explain it all to Mrs. Gilbert immediately,” she urged, “and tell Mrs. Gilbert to talk to Mrs. Spalding—tomorrow. If they agree that Mrs. Eason will help us, Mrs. Spalding can see her sister and make the arrangements. If Mrs. Eason will do it, she can find a way to let me know.”

  “And if we can’t trust her?” Jeb asked, keeping step with her.

  “Then we’ll have to think of something else,” she admitted gloomily. “Hopefully, before your return, I will have discovered a way I can slip in and out of the house undetected.” She half smiled. “And stealing a horse from Lord Joslyn’s barn shouldn’t be beyond me. I’m sure they’ve had some of their animals ‘borrowed’ before this.”

  They continued walking shortly rounding the curve that had hidden the stables from view. She noted the pair of saddled horses tied to the long rail in front of the stables, recognizing them as Lord Joslyn’s and Lamb’s horses. Several yards from the long building, Emily stopped and asked abruptly, “When you’re in Calais have you noticed very many people trying to get out of the country?”

  If he was surprised at her question, Jeb didn’t show it. “I hear things . . . but I’ve never been approached.”

  Emily hesitated, then said in a rush, “Keep your ears open. Lord Joslyn has a half brother, Lucien, who is in France now and most likely will be trying to get out of the country. It’s possible he could be at Calais.”

  Jeb looked thoughtful. “I know a few people. I can ask around.”

  “Oh, Jeb, you are a darling!” Emily exclaimed, beaming at him. “I know that Lord Joslyn will pay you well if you are able to bring Lucien back with you.”

  “If he’s in Calais,” Jeb warned. “There are other ports he might be in and I can’t go looking for him.”

  Her smile fading, Emily nodded.

  “Now I’ll say good-bye,” Jeb said gruffly. “ I’ve got a ship and crew to get ready to sail with the tide.”

  She watched him disappear inside the stable and it was only when he reappeared, mounted his horse and with a wave rode off in the opposite way they had come did she turn in the direction of the house. Even though she knew she had been gone longer than planned, Emily’s step was reluctant. She should have been feeling relieved, and in many ways she was—Jeb’s timely arrival had solved quite a few problems for her. He now had the funds for more contraband and he would inform Mrs. Gilbert of her removal to Windmere. Tomorrow Mrs. Gilbert and Mrs. Spalding would put their heads together and hopefully Mrs. Eason would cooperate, but . . . She was, she realized, for reasons that escaped her, dreading the removal to Windmere and being indebted to Lord Joslyn.

  She made a face. She was being silly. In minutes she’d be on her way to one of the most impressive homes in Britain, the guest of a man whose very look did peculiar things to her heart. Just about any other woman in the neighborhood, she admitted wryly, perhaps even the whole of England would be over the moon to be in her shoes.

  Not one to repine, Emily straightened her shoulders and, her reticule in one hand, she picked up one side of her skirt with the other and briskly set out toward the house. Reaching that stretch of road hidden from both the stables and the house, she had not gone more than a dozen steps before her pace faltered. The back of her neck prickled, and despite the long sleeves and the warmth of the amber merino wool dress she was wearing, she shivered.

  Scolding herself for being a goose, she took another step, but a sound behind her stopped her in her tracks. Spinning around, she looked in that direction as Jeffery, on his bay gelding, came crashing out of the forest and blocked the way to the stables.

  Her first reaction was one of astonishment, although not as much as there would have been if Jeb hadn’t told her that Jeffery and Ainsworth were seen this afternoon at the Godart place. In the flurry surrounding Jeb’s arrival, she hadn’t had time to think about Jeffery and Ainsworth not having gone to Newhaven, but assuming the two men were still at the Godart farm, she hadn’t been concerned. She certainly hadn’t expected Jeffery to sudde
nly appear before her.

  Feigning innocence, she said, “Jeffery! What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Newhaven today.”

  Her cousin did not look well and his expression was sullen as he muttered, “Changed my mind.”

  Conscious of the fleeting minutes and of the need to tell Barnaby and Cornelia of Jeffery’s return, she said, “Ah, well, I’ll be on my way.”

  There was a rustle behind her and she whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat as Ainsworth, astride his dappled gray, stepped out onto the road, blocking her progress. It didn’t escape her notice that she was trapped between the two men or that they were unobserved from either the stables or the house on this stretch of road.

  Quelling the spasm of fear that clenched in her belly, reminding herself that they didn’t know that Anne had escaped their clutches, her clear gray gaze fixed on Ainsworth, she said firmly, “You’re blocking my way, sir. Please move your horse.”

  Ainsworth smiled nastily and something in that smile sent an arrow of fright shooting right through her. With all of Cornelia’s dire warnings ringing in her ears, cursing herself for not paying more heed to her great-aunt’s predications, Emily darted toward a thick patch of wood, hoping to lose herself in the tangle.

  She was unsuccessful. Ainsworth’s horse leaped forward and his arm closed around her waist, jerking her off her feet; her reticule dropped onto the road. Twisting and kicking, Emily was roughly hauled onto his horse in front of him. She clawed at Ainsworth’s hand at her waist and he cursed as she drew blood.

  One hand holding the reins of his dancing horse, Ainsworth grasped her hair with the other and pulled her head back until she thought her neck would snap. His lips next to her ear, he panted, “I like a woman with spirit, but save your strength for when I have you in bed.”