by Mary Nichols
‘Into my custody.’ Ash smiled again. His face was stiff with smiling. ‘I intend to make a friend of the boy through his cousin. By gaining his trust, I might find out more. Where are the prisoners being held?’
‘I had them in the Customs House overnight, but this morning I sent them under guard to Norwich gaol. They will be safer there than anywhere until the Assizes in Thetford later this month.’
Ash understood him to mean safe from being set free by their friends. ‘Then I must go to Norwich. Will you furnish me with a letter ordering Benjamin Whiteside’s release into my custody? It will save me having to explain myself all over again. The fewer people who know my intentions the better.’
‘And Miss…’ his lordship waved his hand in the general direction of the door ‘…Miss Whatshername—does she know your purpose?’
‘Miss Kingslake. No, she does not. She went to Sir Felix Markham for help when I was there and I offered to do what I could to bring about the release of her cousin.’
‘Then I hope she is suitably grateful.’
‘Oh, I am sure she will be,’ he said lightly, perfectly aware of his lordship’s meaning.
His lordship left the room and came back a few minutes later, waving a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘Here you are. And I hope I may not live to regret this.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Ash took the paper, checked the wording and signature and folded it before putting it in his pocket and bowing his way out.
Pippa was in the carriage, impatiently drumming her fingers on the door edge, when he returned and gave orders for the coachman to proceed. ‘Well?’ she demanded as soon as he had settled in his seat beside her. ‘What happened? Where is Ben? Is he to be released?’
‘Your cousin has been sent to Norwich Castle to await the Assizes and, yes, he is to be released into my custody.’
‘Then we must go to Norwich at once.’
‘No, Miss Kingslake, we cannot go at once. It is becoming late and we should need to stay in Norwich overnight. Even you must realise the impropriety of that. I am going to take you home and acquaint Mrs Whiteside of our progress so far, then I shall go and fetch your young cousin tomorrow. It won’t hurt him to have a taste of prison for a night or two.’
‘Then you will quiz him all the way home, I suppose. You will be wasting your time. He knows nothing.’
‘Then he has nothing to fear.’
‘Have you no heart?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, yes, my dear. My heart beats as everyone’s does. Here.’ Before she could stop him he had grabbed her hand and laid it flat over his heart, where she felt its solid beating beneath her palm. It had a strange effect on her own heartbeat, which suddenly became erratic and unduly loud, as if to prove it was every bit as efficient as his. It took her breath away and, for a moment, she could neither move nor speak. She was hurtled back in time, to the days before Edward Cadogan turned his back on her. He had made the same gesture to prove his constancy. ‘Two hearts beating as one,’ he had said. And what an empty gesture that had been! She would not succumb again. She would not! She pulled her hand away and made a pretence of fumbling for her handkerchief in the pocket of her cloak.
‘Allow me,’ he said, handing her his own pristine square of cambric. She took it and squeezed it into a ball in her fist. She did not speak, not even to thank him.
They journeyed in silence for several minutes but they could not go all the way to Narbeach without speaking; the atmosphere was tense enough without that. ‘Let us call a truce,’ he said. ‘After all, we both want the same thing—freedom for your cousin, the end of crime and bloodshed. And a peaceful life. Do you not agree?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
He held out his hand. ‘Then let us shake hands on it.’
She took his hand. It was warm and dry and his grip firm. ‘I am sorry, Sir Ashley. It is only my anxiety that makes me flare up,’ she said. ‘I do it far too often. It is all on account of my hair…’
‘Your hair?’ he queried, ‘What has your hair to do with it?’
‘It is red,’ she said.
He pretended to study it. ‘So it is,’ he agreed mildly.
‘Red hair is supposed to denote a quick temper,’ she said. ‘I am afraid, in my case, it is true. It is also said to be unlucky. Some people of a superstitious nature turn away from me. Some go as far as to say it is the mark of the devil and cross themselves.’
‘Then they are ignorant bigots.’
‘Are you married?’ she asked suddenly. ‘No.’
‘I’ll wager you would not marry a red-haired woman.’
‘My dear Miss Kingslake,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘are you proposing to me?’
Her face turned nearly as red as her hair. ‘Certainly not! I have no wish to marry you or anyone.’
‘Oh, dear, that has put me in my place.’ But he was laughing.
‘My question was purely hypothetical,’ she said.
‘Then I will answer it. Purely hypothetically, of course. The colour of a lady’s hair would not influence me if all her other attributes were favourable. And if I were in love.’
‘You believe in love overcoming all, then?’
‘Of course. Without it the world would be a poorer place.’ He didn’t know why he said that. Love had never entered his head before. Desire, perhaps, but that was not the same thing at all; one involved the physical senses and the other the emotions, and he had schooled himself not to become emotional. In his mind he related it to weakness. Still, his contemporaries James, Jonathan and Harry were far from weak and yet all three loved their wives at a time when being in love with one’s wife was considered eccentric.
‘Have you ever fallen in love?’
‘My dear, I do it all the time. At least once a month.’ His flippancy hid his confusion. Confusion was something else he did not allow himself.
‘Now you are roasting me.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What other attributes?’ she asked, going back to his reply.
‘Why, she must be good-natured, generous, sympathetic to others, well read, able to converse properly without simpering and she must love me, of course.’
‘You say nothing of her colouring, dark or fair, or coming from a good family, or having a generous dowry…’
‘A woman with all those virtues would be beautiful, whatever the colour of her hair. As for a dowry, that is unimportant. I have no need of it.’
‘And have you found such a one?’
‘No, which is why, once a month, I am disappointed.’
‘You are teasing me again.’
‘It amuses me.’
‘Perhaps you do not come up to the ladies’ expectations. Have you thought of that?’
‘It is a possibility, I suppose,’ he said, pretending to give it some thought. ‘But as I have no wish to be married, I have never asked any of them what those expectations might be.’
‘I surmise you have had many mistresses.’
‘Well, you see,’ he said with a deep sigh, ‘they flock round me. I cannot seem to help it.’
She laughed. ‘How vain you are.’
‘No, simply truthful. Now are you going to tell me why you have no wish to marry? Have you had a surfeit of lovers, none of whom has lived up to your expectations?’
‘Oh, of course,’ she lied.
He knew she lied. She had been badly hurt in the past, he decided, and it had something to do with the colour of her hair. He could not believe anyone would be so unkind as to turn her down on those grounds. Why, he thought its richness was an asset and it certainly would not deter him, if he were ever to think of marriage, which of course he would not.
‘What are those expectations, apart from liking the colour of your hair, I mean?’
It was impossible to be offended by him. They were, after all, simply enjoying a light-hearted exchange of views, a small flirtation, which, she guessed, was intended to take her mind off the problem of her cousin. ‘He should be good-
natured, generous, sympathetic to others, well read, able to converse without simpering,’ she said, repeating his own words with a mischievous smile. ‘And he must love me.’
‘To distraction?’
‘Oh, definitely to distraction.’
‘’Tis a pity that we have both eschewed marriage,’ he said with another sigh. ‘We might have made a match of it.’ He paused to look at her. She was pensive, as if her mind had flown to some other place, some other time. ‘But perhaps we can be friends.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Friendship is safer.’ It was a strange thing to say, but he did not comment.
Instead he changed the subject abruptly. ‘Your aunt will no doubt be upset to think of Ben in Norwich Castle, but we shall have him out of there tomorrow, I promise you. And as you are concerned that I shall roast him, I think you and your aunt should accompany me to Norwich to make sure I do not.’
‘Both of us?’
‘I think Mrs Whiteside might be glad of your presence. She seems a rather excitable lady and I am not skilled in dealing with distraught mothers.’
‘Very well. We will put it to her.’
Augusta had been pacing the floor of the Windward House drawing room for hours, refusing to eat, drink or even sit down. As soon as she saw Pippa, she flung herself at her. ‘There you are at last. Where is he? Where is my boy?’
‘Calm yourself, Aunt,’ Pippa said, leading her to a sofa and drawing her down beside her. ‘Ben is to be let out tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! Why not today? What have they done with him?’
Pippa looked up at Ash, who was standing looking down at them. ‘Madam,’ he said, coming to her rescue. ‘Lord Borrowdale was concerned that the more reckless of the smugglers might attempt to free the prisoners by force and lives might be lost. He deemed it expedient to send them to Norwich gaol to await trial. I have been given a paper, signed by his lordship, consigning your son into my care, which I shall present at the castle tomorrow.’
Augusta raised a tear-streaked face. ‘And they will let you have him?’
‘Oh, undoubtedly. If you wish, you and Miss Kingslake may accompany me. We could do the return journey in a day if we set out early. But if we should be delayed, there are several good hotels that would serve for a night’s lodging. I suggest we go prepared. And take something for your son to change into. He will undoubtedly be rather unkempt.’ That was an understatement. From what he knew of Norwich gaol, the boy would have been confined in a filthy cell with dozens of others. Washing facilities and a change of clothes would certainly not be provided.
‘Oh, thank you, thank you, sir. We will be ready whenever you say.’
‘I will call for you at eight of the clock.’ He bowed and left them without waiting for a servant to conduct him to the door.
‘Oh, Philippa, you have no idea how my poor heart has been rent,’ Augusta said. ‘Every minute you have been gone has been torture and still Ben is not home. How the poor boy will survive another night in prison, I do not know. He is not strong… Wait until I see that brother of yours, I shall ring the loudest peal over him he has ever heard.’
‘You mean Nat has not come home?’
‘No. No one has seen hide nor hair of him, but when I asked Joe Sadler, he as good as admitted he had been with the smugglers.’
‘He must be hiding up somewhere until the fuss has died down.’
‘He could hide here as well as anywhere. If the Riding Officers didn’t know he was involved, he would be safer acting normally and doing whatever he had planned to do today. Instead he chooses to disappear. I have no doubt he knows I am displeased with him and is too shamefaced to come home.’
‘I wish you to be right, but I am truly worried he has come to some harm.’
‘What does Sir Ashley say about it?’
‘I have not told him. He is on the side of law and order and has no sympathy for the smugglers. I think he would like to see them all hanged or sent to the hulks.’
‘But he went with you to obtain Ben’s release…’
‘Only because he believes Ben will tell him what he wants to know.’
‘Ben knows nothing,’ Augusta insisted.
‘He must know what Nat was doing.’
‘Oh, dear.’ And she began to wail again. ‘What are we to do? If I had known when I came to live in this godforsaken spot what it would lead to, I would never have come. We were snug and safe miles inland and that is where I wish we had stayed.’
This was something the good lady repeated almost daily and Pippa took no note of it, but she was very worried about Nat. Sir Ashley must not find out about him. But how could she warn her brother when she had no idea where he was?
Sir Felix was out when Ash returned to Narbeach Manor. ‘He’s rid off to the Customs House,’ a stable boy told him when he followed his carriage and horses into the yard. Ash trusted his coachman, Tom Davies, to look after the horses, but it did no harm to let the other stable hands know how particular he was. ‘There was a pitched battle goin’ on there, an hour since. Had to call the militia in, they did.’
Ash decided to go and see what was happening for himself and asked for a horse to be saddled for him. He hurried indoors to change into a riding habit and buckle on his sword, then went back through the kitchen, grabbing a tart from the table and stuffing it into his mouth as he went. Once outside he sprang on the horse’s back and cantered out of the yard and on to the lane in the direction of the quay.
It was obvious there had been a confrontation at the Customs House. Two men were sitting on the wayside nursing broken heads; a bale of tea had burst open and the leaves were scattered all over the road and a band of women were trying to scoop them up. The captain of the dragoons was talking to Sir Felix, both of them still mounted. There was blood on the captain’s sword. Other soldiers had dismounted and were looking after their mounts. There was not a village man to be seen.
Ash rode up to the two riders. ‘What happened?’
Sir Felix turned at the sound of his voice. ‘Oh, you’re back. Get the boy, did you?’
‘No, he’s to be released tomorrow. What happened here?’
‘They stormed the Customs House and rescued the contraband.’ He nodded towards the injured men. ‘They battered those poor devils out of their senses.’
‘You mean the smugglers?’
‘Yes, who else?’
‘Were any of them recognised?’
‘No, so they say. The Captain here winged one of them, so we’re making a search for an injured man, though no doubt his fellows will keep him well hid. As for the contraband, we’ll search for that too, along with the rest that disappeared off the beach last night, though it’s doubtful if we’ll find anything.’
Ash was inclined to agree. Sir Felix did not seem in any great hurry to carry out the search. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing. You are too late.’ He turned his horse towards home. Ash dismounted and led his horse over to the two Customs men, who were back on their feet. ‘Is anyone looking after your injuries?’
‘We’ll go home,’ one said. ‘Our wives will see to them.’
‘Did you know those who attacked you?’
‘No, they wore scarves about their faces and hooded cloaks and it happened too quickly. We were eating our dinner when the door burst open and six men came in waving batons. They battered us about the head before we could even get to our feet. And though we shouted, no one came to our aid.’
‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they?’ the other said. ‘No doubt they took their share of the bounty for turning their backs.’
‘What was it?’ Ash asked. ‘Tea? Brandy?’
‘Some of it was. There was tobacco and silk, too. Now we’ve lost our prize. I said two was not enough to guard it and I were right, but Sir Felix would have it that it was enough. Why, I’ve known it take half an army to hold back the smugglers when their minds are made up to regain their goods.’
‘I am sorry for you,’ Ash sai
d. ‘Go home and have your injuries treated. If you remember anything else when you have had time to consider, I am staying with Sir Felix. Ask for me by name. Sir Ashley Saunders.’ He gave them each a half guinea and returned to his horse.
Instead of riding straight back he chose to ride along the shoreline, looking for evidence. The tide had been in and out again since the landing and the sand was smooth. Where the tide did not reach the dunes were dry, held together with tough marram grass and weeds, but the wind had whipped away evidence of men’s feet, horses’ hooves and cart wheels. The smugglers had chosen a good night for their activities. He looked across at the marshes that ringed the western end of the village, but dared not venture on to them. A man who did not know his way could disappear without trace. So could the booty. If that was where it was hidden, it would have to be moved very soon. Goods needed to be taken inland to the markets to make a profit and the smuggling barons would not let it lie idle a moment longer than they had to. He resolved to come out that night and keep watch.
Pippa was sitting in the window of her bedroom, looking out at the sea. She could see Sir Ashley leading his horse along the beach. He was alone and looking at the ground.
She had been sitting there thinking ever since he left. The carriage ride and their conversation, which had appeared so light-hearted, had stirred up memories she thought she had managed to bury so deep they could never surface again. But she had been wrong. It wasn’t that she still yearned for Edward as she had at the beginning; she had long ago convinced herself that if he could not love her as she was, red hair and all, he was not worth her anguish. But once that had been accomplished she was left with the humiliation, the whispers, the half-veiled hints that there must be something wrong with her. And everyone avoiding her.
She had learned to live with that, to accept her eccentricity and even exaggerate it, so that no one took any notice of the lone figure striding along the foreshore in fisherman’s boots and a voluminous cloak that billowed out behind her, while the wind whipped her hair up into a fiery tangle. She could, of course, cut it off and wear a wig. Wigs were going out of fashion, but some still wore them. It was what Edward had wanted her to do.
