Silken Secrets

by Joan Smith

  The briefest flash of anger flickered over the gentle­man’s face. Mary Anne, observing, felt this stranger wasn’t in the habit of being told what he would do. But while she watched, the anger disappeared, to be replaced by an equally brief flash of cunning. That was the unlikely word that occurred to her.

  Then the stranger smiled and took Lord Edwin’s outstretched hand. She wished she could think the smile had something to do with herself, but she knew it had not. He hadn’t even glanced at her.

  “Mr. Robertson,” the stranger said.

  “Lord Edwin Horton of Horton Hall, and this is my niece, Miss Judson.”

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” Mr. Robertson said with a city bow that had very little in common with the ungainly bobs usually seen in Dymchurch. The thorn bud eyes quickly ran over her toilette, lingering a moment on her face. Mary Anne flushed and smiled nervously. “An eye in him like a tiger,” Mrs. Plummer would say.

  The servant breathed a sigh of relief and led them to the parlor. As Mr. Robertson held Mary Anne’s chair, she noticed that he had a very winning smile, not at all pred­atory. He had nice white teeth, too, but the special charm of his smile owed more to his eyes than his mouth. The eyes glowed with interest and—was it possible?—admira­tion.

  “Thank you,” she said, so softly he didn’t hear.

  They ordered wine, and Lord Edwin, returned to spirits by his success, became cordial. “Mr. Robertson, what brings you to our fair village? Just passing through, I fancy?”

  “Actually I’m visiting a Mr. Vulch.”

  “Vulch, eh?” Lord Edwin nodded, while he mentally canvassed what such a loftly-looking lad could be doing with old Vulch. The possibilities were numerous. It could be business, politics, or it could be the lad was a relative.

  Mary Anne listened eagerly. It cropped into her head that he might have come to court Bess Vulch.

  “Are you acquainted with him?” Mr. Robertson asked.

  “I know him like a brother. Is he some kin to you?”

  “Oh, no. I’m here on business.”

  “From London, I presume?” Lord Edwin asked, as his eyes roamed over Mr. Robertson’s city style. Robertson nodded.

  “Whitehall?” Lord Edwin ventured.

  “Bond Street,” Mr. Robertson said.

  This caused Lord Edwin’s brow to lift in disparagement. He hadn’t planned to share his table with a merchant, but there you were. Never guess it to look at him that he was a hopped-up retailer. If the Cits were frequenting Weston, the gentlemen must find a new tailor.

  Mr. Robertson noticed the expression and held his own features immobile. “Perhaps you could direct me to Vulch’s place,” he said. “I understand he doesn’t live right in the village, but somewhere west of town.”

  During the interval till dinner arrived, Lord Edwin con­fined his conversation to his niece, and Mr. Robertson wrote something in a little black notebook. Figuring out his day’s profit, very likely. Once a steaming plate of mut­ton sat before him, however, Lord Edwin gave up his pre­tensions to snobbery and became expansive.

  “What line of trade are you in, Mr. Robertson?” he asked.

  “Drapery.”

  Mary Anne was hard put to account for the leap of interest in her uncle’s eyes. So was Mr. Robertson.

  “Drapery, you say.” His fingers tapped his cheek in a telltale way that caused his niece to wonder. “Woolens, muslins, silks…?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Robertson said, and lifted his knife and fork, both of which he handled like a gentleman.

  “No need to ask further why you’re visiting Mr. Vulch, then,” Lord Edwin said. “No secret hereabouts, he im­ports silk.” He smiled to himself at that clever use of “import,” to denote his acceptance of the practice. Mr. Robertson was no longer despised. He had become a per­son of great interest, one to be courted as a possible pur­chaser. Of course, the proposition must be put forward discreetly. Fitch must act as liaison man.

  Mary Anne wished to share Mr. Robertson’s attention and said, “If you’ve come to buy the latest shipment, I fear your trip was in vain. It was stolen last night during the storm. The empty lugger was grounded on a sandbar just in front of my uncle’s property. When the customs men searched it this morning, the load was gone. They say in the village that Vulch hasn’t got it.”

  “Right in front of your property?” Robertson asked swiftly.

  “On our very doorstep,” she confirmed. She certainly had his attention now. His eyes were sparkling with curi­osity.

  “Have you any idea who might have taken it?”

  “Vulch is the slyest man in the parish,” Lord Edwin announced. “He has it, certainly. What would a thousand ells of silk bring in London?”

  Mr. Robertson didn’t blink an eye when his companion announced the exact size of the load, but he noticed it. “It would depend on the quality,” he said.

  “But on the average. Say, for a pretty good-looking lot,” Lord Edwin pressed.

  “Approximately a thousand pounds,” he replied, and watched from under his lashes as Lord Edwin smiled be­nignly.

  “A thousand pounds, eh? Heh, heh. Old Vulch will never miss it. He’s rich as Croesus, the old crook.”

  Mr. Robertson still remained impassive at this revealing speech. Why should he speak of Vulch “never missing it” if Vulch had the stuff? “I’m very interested in recovering the load,” he said. “In fact, I’m thinking of offering a reward—say ten percent on top of the purchase price. I can hardly put such a notice in the journals, since smug­gling is illegal, but you might spread the word around.”

  Lord Edwin’s fingers patted his cheek. “I’ll be sure to tell anyone I’m speaking to.” He smiled warmly.

  “This is the prime month for selling silk, with the sea­son in progress. I have many orders to be filled. If I don’t deliver, I’ll lose my customers’ future business.”

  “Yes, yes, I see your problem. Demmed awkward sit­uation for you.”

  “That’s why I rushed down to Dymchurch to look into the matter,” Mr. Robertson said, and immediately regret­ted it. The young girl didn’t say much, but she was sharp as a tack.

  Mary Anne lifted her eyes and regarded him curiously.

  London was a good five or six hours from Dymchurch. Mr. Robertson must have left by noon—and the silk would hardly have had time to reach him. How did he know it wasn’t en route?

  He rushed on to eradicate her frown. “I thought I might meet the wagon along the way,” he added.

  “I’m sure you’ll recover it,” Lord Edwin said genially. “It can’t have gone far, what? You’ll be putting up with Vulch, will you—in case I get a line on who has the stuff?”

  “I haven’t been invited, but I understand he lives in a big way and will be able to accommodate me.” Mr. Rob­ertson noticed Lord Edwin’s frown. If this fellow had managed to get hold of the cargo, he obviously wouldn’t want to sell his stolen goods under Vulch’s nose. “Or I could be reached here, at the inn,” he added. “I’ll be stopping here from time to time to—to pick up my mail,” he said in confusion.

  “With the big demand for silk at this time,” Lord Ed­win said, “I wonder if the stuff wouldn’t fetch an even higher price in London.’’

  Mr. Robertson rushed in to assure him it would not. The subject of silk was allowed to drop, and the remainder of the meal passed pleasantly. Just before leaving, Mr. Robertson thought he would like to have a look at where the silk vanished and turned his warmest smile on Mary Anne. He noticed then that she was, in fact, attractive.

  Her beauty was of the quiet sort that crept up on you, rather than leaping out and assaulting you at one blow. Her eyes were dark and lustrous, but it was her smile that he found particularly winning. It was a soft, shy smile that suited her retiring manner. After the wayward debs of London it was a pleasant change.

  To win favor with the uncle, Mr. Robertson reached for the bill when it was presented. “You were kind enough to let
me share your table,” he said to Lord Edwin. “You must allow me to take care of the bill.”

  Lord Edwin didn’t give him any argument. Once a fel­low has paid for your mutton, you could hardly snub him. Lord Edwin smiled his agreement when Mr. Robertson hinted that he would be honored if he might call on Miss Judson tomorrow.

  She stared as if she couldn’t believe her ears, and looked to her uncle. “That—that would be fine,” she said in a voice that squeaked with pleasant embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed bright pink in a way that made Mr. Rob­ertson smile.

  They called for their carriages and went out together, surveyed by many curious eyes. A stranger in Dymchurch wasn’t interesting per se, but when he stood chatting with Miss Judson and her uncle, he acquired some cachet.

  The carriage awaiting the newcomer was a yellow sport­ing curricle, drawn by a spanking pair of grays. Lord Ed­win’s eyes roamed lovingly over the team, then turned disconsolately to his own sadly matched pair of jades. “That’s a dandy set of prads,” he said. “I daresay a team like that would set a fellow back a pretty penny at Tattersall’s.” Imagine a Cit having such a bang-up team.

  “They don’t come cheap, but you get what you pay for,” Robertson answered nonchalantly.

  Lord Edwin patted the nags a minute, then said, “I’ll have my driver draw to a halt when we come to Vulch’s side road. You turn right there and go a quarter of a mile down a crinkum-crankum road to the house. A great pre­tentious thing with half a dozen bow windows. You can’t miss it. Good night, Mr. Robertson. Nice to have met you.”

  Mr. Robertson bowed and returned the civility. Before leaving, he said to Mary Anne, “And how do I reach your house, Miss Judson? How shall I recognize it tomorrow?”

  “Horton Hall is a mile farther along this road. It’s an old run-down Tudor home,” she said. Her frankness amused him. No putting on airs. Like a real lady, she stated the truth without shame.

  A pity he’d be so busy. He felt he could learn to cherish this Miss Judson with the sweet smile. After he settled his business, he might linger a day or two. But business before pleasure—and what the devil could have happened to the cargo?

  In the carriage Mary Anne said, “He seemed very nice.”

  “A bang-up team.”

  Lord Edwin stopped his dilatory team at Vulch’s road, and he and Mary Anne craned their necks to see that the yellow curricle made the proper turn before they continued on their way. Mr. Roberton lifted his curled beaver and bowed.

  At Horton Hall Mrs. Plummer had set the table with care and kept the chicken warm for an hour, hoping it wasn’t destroyed. She had begun to suspect it wouldn’t be eaten that night. You’d think people could tell you if they didn’t plan to take dinner at home, she mused, but in her heart she was so happy Mary Anne had had an outing that she didn’t plan to scold.

  “I hope you didn’t hold dinner for us,” were the first words Miss Judson said when she came in. She could smell the aroma of roasted chicken in the air and suspected there would be a cake as well. “We ate at the inn, Mrs. Plum­mer. It was crowded to the rafters. We went to Folkestone and stopped at all the villages on the way home. We had lunch at Bates, and had a wonderful day. We met a man at the inn.”

  A person couldn’t deliver a lecture after that outpour­ing, so Mrs. Plummer said she was happy to hear it. “I’ll cover the chicken I roasted up, to keep the mouse from it, and serve it cold tomorrow.”

  “Did anything happen here?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Belle ate through her rope again and got into the home garden to gobble up anything that survived her last root­ing. We need a steel chain for the beast. Other than that, it’s been so quiet you could hear the termites gnawing.”

  “I see the lugger is gone from the bay,” Lord Edwin said. It was the second thing he noticed as he came in. The first was that the hay wain didn’t appear to have been tampered with.

  “They had the tug pull it free this afternoon,” Mrs. Plummer told him. “Codey was here again asking questions and looking all around.”

  Lord Edwin jumped a foot. “Eh, looking all around? What do you mean? You said all was quiet.”

  “He didn’t come to the house. He hired a couple of his cousins as assistants and had them search the stables and barn and icehouse. He thought the smugglers might have hidden the silk here, as the boat was grounded so close.”

  Lord Edwin jumped like a gaffed fish. “They didn’t find anything!”

  “What is there to find?” Plummer asked in a purely rhetorical spirit. She knew better than any how empty were the stalls and stables of Horton Hall.

  “I must have a word with Fitch,” Lord Edwin said, and went scampering upstairs.

  Mary Anne regaled Mrs. Plummer with more details of her day till he returned. The name Mr. Robertson cropped up at every second phrase. “I’ll have to use two pages of my diary tonight,” she finished happily.

  “One on this Mr. Robertson, eh, missie?” Mrs. Plum­mer teased. “He sounds quite a swell. It figures, a draper would wear a fine jacket.’’

  “I couldn’t do him justice in one page. I wager Bess Vulch will throw her bonnet at him.”

  “Ho, that trollop would chase after anything in trousers. What did your uncle buy you for your birthday?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary Anne said, frowning. “We were in half a dozen shops, but I didn’t see him come out with anything. I fancy he had Jem pick it up after we left. He’s probably wrapping it right now. I think it might be mate­rial for a new gown,” Mary Anne said. A hopeful smile lit her eyes on this daring wish. “Do you think we could get it made up by Saturday, Mrs. Plummer? I’d like to wear it to the spring assembly.”

  “We’ll stitch to beat the devil. Between the two of us, we’ll manage.”

  Lord Edwin wore a kindly smile when he returned with a parcel all nicely done up in white paper and pink rib­bons. It was his brief talk with Fitch that accounted for his good humor. That maw-worm of a Codey hadn’t even looked at the hay wain. Stood beside it, actually leaning on it while he discussed with Fitch where the silk could be. Fitch had led him a merry chase.

  “Happy birthday, my dear,” he said, and handed Mary Anne the parcel.

  They went into the Blue Saloon for the unwrapping. Mary Anne’s fingers trembled with excitement as she care­fully untied the pink ribbons and lifted the lid of the box. She stared in wonder at the exquisite piece of fabric it contained. It shimmered a pale gold, but that wasn’t even the half of it. As she unfolded it, she saw the intricate needlework and gasped in pleasure. Flowers and birds and trees all swirled together to form a beautiful pattern.

  “Oh, Uncle! Where did you get it? It’s beautiful! Look, Mrs. Plummer,” she said, and wrapped herself in the lovely shawl. “And the fringe—it must be three inches long. I’ll be the most fashionable lady at the assembly.”

  Lord Edwin felt a jolt of surprise at this speech. The demmed assembly was only a few days away. Would any­one recognize the shawl? No, how could they? Only Fitch and he had seen it. Did Vulch know a shawl would be in the load? He had forgotten the assembly was so close. He could hardly ask Mary Anne not to wear it. He smiled nervously and said, “Happy you like it. What do you think, eh, Plummer?”

  Mrs. Plummer put on her spectacles to view the em­broidery. She fancied herself as good a woman as any with her needle, but she’d never tackled anything this compli­cated. “Very nice,” she allowed mildly. The admission was gall to her pride. “Odd, the way it’s done. I wouldn’t have used a cross-stitch on a tree myself, but it looks mighty fine. And see the way the leaves are done in knots. Blue leaves mixed with gold and green—what kind of tree is that supposed to be?”

  Mary Anne examined the design more carefully. “It gives the effect of shadows and sunlight,” she pointed out. “It’s a real work of art. Wherever did you buy it, Uncle?”

  “I picked it up at Folkestone,” he lied amiably.

  “But why did you stop at the drapery shops in Hythe and Sandga
te after?” his niece asked.

  He scowled at this close questioning. “I was looking for a pair of gloves to go with it but couldn’t find them,” he said.

  “Your kid gloves will be fine,” Mrs. Plummer assured Mary Anne. “No one will notice the spotty fingers if you keep your hands closed.”

  “I’m going to go up and try my shawl with my blue gown,” Mary Anne said, and ran upstairs. On the way out she stopped and hugged her uncle. “This is the best birthday I ever had! Thank you, darling Uncle Edwin.”

  Lord Edwin jiggled in embarrassment and backed away.

  She didn’t actually put her blue gown on, but by hanging the shawl over the gown, she could see it was beautiful, especially from the back, where the design showed best. While she was doing this, there was a tap at her door. She went, expecting Mrs. Plummer, and met Fitch, who handed her another small parcel.

  “Happy birthday, Miss Judson. I wish it could be more.”

  She thanked him and opened the little box while he waited, shifting from left foot to right in anxiety that his gift would find favor. After long discourse with Mrs. Plummer, he had bought a new patent pen to go with the diary. She had eked a few pennies from the kitchen money for the purpose.

  Mary Anne smiled in pleasure. She felt hot tears fill her eyes at this token of friendship. She wanted to hug Fitch but knew this would be exceeding the bounds of accept­able behavior. Fitch was only twenty-five, and as he was very handsome, they had to keep their distance. So she just smiled and thanked him profusely.

  When he left, she laid her three gifts out on her bed and smiled at them for a long time. Visions whirled through her head. Memories of the day, and of Mr. Robertson. Plans for the future, especially the assembly. She hoped Mr. Robertson would still be here. The best part of the whole birthday was that Joseph Horton hadn’t come to call.

  Just as she was thanking fate for this, Mrs. Plummer came tapping at the door. “It’s Mr. Horton to see you, Miss Judson,” she said.