Silken Secrets

by Joan Smith

  “You’re welcome, Miss Judson.”

  He opened the gate and she walked Bingo home, her mind alive with romantic conjectures. Mr. Robertson turned and slowly wended his way back to recover his mount. It was foolish of him to be thinking of Miss Judson in amorous terms. She was totally ineligible. He could name offhand half a dozen topnotch heiresses on the catch for him. Some of them were prettier than Mary Anne; all of them had more polish.

  A man in his position should marry wisely. Long-lashed brown eyes and magical dim­ples were not a wise choice; they were merely irresistible. The thing to do was to stay away from her, he told himself severely, but somewhere at the back of his mind he was figuring out how he could spare time to see her again.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Mary Anne entered the house, swollen with importance after her brush with the smugglers, which lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Plummer was a suitably impressed au­dience. Her brown eyes bulged from her head, and her face turned pale.

  “Glory be to God, it’s a miracle you’re alive, child. Didn’t I warn you not to go out alone? Two of them, and in a nasty shepherd’s hut. What a place to have their way with you, as private as may be. You’re lucky you weren’t raped. I’ll lock the doors at once and have Fitch bar up all the broken windows.”

  “If it weren’t for Mr. Robertson, I doubt I’d be alive to tell you the tale, Mrs. Plummer,” Mary Anne finished. “Where’s Uncle?” One relating of her story only whetted her appetite. She wanted to tell Uncle and Fitch, and she especially wanted to tell Bess Vulch how Mr. Robertson had come dashing to her rescue. What never entered her head was to tell Joseph Horton.

  In Lord Edwin’s study behind the bolted door, his lord­ship was in deep conversation with his butler. “The sooner we get it out of here. Fitch, the better,” he worried. “It must be done under cover of darkness. I come to think a ship is the safest way. You could sail it up to Folkestone and have the draper pick it up at the dock. He asked if it would be coming by sea or land.”

  “My wee boat don’t have sails.”

  “Then you’ll have to row the stuff in your fishing smack.”

  “Nay, it’d take two trips, and more than two days to row so far and back twice. I could borrow Elroy’s fishing boat, but he’d want his cut.”

  “That no-good Elroy? Can’t let him in on it. He’s Vulch’s man. He’d blow the gaff on us. Could you borrow the boat tonight without telling him?”

  “He goes out at night, and we can’t move the stuff in daylight.”

  Lord Edwin sighed deeply and fell into an unaccus­tomed fit of poetics. “These are the times that try men’s souls, Fitch. The times that try men’s souls. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “It’s our minds we should be trying. We need a boat. It can’t be impossible here on the coast, where every sec­ond shanty has something that floats.”

  “You must come up with something and let me know. By tonight, Fitch, at the latest. I’m on nettles with that load just waiting to be discovered and stolen from me.” His duty done, he went to harry Plummer into serving lunch.

  Last night’s chicken served cold was a welcome treat from ham and cheese. Mary Anne related her morning’s adventure, with much emphasis on Mr. Robertson’s heroism.

  Her uncle was in such good humor to learn the Frenchies were wasting their time at Christian’s shepherd’s hut that he forgot his anger with Robertson. “Well done of the lad. I’ll thank him next time we meet. One ought always to be civil to the lower classes—show them how a gentleman behaves. Noblesse oblige, what?”

  Miss Judson felt free to ask if he planned to go into the village that afternoon. He did, but his errand was to sniff around for a boat he might borrow for one night and he didn’t want his niece hobbling his progress. “Not today,” he lied easily. “I’m going to speak to some workmen about getting the roof fixed, if they’ll do it on tick. The plaster in my bedroom has turned brown and wet. It looks like one of Plummer’s plum puddings before it goes into the oven. Can’t have the ceiling falling on my head.”

  No trip to Dymchurch, then, no meeting with Mr. Robertson. Mary Anne was disappointed, but not disconso­late. She would do as he had suggested and search the house for the silk. It was a large house, with easy access from outside by any of half a dozen doors that no one bothered to lock at night. The silk might have been stored in the cellar, for instance.

  Lord Edwin left immediately after lunch, and Mary Anne was about to begin her search when there was a loud banging on the front door. Mr. Robertson! was the first thing that popped into her head. She went with a trembling smile to admit him and found herself staring at Mr. Codey, the customs man. In his hand he held a document, signed by Judge Endicott and set with his seal.

  “I have a warrant to search these premises, Miss Jud­son,” the little fellow stated importantly.

  Codey was the very picture of a bantam cock: small, pigeon-breasted, with hair the color of an orange, a beaky nose, and an aggressive expression. He was well known and hated as an avid worker.

  “Who had it sworn out?” she asked. “If that wretch of a Vulch...”

  “It was sworn out by Viscount Dicaire.”

  “Who the devil is Viscount Dicaire? I never heard of him.”

  “Some London friend of Vulch,” he admitted shamelessly. “A big chief in the customs-and-excise department. After one glance at the paper from Dicaire, Endicott couldn’t move his stamp fast enough. I figure the cellar is the likeliest place. Easiest access. I’ve brought my own torches. Stand aside, if you please, ma’am.”

  Mary Anne stood aside to let Codey precede her, but she followed him to the kitchen. When Codey had de­scended, she informed Mrs. Plummer of Vulch’s heinous trick.

  “Where’s my rolling pin?” Mrs. Plummer demanded, eyes blazing. “I know right where it is, if I could only find it. I’ll lay it over Codey’s red head if he goes smash­ing the last dozen bottles of wine in the cellar.”

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Mary Anne said. She took up a candle to follow Codey into the cellar.

  “He’ll not find a thing but mice and black beetles,” Mrs. Plummer said with grim satisfaction.

  He also found a nest of bats, but as a quick scoot through the bowels of the house was enough to show him no large bales of silk were there, he soon returned above stairs.

  “Open your pantry, Mrs. Plummer,” he commanded.

  She strode, arms akimbo and face red with indignation, to throw open the innocent door. “Mind you keep your fingers off that bowl of leftover chicken!” she warned, brandishing her rolling pin. A mouse came running out, and she vented her wrath on it.

  Mary Anne was close behind Codey as he peered into pickle bins and behind a wheel of cheese, and in an excess of enthusiasm tapped at walls and floors for a secret passage.

  “Mind you don’t knock the walls down,” Mrs. Plum­mer called in.

  The search continued upstairs and down, through airless parlors and mildewed bedchambers and sodden attics. After two hours, Officer Codey was assured of Lord Edwin’s innocence.

  “The house is clean,” he announced. After a glance at his dusty fingers, he altered this misleading phrase. “That is to say—the silk ain’t here. It’s tiring work,” he said, wiping his brow and looking about for a keg of ale.

  “I’d offer you a seat, but all the empty chairs are full,” Mrs. Plummer said, grimly placing a dirty pot on the one closest to him.

  With a glower and a military straightening of his shoul­ders, Codey said, “As you were, ladies.” Then he saluted and left.

  Mrs. Plummer stared at his swaggering departure. “Gudgeon. Why we have to pay taxes to be badgered by the likes of that yellow hammer is above and beyond me. He’s set me an hour behind on my work. The bread will have swelled to a mountain.” On this complaint she re­turned to her kitchen.

  The untidy condition of the house had been borne in on Miss Judson during the tour, and she went for a dust
cloth to tackle the main saloon. “You’d best use beeswax and turpentine, or you’ll only rearrange the dust,” Mrs. Plum­mer told her, and supplied these necessities, before re­turning to beat her bread dough into compliance.

  Mary Anne had just tucked a tea towel into her waist­band and begun the job of restoring a sheen to ancient furnishings when the door knocker sounded again. This unwonted flurry of visitors was a distraction from her usual solitude, and she quickly whipped off the towel to answer the door. She smiled in surprise to see Mrs. Vulch and her daughter, Bess, standing on her doorstep. Bess was arrayed in yet another new gown. The Vulches were the smartest-looking women in the village, due to their unique closeness to incoming silk.

  Fond as they were of silk, however, they did not wear it during the daytime. Mrs. Vulch was a large, strident, dark-haired woman, florid of complexion and outspoken in the extreme. Bess, having been born into more opu­lence than her parents, appeared closer to gentility. She wore a fashionable blue and white gown of mulled muslin, with a broad ribbon around the waist. Mary Anne thought the straw cartwheel bonnet must have been sufficient pro­tection from the sun, but it was augmented with a sun umbrella that matched the gown.

  Miss Vulch, like most redheads, was prone to spotting from the sun. Even with all her layers of protection, the charge of being bran-faced was not entirely foreign to her. But she did not sink under it. She had pretty brown eyes, a trim figure, a lively manner, and a dowry of ten thou­sand pounds.

  “Mary Anne!” She smiled gaily. “Whatever are you doing with a dust cloth in your hands? My dear, you look a quiz. You have dust on your chin.”

  “Some ladies don’t think it beneath them to pick up a dust cloth, you see,” Mrs. Vulch pointed out to her daughter.

  “Do come in. I’m delighted you called.” Mary Anne smiled and showed them into the Blue Saloon.

  Mrs. Vulch perused the chamber closely, trying to fig­ure out why it should be that her own saloon, where everything was bright and new as a penny, failed to achieve the casual air of elegance that still lingered here at the Hall despite the sad disrepair of the chamber. Her piano was as good as new, as no one ever played it. All the books Adrian bought were the same—why, most of the pages weren’t even cut.

  “You should be out driving on a fine day like this, Mary Anne,” Bess said. “I wager that horrid uncle of yours has gone off and left you carriageless. You should make him buy you a phaeton. Papa’s buying one for me.”

  On this breathless rush of words she smiled contentedly around her. Mr. Robertson must have laughed up his sleeve to see such a shambles. She examined the sofa cushion for dirt and brushed it with her gloves before sitting down. Mary Anne had some hopes her friend had come to invite her out for a drive and glanced at the clock to see it was already after three.

  “Yes, I would like to go for a drive, but as you said, Uncle is out in the carriage.”

  “I’d love to take you, but alas, we have dozens of cards to deliver. This one is for you,” Bess said, and handed Mary Anne an invitation. “It’s only for dinner this eve­ning. Mama thought we ought to do something to entertain Mr. Robertson. You know him, I think?” she asked with a carelessness that was belied by the sparkle in her eyes.

  Even delivering cards would have been a welcome di­version, but Miss Vulch didn’t offer and Mary Anne dis­liked to ask. “Yes, I know him,” she replied mysteriously.

  “You sly dog!” Miss Vulch said. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a tendre for Mr. Robertson. He’s only a drapery merchant. Mama said he would not do, didn’t you, Mama?”

  “Your papa said he would not. He seems very gentle­manly to me.”

  “He’s rather handsome,” Bess said forgivingly.

  “Rather handsome?” Mary Anne exclaimed. “I would say he’s very handsome.”

  “Oh, you do like him!” Miss Vulch teased. “Only look at her blush, mama. Joseph will be vexed to hear it. Not that I shall reveal your secret. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it from me. Is that the ring Joseph gave you for your birthday?” she asked, having espied the ring. “He dropped by the house last night after leaving you,” she added with a quick look from the corner of her eye to see how this went down.

  “Yes, Mr. Robertson told me this morning,” Mary Anne replied with a very similar look.

  She saw a light of avid curiosity on her friend’s face. “This morning? Why, how did you come to see Mr. Rob­ertson today? He said he was going out looking for the silk.”

  “I met him while I was out riding,” Mary Anne said, and had the pleasure of telling her story to a new and enthusiastic audience that hung on every word and asked a hundred questions.

  “Did he kiss you?” Miss Vulch asked, when the recital was done.

  “No! Of course he didn’t!”

  “Some ladies know how to behave themselves.” Mrs. Vulch snorted. “Kissing, indeed! Miss Judson is shocked at you, Bess.”

  “I swear, I wouldn’t put it a pace past him. He’s such a flirt. But I can obviously tell you nothing of Mr. Rob­ertson,” she said, and went on to relate every word that had left his lips and a good many that had not.

  “I’m sure I don’t know when you had such a cose with him,” Mrs. Vulch exclaimed. “Every time I’ve spotted him, he’s dashing letters off to London.”

  “I would offer you a glass of wine, but you are in a hurry to deliver your cards,” Mary Anne mentioned.

  “Oh, the party is small. Just Joseph and you and your uncle. Will Lord Edwin come?” Mrs. Vulch asked ea­gerly.

  Mary Anne was not surprised to hear the “dozens” of guests dwindle to three. She was used to her friend’s care­less way with facts.

  Visits between the two houses were common, but the question brought to mind last night’s argument. “I’ll have to see if he’s engaged this evening,” Mary Anne prevari­cated. “Of course, I cannot accept if Uncle is busy elsewhere with the carriage. I’ll have Fitch take our answer as soon as Uncle returns.”

  “I hope you can come. Cook is preparing a green goose—your uncle’s favorite. And spring lamb,” Mrs. Vulch tempted.

  These enticements were her own effort. She treasured the friendship with Lord Edwin and his niece. The word parvenu was unknown to her, but she knew the feeling if she didn’t know the word. She had a fine house, a good deal of money, and the best clothes in the village, but she knew her family lacked cachet as surely as she knew Mary Anne and Lord Edwin had it. How the girl grew up so ladylike with no one to guide her was a mystery. It must be something that people were born with, like a squint or gapped teeth.

  For half an hour the young ladies discussed fashions and the spring assembly, Miss Vulch’s new phaeton, and vil­lage gossip, and Mrs. Vulch called her daughter to order from time to time. When at last the Vulches decided Jo­seph would be home from his day’s labor, they rose and took their leave.

  “I do hope you can come tonight,” Mrs. Vulch said.

  “Do try,” Bess added. “I have the sweetest new bonnet I want to show you—glazed straw, with coquelicot rib­bons. It would look marvelous on you, Mary Anne. Why don’t you buy one and we’ll pose as twins? Do you think the ribbons will clash with my hair?”

  Miss Judson thought coquelicot was a bad choice but said she’d give her opinion when she saw the bonnet on.

  “If you can’t come, I’ll give Mr. Robertson your par­ticular apologies.”

  “Oh, no! I shouldn’t want you to do that!”

  “He’ll be devastated. How I should like to see Joseph and he sparring for your attentions. It would be better than a drama, wouldn’t it, Mama?”

  “Better than that wretched piece your papa took us to in London, and that’s a fact.”

  “I thought Joseph would give you an engagement ring for your birthday yesterday,” Bess said. “Twenty-fourth, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m twenty-four,” Mary Anne said, and ignored the other speech, which had been delivered in a quizzing way.

  “Mama is having a huge pa
rty for my twenty-first, next month. Turtle soup, if you please! Mr. Robertson says it is all the crack in London. Served by all the smarts and swells, from what he hears the customers say in his shop,” she said, and took up her sun umbrella. “I feel quite a spinster, still single at such an advanced age.”

  “Perhaps Joseph will give you a ring for your birth­day,” Mary Anne replied. “I didn’t realize he was calling on you till Mr. Robertson mentioned it.”

  “Calling on me? My dear child, what can you mean? He only came to see the family, as he often does lately. His mother and Mama are becoming bosom bows. I can’t imagine what plans they are hatching,” she said with an arch smile at her mother, and they finally left.

  “Let Miss Judson worry her fine head about that,” Bess said as they hastened to their carriage.

  “You’d do better not to advertise you’re after him,” her mother cautioned.

  It was no secret in the Vulch family that Joseph was becoming interested in Bess, but till his interest firmed, her mother would have preferred to keep it within the fam­ily. His mama fostered the affair. Bess’s mama connived at it, and between the three of them, they hoped to con­vince Joseph that ten thousand pounds was better than a load of debt.

  Before long Lord Edwin returned, smiling the smile of the wicked. He had found his boat. Jeremy Black was down with the flu and had agreed to let Fitch hire his for the night. It was to be picked up under cover of darkness by Fitch and sailed down to Horton Hall.

  Mary Anne didn’t remark her uncle’s smile. She was too worried that he’d refuse the Vulches’ invitation to din­ner.

  “Take mutton with that smuggler? I hope you sent them home with a flea in their ear,” he exclaimed.

  “I told them Fitch would deliver your answer. They’re having green goose and new spring lamb,” she mentioned hopefully.

  “Green goose, eh?” he said. “What mess of pottage is Plummer brewing up for us?”

  “She made a stew with the leftover chicken.”

  This wasn’t as bad as it could be. Lord Edwin liked Plummer’s chicken stew. It was really the bottle of brandy Vulch always served after dinner that turned the trick. For all his common ways, Vulch poured freely.