The man seemed to read her mind.
‘I don’t have rape in mind,’ he drawled.
Sophie blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘I didn’t think you had,’ she lied.
‘Then, Mistress Firle, you are a fool. You have no protection here. Your man looks none too strong to me.’
Stung by his words, Sophie leapt to Matthew’s defence. ‘He can still fire a gun,’ she snapped.
‘He will find no need to do so.’ Nicholas Hatton leaned back, totally at ease. ‘Is this a bad day, or do all your customers receive a similar welcome? You dispatched your last visitor with scant ceremony.’
Sophie glared at him. ‘How dare you eavesdrop upon a private conversation? How long have you been sitting there? Why did you not reveal yourself?’
‘Why, ma’am, I found it fascinating.’ The hooded eyes held a mocking glint. ‘Besides, I might have embarrassed you.’ He grinned and she saw the gleam of perfect teeth.
Sophie could have struck him.
‘My affairs are no concern of yours,’ she retorted sharply.
‘On the contrary, Mistress Firle, they concern me deeply…’ His smile had vanished and she saw him then for what he was—a dangerous man. The hard lines of his mouth and jaw did nothing to reassure her.
‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded. ‘And what do you want from me?’ Poised for flight, she rose to her feet and seized the candelabra. If she could slip past him, she would barricade herself in Kit’s room.
Hatton removed the lighted candle from her grasp. ‘I must hope that you keep a salve for burns, my dear. Hot tallow on your hands can be extremely painful. You will sit down, if you please, and listen to what I have to say.’
‘I have nothing to say to you. Please go. It isn’t far to the nearest town…you would be more comfortable in Brighton—’
‘I’ll go when my business is concluded.’ His tone did not brook argument.
‘And what exactly is your business?’ Sophie decided to humour him. She didn’t expect to hear the truth, but she was beginning to suspect that her visitor must be connected to the smuggling fraternity. The inn lay on the route from the coast to London, but if he hoped to use it as a safe house she would have none of it.
‘Why, Mistress Firle, it is with you.’ His smile did not reach his eyes.
Sophie backed away, but he reached the door in a couple of strides, blocking all chance of escape.
‘Don’t be afraid!’ he said more gently. ‘I don’t mean to harm you.’
‘Then let me go,’ she breathed.
‘As soon as you’ve heard what I have to say…’
‘Sir, you may save your breath. This inn will not be used by the “free traders”, as they like to call themselves.’
‘Now you are jumping to conclusions, ma’am. I thought merely that you might care to know exactly how your husband died…’
Sophie looked up at him. Then the world went dark.
When she recovered it was to find herself seated in a chair, with her head pressed firmly between her knees. A strong hand rested on her hair. Then a finger slid beneath her chin and dark eyes held her own.
‘Better?’ His voice was softer as he questioned her.
She nodded briefly, but she could not speak.
Hatton began to pace the room. ‘Forgive me!’ he said quietly. ‘That was brutal, but I had to find some way of breaking your reserve.’
‘You succeeded.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Must you torture me? Richard’s death was an accident. The cliffs are crumbling. In the darkness he didn’t see the edge.’
‘Not so! Is not the path always clearly marked with a line of painted stones? They are visible even through a mist.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Sophie found that she was shaking uncontrollably.
He didn’t answer her at once. Instead he offered her another glass of brandy. ‘Drink this! I believe that you will need it.’
Sophie waved the glass aside. ‘Go on!’ she whispered.
Hatton hesitated, but there was no easy way of telling her. Best to get it over with at once.
‘Richard Firle was murdered,’ he said at last.
He thought that she would faint again. The huge grey eyes had closed and her pallor was alarming, but at length the shallow breathing eased. Sophie made an effort to regain her self-control.
‘You can’t know that,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t believe it. My husband hadn’t an enemy in the world. He fell…they found him on the rocks below…’
‘You never wondered why he ventured out in such inclement weather?’
‘There was a message. He was asked to help. Someone had been injured…’
‘And was that person ever found?’
Her silence gave him his answer.
‘It was a trap,’ he continued calmly. ‘The stones had been moved. They led him to his death.’
‘But why?’ Sophie looked up at her companion. It was becoming increasingly difficult to doubt him. If his words were true, they would answer many of the questions which had tormented her since the day of the tragedy.
Richard had known the cliffs so well. As a Revenue Officer he’d been well aware of the dangers of the Sussex coast. He’d ridden over the land for years, discovering every cove and possible landing place for the men who ran their illicit goods ashore, mostly at night, but sometimes in broad daylight.
In those days she’d feared often for his safety, though he tried to keep the worst excesses of the smugglers from her. It wasn’t possible. Those stories were common knowledge. How often had she heard tales of blackmail, beatings, torture and even murder.
When two of his colleagues were discovered in a well, bound and stoned to death, she had begged him to resign, but he’d refused.
It had made it all the harder to believe the charges laid against him. Yet in a way she’d taken the news of his dismissal with a feeling of relief. At least he would be safe.
It had been hard for her, but she had chosen to share poverty with him since the day of their elopement.
Did she regret it now? Of course not. Yet even in those first few months of marriage a tiny worm of doubt had begun to eat away at her belief in him. There were too many mysteries…too many unexplained absences, accounted for by what she’d later found to be lies.
Then she had Kit, and that made up for everything.
Lost in thought, she became aware that her companion had not answered her.
‘Why?’ she repeated. ‘Why should anyone wish to harm Richard? He left the Preventive Service long ago.’
‘You are mistaken, ma’am. I can tell you that he did not.’
‘But those charges…? I knew that they were lies, but somehow they were proven and he was dismissed.’
Hatton gave her a long look. ‘You were unconvinced of the truth of it? I thought that we had done better.’
‘What do you mean by that remark? What had it to do with you?’
‘I organised it, Mistress Firle. Your husband was my man. We needed an informer. Who better than a disgraced Revenue Officer, accused of taking bribes?’
‘So it was you? You were the cause of my husband’s death?’
‘Firle knew the risks,’ Hatton told her coldly. ‘He accepted them. He wasn’t the first to die, as you must know. I want the men who killed him, and the others.’
‘Why come to me?’
‘I am convinced that you can help. I won’t continue to send brave men to their deaths. Now, I too intend to lay a trap.’
‘You shan’t use me!’ Sophie said firmly. ‘My son comes first. I won’t put him at risk. What do I care about a few kegs of brandy, or some packages of tobacco?’
‘I hoped that you might care about murder.’
That silenced her.
‘You won’t be at risk, I promise. Who will suspect a woman? I can give you a couple of bruisers for protection. Use them as ostlers if you wish.’
‘I won’t do it!’ Sophie’s mouth set in a
mutinous line. ‘You shan’t use me in any of your plans. I intend to sell the inn and move away from here.’
‘Unfortunately, you can’t do so. The inn does not belong to you.’
‘My husband left me everything in his will.’
‘It wasn’t his to leave. This inn belongs to the authorities. I put him in the place myself.’
‘You are lying. I don’t believe you. This is a trick. You would say anything to get your way…’
Hatton shrugged. ‘Speak to your lawyer if you doubt me. The inn is in my name.’
‘Are you telling me that you could turn me out?’
‘I could, but I should be sorry to do so. All I ask is a few months of your time. Open up your doors again. If I’m not mistaken, your previous customers will return.’
‘So I am to be the bait?’
‘Those are crude terms, ma’am, but, to put it bluntly, that is so. Did you know any of your customers?’
‘I did not!’ she retorted. ‘My husband did not wish me to enter the public rooms.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘He told me that for the most part they were unsavoury characters. He tolerated them for their lavish spending habits.’
‘Quite! There were also other reasons. Now I suggest that in future you make yourself agreeable to these men, make yourself amenable to suggestions, plead poverty if you must…’
‘That won’t be difficult,’ she assured him grimly. ‘What else am I to do?’
‘Keep your eyes and ears open. Men speak freely when they are at their ease and primed with drink. Such talk will be of interest to me.’
‘So I am to be your spy?’
‘Dear me, what a way you have of speaking straight. Then, yes, if you will have it so…’
‘How do I know that I can trust you? I’ve seen no proof of your identity. You could be a member of a rival gang.’
‘Read this!’ Hatton pulled a document from his pocket.
Sophie looked at him uncertainly. Then she began to read. The authorisation left her in no doubt of his probity.
‘You could have stolen this,’ she accused.
‘Very true! But I did not. However, you are wise to doubt me. You have more sense than I imagined.’
‘You are insulting, sir.’ Sophie eyed him with acute dislike.
‘Am I? I meant that as a compliment, but I have no notion of how to deal with women.’
‘That, Mr Hatton, is all too obvious. You force your way in here with these preposterous suggestions, and expect me to fall in with your plans—’
‘You have no choice,’ he told her calmly.
‘You are mistaken. I could leave this place.’
‘Where would you go? Have you any money?’
Sophie did not answer him.
‘I thought not. Firle was never the thriftiest of men. You could, of course, return to your father’s home, but I think you will not leave your son.’
‘You monster!’ Sophie was ready to choke with rage. ‘I see that spying is your forte. You listened on purpose to my conversation.’
‘It was instructive.’ He didn’t trouble to deny it. ‘I had to be sure of you.’
‘So you would use my son to get your way? You disgust me! I owe you nothing, Mr Hatton. In fact, it would be a pleasure to trick you—’
‘Others have tried it, ma’am. Let me assure you that the consequences would be unpleasant.’
‘More threats? Why, you are naught but a common blackmailer—’
‘We are wasting time.’ Clearly Hatton was impervious to insult. ‘I am waiting for your answer.’
Sophie thought quickly. There must be some way of outwitting him.
‘I need more time to consider,’ she said at last.
‘You have an hour. When we dine tonight you will give me your decision.’
‘You plan to dine here? That will not be possible. We have no food to spare.’
‘So I understand, but I have no intention of going to bed upon an empty stomach. I sent out for provisions. If I’m not mistaken, Matthew’s wife is already busy in the kitchen.’
‘Sir, you take too much upon yourself. How dare you walk in here and give orders to my servants?’
‘You prefer to starve?’
‘There was no question of that,’ she told him stiffly. ‘I meant only that we should be unable to provide a meal which would satisfy your high standards.’ She hoped that her sarcastic tone would anger him. To her fury he began to laugh.
‘That’s better!’ he approved. ‘I’m glad to see that you haven’t lost your spirit. In the future it will serve you well.’
‘And you?’
‘I live in hope that it will serve me too. Now, ma’am, you will wish to change your gown before we dine.’
Sophie followed his eyes as he glanced down at her shirt and saw to her horror that the singed cloth was in tatters, revealing a generous expanse of shapely leg.
Hot colour flooded her cheeks. What a spectacle she must present. She jumped up in confusion, expecting some sly remark, but Hatton had turned away.
‘You must excuse me now,’ he said. ‘I have work to do. Shall we say in my rooms at seven?’
‘Your rooms?’ she echoed blankly. ‘I thought I had explained. You can’t stay here. The inn is closed.’
‘But not to me, I think.’ He held up a hand to still her protests. ‘Must you always argue, woman? This place is mine, and for the present you are here on sufferance.’
Helpless and seething with outrage, Sophie pushed past him and went to find her son.
Chapter Two
Anger turned to panic when she found that Kit was not in his room. Hideous images filled her mind. Had Hatton already spirited him away, holding him hostage against her good behaviour? She wouldn’t put anything past that ruthless creature.
Wildly, she searched the upper floor, but she could find no trace of the child. Then, as she hurried down the stairs she heard his gleeful laugh. Thank heavens! He was in the kitchen.
She burst into the room to find him seated at the old deal table, playing happily with a ball of grubby dough.
Half-fainting with relief, she caught him to her, raining kisses on his face and neck until he tried to wriggle free.
‘You’re squashing me!’ he complained.
‘I’m sorry, my pet. You gave me a fright. How did you get down here?’
‘Mistress, I brought him down. He’d been calling for some time…’ Matthew’s wife gave Sophie a reproachful look.
‘Oh, Bess, I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised that it was so late. Our unexpected visitor kept me talking.’ Sophie swallowed hard. ‘He intends to stay, I fear. Have we food enough for a decent dinner?’
‘Enough for a week, I shouldn’t wonder. The gentleman sent round to the nearest farm as soon as he arrived, and without so much as a by-your-leave…’ Bess gave her mistress a curious look. ‘Do you know him, ma’am?’
‘He convinced me that he is perfectly respectable.’ Some inner voice warned Sophie not to mention Hatton’s connection with the Preventive Service.
‘That’s as may be, but I thought that we were closed. Matt told him to go on to Brighton, but he wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘That’s understandable. The storm is growing worse…’
‘The weather weren’t too bad when he arrived.’ Bess was unconvinced. She gave her mistress a worried look. ‘T’ain’t right to have a stranger in the place when you have no one to protect you.’
‘Mama has me!’ Kit struggled from his chair and went to his mother’s side.
‘That’s right, my love!’ Sophie ruffled his hair. ‘Now, Bess, can you manage? Mr Hatton wishes to dine with me at seven.’
‘I’ll do my best, but you should have warned me—’
‘How could I warn you when I didn’t know that he was coming?’ Sophie said wearily.
‘Well, mistress, be it on your own head. A gentleman yon customer may be, but there ain’t no call for you to sit with him a
lone.’
‘Nonsense, Bess! Pray don’t allow your imagination to run away with you. If you must know, Mr Hatton has a proposition for me. He suggests that I re-open the inn.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Bess stood with arms akimbo, bristling with antagonism towards the stranger.
‘I have no idea.’ Sophie was losing patience. ‘That is what I intend to find out.’
She rose to her feet, and froze as Bess gave a piercing shriek.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ she cried in alarm.
‘Mistress, your gown! It’s burned to shreds!’
‘I stood too close to the fire, that’s all.’ Sophie looked down at the tattered garment. ‘Don’t worry, I am quite unharmed.’ She glanced at Kit and then at Bess, warning the woman not to pursue the subject.
‘No more!’ she hissed into Bess’s ear. ‘If you throw your apron over your head and have a fit of the vapours, I shall slap you hard!’
Kit had returned to his pile of dough. Now he was sticking currants into the grubby mass, attempting to create a face.
Sophie held out her hand. ‘Will you come with me, love, or are you happy here with Bess?’
‘I’m busy!’ The small boy bent over his task with an air of intense concentration. ‘This is for your supper, Mama. Bobbo is helping me.’
‘Then I shall look forward to enjoying it.’ Sophie dropped a kiss upon his hair. She often worried about her son, believing that he needed playmates, but Kit was an inventive child. He was never bored, finding something of interest in everything about him, and clothing his little world in the vivid colours of a capricious imagination.
His best friend was Bobbo, a mysterious creature invisible to the human eye. Bobbo had appeared when Kit was three, and in the past two years he had become a part of the family.
Bobbo was a demanding creature. Sometimes he fitted happily into the routine of the household, but on occasion his ideas could be outrageous. In the usual way, Sophie found this figment of her son’s imagination vastly entertaining, but now she was unable to raise a smile.
Hatton’s story filled her mind to the exclusion of all else. Could it possibly be true? In the years since her marriage she and Richard had grown apart, but his death had been a crushing blow. She mourned for the love they had once known and agonised over the accident. Had he lain injured on the rocks below the cliffs, unable to move, and knowing that the incoming tide would drown him?
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