by Mary Brendan
Deborah got to her feet. She had decided it might be wise to start to find some answers.
Thankfully her mother was at her writing desk, rather than snoozing on her day bed. When Deborah knocked on her chamber door she was immediately summoned to enter.
Julia quickly put her pen on the stand on seeing her daughter’s wan face and tense and dishevelled appearance.
‘What on earth’s the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Noose-head Ned, perhaps?’ Deborah muttered, but with very little humour apparent.
‘What is it, my dear?’ Julia got up and went to her daughter, drawing her down on the edge of her bed.
‘Captain Stewart has just visited us, Mama. Basham knew not to disturb you. In any case, he wanted to speak to me.’
Julia moistened her lips. ‘Has he intimated he would like to come courting?’ She patted at her daughter’s hand. ‘I could tell he was utterly smitten by you when we were at the Davenports. If you don’t fancy him you only have to say so, Debbie.’
A gasp of mirthless laughter escaped Deborah. ‘I almost wish that had brought him here, unwelcome as his suit would have been.’ She paused, unsure how to begin the sorry tale. ‘The reason he came was to say he has been snooping into Randolph’s family history. He came to accuse the Chadwicke brothers of vile crimes.’
Julia returned her daughter’s stare for a moment, her mind immediately darting to a compartment in her desk in which reposed four unopened letters. A feeling of ultimate vindication comforted her as she stroked again at Deborah’s quivering hand. ‘I don’t know why the captain has done such a mean thing, other than to poison your mind against Randolph.’ She gave her daughter a wry smile. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve seen how Randolph looks at you too.’ She sighed. ‘I know you have always been fond of him and I’ve been expecting him to approach you again.’ Realising her mistake—she wasn’t supposed to know of their youthful romance—she hurried on, ‘It was a long time ago that Sebastian stirred up so much trouble that it reached the ton’s notice. He invariably stayed away from London and did his mischief a hundred miles away in Suffolk. So not all of it became common knowledge.’ Julia smoothed her skirt. ‘I’ve told you I very much liked Randolph’s parents. They were respectable people. I have to say I don’t recall much about their daughter. She must be a young lady now. And you know that your papa and I liked Randolph. He has always been so very courteous and charming…’
‘Indeed he has,’ Deborah concurred with a tinge of bitterness that made her mother look closely at her. Deborah stood up and fidgeted on the spot for a moment before going to the window. She turned about and noticed a look of quiet puzzlement on her mother’s face. ‘Sebastian was very bad, wasn’t he?’ Deborah whispered. She watched keenly with watery blue eyes for her mother’s reaction. ‘Do you know why he fled abroad many years ago? I know you have said that he killed a man…but do you really know how the disaster came about?’
Julia began to question her daughter about what the captain had said, then instead stopped and frowned. She could tell from Deborah’s poignant sadness that something of great moment had happened whilst she’d been happily writing to her friend in London.
Julia remained quiet and thought carefully before beginning, ‘I recall that Sebastian had allegedly been in dispute with a fly-by-night merchant over payment for some foreign luxuries. A shipping matter I believe it was and there was a rumour the cargo might have been stolen. In the ensuing fight the fellow was killed and Sebastian fled to save his neck.’ Julia sighed. ‘It seemed a straightforward case of self-defence, but whatever it was, nobody was surprised that it had ended that way for him. He was a wicked sort who kept company with like-minded people. When you lie down with dogs…’ She made an expressive little gesture. ‘But the family, and especially Randolph, for he was of an age to be affected by his brother’s disgrace, gained much sympathy. A black sheep can turn up in any family. There but for the grace of God, I recall your papa saying at the time the calamity leaked out. The Clevelands, like most clans, have bred their fair share of scapegraces over the centuries.’
‘According to Captain Stewart, Randolph has always been part of the Chadwickes’ disgrace and is undeserving of our trust and sympathy,’ Deborah said hoarsely. ‘You are almost correct in what you’ve related, Mama. A fellow was killed in a dispute over shipping. The stock was contraband and the victim a Revenue man. Captain Stewart has told me that the Chadwicke brothers were Suffolk smugglers. He believes that Randolph still is.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘Would you bring the trap round to the front in twenty minutes, please, Fred?’
Fred looked up; his mistress had breathlessly gasped out that instruction as though she’d bolted down the back stairs to deliver it. He’d been polishing silver at the kitchen table but, grimacing surprise at Lottie and Mrs Field who were preparing vegetables, he put down the cutlery and got to his feet.
‘We shall have just a cold collation this evening for supper,’ Deborah told the women. She eyed the mound of carrots and potatoes peeled and ready for the stew pot. ‘But, of course, prepare yourselves a proper dinner. I must go out for a while, but should return before nine and will eat then. Please save some stew for Fred.’ With that she was gone and soon running lightly through the house towards the stairs. In her chamber she changed into her warm outdoor clothes. She was about to quit the room when she stopped and returned to her dressing chest and sat down before the mirror. She stared intently into solemn blue eyes whilst her mind sped to an irrevocable fact. Whatever came to pass in the next few hours would determine her future happiness.
* * *
It was close to dusk when the trap clattered past Wood-ville Place’s iron gates and turned in the direction of the vicarage. The purpose of Deborah’s visit there was to get from Gerard Davenport—if he knew it, and she prayed he did—the direction of the hunting lodge where Randolph was staying with his friend Ross Trelawney. She went on the mission with her mother’s blessing and encouragement; but even had she not given it, Deborah had already decided she must contact Randolph without delay and let him know that Captain Stewart had been either casting very grave aspersions on his character, or broadcasting the extent of his wicked crimes. Deborah knew that she still cherished a secret, if forlorn, hope that the former were true.
Her mother had suggested that Fred go alone to get the lodge’s direction from the vicar. Deborah had stated, in a tone that brooked no refusal, it would be best that she go in person. Gerard was sure to question her urgent need for Mr Chadwicke’s whereabouts, and she’d sooner answer him personally than have Fred give his version of events. Fred was a loyal employee, but not the brightest of fellows. If the captain’s recent visit to Woodville Place were to be mentioned, and added to the equation, speculation might ensue. Deborah certainly did not want two and two put together to make matters worse than they already were.
Valid as that argument was, she also had a private reason for wanting to go out that she dared not disclose. She knew it would greatly upset her mother to know that her plan wasn’t to return with the address and simply write a note asking Randolph to call on them urgently. If the lodge were situated within a reasonable striking distance Deborah’s intention was to confront him in person tonight. Considering how intimate had become their relationship, she had a pressing need to know—a right to know—exactly who Randolph Chadwicke was.
Her mother’s forceful attitude, on learning that Randolph was accused of being a free-trader in cahoots with a roguish viscount, had greatly surprised Deborah.
‘Poppycock!’ her mother had angrily snorted. ‘He is as different from his brother as two men can be. We might not have known him as well as we knew his friend Marcus Speer, but your papa and I had enough sense between us, and enough dealings with Randolph, to have recognised an honest, decent gentleman when he crossed our path.’ She’d then looked a trifle discomposed and muttered, ‘Naturally, only to be expected that the poor fellow wou
ld suffer a bit of prejudice because of such dreadful connections.’ Julia had then gone on to express an opinion similar to Deborah’s own. ‘Captain Stewart, it seems, is not an asset to us after all. If he is not a mischief-maker, and it is all a misunderstanding, then he is without doubt still a malicious man. He should not have told you any of this. Of course, we must be glad he did and hope it backfires on him.’ An eye was cast over her lovely daughter as she announced, ‘If he comes here again I shall have something to say to him. And you, miss, must make it clear that his attention is most unwelcome. I won’t have such as he for a son-in-law.’ A moment later she’d clasped Deborah’s hands to her bosom and had endorsed her daughter’s wistful thoughts. ‘Over many years Randolph has been a very good friend to us. When he recently stayed here, and took charge so calmly, it was as though he were one of the family.’
Now, as Deborah’s flitting glance settled on the sun dipping below the western horizon, she wondered what her mother would think if Randolph turned out to be not only a smuggler, but a fellow who harboured dishonourable intentions towards her daughter.
‘Hartsmere Lodge is situated just off the road to Green End.’ Having answered Deborah’s immediate question, Gerard Davenport urged his unexpected visitor towards the hearth and indicated she should sit down in the chair close to the fire. Just as she did so Harriet’s entry in to the parlour brought Deborah again to her feet. The two women clasped hands in affectionate greeting.
‘What a nice surprise,’ Harriet exclaimed.
Deborah could sense her friend’s unspoken question. Gerard had already voiced his when Dilys had announced her arrival, thus drawing him from his study to greet her. Deborah guessed that Harriet had just come down from upstairs where she’d been tidying herself before dinner. An appetising aroma of savoury beef was in the air, making Deborah aware of her own hunger. An instant later food was forgotten.
‘Deborah was enquiring after Mr Chadwicke’s direction.’ Gerard satisfied his sister’s curiosity. ‘She needs to get quickly in contact with him. It is confidential,’ he added in a cautionary way.
Harriet blinked and shot a look at her brother as though begging his permission to disclose something. A small nod and lift to his eyebrows sanctioned her wordless request.
‘You need not fear worrying us, Debbie. We already know all about it!’ Harriet squealed excitedly. ‘I know your mother feels safer when Mr Chadwicke is around and Lord only knows it seems we will all need protection if we soon are to be awash with smugglers.’
‘Smugglers?’ Deborah pounced upon the word and in a whisper echoed it back at her friend. ‘I’m not sure…what do you mean?’
‘Gerard was in Rye today and there was a buzz going around that a huge cargo of contraband is due to be brought ashore at any moment.’ Harriet glanced at her brother in case he might indicate with a frown that she’d said enough.
The vicar gave his sister no such look.
‘Gerard spoke to Mr Savidge and he also had heard the gossip,’ Harriet rushed on. ‘Free-traders are anchored out to sea and are preparing to storm the beach and do battle with the militia to get their goods landed.’
Deborah blinked, darting a look at Gerard for him to confirm the news. A grim nod from him was all that was needed to make Deborah’s sense of dread escalate.
‘The Luckhursts are not the culprits this time,’ Gerard informed. ‘Apparently the brothers are seething with rage that a new gang appears to be trying to take over their patch.’ He sighed in vexation. ‘It was bad enough before. But better the devil you know, I say. What chaos and bloodshed must we endure if two rival gangs start to fight for control?’
‘When I visited Rye a day or so ago I noticed that far more redcoats than usual seemed to be about,’ Harriet chipped in. ‘Now it’s suddenly become very clear why Captain Stewart would call in those reinforcements.’
‘The militia have their spies and their informants,’ Gerard said sagely. ‘I’ll warrant the authorities knew of this long before we did.’
Harriet turned to Deborah. ‘But you had not heard about it, Debbie?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Mama and I were speaking earlier about some worrying news regarding the smugglers.’ Deborah’s speedy response was designed to subdue further awkward questions. She was pleased that with hindsight she’d not lied. She quickly unscrambled some facts so she might continue in the same vein, yet without mentioning Captain Stewart’s visit. In view of what she’d just learned, many questions from her friends would ensue if they knew the dragoon had that afternoon been at Woodville Place. ‘I hoped the tale we’d been given was exaggerated. And you are right—Mama feels happier when a gentleman is about the place for protection. If Mr Chadwicke could be persuaded to call on us soon, she’d like it very much.’
‘I didn’t see him in Rye today. If you like, I could go to the lodge tomorrow and take a message for you,’ Gerard offered pleasantly.
‘No! It is not necessary…but thank you. Something smells very tasty,’ Deborah quickly tacked on the end to cover her agitation. ‘Your dinner is making me feel quite hungry.’
‘Why do you not dine with us?’ Harriet immediately invited. ‘As Susanna is gone unexpectedly there is plenty to spare and we can have a proper chinwag about when the action might take place.’
‘Thank you, but I must not stay. Mama will be waiting on my return.’ Deborah managed a smile. ‘I must get going, and apologise for calling so late.’ Harriet looked as though she might use persuasion, so Deborah asked quickly, ‘Is Susanna not coming home to dine?’
‘She has had to go unexpectedly to her brother’s,’ Gerard explained in a muted tone. ‘A note arrived that the poor fellow is ill again.’
‘He seems to be at death’s door quite often,’ Harriet observed a touch sourly, and drew a reproving frown from her brother.
‘Well, he does,’ Harriet said snappishly. A moment later her tone had turned impish. ‘Not that I mind when she is away.’
Her brother cast another stern look her way. ‘I shall bid you farewell then, Deborah. I have just a few more paragraphs to write for Sunday’s sermon and I’d as soon get it finished before supper.’
‘She is a bit too often with that brother of hers,’ Harriet darkly muttered, on accompanying Deborah through the vestibule.
Deborah turned an interested glance on her friend. ‘You think there is something suspicious about it?’
‘It’s odd that Gerard has never met him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s drawn to Devon less by altruism than romance.’ she hinted on an arch look.
But Deborah, curious as she was to know more, had no time to tarry and chat. With a small wave she was soon down the stone steps and back in the trap.
‘Mist’s coming in from the sea,’ Fred announced dolefully. ‘Knew we shouldn’t have come out on such an evening.’ He flicked the reins over the grey mare’s plump rump. A moment later he was gawping over his shoulder at his mistress. ‘Green End?’ he barked in alarm. ‘But, miss, that be a good nine mile off east, and the mist’s comin’ in fast.’ He looked about fearfully. ‘Ain’t a night to be out. I reckon we should straight off head home.’
‘Fred Cook, we are going to Hartsmere Lodge, towards Green End, and if I am not scared of ghosts and shadows, I don’t see why you should be.’ Deborah gave him a severe look. It transformed to an inspiriting smile. ‘Come along, Fred. You know that Noose-head Ned is just a figment of lively imaginations.’
‘I know what I saw,’ Fred insisted in a hoarse voice. ‘It weren’t me imagination.’
‘Well, I’m sure you thought you saw something. If this spectre does pop up now and again, you can bet on it the smugglers are missing a member of their crew while they go about their business on the beach.’
Deborah looked about; the mist was indeed in evidence. As they turned out of the Davenports’ driveway a swirl of white shifted sinuously in front of them. She pulled her wool cloak tighter about her and tweaked the hood to shield her complexion fro
m the mist’s clammy caress. Sporadic glances up and around told her the fog was becoming more solid as they left the vicarage behind. If what she’d just heard from her friends were true, and nefarious business was imminent, this could be the night the free-traders would choose to do it. But she had now what she’d wanted and a stubborn yearning was subduing the flutter of fear in her chest that warned her to heed Fred’s advice. She knew it would be sensible to head directly home. The order to turn about hovered on her lips, but refused to quit them. It seemed she was fatefully determined to run Randolph to ground and force him to answer her questions.
As though he thought the faster they travelled the sooner they’d be safe and sound Fred flicked the whip and set the mare to a faster pace. The trap rattled and bounced over uneven ground as glistening shrubbery flashed past. Deborah held tight to the seat with both hands and, squinting into the distance, saw the signpost at the crossroads. Barely slowing down to steer, Fred urged the mare to the right and on they flew through the night, the mist licking at them until thickets provided a meagre protection and the road was again visible.
It was the horse rather than Fred who first took terrible fright. The animal skittered to the side of the road, snorting and shying and a wheel of the trap plunged into the ditch, throwing the vehicle to the left and its passengers off balance. Fred scrambled back to the seat and instantly one of his quivering fingers pointed to the right. His face was a mask of terror and his mouth worked, but no sound came forth. Deborah swivelled on the seat, struggling to sit upright, and saw a phantom-like figure astride a horse. It was garbed in a hat and cloak that appeared to have been liberally showered with flour. A moment later her wide and terrified eyes were dragged to her driver as Fred slumped forwards in a faint, banging his head on the side of the trap as he fell at her feet.
With palsied hands Deborah untangled Fred’s fingers from the reins and tried to soothe the spooked mare with hoarse mutters and tiny tugs on the reins. She knew that if the animal bolted, the trap, listing dangerously to one side, would be broken asunder and she and Fred thrown to the ground, perhaps to be fatally injured beneath wheels and hooves.
