by Candace Camp
She found herself waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hall or the door to their bedroom opening. Sleep grew more and more distant. Eventually, she gave in to the need to look at the time. She got out of bed and walked over to the clock on the mantel. It was getting close to midnight. Where could he be? There was nothing to do; everyone in this house retired by this time, even night owls like Aunt Lydia and Cousin Bertram.
She supposed he could be upstairs, playing cards or drinking with James Woollery and Anthony. Or he could have just stayed there to guard Woollery instead of sneaking out of her bedroom later to do it. Or he could be slipping through the dark outside, with Anthony and the almost-recovered lieutenant, on a smuggling mission.
There was a tap on her bedroom door, and she opened it to find her grandfather’s ancient valet standing there, her grandfather’s spyglass tucked under his arm. It confirmed her worst fears. “Jenkins!”
He nodded lugubriously. “Miss Camilla. I have been keeping watch out His Lordship’s window, just as you asked me to.”
Something he did half the time anyway, Camilla knew; it was why she had asked him to keep watch for her. “Yes? Did you see—my husband?”
“Yes, miss. Him and the young master, going furtively across the garden not ten minutes ago. I barely saw them, dressed all in black as they were, but I caught a glimpse of the young master’s face when he took off his hat for an instant.”
“There were only two of them?”
“Yes, miss.”
“They must not have taken Lieutenant Woollery. I wonder why.” She chewed thoughtfully at her lip. “All right. Go down and get Purdle. He is the only other one we can trust. You will go with us to keep watch at the top of the cliff.” The old man was not fast enough or strong enough to be of much help in a fight, but his eyes were still eagle-sharp, and, armed with the Earl’s spyglass, he would make a good lookout for them. “I will get dressed and enlist Lieutenant Woollery. We shall meet you and Purdle downstairs in a few minutes.”
“A stranger, miss?” Jenkins looked doubtful.
“He has great loyalty to Benedict, and therefore he will help me.” Camilla was not entirely sure of his assistance, particularly if Benedict had ordered him not to help her. But, hopefully, Benedict had not had the foresight to suspect that she would follow them, and she was confident of her ability to bully the young man into helping her. After all, having been left behind, he would doubtless be champing at the bit for an opportunity to get in on the adventure.
She dressed quickly in some old, dark clothes of Anthony’s that she had pulled out of one of the trunks in the attic a few days ago in preparation for this moment. Anthony had worn them when he was much younger, so she had to roll up the trousers only a little to make them fit. Piling her hair atop her head and cramming a cap over it, she thought she made an adequate lad, at least in the dark. She ran lightly upstairs to the nursery, where she knocked and went in before Woollery could get out a word. He was sitting at the table, looking sulky, a bottle and glass and a pistol lying on the table in front of him.
“Lady Rawdon!” He popped up, staring at her odd attire and trying to look as if he were not. “I am sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting company.” He pulled his jacket from the back of his chair and started to pull it on.
“Don’t bother, Lieutenant. I came unannounced. I can hardly expect to find you prepared for company.” She did not address the subject of her clothes. “So, they have gone.”
He stared. “How—how did you know?”
“Really, Lieutenant Woollery. This is my home, after all, and my servants. And I make it my business to know what is going on.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”
“I see they did not take you with them.”
“No, ma’am.” He could not entirely conceal his disappointment. “Lord Rawdon said my shoulder wasn’t healed enough. I feel no pain,” he said, somewhat aggrievedly. “But he was afraid I wouldn’t be up to lifting barrels. Besides, he wanted me here in the house in case someone used the smuggling foray as a diversion to dispatch me.” He gestured toward the gun. “I’m healed enough to shoot.”
“It’s just as well. I need your help.”
“You do?” He looked puzzled, but said gamely, “Whatever I can do…”
“Good. We are going after them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am taking some men and following them. I don’t like this plan of Benedict’s. There are too many pitfalls—he and Anthony alone with all those smugglers, trying to figure out which one of them is the traitor. I am afraid they will be far more obvious than he.”
“But, my lady!” The young man looked shocked. “You can’t go bursting in on a bunch of smugglers!”
“I don’t plan to burst in on them. That would be foolish indeed. We will simply follow them, keeping safely out of sight. We will come to their aid only if they need it. If they get into trouble.”
“But—what if someone sees us?”
“We shall simply make sure that no one does,” Camilla assured him with a smile. “Come, come, Lieutenant, time’s a-wasting. Are you coming with me or not?”
“I am sure Lord Rawdon would not like this.”
“Perhaps not. But would he like your letting me go off on my own? That is really the only question.”
Woollery looked rather taken aback. He could well imagine the verbal hiding he would get if he allowed Rawdon’s wife to get into some mess by herself. “Yes, my lady. You are right.”
She waited outside in the hallway for him to pull off his white shirt and substitute a dark sweater of Anthony’s. Then they went downstairs to the kitchen, where Purdle and Jenkins were waiting for them. Both the servants had changed from their starched uniforms into dark, rough workmen’s clothing. Camilla could sense Woollery’s astonishment as he stood beside her, staring at the two servants.
“I— Are they going with us?”
“Yes. These are my men.” Purdle, though his hair was thinning and his middle was growing, was still able-bodied. Jenkins, of course, was another matter, but she could not turn him down.
“Come, gentlemen, let us go.” She started out the kitchen door, one hand on her jacket pocket, inside which lay one of her grandfather’s pistols. Jenkins, she noted, had the other one of the pair stuck into his belt. Purdle, on the other hand, was armed with a stout wooden cudgel and a lantern.
They set out through the dark, keeping the lantern’s shields down on all but one side. Jenkins led the way. He was slow, but sure-footed, even in the dark.
They left the gardens and made their way toward the shore. They angled along the cliff, stopping now and then for Jenkins to search the beach with his spyglass. Finally, he let out a grunt.
“There they are,” he said in a low voice, crouching down. The others all followed suit.
He handed the glass to Camilla and explained to her what points to pick out, and finally she was able to make out the dark, low boat out at sea, and the two smaller boats making their way between it and the shore. She was even able to see the two dark, almost invisible figures of the men who Jenkins said were the smugglers’ lookouts.
“They will be coming up from the beach down there, miss,” Jenkins told Camilla in a whisper, pointing a knobby finger toward a well-used path. “They need a good path for the pack animals.”
Camilla nodded. “And from there, where will they go?”
“Your guess is as good as mine about that, miss. You had best find a good place to hide and follow them.”
Camilla nodded. Purdle and Lieutenant Woollery worked their way back from the edge of the cliff, careful not to stand up and reveal their silhouettes against the lighter darkness of the sky. She knew that it was easier to spot them standing on the cliff than it had been to see the men working down on the beach and ocean. They
found an outcropping of stone and took up their positions behind it and the low bush that grew at its base. Then they sat down and waited.
And waited.
Camilla’s knees grew stiff, and her back began to ache. On one side of her, she saw that Purdle had drifted off to sleep and was softly snoring. On the other side, Lieutenant Woollery shifted restlessly. She suspected that he was thinking uneasy thoughts about Rawdon’s reaction if his wife got into trouble while she was in his care.
It did not surprise her when, a few minutes later, Woollery began to tell her all the advantages of her going back to the house. She dealt with him in the way she had found best with lecturing males. She nodded now and then and made vague sounds, all the while without really listening. Seeing her, the lieutenant thought that he was making headway, though Anthony could have told him that she had not heard anything he said.
“Well, my lady?” he said at last, when Camilla made no response to his repeated suggestion that she return to Chevington Park. “Don’t you agree?”
“Agree with what?” Camilla asked, turning to look at him with wide eyes.
“That it would be far safer for you at the house. I am sure it is what Lord Rawdon would wish.”
“No, what Lord Rawdon would wish is to be out there, exactly where he is. But if you feel it’s best, you are perfectly welcome to return to the house.”
He stared at her, his eyes bulging. “I didn’t mean me! I don’t want to go back.”
“Good. We are in agreement. Neither do I,” she said, leaving him gaping like a fish in need of oxygen. “Ah, here comes Jenkins now.”
The old man appeared in the darkness, shuffling toward them as quickly as he could. “They have finished unloading,” he said as he squeezed into place beside the others, panting from the effort he had made. “Or near enough. They’re starting the ponies up the trail. It may be a long walk, Miss Camilla.”
Camilla stuck out one foot, showing the sturdy brogan that decorated it. “I wore my best walking shoes.”
They fell into silence, mindful of the men who would soon be approaching. Before long, there was the muffled jingle of a harness. The four of them crouched behind the rock, hardly daring to breathe, as the quiet procession drew closer and then passed them by.
Cautiously Camilla peeked around the edge of the rock. She had thought that she would recognize Benedict and Anthony, even in disguise. She had thought that a gait, a movement, would give them away, that she knew them so well that she would know their height or body shape. But, in fact, even though the men walked by not fifteen feet from her, she recognized no one. There were only the dark, lumpy forms of men, shapeless in dark, full shirts, hats pulled low on their heads, and faces wrapped around with kerchiefs, mufflers and masks. The best she could do was eliminate three of the men as being far too short to be either Benedict or her cousin.
She thought about the fact that these were probably all men she knew, men she saw regularly around Edgecombe, and yet they were completely foreign to her. She felt Jenkins beside her and realized that he was peering at the passing parade through his spyglass. She wondered if he was having any better luck identifying Anthony or Benedict.
The pony train seemed to go on forever, but finally the last of the animals passed them. They waited for a few moments to make sure that no stragglers came along, then slipped out from their hiding place.
“I’ll go back to the house. I would only be a hindrance to you now,” Jenkins whispered regretfully, handing Camilla his spyglass. “Here, you might be able to use this.” He handed the old dueling pistol to Woollery, who tucked it into his belt on the side opposite his own army pistol.
Jenkins headed back toward the house. The other three started cautiously after the pony train. They could not use the lantern, even shuttered, because their light would give them away, so it was slow going. Camilla only hoped that she would not turn an ankle in the darkness. It was all they could do to keep the end of the train in sight as they struggled along over the dark countryside. More than once the ponies disappeared over a hillock and they were afraid that they had lost sight of them altogether, but each time they were able to get a glimpse of them a while later.
It seemed as if they would walk all night. Camilla wondered if they would make deliveries tonight. It seemed most unlikely, but she could not imagine why they kept hiking. The smugglers finally turned away from the cliffs and the shore and headed inland. They reached a wooded area that Camilla recognized as Varner Wood, and she nearly groaned. Surely they were not going to plunge into the woods, where it would be even darker and more difficult to see.
But then, ahead of her, she saw a faint flicker of light. She and the others moved even more slowly, creeping toward the light, until finally they saw a clearing, where the pack ponies stood. The smugglers had placed their lanterns around on the ground and lifted up one or more shields, so that the lanterns put out enough glow to allow them to see what they were doing.
Camilla and her companions crouched behind a rock and a couple of bushes, spreading out a little from each other. Camilla watched as the men, still dark and featureless in the dim glow, unloaded the ponies and carried the boxes and barrels—down into the ground? It took a moment for Camilla’s mind to make sense of the scene. Then she realized the men must be going down steps built into the ground. There was some sort of cellar there, where they stored their smuggled goods until they could deliver them. Now Camilla could even make out the outline of a wooden door flung open against the ground. They probably even camouflaged it to keep it from being discovered.
It was a far cry from the caves, which she had always assumed must be the hiding places for the smuggling activity in the area. It felt odd to watch the men going about their tasks, almost as if she were witnessing some secret, sacred rite. She supposed in a way she was. No doubt it would be blasphemy to these men to give away this location.
They watched until the men had unloaded all the ponies and closed the door to the secret cellar, covering it up with a tangle of brush and branches. Moving quickly, but without particular haste, the men began to pick up their lanterns, to separate and leave, some of them leading ponies with them.
Camilla squeezed down tightly under her bush as a man strode in her direction. She was breathlessly certain that he would discover her and all would be lost. She hated to think of what they would do to someone who had seen the secret hiding place of the smugglers.
But the man walked away along a barely visible path. Camilla crawled back farther into the brush, away from the path. She looked across to where Purdle had hidden, but she could see nothing of him. She could sense Woollery’s presence behind her, much closer.
She watched intently, trying to keep track of all the men who were leaving, to see if any of them reminded her of Benedict or Anthony. Suddenly, her attention was drawn to a man. He was tall, and she wondered if perhaps he was her cousin or Rawdon. Then she realized that there were two men with him, following him by just a few steps. She understood, too, what had drawn her eyes to him. It had been the very furtiveness of his movements. He stopped now and glanced around, making sure that no one was watching him. Then he walked away quickly, almost melting into the brush. His two companions followed.
It couldn’t be Anthony and Benedict. There were, after all, three of these men. Of course, it could just be a family of smugglers, a group who were more cautious about being known than the others. Perhaps a respectable family.
But Camilla could not get it out of her head that the furtiveness of the men’s movements was sinister. She wondered whether they should follow the men. Just at that moment, two more men slipped off in the same direction, looking around them, then following the route the first three had taken.
Benedict and Anthony? They had both been tall, one slightly shorter and more slender than the other. The description would fit Anthony and Benedict. Camilla glanced back
toward Woollery and found him right behind her. He pointed in the direction of the two men, and she nodded. They slipped out of the hiding places, joined by Purdle, and made their way cautiously through the trees.
She thought that they had lost all five of the men amid the growth, but when they left the shelter of the woods, Woollery spotted the figures of two men in front of them, walking purposefully up a rise in the ground. Camilla and her two companions followed them.
This chase went on for several minutes, with Camilla and her men finding their quarry, then losing them, then spotting them once more when they crested a hill or were in some other way silhouetted against a paler sky or rock.
The men were almost to the top of a long slope, a few feet from a low stone wall that crested the ridge. Camilla, Purdle and Woollery waited at the bottom in the shadow of a tree, not wanting to be exposed on the long, treeless slope, letting their quarry crest the hill and start down the other side.
But as the two men reached the top, there was a sudden loud pop, and one of the two men flung up his arms and staggered backward. Camilla sucked in a sharp breath, paralyzed, as she watched three men leap over the low wall, attacking the two men.
A shriek of rage erupted from Camilla, and she tore up the hill toward the struggling group. She pulled out the pistol in her pocket as she ran, but she knew that she was too far away to take a shot. Lieutenant Woollery, a faster runner than she, pulled ahead of her, firing his pistol in the air in hopes of startling the combatants. It was obvious that there was no hope of actually using the pistols against any of the men, for all five of them were in a seething, struggling mass.
Woollery reached the group of men and launched himself into the pile, laying about him with the butt end of his pistol. Two men rolled away from the others, punching and wrestling. The one currently on top still wore a mask; the other one’s face was bare. It was Benedict.
Camilla threw herself onto the back of the man on top. He smashed his fist into Benedict’s face, but then reared back at Camilla’s sudden weight on his back, trying to throw her off. Camilla held on for dear life and sank her teeth into his neck. He let out a roar like a wounded bull and lashed backward with his hand, hitting her so hard on the cheek that she fell back. He completed her fall by whirling around and knocking her across the stomach with his arm. Benedict scrambled to his feet, roaring, and the man took to his heels. His two companions, one of whom Purdle had cracked across the back with his cudgel, quickly followed.
