by Regina Scott
Lark fought the urge to glance back. “I’ll come back tonight, see what I can find.”
She shivered, as if the idea troubled her. “No need. I know someone else who can likely answer our questions. I propose we go see Mrs. Bascom, preferably before her husband can get home.”
Chapter Thirteen
What an odd day. Jess could not seem to find her equilibrium as they descended the path to Church Street. She hadn’t intended to share the story of Walter Vincent. It did no one any credit. She still wasn’t sure how she, the town matchmaker, had been so easily taken in by him. She only knew she must be more careful in the future. So, why open herself up to Lark?
He strolled along beside her as they made their way along the street, smile as bright as the day and nearly as carefree. How? If her father had died under such circumstances, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forget. But then, he hadn’t forgotten, had he? He’d gone into the same profession. Small wonder he was so determined to catch the smugglers he thought lived in the area.
“The Bascoms live down along the water,” she told him as they neared High Street.
“Of course.” He shot her a grin. “Are you certain you want to keep investigating today? How will the spa survive your absence?”
The spa! For a few moments, in his company, she’d completely forgotten her responsibilities. What if Mr. Crabapple needed advice on courting? What if a Newcomer arrived and wanted introductions? Would Maudie remember to put out the seed cakes Mrs. Inchley had brought for tea? Would Miss Barlow find herself out of her element? Jess still had to send the invitations for the Midsummer Masquerade.
Her thoughts must have flittered across her face, for he put a hand on her arm. “I was teasing. Your efforts are exceptional, but surely you are allowed time away on occasion.”
Jess drew in a breath. “You’d be surprised how infrequently. But Maudie sometimes served as hostess when my father was alive. And she has Miss Barlow to help her today. I just can’t shake the feeling I’m derelict in my duty.”
“Magistrate Howland must have spoken to Greer by now,” he said. “Surely the Spa Corporation will understand.”
She was not nearly so sure. But Lark’s work was important too, and it might be the only way she’d finally learn what her brother was up to.
“Perhaps if we hurry,” she said.
They set off down the hill.
“So, which one?” he asked as they reached the first of the shops. Abigail stood in the window of her gallery. She pointed to Lark, then the fourth finger on her left hand. No, Jess mouthed.
“Sorry,” she said aloud to Lark. “Which what?”
“Which house do the Bascoms own?” he clarified.
“Ah. They’re across the cove from us.” She nodded to Mr. Lawrence, who was rearranging the collection of wedding rings in the window of the jewelry store. He winked at her. She ignored the look.
“Good location for a fisherman,” Lark observed. “Bit inconvenient for reaching the Lodge.”
“Very inconvenient, but he’s more interested in profit.” She thought for a moment how to share the rest of what she knew. Between her guests at the spa and those at the assemblies, she was privy to a great deal of gossip and did her best not to pass on any of it. However, Lark needed to know all if he was to put together the pieces of this puzzle.
“I have noticed that Mr. Bascom tends to increase his prices for fish when the other fishermen are having a difficult time finding any,” she explained as they passed the linens and trimmings shop. The younger Miss Pierce came out, white satin ribbons draped over one arm, and waved them at her. Jess did not need white satin ribbons, the kinds used by brides. She shook her head at the seamstress, whose face fell.
“Not necessarily a crime,” Lark mused as they approached the barber. Mr. Norris was lounging on his front stoop. He straightened to gaze at Lark and stroked his chin with two fingers. Lark did not appear to notice the offer of a shave.
“It may not be a crime,” Jess said, “but it’s not fair to his neighbors or the others in his profession. And he’s not above getting out ahead, even if it means sailing at night.”
Lark glanced her way, in time to miss the look Mr. Treacle shot him through the window of the haberdashery. “So, he might have been willing to try the caves under the castle after dark.”
Jess shrugged. “That I’m not so sure about. Perhaps it would be best if you let me lead the conversation on this one.”
Another man might have bristled. He merely nodded. “I am yours to command.”
And wouldn’t that be nice? She could imagine coming home from the spa to a dinner with him across the table, sharing stories of their day. He’d laugh over something a Newcomer had said. She’d marvel over the villains he’d brought low. She blinked until the image disappeared.
“This way,” she said as they reached the shore.
Henry Bascom and his family lived in a cottage at the very end of the row. He had a son about her brother’s age, another a few years younger, and two daughters, one still on leading strings. They found Mrs. Bascom and the girls out in the small yard in front of the stone cottage, hanging clothing on the line to dry.
“Good afternoon,” Jess said with a smile to the girls, who ducked behind their mother’s blue skirts.
“Miss Chance,” Mrs. Bascom acknowledged, but her look darted to Lark.
“This is Mr. Denby, a Newcomer to our shore,” Jess explained. “He’s interested in sailing, and I thought your husband might like to discuss the matter with him.”
“I pay in gold,” Lark put in with a charming smile.
Mrs. Bascom brushed down her lace collar before bending to pick up an apron from the basket at her feet. “My Henry’s very busy.”
“He certainly is,” Jess agreed. “Why, half the tables in this village would be empty but for the fish he brings in.”
She did not brighten as she flipped the apron over the line. “He’s a hard worker.”
“Oh, my yes,” Jess said. “We recently encountered him up at the Lodge, but I didn’t think to ask him until afterward. I understand he’s the caretaker there now.”
Her body tightened, but she kept working, hands smoothing the fabric. “He helps out when needed, same as me. I’m not sure when he’ll be home today.” Sunlight glinted on the pins holding up her brown hair.
“Then we’ll take no more of your time,” Jess said. “I hope to see you in church on Sunday.”
Mrs. Bascom nodded, and Jess led Lark away toward the village.
“Disappointing,” he said. “But perhaps we can get more out of him on Sunday, as you noted.”
“Her husband rarely attends services,” Jess told him as they followed the path to the street. “But something isn’t right. Henry Bascom works hard, and he does sell his catch all over town, but with so many mouths to feed, he struggles to make ends meet. I’ve collected a Christmas and Easter basket for him three years running. Yet those pins in Mrs. Bascom’s hair were gold. I’m certain of it. And she didn’t buy that lace collar in the shops here. The Misses Pierce haven’t stocked French lace in years. Neither has Abigail, as she noted to you.”
“But to wear them so openly,” he protested.
“She wasn’t expecting us,” Jess pointed out. “And their cottage is the last in the line before the headland, so she likely thought no one would notice.”
“Which means we can’t cross him off the list yet,” he surmised.
“No, indeed. Though it is quite possible he’s having a better year than usual.” Jess sighed. “Oh, but I cannot like suspecting any of our neighbors. Surely your superior was mistaken. This Lord of the Smugglers cannot live in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
Yet even as they started up the hill, her brother came to mind once more. But Alex, being taken for a lord? He still forgot to wear his coat on chilly days. And he hadn’t settled on a profession. No, thinking of him leading hardened smugglers was too much. Even Maudie would laugh at such a tale.
/> “Perhaps we can convince the commissioner to look elsewhere,” Jess said, lifting her lavender skirts to climb the hill. “You’ve found no one to suspect.”
He lowered his voice as they came past the shops. “What of this Quillan St. Claire, the retired naval officer?”
She aimed a smile at Mr. Carroll, who was sweeping off his stoop. He smiled back, jerked his head toward Lark, and raised his brow in question. Oh, not another one. Jess shook her head emphatically no.
“He arrived eighteen months ago, claiming to be recovering from a war wound,” she explained as Mr. Carroll’s eager look turned to one of disappointment. “He’s leasing Dove Cottage, on the hill between here and Upper Grace. It’s an easy walk to the assembly rooms, yet he rarely joins us. His manservant does the marketing and brings him the paper and other reading materials from Mr. Carroll. He never attends church services. If he is truly in pain, why not at least come to the spa?”
He chuckled. “I admire your loyalty to the waters.”
“I am loyal because I have seen them work,” she insisted as they passed the last shop. “People come with pale faces, worried countenances. They leave with robust color and a smile. How else would you explain it?”
He smiled. “That’s not from drinking the waters. That’s because they met you.”
Once more the admiration in his gaze held her tenderly. She could not look away. Perhaps that’s why she stumbled.
He caught her before she fell. “Careful. Perhaps we could both do with a drink from the fountain.”
Assuredly. But somehow she didn’t think that would cure her of her returning feelings for him.
~~~
Jess was anxious to check on the spa, so Lark agreed they would continue their efforts on Saturday.
“Perhaps we should ride out along the cliffs,” he said as they continued up the hill. “It might give me an idea of where they are landing their goods, if not Grace Cove. Shall I ask Mr. Josephs for a horse for you?”
She laughed. “No, please. I never learned to ride.”
Lark stared at her. “Never? How do you get about?”
She waved a hand toward the little village. “There is nowhere I need to go that I cannot walk, sir.”
He could not imagine being so hemmed in. “Leave this to me. We’ll meet at the crossroads above the spa at half past nine tomorrow. I’ll bring a gig and the appropriate chaperone.”
She looked at him askance, but they had reached the spa, and he opened the door for her.
He removed his hat as they stepped inside the columned space. Lord Featherstone nodded a welcome. Mrs. Tully went so far as to wink at him. As Jess hurried to check with her, Mrs. Cole and her daughter came over to ask about his health, his plans. It had been a long time since anyone asked after him.
And he could not see that anything had changed during Jess’s absence. Miss Barlow seemed quite eager to please, peppering her with questions and offering suggestions. But he could not deny he enjoyed having Jess to himself. He excused himself from the spa to make the arrangements for Saturday.
~~~
He was waiting for Jess at the crossroads above the spa the next morning. Her lavender skirts swished over her brown leather half-boots as she approached the curricle and pair he had borrowed from Mr. Josephs at the livery stable. Miss Archer gathered the reins in one hand and waved at Jess with the other.
“Abigail,” Jess greeted her warmly before turning to Lark. “It seems you thought of everything, sir.”
Lark inclined his head. “Miss Archer graciously agreed to accompany us. She’ll be driving the carriage. I’ll be riding alongside. We’ll stop and walk as it pleases us.”
“And I can paint,” Abigail put in with a smile.
Indeed, he was rather counting on that.
He stepped forward and gave Jess his hand to help her up into the carriage. The scent of lavender brushed his nose. He would not inhale like some love-struck schoolboy, however tempting it was. As if she’d felt his scrutiny, she blushed prettily as she settled herself into the seat. He had to force himself to walk to his sorrel mare and mount. Miss Archer clucked to the pair on the curricle, and they all set out up the hill for the cliff road toward West Creech.
The day was warm and clear. Chalk puffed from the horses’ hoofs to hover in the air. Mrs. Tully would probably have claimed it was pixie dust. He could imagine it sparkling in Jess’ hair, which was once more confined inside a straw bonnet. He longed to pull the bonnet free, as he’d done yesterday, but she wouldn’t have allowed it today. She was being a proper lady, chatting with him and her friend and flashing smiles brighter than the sunlight that was anointing the fields with gold.
After a time, he slowed his horse Valkyrie to a trot, then urged her off the road. Miss Archer pulled the curricle to the side of the road as well. Beyond the grass, the Channel filled the horizon, deep blue melding with the blue of the sky in the distance.
“Where are we?” Jess asked as if they had reached another land.
“About halfway to West Creech,” he said, dismounting and taking up Valkyrie’s reins. He nodded toward a field of wildflowers bursting with pink, scarlet, and azure. “Would you care to walk, Miss Chance?”
Miss Archer pulled a sketchbook out from under the seat. “I’ll be here when you need me.”
Singularly accommodating woman. He must remember to thank her.
He helped Jess down and walked with her and the mare toward the cliff. “I thought we could start here,” he murmured, head close to Jess’, “and make our way back toward the castle, looking for draws that lead up from the shore.”
She beamed. “Excellent suggestion.”
He felt very clever.
She glanced back at her friend. “A shame we cannot invite Abigail. She’s drawn these cliffs more time than anyone and might notice something we missed.”
He tucked her hand in his arm. “I would rather not share my profession with her if possible.”
“Of course.”
They had reached the edge of the land, and she craned her neck to see over the cliff to the shores below. “No easy way down here. That’s what you seek, isn’t it? How this Lord of the Smugglers is coming ashore?”
He still suspected the fellow was using the caves under Castle How, but it wouldn’t hurt to look elsewhere.
“Yes,” he allowed. “Though it’s possible he never comes ashore. There are a number of ways to land a cargo. Some of the larger vessels sail down the Channel, and smaller boats go out to meet them. Others come as close to shore as possible and in shallow enough water that men can form a human chain from ship to shore and pass the goods by hand.”
“Well, I certainly haven’t seen that on Grace Cove,” she assured him.
Reins in one grip, her hand in the other, he led the horse along the cliff. “It could have happened in the dead of night, while you slept.”
“You forget. I live on the cove. Either Maudie or I would have heard something.”
Interesting that she didn’t mention her brother, but perhaps he was a heavy sleeper. “You’d be surprised how quietly they can move. Some use a specially designed harness on their horses to muffle the sound.”
“I had no idea,” she marveled. “You must have to go to great lengths to catch them.”
Easy to feel confident in that assessment. “It can be challenging.”
Suddenly, she stopped, pointing. “There, where the cliff slumps? Are those wagon tracks?”
Chapter Fourteen
Immediately, he was on the alert. She could only liken it to the way her mind snapped to attention when she spotted interest between a lady and a gentleman at the spa. He handed her the reins, heedless to the fact that she had never held them before, and scurried to where the grass had been disturbed.
The horse eyed her, brown eyes wary.
“Well,” Jess said, “I suppose we should follow him.”
The mare seemed to agree, for she ambled closer to Lark, then bent her head to nibble
at the grass, nearly tugging the reins from Jess’s fingers.
“Yes, you’re right,” Lark said, striding along the track to the draw in the cliff. “At least two wagons by the lines in the soil and deeper in one set of tracks than the other, so they likely arrived empty and left full.”
She would not have thought to check for such things. “Did the smugglers come up from the shore, then?”
She was almost sorry she’d asked, for he was leaning precariously out over the cliff. “There’s a good path up, though I can’t see the bottom with the high tide. Still, very promising.”
She drew in a breath as he moved toward her, his eyes bright. He nodded back the way they had come. “It looks as if the smugglers joined the cliff road there. I’ll be sure to note that in my report.”
His report? “You don’t intend to chase them?”
“Unfortunately, they could be anywhere by now.” He held out his hand, and she surrendered the reins to him. “But I’ll see that the Riding Officer for this stretch of coast is alerted to keep watch. When he detects a pattern, he can call in the dragoons and capture the lot of them.” He clucked to the horse, and they continued along the shore.
The breeze tugged her bonnet back, and sunlight warmed her cheeks. Jess breathed in the brine-scented air. Every direction she looked, the view went on for miles, from spring-green grassland to rolling sea. Abigail and the curricle were tiny in the distance. How vast the world seemed, just over the hill from the village.
“Hungry?” he asked, and suddenly she was. As if he saw the answer in her eyes, he drew up in a patch of shorter grass surrounded by wildflowers, which bobbed their heads in greeting. From the saddlebag, he pulled a blanket and handed it to her. “Will you set the table?”
Smiling, she took the soft wool and arranged it on the grass. He busied himself bringing a pouch, a tin, and a metal flask.
“Where did you get all this?” she asked as he spread them on the blanket.
“Jack Hornswag and Mr. Ellison were surprisingly accommodating,” he replied as his horse bent her head once more.
