Dawn at Emberwilde (14 page)

Colin pushed open the door, and the familiar sounds of the village's only inn and public house rushed him. The abundant fire
blazed, its light filling the large room with a yellow glow, and the welcoming chatter of patrons and the clicking of pewter dinnerware filled the timbered space. Scents of burning wood, beef stew, and ale all battled for dominance. Not even a year ago the inn would have been empty at such an hour, but ever since a large carriage agency had reassigned its routes through Northrop, the public house enjoyed an endless stream of new customers.

Colin allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the room's flickering light, then spotted McKinney near the back wall.

McKinney was an easy man to find in a crowd. He was a massive human, by far the tallest man in the village, and his stocky build made him appear much more suited for tending the fields than managing an inn. More than once his brawn had aided him well in his role as constable, and lately, he often utilized his imposing stature to break up brawls between rowdy patrons.

Colin wove his way between the benches and roughly fashioned tables toward his friend.

McKinney looked up from the dishes he was carrying. “Galloway! What brings you out in this weather?”

“Missed the evening meal.” Colin grinned, swiping his hat from his head and shaking the dampness from his hair.

“Missed your meal, eh? Haven't seen you in here in a couple of days. Did you take a dislike to my food?”

“Not at all.” Colin removed his coat and hung it on a hook to dry next to the fire. “If not for the Pigeon's Rest, there would be plenty of days when I would not eat at all.”

McKinney took off his apron and rolled his sleeves. “That aunt of yours would feed you. Not like her to let a man go hungry.”

“True, but the hour's late now. I've no wish to wake her.”

“Late, he says,” repeated McKinney, amusement adding a comical lilt to his rough tone. “Never mind, good company is always welcome.”

McKinney motioned to a young woman with black hair and a stocky build, then he ushered Colin to an empty table. “Nice to see a familiar face for a change. This lot in here tonight is a rowdy one.”

Colin took the offered seat and leaned against the roughly shaped table with his elbows. He glanced around at the proclaimed rowdy lot. Not a single familiar face lurked in the space. Two infantrymen kept to themselves in the far left corner, and another cluster of men sat closer to the fire. Their clothes were not ragged, but it was clear that theirs was not a table of gentlemen. Colin turned his attention back to McKinney. “Place is full.”

“Humpf,” grunted McKinney, rubbing a thick hand over his unruly beard. He jerked his head in the direction of a thin man sitting alone against the back wall. “That one over there told me the company added three more coaches to this route, so we expect more overnight guests en route to London at least three nights a week. Only have one open bed as it is. I'll be turning folks away if this keeps up.”

“That's good for business.”

McKinney frowned, annoyance furrowing his wide brow. “Got enough business, don't need any more. But I know you didn't come to see how business ha' been.”

Colin leaned back as a young woman with a white cap placed a bowl of stew and a pint of ale in front of him, and the same in front of McKinney. The pungent scent of stout ale and hearty broth warmed him.

“So what business of yours has been keeping you so occupied?” inquired McKinney, leaning back in his seat to let the girl serve him, then spooning the stew into his mouth.

The two men had been comrades for years, their roles in the community intertwined. Colin kept the peace, and McKinney observed everything about everyone. All the village came through the Pigeon's Rest at some point or another.

“I do have a little incident that I could use your help with.”

“Aha, now we're getting to it.” McKinney raised a bushy auburn eyebrow and leaned toward Colin as if not to miss a word. “Help as in my cow got loose and I can't find it, or as in I am the magistrate and need you to keep an eye out for me?”

“I don't have a cow.”

“Then it must be t'other.” McKinney propped his thick forearms on the table, the room's faint light sparking in his eyes. His expressions might be difficult for a newcomer to decipher, for deep-set eyes and a firm jawline masked any hints. But Colin had known the man all his life.

Colin cleared his throat, taking a moment to weigh exactly how much he should share about the happenings in the Black Wood Forest. In all the years they had worked together on this project or that, he had always found McKinney trustworthy and, furthermore, silent when necessary.

“Had an interesting visit out to Emberwilde Hall yesterday.”

“Ah. Every visit with Ellison is an interesting one, him and his hotheaded ways.”

“Well, this one was different,” Colin clarified.

McKinney indulged in a swig of ale and returned the mug to the table with a thud. “Don't see how.”

“Seems there is some smuggling afoot in the Black Wood Forest. Or at least, activity that looks like smuggling.”

McKinney sobered but remained silent.

Colin cut his eyes toward the loud group of men before turning his attention back to McKinney. “Do you recall the caverns by the Hearne Pond?”

A sharp laugh burst from McKinney. “Bah! You know me, I'll not set a toenail in the Black Wood Forest. Never have, never will.”

Colin lowered his fork, amused by his friend's response. “Oh, come on. Surely you do not believe all that nonsense.”

“ 'Tis not nonsense. I've seen 'em myself, the black shadows. Conley's best pointer ran into that forest and died the next day. Do you think that is coincidence? I don't.” McKinney pointed his spoon in Colin's direction. “That forest is haunted, and if I were you I would stay away from it.”

“It's not haunted,” reasoned Colin. “No such thing.”

“Say that all you like, I know what I've seen.”

“Do you remember Harding? Emberwilde's gamekeeper?”

“Yes, and he's as odd as they come.”

“Whatever you think of him, he's the one who discovered the evidence. Seems someone is counting on everyone's fear and using the caverns to hide contraband.”

McKinney leaned forward. “What sort of contraband are we talking about?”

“Not sure.” Colin pushed the stew away, his appetite fading. “Several casks—at least eight or nine—wine or rum or something of the sort, and a dozen or so crates. That is what we could see, anyway.”

McKinney folded his burly arms over his chest and frowned. “Sure it's smuggling? Haven't heard of that sort of activity going on around these parts. Farther south, sure. But not here. Anyway, I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Ellison and his lot get what they get.”

“I suppose in the grand scheme of things it doesn't seem that significant, but I thought you would be interested.”

“Me? Interested?” He chortled. “Nothing about the Ellisons interests me.”

Colin leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. “He's offering a reward for information. A hefty sum.”

“A hefty sum?” McKinney lifted his head. “ 'Course he is. Just like the Ellisons to throw their purse around, making sure everyone knows of it. But come out with the amount, because what you think
is a hefty sum and what I consider to be a hefty sum could be two different things.”

“Fifty pounds to anyone providing information that leads to an arrest, and one hundred pounds to the one who delivers the man.”

McKinney leaned against the back of his chair and fixed his eyes on a far point in the room. “Come to think of it, there's not much more satisfying than getting a bit of the money. What I can't figure is why Ellison would care about a little smuggling going on. I still say he's no stranger to walking both sides of the law. You know that as well as anybody. Besides, I heard that Emberwilde is facing hard times—in a bit of financial trouble over a deal gone bad. Seems to me this must be pretty important to Ellison if he is willing to part with any amount, little or great.”

Colin stared at the rim of his mug. Yes, he had heard the rumors about Emberwilde. Ellison was well known for making risky investments and for his passion for gambling, and based on Ellison's comments regarding finances, he had to believe it to be true. “I only know what I saw, and that was contraband on Ellison's property.”

“And that doesn't strike you as odd?”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

McKinney shrugged and rubbed his hand over his beard. “Men do strange things when they are desperate.”

“I don't think Ellison is desperate. You need to stop listening to the chatter that goes on in here.”

“Stop listening? This is where I hear the best news!”

Colin took the last bite of his stew and leaned back in his chair. At last, the rumbling in his stomach had dissipated, and after speaking with McKinney he was more eager than ever to get to the bottom of this case. “I wrote to the excise officer to inquire about smuggling in other areas, but until I get a response, watch for odd sorts. 'Tis likely that with all the travelers along the Lockton Route, someone might show up who knows something.”

“True.” McKinney nodded. “And nothing will get a man to talk like a bit of ale. I'll find out what I can.”

Colin stood, preparing to take his leave.

McKinney rose to his full height. “Heard earlier today of a boxing bout that will be taking place over at Foster's Field sometime in the next couple of days. Those draw folks from every corner, all looking to win a bit o' change. Probably find all sorts there, and what sorts would be enticed into the smuggling game.”

“Good. Can't hurt to go and see what we can find out. Let me know when it is.” He finished his stew and dropped some coins on the table. “Keep this as quiet as you can for now, all right? Ellison doesn't want news of this spread about.”

“Humpf. Figures. The man wants help and wants no one to know it. That's an Ellison for you.” McKinney joined a sudden outburst of drunken laughter that rose from the corner of the room.

“Ellison's pride might be your financial gain,” Colin said. “Best not be too hard on the man.” Without another word, he stepped out of the stuffy tavern into the night air.

Chapter Fourteen

S
everal days after being fitted for new gowns, Isabel overslept.

Normally when she woke, dawn would just be breaking, and the white light of early morning would stretch long fingers over the emerald lawns and Emberwilde Forest. But today, without even consulting her timepiece, she could guess the hour by the brightness of the sun pouring through the space between the glass and the curtain. She bolted upright in bed and allowed the soft blankets covering her to slip to the side.

Her night's sleep had been fitful at best. Thoughts of an uncertain future and fears and anticipation of the unknown wrestled in her mind. Her body had been tired, yes, but her mind was engaged in an intense battle, refusing to stop for even a moment.

Undoubtedly she had needed the extra hours, but it was unnerving just the same. For it was her practice to rise every morning at dawn for time alone. Today was the first day she had missed it in a very long time.

It was taking much longer to adapt to Emberwilde's ways than Isabel had expected. She wished it were easier to blend the two worlds she knew. She wanted to embrace the new ideas she was being exposed to here, yet at the same time she wanted to preserve the aspects of her previous life that she valued.

Everything was different. Even the schedule was quite different. And her body—not to mention Lizzie's—was adjusting.

At Emberwilde, there was no urgency to get the day under way.
Even though the servants were up before dawn, Isabel never heard them. The late, unproductive morning made her feel sluggish, but then again, what was there to accomplish here? Servants tended to all responsibilities. She missed the daily sense of purpose and accomplishment.

Her old way of life was slipping from her. But today was a new day. Even though she had overslept, there were still hours left in the morning. She reached for the small table next to her bed and lifted Mary's unfinished needlework and let her eyes rest on the words. How she missed her home.

At least here she had Lizzie's studies to tend to.

Yes, Lizzie.

She wriggled her legs free from the bedding, shook out her nightdress, and stood. With a swipe of her hand, Isabel whisked disorderly wisps from her face and moved to the door that separated her room from Lizzie's. She pushed it open and scanned the space, but her sister was not there. In fact, the bed had already been made and her night things returned to their spaces.

Isabel turned back to her room, grabbed her robe, and rang for Burns.

Within minutes the lady's maid appeared. “Good morning, miss. You have slept late! Are you ready to dress?”

“Good morning, Burns. I am ready, thank you.” Isabel untied the bow from her braid and shook out her long hair. “Have you seen Lizzie yet this morning?”

“Yes, I have.”

Isabel frowned in concern. Normally her sister would run into her room to say good morning, even before Burns would help her dress.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I saw her out on the south lawn earlier, I believe.”

Isabel took little notice of the woman's fidgety response to her
question. With Burns's help, she quickly donned one of Constance's older gowns that had been taken in for her to wear until her own new gowns were ready, dressed her hair, and cleaned her teeth before heading downstairs. She found her aunt and cousin in the breakfast room, still sitting over their morning tea. Her aunt was writing a letter at the desk by the window, and Constance was reading a letter.