Memoirs of a Hoyden (16 page)

On the beach below, the brandy had all been unloaded. It looked like about twenty barrels lined up for delivery. Kemp had handed over the money; the smuggler leader had counted it and passed it to one of his minions to carry. It remained only to decide what to do with Kestrel and myself. They had their heads together, behind my back, talking it over. There was a little disagreement between them. Kemp was all for drowning us both; the Frenchie was less eager to add murder to his crimes.

If ever Kestrel was going to make a move, this was the time. I caught his eye and nodded, telling him I was ready to follow his lead. I even remembered my dagger, and managed to get it out of my pocket to show Kestrel. If only Ronald would give us a sign that he stood ready! But no sign came. He had either gone for help, or was waiting for us to make the first move. If he had left, we were dead, so I decided to make the move myself and hope he hopped out from behind the rocks.

It was Kemp who wanted us dead. I didn’t think the Frenchies would murder us if Kemp could be disposed of. With this in mind, I got a firm grip on my little dagger, gave Kestrel a nod to show him trouble was coming, and, turning swiftly, plunged the dagger into Kemp’s side. He emitted a strangled gasp and fell toward the edge of the cliff— unfortunately, taking me with him. His two hands clutched at my skirts, but I managed to grab his pistol.

Caught off guard, the smugglers stood a moment gaping and cursing, trying to figure out what had happened. Kestrel leapt at the ringleader and got hold of his pistol. The other two weasels took to their heels, shimmying down the rock cliff like the sheep they were.

Ronald appeared, brandishing his pistol dangerously as he flew to my rescue. “Are you all right, Marion?”

“I’m fine. You keep guard on this scoundrel,” I said, pointing to Kemp.

The leader of the band broke out into protestations of innocence. “Oh, monsieur, have a pity on a father of four darling daughters. I meant you no harm. My only crime is supplying most excellent brandy to fine English gentlemen.”

“And using language that would shock the devil,” I reminded him.

“The letter,” Kestrel demanded, holding out a peremptory hand.

The letter was handed over without a single protest. “Merely a billet-doux to Monsieur Kemp’s lady friend at Calais, is it not so?” the smuggler asked, with the innocent face of a saint.

Kestrel glanced at the envelope and said he thought not. As the Frenchie appeared to know no English, that was the language I used to confer with Kestrel.

“Let him go,” I advised. “There are a dozen or so of them on the beach. They might come after us if their chief doesn’t join them.”

A glance below showed this was what the men had in mind. Already they were gathering like vultures for the ascent. “It’s Kemp you’re after. These smugglers aren’t interested in spying. Delivering the letters is only a sideline to them.”

Kestrel was no enemy to smugglers, so long as they confined their business to smuggling. He dismissed the ringleader with a warning. “I’ll be on the lookout for you. If you show your nose near here again, be prepared to have it blown off.”

“Monsieur is most generous. He will be remembered in my prayers. Many thanks to the kind lady.” An echo of praise for the kind gentleman and the generous lady trailed behind him as the smuggler disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

“Are you all right, Marion?” Kestrel asked. I rather think that had we been alone, he might have done more than ask. Even with Ronald present, he drew me into his arms and turned my face up to examine a bruise on my cheek with tender interest.

“All tattered and torn, but very much alive,” I assured him.

“You were magnificent,” he said. The tone was one of surprised admiration, and the voice was husky.

I reluctantly detached myself from his arms and said, “When pushed to the wall, one must do something. Now, what shall we do about this carcass?” I asked, and went to examine Kemp.

I pulled back his cape and other clothing to examine his wound. The presence of a considerable quantity of blood made it appear worse than it was. His layers of clothing had cushioned the dagger’s force, so that his wound was not very deep. He wasn’t even unconscious, but he was in a sullen mood and didn’t say much.

“Does anyone have a clean handkerchief?” I asked.

Ronald’s was produced. There was little to be done on a cliffside, so I merely covered the wound with the clean cloth and ripped another strip from my skirt to hold it in place till we could get him to a doctor.

“It will be hard to get a wounded man up that sheer cliff,” I pointed out. I wasn’t looking forward to getting myself up it, to tell the truth.

“Cliff?” Ronald asked. “Why, there’s a staircase cut into the wall about a quarter of a mile farther along. Don’t tell me you climbed down that cliff?”

I was filled with chagrin to consider the unnecessary hardship I had undergone. Kestrel and Ronald examined the cliffside, which certainly looked unclimbable from below, exchanging incredulous shakes of their heads at my folly. “I didn’t know there was a staircase,” I said nonchalantly.

“It’s a miracle you weren’t killed,” Kestrel scolded.

“It’s a miracle we all weren’t killed. How did you two come to let Kemp get between you? When I saw him sneaking up on you, Kestrel, I decided I’d best come down and help you. Unfortunately, I slipped on the stones. These kid slippers weren’t made for mountain climbing.”

It was Ronald who answered. “We couldn’t find Kemp, but Nick knew the spot where the smugglers landed, and we knew he must be lurking somewhere nearby. He suggested I climb up here and keep a lookout while he walked along the beach, trying to draw him out of hiding. While Nick was farther along the beach, Kemp came climbing up and stationed himself in front of me. I couldn’t very well warn Nick when he came back without giving myself away, so Nick just called me a few times, and when I couldn’t answer, he hid himself behind a rock, and we both watched and waited.

“You might have had the sense to shoot Kemp when you saw him starting to climb up!” I exclaimed.

“No, Nick wanted to take him alive, to question him, you know, and find out if anyone else is in this game with him. I just waited, ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble.”

“You didn’t figure my falling into Kemp’s hands was trouble?” I asked.

“Well, of course, but by the time I worked my way forward, he was already hiding behind your skirts. There wasn’t much I could do then, with you in the way.’’

“We’ll discuss this later,” Kestrel said. “We’ve got to get Kemp out of here. We need a litter. Would you mind going to Longville Manor for help, Ron?”

“I think we can handle him, between the three of us,” Ronald countered.

I looked at Kemp—not a small man—and I considered the distance to the manor. “Think again. Go for help, Ronald.”

“Well, come on then,” he said, waiting for me to join him.

“I’ll stay here, in case Kemp worsens. Bring a doctor if you can rouse one.’’ With a grumble of protest at always having to be the errand boy, Ronald left.

It was not solely solicitude for that rogue, Kemp, that decided me to remain behind with Kestrel. I had sensed a warmth in his regard earlier on, and thought privacy might increase it. When he took my arm and led me a little away from Kemp, I assumed he meant to assure himself I was unharmed, and compliment me on my valor.

Imagine my astonishment when the first words he uttered, and in a pretty rough voice, too, were “I hope this night has taught you the folly of forcing your way into matters that don’t concern you. You might have been killed, and got us all killed.”

It knocked the wind out of me. For thirty seconds I was speechless. By the time I found my tongue, my temper had flared higher than Kestrel’s. “I might have, but I decided to save your worthless life instead! Is this the thanks I get? I’d like to know where you’d be now if I hadn’t handled Kemp for you!’’

“I would have shaken the truth out of Nel, and arrested Kemp hours ago.”

“How did you know about Nel?”

“I saw her go into the library, all dressed for traveling in the middle of the night. I knew Sir Herbert wasn’t a traitor, and when I learned he was pressuring her to marry Harcourt, I began to suspect the ninny had done something idiotic. I was watching her. I was about to catch her when I heard you moaning, and had to see what muddle you’d gotten yourself into. She got away from me and of course flew straight to Kemp with the letter. I wasn’t sure who her contact was at that time, though of course I suspected Kemp. He fills all my criteria for a spy—penniless, no character. Once Nel was away from me, I had no choice but to come here and see who turned the letter over to the Frenchies.”

This didn’t seem the auspicious moment to straighten him out on a few details. Instead, I attacked him for his laggardly way of conducting himself under fire. “You didn’t even know Kemp was behind you with a pistol at your back. Why do you think I was hurrying down, and lost my footing and fell?”

“Yes, fell right into his hands! That was a marvelous help!”

“More help than you! Who stopped him from killing us all? Tell me that!”

“I could hardly leap at him when he had a pistol at your head. By God, I’m beginning to wish I had. It would take more than a pistol shot to get through that thick skull of yours.”

My temper flared out of control. I had put myself in jeopardy for this cretin whose idea of gratitude was insults. I raised my hand and delivered a resounding smack across his cheek. A stunned expression flittered across his face as his head whipped aside with the force of the blow. From the shadows beyond, Kemp let out a chuckle of approval. “I promise you I will not interfere in your bungling efforts to save England again, sir.”

I lifted my head and made to stalk off. Before I took a step, Kestrel’s hands came out and grabbed my arms. “That’s exactly the behavior I’ve come to expect from you. You have no manners, no sense, no dignity. Your idea of gentility is puffing yourself off, claiming credit for accomplishments not your own.”

“My accomplishments are my own, whatever you may have weaseled out of Ronald.”

“You make yourself ineligible by such actions as you’ve undertaken tonight. You might have ended up on that lugger, dragged to France as the hostage of those smugglers.”

“They would hardly be less amusing than the company I find myself in at the moment. As to eligibility, marriage is of no interest whatsoever to me. I wouldn’t accept an offer from anyone I’ve met in England thus far. If a gentleman is so sensitive to public opinion he balks at my behavior, then let him keep his distance.” This last speech was said through clenched teeth, in a tone that told my listener what gentleman I spoke of.

“Marion, you’re impossible!” he howled.

“My name is Miss Mathieson, and you, sir, are a sheep. Follow the herd, and have nothing to do with such untamed wildlife as I. I will not be dictated to by—”

A blaze of frustration flared over Kestrel’s hawkish features. He less resembled a sheep than a wolf as he pulled me into his arms for my second passionate embrace that evening. The kiss started where Kemp’s had left off, with the quivering at the base of the skull and the trembling down the spine. From there it flamed into a primitive battle, to see which of us could outdo the other in ardor. I wasn’t going to be bested in anything by this man, including passion.

As his arms crushed me mercilessly against his chest, I wrapped mine around his waist and squeezed till he was gasping. Every atom of my body participated in the struggle. I responded from the tip of my head to the ends of my toes, especially in the area of lungs and what we genteelly call stomach, but mean our entire inner torso, which felt as though it were afire. I hadn’t been so exhilarated since the night I was chased down a mountain by a band of Arabs, intent, I believe, on something similar to what Kestrel seemed to have in mind at the moment. The kiss was beginning to run a little out of control on both our sides. I pulled roughly away and sniffed.

He was still scowling, and so was I. “Just the sort of embrace I would expect from a sheep,” I scoffed. “Kemp did much better.” On this taunting speech I turned and marched away toward the rock staircase. The walking was easy here, unlike my treacherous ordeal.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“To Longville Manor. I suggest you keep an eye on Kemp. He’s not quite dead. He might overpower you yet.”

I couldn’t be certain whether the reluctant chuckle came from Kemp or Kestrel. My own gurgle of laughter was much more discreet, a mere ruffle of sound in the throat as I hastened to Longville Manor.

Chapter Eleven

I met Roland and a couple of footmen hurrying down the drive of Longville Manor on my way back. “Did you send for a sawbones?” I asked.

“Yes, he’s to meet us at the cliff. Do you want to come along and show him exactly where to go?”

“No, leave one of the footmen there to show him the way,” I said, and continued on.

Ronald knew my habit of being in the middle of things, and no doubt found my answer strange. So far as I was concerned, the interesting part of that little spy escapade was over—finis. The final wrapping up of it was for doctors and officials. Let them decide what to do with Kemp. I was in the middle of a much more interesting affair now, one I had no intention of conducting without arranging a new toilette.

I went straight to the kitchen at the Manor and asked for a flagon of wine and a basin of hot water to be delivered to my chamber. The scullery maids were putting the last touch of polish on the kitchen. They would have liked to object, I think, till they got a good look at my condition.

“Lawks a mercy, miss. What happened to you?” one asked.

“I was walking along the cliff, looking at the ocean, and took a tumble. Is there hot water, or shall I have to wait?”

There were two kettles heating on the dying embers. Rather than waiting for the girls to build up the fire again, I said I would make do with what they had. I carried the wine, the girls the water, and they followed me upstairs at once to arrange a rather meager bath.