Smuggler's Lady (7 page)

“Yes, it is thanks to the Gentlemen,” Rob put in. “They make deliveries every month, but no one ever sees them, and you cannot hear them coming either, because they muffle the ponies' hooves. Is it not so, Merrie?”

“That is what is said, certainly,” she replied without a flicker. It was a relatively innocuous topic of conversation and a fairly absorbing one. “It is a major business in these parts, Lord Rutherford. Have you yet had a chance to examine Lord Mallory's cellars? I dare swear you will find them well stocked.”

“I have sampled the brandy and found it to be more than superior,” he said. “I must confess to an abiding interest in these Gentlemen.” He looked up from his plate, surprising a sudden, sharp glance from his hostess.

“Only outsiders find the idea of smuggling romantic, sir,” Meredith said with a light shrug. “For Cornishmen, it is a simple fact of life—dangerous and dirty more often than not.”

That remark was clearly designed to put him firmly in his place—an impractical outsider with romantic notions about a serious business. “I did not say I found it romantic,” he countered gently. “ ‘Interesting' was the word. I happened to run into them, you see.”

Meredith dropped her fork with a tinny clatter on her plate. “How could you have done such a thing?” she demanded. “No one sees them.”

“But I did,” he replied as gently as before, wondering what on earth was the matter with her. She looked as uncomfortable as if she were sitting on an ants' nest.

“Where, sir?” Rob bounced up and down on his seat, and even Hugo had stopped his methodical chewing.

“On the cliff road the night I arrived.” He helped himself to another slice of sirloin. “They were engaged in a skirmish with the coastguard as far as I could see.”

“Who won?” Theo was staring again, the Trelawney eyes wide open.

Damian chuckled. “Oh, the smugglers without a doubt. They disappeared, you see, right under the revenue's noses. It was fascinating.”

“Where were you when you saw this?” Meredith asked, having herself well in hand again.

“Hiding behind a gorse bush.” He laughed again. “It was devilishly uncomfortable, not to mention undignified, but well worth it. Their leader intrigued me.

“How? Why?” Rob, unable to keep his seat, began to dance on his toes. “I have never ever talked to anyone who's seen the Gentlemen!”

“Sit down, Robin!” his sister said sharply. “It is hardly earth-shattering news.”

“Why were you intrigued, sir?” Hugo asked as his brother resumed his seat with a pout.

“He seemed little more than a lad,” Damian explained. “Incredibly young to be commanding such a group but clearly very competent.” He wondered whether to tell them of his other suspicion, but Meredith was looking distinctly discouraging, and he decided to keep it to himself. She would probably accuse him of being fanciful. Obviously, for some reason, she did not consider the topic suitable for a family dinner table.

“If you wish to trade with the Gentlemen yourself, sir, you must pass them a message,” Rob said, having recovered from his momentary discomfiture. “Must he not, Merrie?”

“I do not imagine Lord Rutherford's stay in these parts will be long enough to warrant that, Rob,” his sister returned, the note in her voice clearly indicating that the subject should now be closed.

“But I have not yet decided how long I shall remain,” Damian said mischievously, seeing the flash of annoyance before she dropped her eyes to the apple she was peeling.

“We have little enough amusement to offer,” Meredith said. “I should imagine you will soon be bored and anxious for the pleasures of London society.”

“Now I wonder what could have given you that impression,” his lordship mused. “I did not think I appeared unamused by last night's entertainments and, in truth, look forward to a repetition.”

Meredith bit her lip. He was teasing her shamelessly, and in the presence of her brothers she was quite unable to respond as she would like.

“Besides, Merrie, there is lots to do,” Rob put in. “Riding and shooting and fishing. And then there are the soirees and Fowey is a sizeable town—”

“It is not,” Theo interrupted. “Compared with London or Brighton, Fowey is no larger than a village. Is that not right, Hugo?”

“Quite right. Even compared with Oxford it is tiny,” the eldest Trelawney pronounced.

“But I was not comparing it,” Rob protested sturdily. “I have seen bigger towns on the journey to school; I am not such a bumpkin! But it is a big town in
these
parts.”

“That is self-evident,” Theo said crushingly, and Rob, crestfallen, was again momentarily silenced.

“How would one pass a message to the Gentlemen?” Lord Rutherford asked casually, diverting the subject to give the lad time to recover, wondering vaguely why he should feel the need to do so.

“That is not a piece of information vouchsafed to women and minors, my lord,” Meredith said. “If you are, indeed, serious, you could do no better than to ask Sir Algernon Barrat. He will be able to advise you, I am convinced.” She gave him a smile as bland as milk pudding, but the razor's edge to her voice could not be ignored. For all her innocent, correct appearance with her demure coiffure and the plain simplicity of her muslin gown, Lady Meredith Blake, presiding so decorously over a family nuncheon, was a force to be reckoned with. She had just given him a most direct order to drop the subject, and he did so although he could not imagine why it should be taboo. Probably some strange Cornish custom known only to insiders!

He took his leave soon after. His hostess he found to be both dignified and withdrawn as she escorted him to his horse. Saracen had clearly been cared for during his stay, and Rutherford offered his thanks as he stood on the gravel sweep before the house.

“We are not such barbarians, sir, as to ignore our guests or their mounts,” she said coldly.

“Now in what way have I offended you?” Frowning, he took her hands.

Meredith withdrew them with a jerk. “If you do not know, then you are even more obtuse than I had thought.”

“And you are most impolite,” he said curtly. “You will not talk to me in that fashion if you please.”

“A thousand pardons,” she said sarcastically. “I had not the intention of offending your so delicate sensibilities although you clearly consider you have the right to ride roughshod over mine.”

“With a kiss?” he hazarded, eyebrows raised.

Merrie flushed angrily. “As it happens, that was not what I was referring to.”

“I wonder why not,” he mused. “You would certainly be entitled to take exception to such a liberty.”

“You are intolerable! ” she hissed. “How could you taunt me in that manner?”

Damian sighed, taking Saracen's reins. “You are capable of bringing out the worst in me, Merrie Trelawney. But I asked you a simple question: how have I offended you? Your response deserved a similar discourtesy.”

“A gentleman would have turned the other cheek,” she shot back, unwilling to admit that he was right.

“Yes, I expect he would have done,” Damian agreed placidly, laying his booted foot in the stirrup and swinging into the saddle.

“It was unsporting in me to object to being made game of in front of my brothers when I am not in a position to retaliate, I suppose,” she demanded furiously.

“Ah, so that is what has annoyed you,” he nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yes, you are quite right. It was an unpardonable way to return your hospitality. I will endeavor to make amends, ma'am, when next we meet.” Wheeling his horse, he waved and trotted down the drive.

Merrie watched the black horse out of sight. What was happening to her? Some thoroughly disagreeable man marches into her well-ordered existence and turns it completely topsy-turvy, and the only responses she can produce are childish petulance or a most definitely adult passion! And he'd seen her on the cliff road. To her knowledge, no one in Landreth or the surrounding village had ever seen the smugglers. It was an unspoken rule that, when the band was abroad, the local inhabitants kept their faces to the wall. But then, Merrie was beginning to fear that Damian, Lord Rutherford, was a law unto himself. She, of course, was a law unto
her
self and always had been, but that was no reason why others should have the same privilege—particularly foreigners who did not understand Cornwall and Cornishmen, who despised what they saw and thought they could do exactly as they pleased.

The following morning, Meredith donned her riding habit, had her angular, but always reliable, mare saddled, and set off for the village. Landreth was a fishing village where little business was transacted unless it be over the lobster pots at the quay or in the taproom of the Falcon. She walked the mare down the cobbled street between the whitewashed cottages, looking for Bart, knowing full well that, of those who saw her, at least half of them knew her for their leader. No one but Nan, Jacques, and these fisherfolk who plied the same trade knew the truth, and they were all content to keep it so. Only in secrecy and still tongues was there safety.

“Lad!” She beckoned to a child of around six, barefoot and in torn britches and a grimy shirt. He pulled his forelock and crossed the narrow street.

“Yes'm.”

“A penny for you, if you'll go into the Falcon and tell Bart I'd like a word.”

The boy scampered off, disappearing through the blackened oak door of the tavern. It was only mid morning but the taproom was doing a roaring trade, the fishermen having returned from the dawn setting of the lobster pots, with little to look forward to but the tedious business of mending nets and pots.

The atmosphere was more subdued than usual, however, the talk less ribald, the laughter less raucous. On one or two faces, the expression was downright sullen. The boy, looking around through the smoke of many pipes, saw the reason. Young as he was, he spat on the sawdust of the floor. The presence in the Falcon of the hated coastguard from Fowey was an unforgivable intrusion. No one knew what they hoped to gain by it. They'd not hear anything to their advantage, that was for sure. Indeed, the two men lounging against the bar looked as uncomfortable and out of place as they felt. They were not in uniform, but the homespun britches and leather waistcoats did little to disguise them, and they were morosely cursing the stupidity of those dolts in Fowey who knew nothing of Cornishmen and thought spying on them was a simple matter. The fact was, the very sight of a stranger, be he the epitome of innocence, was enough to make them clam up, and some of the fishermen in the taproom had an ugly look to them. You'd not want to meet them in a dark alley on a moonless night.

The appearance of a small boy, wriggling like an eel through the throng, drew little remark. When he whispered to Bart, only a few took notice. As far as the revenue men were concerned, the lad had probably been sent by his mother to fetch home her errant husband. Amongst those few who could make an informed guess as to the child's business, a ripple communicated itself. If Merrie was in the village in search of Bart, then something important was afoot. It was also reasonable to assume she did not know of the revenue spies in the taproom.

Bart listened, cuffed the lad in a friendly fashion, sending him about his business. All perfectly ordinary, nothing at all untoward. But it was not he who left the inn on the boy's heels. Bart remained to down another tankard and make several derogatory remarks as to the strangers' attire, remarks that they struggled to ignore even as they found themselves surrounded by a mocking circle of bearded men. Thus occupied, they did not remark Luke Trewatha's exit.

Luke sauntered past Merrie as she sat her horse across from the tavern. They exchanged no words, but Meredith immediately continued on her way down the village street, out along the coast road. Something had kept Bart in the tavern, and Luke had made it clear she had best hasten her own departure. Bart knew now that she wanted to speak with him, though, and would make the agreed rendezvous in the cave beneath the house, two hours after nightfall. She would find out then what was amiss in the tavern.

It was as much by accident as design that she came to the low stone wall surrounding Mallory House and its gardens. Lord Mallory had not encouraged visitors, and there were few in the community familiar with either house or property. Now, however, Merrie reined in her mare at the gate to look with undisguised curiosity at the activity. Men were at work in the gardens, weeding, trimming, and scything. They swarmed over the outside of the house, repointing chimneys, replacing roof tiles, repainting the woodwork. The sounds of hammers and saws rang in the morning air. Lord Rutherford appeared to have employed every available pair of hands in the neighborhood, she thought. He must, then, be planning an extended stay unless he did not feel the need to oversee the work himself.

“Good morning, Lady Blake. This is indeed a delightful surprise. Have you come to return my call?”

The voice came from behind her. Merrie realized that she had been so absorbed in her reflections that she had lost awareness of her surroundings and had not heard his footsteps on the grass verge. A little shiver ran down her spine as she determined that this exchange should be pleasantly dignified. Her position on horseback gave her some advantage over the foot soldier and certainly ensured that there could be no physical contact. She turned slightly in the saddle, smiling graciously down at him.

“We are not quite so unconventional, sir, that an unmarried lady may pay a call on an unmarried gentlemen with impunity.”

“But it is considered quite proper for a young lady to go abroad unattended?” he queried with raised eyebrows.

“Not for young ladies, sir, no. But I do not fall into that category. Only the highest sticklers would see anything to censure in a widow of advanced years going about unescorted,” she responded sweetly.

Lord Rutherford pursed his lips, examining her. Her riding habit of rust-colored cloth was serviceable rather than elegant, but it was well cut, and the color complimented her hair, tendrils of which escaped from beneath the brim of her tall hat. Her muslin stock was pristine and beautifully starched, lifting that square little chin, and no expense had been spared on her boots. Although the scuffs on the leather were visible through the high polish, the boots were clearly of the highest quality.

“A widow of advanced years,” he mused. “I can only assume, ma'am, that you are fishing for a compliment. I cannot decide whether to oblige you or not.” The smile he gave her quite took her breath away. Warm and conspiratorial, it invited a light, flirtatious response.

“Oh, but think how unkind it would be to disappoint me,” she countered before she had time to question the wisdom of accepting the invitation. “You must realize how few compliments come my way.”

“Well, if you will go about dressed as you were the other evening, it is hardly surprising,” he retorted. “And, by the by, I intend to discover your reasons for that absurd masquerade. They are presumably part and parcel of the whole conundrum.”

Merrie felt a stab of panic. There was no knowing what this man would find out if he put his mind to it. “There is no conundrum, sir. Merely an impoverished widow who cannot afford the frills of fashion.”

“I beg your pardon, ma'am, but that is really doing it a little too brown.” His eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Pray do not insult my intelligence with such tarra-diddles. You may be able to pull the wool over the eyes of your neighbors, but I am not so easily deceived.”

Meredith chewed her lip in frustration. “I fail to see what business it is of yours, my lord, how I choose to dress.”

“Strictly speaking, of course, it is none of my business,” he said thoughtfully. “But I am in sore need of occupation these days, and a little mystery to unravel will fill my idle hours quite nicely.”

“I am flattered, sir, that I should be considered worthy of such attention. It is a signal honor to be able to serve your lordship in such a manner.” She clipped her words, incensed at the cool arrogance of the statement that quite destroyed her resolution to avoid undignified sparring.

He bowed. “The honor is all mine, my lady.”

“I am certain the activity will soon pall, sir.” She gave him a shark's smile. “Small-town mysteries will not be able to compensate you for the absence of those luxuries and comforts to which I know you must be accustomed. You know the tale of the princess and the pea, of course? I am forcibly reminded of it when I think of you tossing and turning on Matthew Mallory's bed.”

The barb seemed even more successful than she had hoped, and Merrie suddenly found herself very glad that she had the advantage of the mare's back. Lord Rutherford's face went ominously still, and the gray eyes became as cold as the winter sea. “I do not find the comparison amusing. You seem to be in the habit of making such remarks. You would be advised to cease them forthwith.”

Meredith decided that she was not going to be intimidated although some inner caution told her to take the advice. “Lord Rutherford, you may find our quaint ways moderately diverting at the moment, but you'd not survive the tedious ordeal of a Cornish winter.” She made no attempt to disguise the note of mockery in her laugh. It was a statement in which she believed wholeheartedly, anyway. No London buck would survive more than a week of winter in these parts when the roads became impassable, the sea grew wild under the lash of winter gales, and folks kept to themselves within doors for weeks at a time. There was little social intercourse, and even the parish church bore empty pews of a Sunday.

“It pleases you to think me such a poor-spirited creature, then, ma'am? I can assure you I have suffered many greater hardships than any Cornish winter could impose.” He spoke harshly, his bitterness exacerbated by the realization that he sounded like a schoolboy defending an accusation of cowardice. He had no desire to boast of his army career or to repine over its loss to anyone, and now he found himself on the verge of doing both to this infuriating, mocking creature who seemed to delight in nettling him and stood in sore need of a lesson in manners.

“I must bid you good day. There are matters requiring my attention.” With a curt bow, he walked off through the gate, pausing to talk to one of the gardeners, never once looking back as Merrie returned to the road and her way home. Curiously, her clear victory in that exchange brought her little satisfaction.

Later that afternoon, Walter looked despondently at the colonel's black expression. The batman had begun to hope that this Cornish expedition had finally done the trick, so cheerful as his lordship had been. But now he was staring morosely into the empty grate, holding a glass of port, his fourth so far in the last hour, as if it were a lifeline.

It wasn't that the colonel couldn't hold his wine, Walter thought. No one would ever know when he was foxed except for the eyes that became shuttered and expressionless. But it seemed to increase his depression rather than alleviate it. The simple luncheon produced by Martha Perry lay neglected on the sideboard, and Walter had too much regard for his head to risk having it bitten off if he suggested again that the colonel eat.

“Have you nothing better to do, Walter, than stand there sighing like a virgin on St. Agnes's Eve?” Rutherford snapped.

“Beggin' your pardon, sir,” Walter said woodenly. He did not change his position and the colonel appeared to forget his presence again.

The sounds of commotion outside at first did not penetrate his melancholy although Walter moved swiftly to the open French doors. “What the devil?” the batman exclaimed, staring at a knot of workmen shouting and gesticulating at something on the roof.

“What's that infernal racket?” Lord Rutherford's eyes snapped into focus.

“Dunno, Colonel, something on the roof, it looks.”

Damian gave vent to an ill-tempered oath, striding past Walter into the garden up to the workmen. “What in Hades is going on?” he demanded.

“Village lads, m'lord.” The foreman tugged his forelock. “Young devils've found the ladders, but those tiles are loose ...”

Looking up, Rutherford saw a group of grimy, impish faces, and one that he recognized as having no place with the village lads. His heart missed a beat as he bellowed, “Rob, come down here, this instant!”

At the sound of his lordship's voice the boys disappeared over the crown of the roof in a slithering, squealing mass, all except for Rob who hesitated, clearly wondering if obedience or flight was his best course. As he wavered, his foot slipped, dislodging a tile. Damian watched, transfixed, as the boy lost his footing and sat with a thump to slide inexorably down the steep pitch of the roof, his arms flailing wildly. Rutherford moved, running to the spot beneath the roof where Rob was bound to land. He could only cushion the fall as the boy was catapulted in a tangle of limbs. Knocking Rutherford off his feet, Rob landed awkwardly, his body largely protected by Damian's, but his arm was twisted beneath him, and he gave an anguished scream as his would-be rescuer tried to disentangle himself.

“Easy now.” Damian gentled the boy as he helped him to sit up, took one look at the greenish cast to the white face, and held Rob's head as he crouched, retching miserably into an overgrown flower bed, his arm hanging limply at his side. When the spasms ceased, Lord Rutherford lifted him easily and carried him into the house.

“I b—beg your pardon, sir,” Rob whispered. “I d—d—did not mean to be such a milksop.” He blinked rapidly to dispel the tears filling the large purple-black eyes that seemed to be the Trelawney hallmark.

“That, young man, is not a word I would apply to you,” Damian declared brusquely although his eyes softened. “There is nothing cowardly about feeling pain although trespassing on roofs is foolish beyond permission!” He laid the boy on the sofa in the library. “Walter will look at your arm.”

“Is—is it broken, do you think?” Rob asked and bit his lip hard as Walter, with those incongruously gentle hands, began to feel the injured limb.

“You had best pray that it is,” Lord Rutherford said grimly. “Otherwise, my friend, by the time I've finished with you, you'll be eating your dinner off the mantelpiece! ”