The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace) (13 page)

It was not her aunt’s favourite, that had always been the prospect from Black Edge Head to the south, but Tamsyn knew she was far too tactful to take them to the scene of Jory’s final confrontation with the militia.

‘Mrs Perowne.’ Dr Tregarth stepped out into the street as they passed him. ‘A word in your ear, if I may. I did not want to worry your aunts.’ He cast a rapid glance at the retreating sedan chair party.

‘We will ride on,’ Cris said with a nod to Gabriel.

‘No.’ Tregarth held up a restraining hand. ‘I think it would be a good thing if you heard this, too, Mr Defoe. There is word going around that Jory Perowne’s gang is active again. They say the sign of the silver hand has been chalked up on walls, even on the door of the Revenue’s building in Barnstaple.’

‘That’s impossible.’ Tamsyn bit back the rest of the words that sprang to her lips and made herself think calmly. ‘I suppose someone could be using the old name, the sign. This is what that objectionable Mr Ritchie was hinting at the other day, I suppose.’

‘There is more.’ Tregarth looked up at her, his face serious under the brim of his low-crowned hat. ‘There are not only rumours, there is speculation as well. People are asking if the Silver Hand is operating again, and who is leading it?’

‘I have no idea. Jory had no lieutenant. A second in command, yes, but no one who could take control of a gang like that.’ Then Cris’s intake of breath, the earnest expression on the doctor’s face, made her realise what Tregarth was worried about. ‘They think it is something to do with
me
? That is preposterous. Smugglers would not take orders from a woman.’

‘They might from Jory Perowne’s woman.’

‘No.’ She jerked Foxy’s head round, used her heel and sent him cantering up the street towards the vanishing picnic party. The Silver Hand gang working again? It was impossible. Surely she would know if someone with Jory’s skills and deviousness and leadership had set up the network again anywhere near here. But all she could be certain of was that it was not her leading even one rowing boat, let alone a gang. Yet if someone who knew her as well as Dr Tregarth could look at her with that question in his eyes, then others might think it, too. People who were far more dangerous than a friendly village doctor.

Pounding hooves caught up with Foxy before she reached the others. Cris and Gabriel fell in, one on either side of her, and she reined in to a walk. She did not want to talk about this within earshot of the aunts.

‘Silver Hand gang?’ Cris asked.

‘Jory had inherited a silver charm. A hand, about two inches long, broken off a religious statue by the look of it. The story was that it was a relic from the Armada shipwrecks, found by an ancestor who had a ring fixed to it and who wore it round his neck on a chain. When Jory inherited it he wore it, too.’ She remembered it hanging against his chest, the silver chain glinting through the curling dark hair. When he had been feeling defiant—which was often—he would wear it outside his shirt, answering questions about it with the bland assurance that it was simply an heirloom and it wasn’t his fault if people used it as a symbol.

‘It became part of the mythology around him,’ she continued. Trust Jory to have to be dramatic. ‘The men would chalk a hand on casks when they left them on doorsteps, so people knew who to thank for the gifts the gang left in return for silence. Not that anyone would have betrayed Jory and the others. When the Revenue put up posters advertising a reward, someone would always scrawl the hand over it.’

‘And where is it now?’ Gabriel’s question jerked her out of her memories.

‘He was wearing it when... It was round his neck that day.’ She had seen it in that moment when he had turned to face her, the moment she realised now was when he had made up his mind to jump and save them both the horror of a trial and an execution. If only she’d had his courage, could have stayed strong and defiant, not collapsed with shock and lost the only thing she had left of him.

‘You wouldn’t need the actual object,’ Cris said thoughtfully, jerking her out of her memories. ‘Not with something so well known. I suppose there isn’t another, it would be unique.’

It was a question. ‘There is another,’ she admitted. ‘Jory had a replica made for me as a wedding gift.’
Other women get earrings, a pretty gown, flowers from their lover. I get a smuggler’s talisman.
‘But it isn’t the same as his. He had our names engraved on mine, with a heart and an anchor.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Locked up in the strongbox with the legal papers and our bits of jewellery. I am not wearing it next to my heart, if that is what you want to know.’

‘I know you are not.’ Cris’s whisper made the blush come back like the flooding tide. ‘But it might be a good idea to get it hidden away somewhere a search party couldn’t find it. The Riding Officer might see it as a sign of guilt, not as a love token.’

‘Yes, I suppose you are right, but I cannot believe they would take it as far as searching the house.’ But they had when Jory was alive. It had become almost a routine, tidying up after a party of Revenue men, or the militia, had rummaged in the cellars, the attics, under the beds, through the haystacks.

The ground beneath the horses’ hooves began to level out. They were through the trees and at the edge of the clifftop pasture now and off to the left was the head of the path that she and Cris had climbed the night before.

‘We are right above the house, surely?’ Gabriel stood in his stirrups to look down.

‘It is the only way up unless you are on foot. There are few rabbit holes up here—too many buzzards keeping them down—so we can gallop.’ She turned Foxy off the track and gave him his head. Behind her she heard the sound of the other two horses in pursuit. Foxy, excited by the competition, stretched out his head and she laughed aloud with the thrill of it as they thundered across the clifftop.

They were neck and neck, the three of them, as she reined in. ‘Take care now, it dips down to the next stream, we’d best turn back.’

They trotted behind Gabriel, who spurred his bay into a gallop again. ‘Are we climbing our cliff path tonight?’ Cris asked.

‘Or...’ She blushed saying it, it seemed so forward. ‘I could come to you. I was thinking about it this morning.’ More blushes when he sent her a swift, smiling look. ‘Your room is so isolated, no one would know.’

‘And the bed is softer,’ Cris agreed, his face perfectly composed. Ahead across the clifftop they could see the picnic party flapping out rugs, setting up the folding chair that had been strapped on the pack pony. Cris leaned across, caught her round the waist one-handed, and dropped a rapid, searing kiss on her lips. ‘And I am not. Softer, that is.’

‘Cris!’
She was still laughing, and still flushed, when they reached the others.

‘Oh, it is so good to hear you laughing out loud again, my dear.’ Aunt Rosie smiled up from her chair set amongst the scattered picnic things. ‘And I could laugh like a girl, too. Thank you so much, Mr Defoe, Mr Stone, for this wonderful gift. And to my two stalwart bearers.’ She beamed at the chairmen who were lifting tankards to their mouths. ‘Just look at this view—you can see Lundy in the distance, see, gentlemen? And—’ She broke off. ‘Who is this coming?’

A procession was wending its way along the track they had just used. Three men on horseback, three militiamen on foot, the white cross-belts stark against their scarlet coats, muskets at the slope on their shoulders.

Cris nudged Jackdaw closer to Foxy’s side. Gabriel moved his big bay until it stood between the advancing party and Aunt Rosie’s chair.

‘Squire Penwith,’ Tamsyn said as the party approached closer. She found her voice was not quite steady. She sat up straighter in the saddle and got it under control. ‘And the coroner, Sir James Trelawney. And someone from the Revenue by the look of his uniform.’

The group halted at the edge of the spread rugs.

‘Sir James, Squire Penwith. Good day to you.’

‘Mrs Perowne. Ladies.’ Sir James lifted his hat. ‘I apologise for interrupting your picnic.’

‘I have no doubt it is a matter of urgency, Sir James.’ She managed to sound just a trifle haughty, she was glad to hear.

‘It is, Mrs Perowne. I very much regret to say that the Riding Officer, Lieutenant Ritchie, has been murdered.’

Chapter Thirteen

‘M
urdered?’ Foxy backed as Tamsyn’s hands clenched on the reins. ‘How? When?’

‘Last night, in Cat’s Nose Bay. He was shot in the back,’ the rider in uniform said harshly. ‘I am Captain Sutherland of His Majesty’s Revenue Service.’

‘That is appalling news indeed,’ Cris said before she could do more than gasp. ‘But might I ask why you accost these ladies here with such a tale, told so brutally?’

‘I will be holding the inquest on the body of Lieutenant Ritchie. I require the attendance of Mrs Perowne to give evidence and to answer questions.’ Sir James narrowed his eyes at the two men so protectively close to the women. ‘I do not believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance, gentlemen. Sir James Trelawney, Coroner for this district, at your service.’

‘Crispin Defoe, of London and Kent. My friend, Gabriel Stone, of London. Your servants, sir.’ Cris, his voice perfectly civil, managed to make the polite introduction sound like a declaration of war, without one word out of place.

From horseback Gabriel bowed. As he straightened his hand lay lightly on the pommel of his sword. The two chairmen lumbered to their feet, pewter tankards tight in their massive fists.

‘The inquest will be held in two days’ time. I require Mrs Perowne to reside at my house, chaperoned, naturally, by my wife, until then.’

‘You are
arresting
me?’

‘You have a warrant?’ Cris no longer sounded civil.

‘I have not. Nor am I arresting Mrs Perowne. This is for her own protection.’ The coroner was icy. Beside him the Revenue Officer was glaring at Cris, and Squire Penwith was flushed with anger, or excitement, Tamsyn thought, wondering why she did not feel more frightened. Sick, yes, but not as terrified as she ought to be. But Cris was there, of course. It was time she stood up for herself.

‘Against what am I being
protected
?’ she enquired.

‘Against the members of the gang responsible for this outrage,’ Trelawney snapped. ‘They will not want you giving evidence, I’ll warrant.’

‘The implications of that statement are insulting, Sir James.’ Cris cut across her furious reply. ‘To say nothing of prejudicial to a fair hearing. I see you are escorted by the militia. If you are fearful for Mrs Perowne’s safety, then I suggest that stationing them outside her house on guard will be more than adequate. It might also persuade the lady not to take a civil action for wrongful arrest, unlawful detention, kidnapping and defamation of character.’

‘Defamation?’ Penwith spluttered. ‘A smuggler’s moll has no character to be defamed, sir!’

Cris jerked his head at Gabriel, who circled his horse and brought it in on Foxy’s other side. As soon as he was in position Cris walked Jackdaw forward until the big black was nose to nose with Penwith’s horse.

‘On the last occasion we met, sir, I suggested a meeting in a field. At dawn. That still seems to me to be an admirable idea.’

‘Duelling is illegal,’ Penwith said. His horse began to back up; Jackdaw pressed in closer.

‘So it is,’ Cris said silkily. ‘A minor disadvantage. A greater one in this case is that it requires two
gentlemen
who both possess a little courage.’

‘Enough of this.’ The coroner directed a scornful glance at Penwith. ‘Your suggestion is sound, Mr Defoe. Sergeant Willis, you will deploy your men at Barbary Combe House and deliver...
escort
Mrs Perowne to my court the day after tomorrow for a ten o’clock hearing. Good day to you all. Enjoy your picnic, ladies.’

‘Insolent wretch,’ Aunt Rosie said, her voice cutting through the clear air. ‘I knew him when he was a boy, and he was a pompous little no-account then.’ Sir James’s ears turned scarlet, but he did not turn. ‘And as for that jackass Penwith, you are wasting your time attempting to arrange an affair of honour, Mr Defoe. He has none.’

‘Cris—’

He rode back, dismounted and held up his hands to her. ‘Courage, Tamsyn. They are blustering. It can only be a bluff. Now come down, eat this wonderful picnic, admire the view.’

‘Of course.’ She managed a smile. ‘I cannot let those idiots spoil Aunt Rosie’s special day.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he murmured as she slid into his hands, down the length of the hard steady body. ‘I’m here, they won’t hurt you.’

She stood for a moment, just leaning into him, feeling the strength and the reassurance flowing from him to her, wishing she could put her head on his shoulder. Instead she pushed away and walked towards the militiamen.
Do not weaken. He won’t be here forever.
‘Sergeant Willis, isn’t it? Do make yourselves comfortable. None of us are going anywhere for a while and I am certain our picnic will stretch to give you your luncheon also.’

‘Ma’am.’ The sergeant looked hideously uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and looked round as though for inspiration.

‘Might I suggest your men stand guard, one at a time on rotation, while the rest of you sit over there with our staff and refresh yourselves?’ Cris scanned the surrounding area. ‘I feel certain that the country hereabouts is open enough to give good warning of the approach of dangerous gangs of smugglers intent on subverting Mrs Perowne’s evidence.’

‘Er...yes, sir. Just as you say, thank you, sir. Perkins! You heard the gentleman. On patrol for half an hour, then you, Downton.’ They marched off stiffly.

Tamsyn fought a rather hysterical giggle. ‘This would be funny. If it—’

‘Wasn’t,’ Cris finished. ‘Quite. A very bad farce. Come and sit down.’

She managed a rueful smile for the aunts, both of whom, she was relieved to see, were fuming rather than fearful. ‘I simply cannot believe that there really is a large-scale smuggling operation going on,’ she said, once they were settled with slices of raised pie and cheese and apples. ‘Things were becoming more difficult even before Jory died. With the end of the war and the changes in taxes, there just isn’t the range of things to smuggle to make it worthwhile. Not on this coast, at any rate.’

‘I suppose they cannot overlook a murder,’ Aunt Rosie said, obviously struggling to be fair. ‘But they must be demented to think Tamsyn has anything to do with it.’

‘After the inquest it will be quite apparent there is no evidence.’ Gabriel sprawled with careless elegance across one corner of the rug, a chicken leg in one hand. ‘I assume you have been nowhere near this Cat’s Nose Bay, Mrs Perowne?’

‘Not for several weeks,’ she said. ‘But I know it. It was one of Jory’s favourite landing beaches and it is probably still used for some small runs. But violence has never been the way down here, not since Jory was running things. He always found a way to slip past the militia and the Revenue. Someone must have been desperate, or cornered.’

‘You don’t shoot a man in the back if he’s cornered you,’ Cris pointed out drily.

Aunt Izzy was beginning to look anxious. Tamsyn took a deep breath and found a smile from somewhere. ‘The inquest will be held in Kilkhampton, so I will be able to get some shopping done at that excellent milliners Mrs Holworthy recommended. We must make a list of what we need.’

Always assuming I am not being hauled off to the lock-up right after the inquest.

Her tone and smile must have been suitably optimistic, for Aunt Izzy brightened up and reminded her that there was also a very good stationers and they needed sealing wax and black ink.

Somehow they managed to ignore the militiamen marching up and down, a discordant flash of scarlet in the corner of the eye, however hard everyone looked the other way and pretended they were not there.

Eventually Rosie announced that she was becoming a little tired and perhaps they should return. The picnic was loaded on the pack pony, the sedan chair set off down the hill and the two men flanked Tamsyn with the militiamen bringing up the rear.

‘Right, now we are out of earshot of your aunts, let’s have a serious discussion about this,’ Cris said briskly. Tamsyn felt an irrational wave of relief that he was not going to pretend everything would be all right. It was not and she needed help, not soothing. ‘First thing, we get that silver hand of yours out of the house.’

‘How? They will stop any of us leaving, I am certain. And if they search, they will search everyone’s possessions.’

‘I’ve a secret compartment in my carriage. It has defeated virtually every border guard on the Continent. If you go and get the hand out of the strong box immediately when we get back, then I’ll find an excuse to be in the stables, getting Jackdaw settled.’

That was a relief. She pushed to the back of her mind the question of why Cris needed a secret compartment in his carriage.

‘I am assuming this is another of Chelford’s little games,’ he continued.

‘Franklin? But this is murder...’ She thought about it while Cris rode on in silence, waiting for her to catch up with his reasoning. ‘He spreads rumours about a new smuggling gang, he shoots that poor man and somehow implicates me? That would explain Sir James’s confidence. But there cannot be any evidence.’

‘That is what is worrying me,’ Gabriel said. ‘It means that something has been fabricated and it is likely to be something so obvious that even that blockheaded coroner will swallow it.’

Perhaps, after all, it would be nice to be treated like a damsel in distress and not be subjected to this bracing dose of reality. As if he sensed her wavering courage Cris reached out and closed his hand over hers on the reins. ‘Don’t worry, we’re here. If you can just get it clear in your mind that you are not going to be hauled off to gaol and hanged, you can relax and enjoy this.’

‘Relax!’ It came out as a shriek before she could help herself. ‘How do you expect me to enjoy this?’

‘We are going to tie Chelford in knots,’ Gabriel said with relish. ‘Hang him up by the ba—that is, by the toes and leave him swinging in the wind.’

‘There is no need to mince your words for me, Mr Stone,’ Tamsyn said crisply. ‘I like the idea of suspending Franklin by the balls. It appeals very much indeed.’

‘To which end, I’d be glad if you’d go back to London, Gabe, and carry on with the investigations we discussed this morning.’ Cris released her hand with a small squeeze.

‘After the inquest. I might pick up some more information there.’

‘Mr Stone is here for more than the delivery of the sedan chair, is he not?’ she demanded.

Cris shrugged. ‘He has been investigating Chelford in London for me.’ He leaned forward so he could look at his friend across her. ‘There was no reason, other than incorrigible curiosity, for him to have come down here himself instead of writing.’

‘I told you,’ Gabriel said laconically. ‘I am running away from a woman.’

* * *

It was not until they reached Barbary Combe House that Tamsyn realised that the two of them had managed to keep her distracted and laughing with their inconsequential teasing, all the way back. She let Cris help her down from Foxy, allowing herself the indulgence, this time, of sliding down his body, and then stayed close, enjoying the heat and the feeling of strength and the evidence that her body next to his aroused him.

She was conscious of the sergeant watching them and deliberately raised her voice as she broke free from Cris’s supporting hands. ‘If you wait just a moment, I will bring you what is left of the herbs that the farrier gave me for Foxy’s sore hoof. If Jackdaw is favouring his off hind, it might help.’

The militiamen made no move to stop her as she ran into the house, through to her study, and took the key to the strongbox from its hiding place behind the desk. The old lock creaked and protested as she turned the big key, but it opened easily enough and she rummaged quickly, burrowing beneath the documents for the box with the silver hand. It was not there.

She searched again, then once more, tossing the papers out on to the floor, heedless of deeds and indentures mixing with a roll of banknotes. There was no box except the aunts’ jewellery and those boxes were all too small, or too flat, to hold the pendant. There was no silver hand, not even the chain. She scooped it all back, just as it was, slammed the lid on the chaos and locked the strongbox, then ran to hide the key and on to the stillroom to find a mixture of harmless herbs.

‘There was no need to hurry so,’ Cris said when she reached his side again. He was talking to one of the militiamen and gave him the sort of look that always made her want to slap a man.
Silly female, still, we have to tolerate them, don’t we?
it said. The sergeant smirked.

He is getting him on his side
, Tamsyn realised. ‘What I was looking for was not there any more,’ she said brightly. ‘But I thought this might help with any swelling.’

Cris took the bowl from her hands, sniffed it. ‘To be applied as a poultice? Can you show Collins?’ He glanced at the militiaman. ‘We are just going up to the stables. Are you coming?’

‘Don’t see how I needs to, sir.’ The man shifted his feet uncomfortably. ‘Load of foolishness, if you asks me. The sergeant said I was to watch the lane, not follow anyone about. Dan’s round the back, Sarge is looking at the beach. You’re not going nowhere, are you, ma’am?’

‘No, I am not. You’re Willie Downton’s brother, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Jed. I liked Mr Jory, I did. I’d known him since I was a boy. They’ve no cause to be hounding his widow, not no how.’

‘Well, thank you, Jed. But you must obey your orders, I don’t want to get you into any trouble. If you stand there, then you are keeping an eye on the stable yard and the lane.’

In the yard Collins was unsaddling Jackdaw. ‘Is he favouring the off hind?’ Cris asked. The man grunted, his gaze sweeping the yard and surroundings while Cris ran his hand down Jackdaw’s leg and lifted the hoof.

Tamsyn came and studied it, close by his side. ‘The hand has gone,’ she whispered. ‘And the chain. Nothing else is missing, not even a roll of banknotes or the jewellery.’

‘When did you last see it?’ Cris made no attempt to moderate his voice and Tamsyn copied him. Being seen whispering would only look suspicious.

‘Months ago. It was in a black bag. I wouldn’t notice it unless I was looking especially for it.’ She bit her lip in thought. ‘I haven’t seen it since before Franklin was last here. He could have taken it easily.’