Three Heroes (97 page)

“And people out for a stroll.”

Their eyes met for a strangely peaceful moment.

“A road still suitable for riding?” Hawkinville asked.

“Up to the break,” Susan said. “But if you ride out from here, you’ll be cut off before you get to the chapel. Walkers can make their way over the rough patch, but not horses.”

“We’ll come around from the other way,” Delaney said, tracing a path. “Even less connection to Crag Wyvern. As ignorant strangers, we don’t know the road is a dead end. We ride along, see something to catch our interest, and approach the chapel.”

“Gifford shouts to you to get out of the area....” Con supplied.

“And we hang around asking what’s the matter. That gives you some room to act. With such open ground, however, it’s going to be hard for the trapped men to escape without being shot.”

“I’ll deal with Gifford,” Con said, “but we may need another distraction.”

“Children,” offered Amelia. “I take the schoolchildren for nature walks up there sometimes. He wouldn’t be able to shoot with children around, would he?”

“It puts them at risk,” Hawkinville protested, and clearly the other men shared his objection.

“They’re used to taking part in smuggling,” Susan said, “and we’ll keep them out of danger. Go, Amelia, and take Kit Beetham with you.”

Amelia turned to leave, but Con said, “Wait. We might be able to get the men away in disguise. Have two other women go with you—the tallest women available—and have them wear an extra layer of clothes that they can slip out of easily.”

Amelia grinned. “Clever idea! But what of David? He’s too tall.”

“I know. He’s my estate manager, however, and I’m going to be haughtily furious with whoever threatened him on my land. Get word to him if you can, Amelia, that that’s his role.”

“Amelia,” Susan said as her cousin turned to leave. “The message said he’s wounded. Bring bandages and such as well.”

“Right.” Amelia had paled at the mention of wounds, but she hurried off.

Susan swallowed. She’d supported using the children, but even with the utmost care, there could be a disaster. She saw Major Hawkinville looking at her.

“The commander’s burden,” he said. “It’s never easy.”

“I’m not the commander here.”

“You’re doing very well. Forgive me, but your charming dress does not seem suitable unless you’re going to ply your wiles as a card with the riding officer.”

“Oh, no.” Susan’s protest was instinctive. She added, “I have a better idea.”

She hurried off, glad that she hadn’t had a chance to move her possessions out of the house. The more strangers involved, the better. Gifford might not recognize her dressed as a man.

In short order she was in her breeches, shirt, and jacket, a neckerchief making a rough cravat. She looked in the mirror, unable to dodge the thought that she’d last dressed like this on the night that Con had returned.

She screwed up her eyes to force back tears and concentrated on completing her disguise.

She didn’t usually bother with a hat, but she had one, a wide-brimmed countryman’s hat. She pinned up her hair and crammed the hat on top. As a subtle touch, she wiped some soot from the chimney with her finger and made a bit of a beard shadow on her jaw and over her lips.

She studied herself in the mirror and decided it would do. Shame she wasn’t tall enough to pass for her brother.

She made sure to stride boldly back into the office. “Well?”

Only Con and de Vere were there, but both looked impressed.

“It’s pretty convincing,” de Vere said, “and I have another idea. Back to your rooms, quickly.”

Con came with them, and when they arrived, de Vere began to strip. “I can probably fit in your gown.”

They were of a height, Susan realized, though she wasn’t sure the shoulders of her peach gown would hold. She helped him into it and didn’t quite manage to fasten the buttons all the way up the back. She dug in a drawer and found a pretty shawl to drape around his wide shoulders.

“Shoes,” he muttered, looking down at his boots. “Con, my dear fellow, I have evening shoes in my room.”

Con went off to get them.

“Hat,” Susan said and found her straw villager one. She fixed ribbons so it could be pulled down at either side to hide his short hair.

“Too strongly featured to be a beautiful woman,” she said, “but too beautiful to be a man.”

De Vere fluttered a smile. “Ambiguous creatures, aren’t we?”

“Not if anyone looks too closely.” She dug out her rouge and reddened his lips and cheeks. “You’re not quite proper, dear, wearing so much paint, and keep your hands inside the shawl. You’ll have to distract them.” She pulled stockings out of a drawer. “Here. Stuff these to make a bosom.”

While he did so, she found her watercolor paints and mixed a little dark brown. “I don’t think this will hurt your eyes.”

“Thank you,” he said with some alarm, but stood still as she painted dark lines around his eyes.

“Definitely not proper, but it makes you look more feminine.”

“You can’t imagine how reassuring it is to know it’s such a challenge.”

They were chuckling when Con returned with the black kid slippers. De Vere put them on and Susan said, “It will do, I think. So we are to be a courting couple, are we? And you, Con?”

“I’m going to be the bloody arrogant Earl of Wyvern. Your job will mostly be to distract his men so they can’t hear what I’m saying to Gifford. Much as I’d love to throttle the man, we have to leave him a way out of this with his honor, such as it is, intact. Let’s go.”

Susan strode at Con’s side in a blend of excitement and fear she’d never experienced before. A good part of the excitement was Con by her side. If nothing else, they were partners in this adventure.

This was the end of their time together, but it was a glorious end. As long as David came away safe.

Con had ordered horses brought up by Pearce and White, so they rode part of the way, dismounting only when they’d be in sight. The two servants were left with the horses while they approached on foot.

When they neared the landslip, Con went forward cautiously. “I can see the chapel with someone in the window, and at least one person in a dip, watching. Why isn’t he shooting? Whoever is in the window is a clear target.”

Susan was close behind. “Gifford’s waiting for reinforcements. Or for me.”

“Then why hasn’t your brother broken out?”

“Because then they’d shoot. David will be hoping his signal is bringing help. He’ll want to get away without bloodshed. Dead Preventive men mean endless trouble, and anyway, it’s not the Dragon’s Horde way.”

“I wish we could get a message inside the chapel.”

“We can.” She pulled out the small mirror she’d brought. “I know the signals. I’ll go over behind those rocks so Gifford won’t see.”

Con gripped her arm to stop her. “Do it from here.”

“Why?”

“I want Gifford to see, wherever he is. I don’t think he’s down there. I wouldn’t be. There’s Hawk and Nicholas approaching, and I think I hear the children.”

“I don’t have to hide,” de Vere said, and stood to stroll a little way up the slope, holding his skirts against the breeze. “It is. About ten children and three women.”

“Excellent. Start signaling, Susan.”

She angled her mirror to the sunlight and began sending the code that meant help coining.

De Vere said, “Did I get dressed up like this for nothing?”

“That would be a shame,” Con said. “Go and distract the boatmen.”

“That’s more like it.” De Vere flashed them both a wicked smile, and scrambled over the rocks to the smooth ground leading to the chapel.

As the three distractions converged, Susan had the panicked feeling that everything was sliding out of control.

Con gripped her shoulder. “Keep signaling.”

She did so, blowing out a breath. “This goes against everything I’ve been taught, you know. I feel like a rabbit saying, ‘Come and eat me.’”

“Just follow orders,” Con said, a smile in his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

He kept his hand firmly on her shoulder, and she welcomed the beloved warmth. For a moment, just a moment, she let her free hand rise to cover his.

She heard the children singing, then saw them marching in pairs, Amelia at the head, two other women at the rear, carrying baskets.

The two riders swung toward the chapel.

A voice shouted from the bushes, warning the riders off. She didn’t think it was Gifford.

Hawkinville and Delaney halted their horses neatly between the bushes and the chapel, circling as if confused.

A man in the blue and white Excise uniform rose up, waving a musket at them.

More shouting.

The children broke ranks to run down the slope to peer into the chapel. The women rushed after, calling for order. Susan almost rose to scream for them to go back. They were in danger!

The trooper yelled louder.

“Someone’s going to be killed,” she said to Con. “We have to do something.”

“Nick and Hawk will take care of them. Gifford’s coming. In fact, it’s time for you to be away from here, love.”

“Then I’m going down to be closer to the children.”

“Very well. Pursue your wanton maid.”

She rose, but hesitated. “Will you be safe?”

“Just obey orders, lad.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but then she heard hoof-beats approaching. Unable to resist, she pulled him to her for a rapid kiss, then hurried over the rocks.

Once clear of Con, she yelled in as deep a voice as she could. “Betsy, you damn whore. Get back here!”

De Vere looked behind, screeched, and hurtled toward the trooper. “Save me, sir! Save me!”

Con laughed and turned to look out at the sea as if he were merely admiring the view. When Gifford drew his horse to a rough halt beside him he turned. “Lieutenant! A pleasant day after the recent cool weather, is it not?”

“Damn your eyes, I’ll see you in court for this, earl or no earl!”

“For what?”

“For signaling to smugglers, sir!”

“In broad daylight?”

Gifford looked down on the scene below, rose in his stirrups and screamed, “Shoot them, damn you.

Shoot!”

Con launched himself and dragged him off his horse, knocking him half unconscious in the process. “

Shoot women and children, sir?”

Gifford lay there, deep red with fury. “I’ll see you hang.”

“And I’ll see you posted to Jamaica unless you do exactly as I instruct.” He had the man pinned with a knee in the belly and a hand in his stock.

“I had smugglers trapped in that ruin, damn you!”

Con tightened his grip in the neckband. “If so, they’re likely gone by now. Nothing to be done about that.

But I take strong objection to your attempt to harm innocent bystanders. I also, of course, take violent objection”—he increased the pressure of his knee—“to your attempting to blackmail a lady into your bed. Don’t say it,” he interrupted, tightening the stock to the choking point when Gifford opened his mouth.

Gifford’s red face began to purple.

“Miss Kerslake is a lady for whom I have the highest regard, Gifford, and if I hear of anyone suggesting anything to her discredit, anything at all, I will be forced to take action. Both as an earl and as a man. Are we reaching a point of understanding?”

Con took a gutteral noise as agreement and let him have more breath.

Gifford used it to curse at him. “You’re hand in glove with the smugglers, are you? Just like the old earl.”

“No.” Con felt some sympathy for Gifford’s attempt to do his job, if not for other things. “Gifford, there’s little point in catching another Captain Drake, man. There’ll be another, and another.”

“It is my duty to catch smugglers, my lord, and you are a damned traitor for opposing me.”

Con sighed. “Opposing you? I’m merely preventing a madman from firing on a group of children.”

“You admitted—”

“What? I’m the Earl of Wyvern, man. I cannot possibly be a smuggler.” Con rose, pulling Gifford to his feet. “Have sense.”

Once free, Gifford grabbed for the pistol in a holster on his saddle.

“Ah,” Con said to Hawk, who had climbed the rocks to this side. He’d seen him coming. “A witness.”

He turned to face Gifford’s pistol. “Shooting a peer of the realm in cold blood is looked upon very poorly, you know.”

“What’s going on here, Lieutenant?” Despite civilian clothes, Hawk’s tone rang with military authority. “A trooper down there threatened my friend and I, then some children, then a young lady seeking his help.

Are you his commanding officer, sir?”

Gifford’s pistol drooped. “We are engaged in capturing some dangerous smugglers, sir.”

“I’m Wyvern,” Con said amiably to his friend, “and this is the local riding officer, Lieutenant Gifford.”

Hawk bowed. “Major Hawkinville, my lord.” To Gifford, he snapped a command. “Go and take charge of your men, Lieutenant.”

Gifford stood to attention. “Am I to assume you are taking command here, Major?”

“Not at all, Lieutenant. I assume now your head is cool you see the way to go on.”

Gifford glared at him in frustration, then thrust his pistol back in its holster. He stalked to the high point to look across the rocky slip at the chapel.

Con followed. Children were playing in and out of the church, watched over by Nicholas, while four women, Race, and Susan surrounded the bewildered boatmen. An earthenware bottle was passing around. Doubtless scrumpy cider, adding considerably to the men’s bewilderment.

David Kerslake was sitting on the ground in a red-stained shirt, Amelia attending to him with bandages.

“By gad,” Con said, “your demented trooper has shot my estate manager!”

“He’s a damn smuggler.”

“Kerslake?”

“Son of Melchisedeck Clyst, as you well know.”

“I’m a relative of the late mad Earl of Wyvern, Gifford. Are you saying that makes me inevitably insane?”

While Gifford attempted to come up with a retort, Con added, “Do you have any evidence against him?”

“I interrupted men bringing tea up from that cove, my lord, and Kerslake and some others held us up while it was carried away.”