A Christmas Charade (26 page)

She gave him a fleeting look. Even in the dark she could see the smile that left no doubt as to the nature of the business.

“Do you?” she murmured. “Allow me to wish you success.”

“Thank you. However, there’s no doubt at all about the outcome of my venture.”

They passed the landing stage, marked by the tall, slim mast of the sloop
Louise
.

She wanted to ask why he was so certain but changed her mind. It wouldn’t do to let him see just how interested she was.

Instead, pointing back to the mast, she asked, “Will the smugglers still sail tonight?”

“No. They voted to celebrate Duval’s capture.”

“I could not help but notice that your smugglers kept very quiet until everything was settled.”

“
My
smugglers? Yes, I suppose they are mine at present. Another legacy to pass on to my heir.”

She felt his gaze on her but did not look up. Chamberlain and Duval had disappeared in the dark. She was alone with the man who had caught her girlish fancy more than a decade ago, and she suddenly realized how very much she wanted her share of a miracle.

Miracles, she had assured Juliette, still happened. But did they?

“Do you know what a pepperbox is, Elizabeth?”

“No,” she said, resigning herself that, at least tonight, a miracle was not in the making.

“It is a pistol with a mechanism that makes it possible to fire six or more shots, depending on the number of barrels and firing pans. I once saw a twenty-four-shot pepperbox. All one has to do is recock and rotate the barrels.”

“I take it, Duval had such a pistol?”

“Yes, an eight-shot model. And since the Stenton smugglers don’t own a gun among them, they found it impossible to refuse Duval passage across the Channel.”

He did not add that two young men had been shot, then pushed off the cliffs after an attempt to overpower the Frenchman.

“It is too bad,” she said with a little sigh, “that freetraders distrust the government so much they will not even ask for help in a desperate case like this. I know there are dragoons stationed near Bournemouth and, I believe, also near Brighton. They would have been only too happy to have caught a spy.”

“Three months ago, Beamish sent his son into Bournemouth to speak with a Colonel Ryder of the First Dragoons. The lad never returned.”

“Is he in gaol?”

“No, in the navy. The colonel handed him over to a recruiting officer.”

“You’re saying he was impressed into the navy!”

“Yes. The colonel did not believe the boy’s story about the spy and decided to punish him for trying to lead the dragoons on a wild-goose chase.”

“But that is dreadful!”

“Colonel Ryder obviously did not think so. In fact,” Clive said sarcastically, “he was kind enough to let Beamish know where his son was.”

“Infamous!”

“Think of it from the colonel’s point of view. While a lad is in the navy, he cannot turn free-trader.”

“But, surely, the boy did not admit—”

“There was no need. Beamish told me that the preventive officers and the dragoons have known of the smuggling activities here at Stenton for some time. But
my
smugglers are small fry. They have only one boat and go out only when the village coffers are empty. So they have been left alone while the preventives went after gangs with a regular traffic pattern.”

“Would a French agent be aware of that?”

“Most assuredly he would.”

“You are so certain!”

She stared at him in dawning understanding. “It wasn’t chance, was it, or the circumstance that you happen to own Stenton that
you
were sent to catch the agent? You are an agent yourself. An English agent.”

“Do I detect a trace of loathing?”

“For myself, for having been so dense.”

He said ruefully, “No more so than I was with regard to you. I daresay you noticed I was extraordinarily glad to hear that it was a ghost who told you about Throckmorton.”

The reminder of the kiss that hadn’t quite been a kiss drove warmth into her face. Or, perhaps, it was annoyance that he should still have harbored doubts about her.

She was granted no opportunity to explore her feelings, for he stopped, giving a low whistle.

“What are you doing?” As soon as they stood still, she felt the cold again. “Whom are you signaling, Stenton?”

“My horse. Unless Chamberlain decided to make off with him, Rambunctious should be right here at the foot of the carriage track. Ah, yes.” Tightening his grip on her elbow, he moved on. “There he comes.”

She neither heard nor saw anything to substantiate his conviction until the roan pressed his nose into her side.

Stenton mounted swiftly, then stretched his right arm toward her. She gripped his wrist, placed a foot atop his in the stirrup and swung herself up in front of him.

“This will be a bit uncomfortable,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “But at least I’ll get you back in time for dinner, even if you’ll be pressed for time if you want to change your gown.”

Dinner? It was difficult to believe that she had not spent all night chasing smugglers and spies. And the stout man and his companion, the mysterious Mademoiselle de Tournier.

“Stenton, how does Gabrielle fit into the picture? And Mr. Throckmorton?”

“I don’t know yet.” He shifted in the saddle as if to put distance between their bodies. “But I hope to find out before long.”

She relaxed against the broad chest behind her—he might call it an uncomfortable ride; to her, it was a delight. An unexpected and, perhaps, forbidden pleasure, all the more to be enjoyed for its element of impropriety.

And the sensible, levelheaded Elizabeth who had governed her life for the past decade might go to the dickens with her goodwill.

Disappointed and uneasy, Juliette turned away from Elizabeth’s door. She had knocked once before, over an hour ago, to invite her to a game of hide-and-seek with Adam and Grace. She had thought nothing of it when Elizabeth did not answer. But now, with only thirty minutes to go until the dinner hour, she could not help but wonder where her friend might be. Not in the castle, or she and the children would have come across her.

She had seen her leave the Crimson Drawing Room shortly after Flora’s and Amelia’s entrance. It was dusk then. But Elizabeth had a penchant for taking walks at the oddest hours and might have gone out. Surely, though, she must have returned by now. It was completely dark. Juliette had peeked out the window and had seen nothing but the deepest blackness. Even the stars had disappeared.

Making a sudden decision, Juliette hurried toward the south wing.

A door opened. Her plump shoulders draped as usual in a number of shawls, Miss Flora Rowland peeked into the dim corridor.

“Juliette, love. Just the person I wanted to see! Won’t you come in? Amelia and I have hardly had an opportunity to visit with you.”

“Cousin Flora, have you seen Elizabeth—Miss Gore-Langton?”

“No, love. But do come in. We don’t want to be conversing in the corridor.”

“Some other time.” Juliette reached out to adjust a chiffon stole that trailed perilously close to the ground. “I want to find Elizabeth. She’s not in her chamber, and I’m beginning to worry about her.”

Miss Amelia’s spare frame appeared behind Flora. “She’s Louisa Astley’s companion, isn’t she? No doubt she’s with your mama-in-law.”

“No. Mother Astley is downstairs with Fanny and Margaret.”

“Poor, dear Fanny!” said Flora. “She’s getting more crotchety every year. If only she could have a child. A dear little baby.”

“It’s not the lack of children that makes Fanny snap at us.” Amelia gave her sister a wry look. “She suspects we’re trying to cheat her brother out of a fortune.”

Flora’s rosy complexion turned a shade darker. “Gracious! If that isn’t crotchety—”

Juliette interrupted. “Did the first fourth duchess truly bequeath you some of her jewelry?”

“Yes, she did,” said Flora.

But Amelia shook her head. “There was no bequest. How could there be? Sarah—the duchess—didn’t know she was going to die. But she had promised Flora a sapphire brooch for her eighteenth birthday—”

“Which, as it turned out, was exactly a month after dear Sarah died,” said Flora.

“And she promised me a string of pearls.” Amelia’s stern features softened. “She knew I’d never have pearls otherwise. Flora, as the elder, would have our mother’s. But I—” She shook her head. “However, that’s neither here nor there. Juliette, if you’re worried about your friend, you want to go looking for her, not for some old pieces of jewelry.”

Juliette hesitated. “Fanny and Margaret are also hunting for the duchess’s jewelry chest, but Clive believes that someone, a servant perhaps, made off with it after the fire.”

“Why would he think that?” asked Amelia. “The staff was devoted to Sarah and Edward. Besides, what would a servant—or
any
thief—do with jewels worth a king’s ransom?”

“Sell them?” suggested Juliette.

“Easier said than done. Even a less than respectable jeweler—”

“A fence,” Flora interjected.

Amelia looked annoyed. “Even a dishonest jeweler might think twice about buying. Sarah’s diamond set and the rubies were too well known. They would have to be recut and reset at a great expense. No, I think if Sarah’s jewels had been offered for sale, the prospective buyer would have turned to Edward for a reward.”

“Hush!” Flora peered up and down the corridor, which was quite dim and shadowy even though every candle was lit in the wall sconces. “We really should not be discussing the matter out here, where we can be overheard!”

“Rubbish!” said Amelia. She looked at Juliette. “Clive is a sensible man. He must know the jewels cannot be easily sold, so what convinced him they were stolen?”

“Uncle Decimus said the duchess kept her jewels in a secret compartment behind the wainscoting of her chamber. But all the woodwork was gutted and the compartment was empty when Cousin Edward came back to Stenton to look for—”

“Edward returned to Stenton after Sarah’s death?” Flora gave her sister an agitated look. “I didn’t know that. Did you, Amelia?”

“I did not, but it hardly matters. If he had found the jewels, he wouldn’t have had to scrape for pennies all these years.”

“Nor would Clive,” said Juliette.

Amelia frowned, mulling over something. “It was such an awful, confusing night. I wonder if Sarah had time to take the chest to a safe place?”

“We slept in one of the chambers next to the ducal suite,” said Flora. “It is now the muniment room, I believe. I was frightened to death when I awoke to screams of ‘Fire! Fire!’ ”

“It was one of the maids.” Amelia’s sallow skin turned paler. “She was hammering on Sarah’s door and shouting at the top of her voice. By the time Flora and I had donned wraps, Sarah had already gone. Down to the Great Hall, we believed. We didn’t know then that the children were trapped in the nursery, and that Sarah …”

“Had gone to the nursery?” Juliette finished gently.

Flora drew her shawls closer. “A footman told us to hurry. The fire was spreading our way, he said. And we could see it was true. We could scarcely breathe for the smoke! So we went with him. The Great Hall was crowded … there were so many friends Sarah had invited for the weekend … and the servants … and everyone was in hysterics. Edward’s steward and Decimus tried to organize the men. A bucket brigade, I think they called it.”

“There’s a pump in one of the kitchens,” said Amelia. “But there weren’t enough men. Or buckets. The maids helped, and Flora and I. All we could do was try to stop the fire from spreading into the east and west wings. Then, fortunately, help arrived. A band of smugglers, who had just landed a cargo in the estuary, saw flames shoot out a window. They left their casks of wine and came immediately to the castle.”

Flora nodded. “They worked like demons. And they looked like demons from hell, for they took over the positions closest to the smoke and the fire, which made their skin look red, and they had wet kerchieves tied around their mouths and noses.”

“But it was too late,” Amelia concluded, her voice gruff. “When the fire was finally put out, the south wing was destroyed. And when we wanted to tell Sarah how very sorry we were, we realized that she and the children were missing as well as eight of the staff.”

“How awful.” Juliette’s throat was dry, as though she, too, had been breathing the smoke and heated air.

“Yes, it was. But it was a long time ago. More than four decades.” Stepping around her sister, Amelia gave Juliette a little nudge. “Now it’s your friend who is missing, and you’re worried. So, run along, dear. Flora and I will just step into the muniment room and do a bit of reading until dinner.”

“It’s a good thing the muniment room was on the second floor at the time of the fire,” said Flora. “Or all the records would have been destroyed.”

Juliette nodded absently. Falling into step beside Amelia, she said, “I am going in the same direction. To the billiard room. I want to ask Stewart and George to look for Elizabeth outside.”

“It’s pitch dark, and there’s a gale blowing.” Flora’s heeled sandals tapped on the oaken floorboards as she followed Juliette and Amelia. “It’d be folly to venture out on a night like this!”

“But Elizabeth is not a foolish woman,” Juliette said quietly. “That is why I’m worried. I do not understand what has become of her.”

They passed the library and were approaching the billiard room.

Amelia briefly touched Juliette’s arm. “It’s a pity that Clive is not here. But, no doubt, George and Stewart will know what to do.”

The door to the billiard room was ajar, and the faint click of the ivory balls could be heard in the corridor.

Flora whispered, “Poor Stewart. How much he used to like a game of billiards! If I heard it once, I must have heard it a dozen times when Clive teased you that Stewart came to Stenton House not to court you but to challenge him to a game. It must be painful for the dear boy to be reduced to a spectator role.”

“Nonsense.” Amelia did not lower her voice. “Of course Stewart is playing! Don’t you remember old Admiral Comstock? He, too, had lost an arm up to the elbow. Only his was the right arm. But he was a devilish sharp billiard player.”