Lady Star (2 page)

“Listen to me Star, my life depends on it.
You see, I already accepted payment…don’t have it to return. You
are my only hope.” His dark eyes pleaded before he ran a hand
through his mass of cornsilk hair. “I promised father, I would look
out for you, repair the estate…but nothing we did…the breeding fees
only helped a little…and I was desperate. Star…”

“Stop it. None of it is your fault and father
should not have put such a burden on you.”

“
It is my fault
. I lowered
myself—misused my position and now my life is in jeopardy as
well.”

“What are you saying? I simply don’t
understand,” she scanned his face as she tried to make sense of it.
She knew of course, they were in debt. She knew they were in danger
of losing everything. Was that what he was referring to, or was it
something else? In fact, as of late, his comings and goings before
he fell ill, had her worried. She had supposed he had fallen in
with a heady group of men…perhaps gamblers like her father.

“Star, I am in trouble. If you don’t do this
for me, they will put a hole in me. This is more than an issue of
money. They will think I betrayed them. Star, I would never ask
this of you, but I don’t have a choice. I have to get the
information to them.”

She went very still as she looked at him. He
was her elder by two years. He was her dear, most treasured
brother, but he was more a child at twenty-two than she was at
twenty. Their father had been dead for just under a year. Their
ancestral estate was in ruins not because of Vern but because of
her father’s extravagances and his gaming habits.

Vern was nothing like their father and yet,
she had wondered what he had been up to the last month. Lately cash
had come in somehow and he had managed to get a few things around
the place repaired. She had not questioned it, but she had wondered
how he was managing. He had been so much more like himself as of
late, laughing and jesting—
hopeful,
and that had made her
happy.

She had turned a blind eye, especially when
he spoke of giving her a London Season. This was as much her fault
as his…whatever ‘this’ might be.

Still, how surprised and shocked she was when
she heard just what had brought in the cash,
for it wasn’t
gambling
or smuggling as she had feared—not at all.

She wished when he finished his confession
that it had been, but it wasn’t…and now, he was right—his life
might be in jeopardy because he had fallen in with the wrong
crew.

Things were much worse than she feared.

Chapter
Two

SIR EDWARD LOOKED up at the darkening sky and
hoped it wouldn’t rain. It had the look of rain. He felt the first
drop of it hit his face and with a growl of exasperation he hunched
his shoulders into his summer weight riding coat and damned the
loss of his top hat.

Cursing out loud helped, but did not do
enough to assuage his frazzled nerves and so he added again, quite
a bit louder than before,
“Zounds
! May I be damned beyond
redemption if ever I allow a woman to make a victim of me
again!”

The cob horse he had managed to buy from the
driver of his leased coach, nodded his head most vigorously, though
whether in agreement or a desire to be fed, he couldn’t tell, until
the big horse snorted, which led him to believe his horse did
indeed fully agree. “Indeed, ‘ole boy…had your share of heartache,
have you?” He sighed. “’Tis a good thing you are gelded and no
longer interested in a filly that might break your spirit.”
However, the idea of resorting to such a drastic measure made him
frown and shake off these words.

“
Egad
,” he continued to talk to his
horse. “Will I ever forget the events of this day?”

The light drizzle took on a bit more force
and he sighed heavily as he stared at the fingerpost just ahead. It
indicated that at least he was not lost. “Aha, Rye…we are nearly
there, ‘ole boy. You shall have your grain, hay, water and a straw
bed, and I…with any good luck shall have a good sight better than
that.”

Once again, as though in agreement, his horse
snorted. “Indeed,” Sir Edward said comradely. “Water for you and
some of France’s best for me. Tomorrow…well, tomorrow will come and
be what it will be. Tonight old steed, I shall take a pretty tavern
wench on my knee and get the Lady Babs out of my head.” He sighed
heavily. “You know, when this day started I thought myself
a top
sawyer
, a devilish hero whisking off his true love.
I was
wrong
. She was right. She could not have been my true love, for
she was always
his
…never mine.” He pulled himself erect and
announced, “There is nothing for it! Tonight, I shall get very
drunk! What say you?”

And on cue, his horse snorted.

The town of Rye came into view and with it
Sir Edward recalled all the gossip that surrounded this ‘hilltop
town’ overlooking the sea.

It did not actually boast any fabulous
heights, though a good part of it overlooked the Marshes—Romney
Marsh itself.

Romney, he thought with a grimace. There
wasn’t a man alive that didn’t know what went on in Romney
Marsh.

Overlooking the Harbor, the Customs House
starkly reposed. It was well appointed and quite official in
appearance. Sir Edward wondered as he glanced at its darkened
interior and his horse clip-clopped by, how much smuggling still
went on in Rye.

Smuggling, he knew had always been the town’s
mainstay. He had always heard that a man was sure during hard times
to turn to a bit of smuggling to see him through. Aye, he
understood that philosophy for you couldn’t talk about right and
wrong to a man who needed to feed his family.

 Edward sighed. He was fairly certain
that the business of smuggling was still quite robust and that
English money made its way to France more often than not, war or
no.

His horse brought him past a large engraved
stone which depicted the information that the town dated back to
medieval times. Sir Edward grinned as he told his steed, “Aye then,
I’d wager the ‘gentlemen’ have been doing business here just as
long. What say you?”

His horse blew out air, apparently totally in
agreement.

Sir Edward was also aware of all the stories
associated with Rye about its numerous ghosts. The village had more
than its share of veiled tales of spirits and their like.

These tales had grown over the years and were
held as undeniable facts, a friend had once told him. Well, well,
that may be, but all he wanted was a room, a bottle and his dinner.
If a ghost dared to bother him this evening, he would make the
creature regret it.

The Mermaid Inn was home to both smugglers
and ghosts, but it looked warm and inviting as he turned into its
courtyard and handed the reins of his cob to a livery boy.

He dismounted as the lad held his horse and
found the cobbled stones beneath his feet lumpy and annoying as he
flipped a coin to the lad and headed for the inn’s large red
door.

Tudor in style, with lead paned windows, he
admitted to himself that it appeared most charming. Ghosts or no,
he stepped through to the open galley.

That first galley was overflowing with men
full of salt and vigor. They had come to lay their blunt on the
table and enjoy their evening. He meant to do the same.

He saw a group of seamen at a large round
table and knew at once that they were smugglers by trade. This inn
was their sanctuary, where they were safe from the dragoons and the
exciseman. None would accost them here and live.

The Innkeeper stepped forward and was pleased
to serve as he wearily requested a room, a bottle and his dinner in
a quiet corner.

He found himself readily obliged and within
moments poured himself a glass of brandy and thought,
indeed, it
certainly was some of France’s finest!

With a tired sigh he sat back against his
wooden chair and contemplated the ribald inhabitants with a sad
smirk. In a few hours, the brandy would do its job and he would
think of the Lady Babs no more.

* * *

Berkley Grange was situated some four miles
west of Rye and it didn’t take Star long to put the distance behind
her.

As she approached the town, she reined in her
horse and gulped down a swallow.
Faith
! How could she do
this?

Her heartbeat began to increase rapidly. Her
brain became frazzled with conflicting thoughts and she had to ask
herself, was she mad to believe she could actually get away with
it?

Everything she had done since she decided to
don her brother’s clothing—clothing he had worn many years ago
while he was still growing, was absurd.

No one would take her for a lad—would
they?

Of course, she had created the image of one.
Her hair was short and she had put a smidgeon of dirt across both
cheeks. She had stuffed wadding into the shoulders of the buckskin
riding coat. She hoped both the hat and the riding cloak she now
wore would do the rest to disguise her gender.

What she was doing was of course wrong—wrong
in so many ways.

The entire escapade she was planning was
laced with a behavior that the ladies’ circle would consider wicked
beyond consideration.

If that wasn’t bad enough, she was also quite
sure the entire undertaking was more than a bit touched with mortal
danger.

That her brother could have asked her to do
this for him, only displayed his unclear focus and desperation.

She had always thought herself a bright and
modern woman, ready to do her part to promote change—political
change. This undertaking was quite beneath those ideals.

If all that wasn’t enough, she admitted that
she was scared out of her mind about what she was going to do.

Earlier, when she had completed her disguise,
she had taken a quick look in the long mirror. She thought that she
very well could pass for a lad of fourteen or so. Now, she wasn’t
so sure.

She had, however, quite made up her mind that
no one would believe she was Vern, as he had told her to pretend
she was him. Thus, she created a fictional male relative and meant
to play the part. She would say her cousin Vern had sent her with a
message and that was all she knew, nothing more and she would
escape as fast as she could.

That, she had decided, might work.

Star pulled the wool cap low over her eyes
and adjusted the hood of her cloak like a shroud over her head, cap
and all, before she had taken to horse. No chance acquaintance of
Vern’s must recognize her as she rode the open road at night. She
could only pray that no one would be about and on the open
road.

She had searched her mind for an alternative
solution, but as mad as this undertaking appeared to be, it also
appeared to be the only immediate solution.

Vern believed he was in danger. He said that
this man Farley would kill him if he walked into an unexpected
situation. He had said he gave Farley misinformation and had to set
it right. How had he gotten mixed up with such a nefarious
crew?

She knew the stories about the criminal
elements that hovered in Romney Marsh. There simply was nothing for
it. She had to do this for Vern.

Thus, here she was, with Rye spread out
before her.

Drizzle soaked her face and she could feel
the weight of her wet cloak on her shoulders. “What in all that is
sane, am I actually doing?” She patted her horse’s neck and asked,
“Do you know the answer to that? For I do not.”

Even for her, this was rash. She had always
been impulsive and independent, but this, this was so wicked.

So many things could go wrong at the night’s
end. She had never done anything so reckless and while she enjoyed
breaking the rules, like riding astride in breeches, this was quite
gravely out of her domain. This wasn’t
breaking
the rules.
This was
shattering
them beyond repair.

However, she wasn’t doing this for fun. No,
indeed. She was not at all enjoying herself. She had to get this
done for her brother, who she should, yet couldn’t blame, not
entirely. She had adored her father, but had not been blind to his
faults.
Gaming
for one. Indeed he had needed no other for
that one single fault had nearly cost them all and now after his
death, threatened them still.

 Poor Vern. What a burden her father had
left him. How could Vern set things right when their hole was so
deep and they hadn’t a rope to hold onto? How could Vern take an
estate that had been borrowed against for years, an estate with
accumulated interest to repay and set everything in order? It had
made her brother desperate and of course, desperation clouded his
vision. She couldn’t—wouldn’t blame him.

Star squared her shoulders beneath the
wadding she had stuffed into her brother’s coat, draped the damp
black cloak around her body and gave her horse yet another pat. Her
wet kid gloves clung to her fingers and she was beginning to feel
the cool night air.

Right, she told herself. Onward, for there
was no sense delaying what was apparently the inevitable.

She squeezed her horse’s flanks and he moved
forward. It didn’t take long before she was skirting the edge of
town over cobbled backstreets to get to the Mermaid Inn,
unnoticed.

If she could just get in and out with no one
the wiser—if she could just get to the awful brute of a man her
brother had described and called Farley—perhaps she could manage.
Perhaps with a bit of luck, she could just give the Farley man a
message and make good her escape, with no one the wiser. At least
then, she would have staved the fiends off and kept Vern safe from
harm.

She saw the big bold sign depicting the
notorious tavern. The Mermaid Inn was only a short distance ahead.
Even with all her resolve, her nerves began to quake. Her mind
began to race and she had to steel herself to buck up and keep
going.