Company Of Rogues: A Shocking Delight Part 48

Even so, Lucy wasn't sure there would be true harmony between him and the Kerslakes. They were very different people, grown from different roots in different soils, and her father and Charlotte wouldn't want to spend time here. That was a shame, but she'd be able to visit London a few times a year, which would be enough.

When she went up to bed, a maid brought her was.h.i.+ng water.

"Anything else you need, miss?"

Lucy thought the question particularly keen. Did the maid have a swain waiting at the garden gate, even this late?

"No, thank you."

"You sleep well, then, miss."

Lucy smiled her thanks and went to the window to dream, but, alas, the clouds had obscured the stars. She couldn't even pine toward Crag Wyvern, for her view took in only part of the garden and the stables.

She drew the curtains and prepared for bed. Soon she was snuggled down beneath the quilt made by David's grandmother, dreaming of her future.

Chapter 37.

A noise woke her from sleep. In the house?

No, outside. Was it morning?

Clearly not.

A jingle then a thump.

She slipped out of bed and went to peer around the window curtain. It was still pitch-dark, still no stars-but then she saw a flicker of light that illuminated someone. The light seemed to be from a lantern, but what was the person doing?

She heard the clop of horses' hooves and the jingle again. Horses.

One or more men were taking the horses! She rose to give the alarm, but then she guessed the truth. Of course.

A moonless night.

The air of excitement.

Whispering servants.

Everyone but she had known that tonight contraband would come ash.o.r.e.

She felt irritated that David hadn't told her, but she put that aside. He'd probably been trying to protect her from worry, the foolish man. Though she was worried now. He'd be Captain Drake tonight, and thus in danger.

He's done it many times before.

He'll have planned everything carefully.

He'll take no unnecessary risks.

Especially not now, she thought, with their wedding to look forward to.

It seemed wrong to watch Sir Nathaniel's horses being led away, but she knew that horses were taken as if by right to help carry the goods. The owners either dared not object or agreed willingly for payment of some of the contraband. Was Uncle Nathaniel out with the smugglers? That seemed unlikely, but perhaps Henry was. Or perhaps the manor played only a pa.s.sive part.

She told herself this was all routine here, but she couldn't help worrying.

Something could go wrong, and there were cases of peers standing trial. They were tried in the House of Lords, but if convicted, the penalties were the same. She was sure there were other dangers. If the Preventive officer and his men turned up, shots would be fired and in this darkness anyone could be hit. In this darkness, people could fall off cliffs.

Those men "practicing" on ropes. They'd been preparing. Would David be climbing a rope in the dark?

She desperately wanted to dress and rush out to protect him, but what on earth could she do but be trouble?

Trust, he'd once said, and now she knew what he'd meant. She had to trust in his skill and competence even though she felt as if doing nothing could drive her mad.

No question of returning to bed. Pointless though it was, she had to sit by the window, to stare into the darkness and listen, praying not to hear gunshots.

She didn't dare light a candle. Her clock ticked so slowly, then chimed twice. Two in the morning and all's well. That would be the cry in London, and it would have rea.s.sured her to hear it here. Here she had no idea if all was well or not. She fumbled for her clothes and dressed.

If anything did go amiss, she wanted to be ready to go to him.

The church clock chimed two, and people began to slip out of houses, heading for their positions on cliffs or beach. David was already on the cliff top in front of Crag Wyvern. His eyes were well adjusted to the dark, but he could see little. The d.a.m.ned cloud stole the starlight. That concealed the Marianne and the gathering Horde, but it could hide danger, too. He felt blindfolded.

As always, they mostly communicated by sounds-the yips and hoots of night creatures told him when groups were in place. Occasionally a pinhole in a closed lantern would send a specific message. Thus far all was well, but those brief flashes seemed too bright in the dense dark. If Lloyd had caught wind of the truth, he'd see the signals, and even though the Horde had its own code, he'd know something was up-and where.

The Marianne had flashed a brief message that she was in position out at sea. He hadn't signaled for her to come in yet. His people weren't all in place and he hadn't received confirmation that the perimeter was clear, that there was no sign of Lloyd and his men nearby.

A p.r.i.c.kling on his neck was warning of danger, but was that a real premonition or because Lucy being nearby made him nervous? She wouldn't be involved, she must be fast asleep, but her presence was disturbing his mind when it needed to be clear and focused. He could almost hear Mel growl to put it out of mind. When captaining a run, put everything else out of mind.

"Nothing from the Crag?" he murmured to the boy stationed beside him to look in that direction.

"No, cap'n," said Jack Applin, bursting with pride to be given this responsibility. He was a good lad, despite his father's recklessness.

It was time, but David hadn't been told the ropemen were ready. If anything went wrong, many of the men on the beach could escape a trap by going up the ropes.

He spoke to another boy. "Watch over to your right, to the top of Puck's Point. Tell me as soon as you see a light."

"Aye, aye, cap'n."

Young eyes, best and keenest around, but giving them these tasks kept some of the boys out of danger. No matter what he commanded, all but the youngest, and some girls, too, came out to take part. Well, he'd done the same as a lad, and so had Susan sometimes.

He swept his spygla.s.s across the invisible horizon, straining for a glimpse of the navy s.h.i.+p. The Taurus had sailed east and not been seen to return, but that p.r.i.c.kling was warning of something.

d.a.m.nation.

This was no time to let love turn him into a nervous ditherer.

Lucy was by the window, straining to hear anything. It would all be happening on the beach, however, over the hill. Would the sound of a gunshot travel here?

Somewhere an owl hooted, and then there was an odd noise like a bark, but not. Perhaps a fox or badger. She knew they were nocturnal, but not what sound they made. She didn't know this world at all.

Then she saw another flicker of light out near the stables. Were the horses back already? Was that good news, or had something gone wrong?

The light near the stables began to wave wildly.

An alarm signal?

What should she do?

She leaned out, trying to see more, then started at a loud clatter below her window. It sounded as if someone had knocked over a bucket or tool.

"Help! Please!" someone called, but managing to do it quietly.

She tried to be as quiet. "Who is it? What's the matter?"

"Captain Drake," the hoa.r.s.e voice called. "Need help."

David! Not David, but someone on his behalf. Was he wounded?

She turned to run out of the room, but was instantly frustrated by the dark. She fumbled her way to her door and opened it. Blessed sanity, a small lamp lit the corridor and stairwell. It didn't provide much light, but after such darkness it was enough. She ran down the stairs and toward the back of the house.

The kitchen was dark, the fire cold and no lamp lit. No servants, either. All out enjoying the exciting folly of the Freetrade. She thought of running back up again in search of the family, but the need had seemed urgent. David could be bleeding to death out there. Her heart beat fit to burst as she felt her way around the table and to the door. She opened it.

"Who's there?" she gasped. "Where are you?"

She saw the glimmer of the lantern to her left, and the man gasped, "Here . . . wounded . . ."

She stumbled toward the voice, straining to see. As she did so, an arm came around her waist and a heavy hand covered her mouth before she could scream.

"Don't struggle, Lucy. I don't want you hurt."

She knew that voice. Her father! She tried to shout at him through the hand, kicking in hope of striking him, wis.h.i.+ng she was wearing boots and not slippers.

Finally she was able to whirl around. For a moment her mouth was free. She sucked in breath to scream, but a cloth was thrust into her mouth and she was wound in a cloth like a swaddled baby or a corpse in a shroud, helpless.

Her father. Efficient as always. She could at least growl.

"I'm sorry, pet," he said softly, touching her hair. "I'd rather have tried sense, but I know how one is when besotted. People are coming. Make haste, but carefully."

The man who'd captured her picked her up in his arms and carried her after her father, who carried a s.h.i.+elded lantern. Just two? Surely she could escape two.

David . . .

But David wasn't in danger. This had been a trick, and she'd fallen for it.

She heard noises from the house. Someone called from a window, "Is anyone out there?" Henry or Sir Nathaniel.

Amelia called, "What's happening out there?"

All in the house, all doubtless in their nightwear. They'd probably take silence as rea.s.surance, and if they went out to investigate, there'd be nothing to see. A sensible heroine would have managed to leave some sign, if only a slipper, but hers were still laced on.

This couldn't be happening.

She couldn't be s.n.a.t.c.hed like this without anyone knowing.

But yes, she could. Everyone around here was either involved in the smuggling or carefully paying no attention to noises. Perhaps Amelia and Henry had been awake as she had been, listening, but once silence fell they'd a.s.sume all was well.

She growled again and squirmed out of pure fury. How dare her father treat her this way? Like a child!

And why? He wanted her to marry a lord.

He must have discovered she'd come here, so perhaps it was simply outrage at that. Whatever his reasons, this couldn't work. He couldn't keep her trussed up forever. As soon as she was free she'd return to David and never speak to her father again.

Better by far to escape now.

Where in the village were they?

Her father was leading the way, carrying the lantern low with only one window open, so it cast little light. She tried to remember the direction she'd walked with David. When her porter had to turn sideways a little so her head and feet cleared the sides, she realized they were on the narrow path between the gardens. The maneuver brought her feet closer to her father. With relish, she drew in her legs and kicked him as hard as she could, truly wis.h.i.+ng she wore boots.

He stumbled forward, but got his balance and turned, his face grotesque in the lantern light from below.

But his voice was gentle. "Ah, pet, that's why it had to be this way. You're my blood and bone and bound to fight. But you can't win this battle."

"Oh, yes, I can," she tried, but it came out as a mumble.

He stroked her hair again.

She wished she could spit at him.

He turned to walk on, and she made herself calm down.

His blood and bone, was she? Then she could be as steady as he. She took slow breaths and thought.

Her knife! Her journal was back in her room, but her penknife was in her pocket. She was swaddled, but not tightly, so her arms could move. She wriggled around, hoping the man thought she was struggling, and finally got her hand into her pocket. She grasped her knife and pulled it out, trying to think how best to use it.

If she remembered the village correctly, they would soon have to pa.s.s by the front doors of a row of cottages. There would be some people there. There had to be women looking after young children and also those too old for adventure. She need only let out one really strong cry for help to have hope.

She got her hands together in front and opened the knife, being careful of the sharp blade. She planned her movements and waited for her moment, when they were closest to the houses. Here, as they pa.s.sed the first doorway.

Kicking her feet to distract the men, she stabbed the blade up through the cloth, the sharp edge of the blade pointing in the direction of her chin. Then she pulled it forward. It cut cleanly through the layers of cloth. She reached up through the hole with her left hand to grab the rag that tied the cloth in her mouth and then sliced through it with the blade in her right.