Chapter Five
Bertie was in the drawing room supposedly listening to Tony’s wife play Mozart on the pianoforte, but his mind would not settle. He had gone to his room to get the rifle loader and was awaiting his turn to be questioned.
After a time, Lord Manning entered the drawing room alone. “Lord Redmayne has asked that I deliver their regrets, but Lady Catherine was most upset, and he has taken her back to Fortuneswell. They leave for London tomorrow.”
Virginia rose from her seat at the piano. “Oh dear. Is the lady all right?”
“I am certain she will be perfectly well,” said the chief constable. He turned to Bertie. “Sir Herbert, if you would come with me, please?”
He did not like the sharp gaze the chief constable sent him. What had Lady Catherine said to him?
He soon found out once they were settled in the library, where the man had taken a seat behind Lord Ogletree’s desk. Bertie guessed it was to give himself added authority.
Before the man could say anything, Bertie placed the loader on the desk. “I found this at the scene of the shooting, behind a boulder right inside the trees. It is the loader for a hunting rifle.”
“Do you come to Dorset often, Sir Herbert?” the chief constable asked.
Puzzled, he answered, “I’ve been here only once before. For Lord Strangeways’s wedding in December.”
Lord Manning studied him. “I understand you met Lady Catherine on the beach below Portland Bill.”
“Yes.” He saw no point in elaborating.
“She stated that she saw you coming out of one of the caves there.”
“I had just stepped in for a moment. I had no torch.”
The chief constable cocked his head to one side and studied him with care. “Those are smugglers’ caves.”
The words were curiously weighted, and Bertie’s mind flew. Did he think him guilty of smuggling, then? And did he think the shot that almost unseated Lady Catherine was related to smuggling? Not a bad conclusion—except that Bertie was not the smuggler. “I’m no smuggler.” He had another thought. “Surely, trying to send Lady Catherine over a cliff is a little extreme for smugglers? Why compound a crime punished only by fining with a hanging offense?”
The hedgehog-like man drummed his fingers on the desk, which Bertie found most annoying. “These are obviously deep waters,” the chief constable said. “Maybe her recognizing him was a chance he could not take for other reasons. Social disgrace?”
“Would a man shoot a young woman in order to keep his reputation intact?”
“Perhaps there is more to it than we know.” The constable resettled himself in his chair. “Smuggling is a matter for the Excise, but attempted murder is my bailiwick. Do you spend much time in London, Sir Herbert?”
“Only during the Season. I have an estate in Oxfordshire.”
“I’ll have to ask you to remain here for a week or so while I investigate this matter.”
Bertie pressed his lips together. After a moment, he said, “That may inconvenience Lord Ogletree.”
“I shall speak to him.”
Bertie said, “My rifle’s in Oxfordshire, by the way.”
Had Lady Catherine suggested this theory? The chief constable seemed slow-witted to Bertie. Would he have thought of it himself? The idea that the lady could have thought such a thing of him lanced him through. Did she really think he would be capable of smuggling and killing her to cover his deeds?
“These men, whoever they are, must be caught before they can harm the lady,” Bertie said.
“You are right,” said Lord Manning. “I shall be on my way. Expect to hear from the Excise.”
* * *
Bertie’s friends awaited him in the drawing room. Dispirited, he sat close to the fire.
“So what’s the word?” asked Beau, putting down the deck he had just shuffled.
This interminable card playing was getting on Bertie’s nerves, which was strange, because he normally enjoyed cards.
“The fellow thinks I’m a smuggler and I tried to rid the world of Lady Catherine because she knew my secret.”
Tony scoffed. “Fellow’s got bugs in his brainbox.”
“Is that what Lady Catherine believes?” Penelope asked, her face turned toward him.
“I think so.” Bertie stretched, trying to give the impression he was tired. “I’m not in the mood for cards. I’ll go on up.”
“I’ve got contacts in the Home Office. I’ll write in the morning,” said Beau. “We’ll see what they know about the smuggling trade in Dorset.”
Bertie clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You’re useful on occasion.”
Lord Ogletree snoozed by the fire. Bertie would have to bring up the subject tomorrow about staying on for the inquiry.
* * *
When he woke the following day and remembered what had transpired the night before, Bertie was annoyed. He was anxious to leave for Oxfordshire and his family there—his sister Marianne and her ten-year-old twins. He enjoyed his friends, but with this new matter brewing, the pleasure had gone out of the visit. Not to mention the fact that he was certain Lord Redmayne would take Lady Catherine to London, away from danger. In spite of his desire to see her again, he hoped this was the case. She needed to be as far as possible from danger.
As he looked in the mirror while tying his cravat, he also had to admit that he was greatly saddened by Lady Catherine’s suspicions. That she could think him a smuggler anxious to wipe her off the earth was certainly telling. Whatever he had felt that morning on the beach, she had evidently not shared it.
However, the memory of that day would not leave him. It was there solidly in his mind.
Perhaps a brisk ride on the downs would clear his head. Going out to the stables, he saddled Hermes and mounted him.
After he had ridden for a while through the rolling green hills, Hermes headed for Portland Bill on his own. The lighthouse came into view. He realized he intended to search the smugglers’ cave this time. He had even made certain he had a flint in his pocket. What could he use for a torch?
He hiked down to the beach and saw a stack of driftwood piled by the foot of the path. By the smugglers? Were they here?
Taking a piece of wood, Bertie walked to the mouth of the cave. Before lighting the wood, he walked in as far as he could without losing the light from the outside. Holding himself flush with the side of the cave, he listened. Nothing.
He struck his flint on the wall of the cave and lit the driftwood. It was damp but sizzled with the heat, and the flame took. The floor of the cave slanted upward and turned to the right. It smelled of the sea. The walls were craggy white limestone. What he wouldn’t have given to explore this place as a boy! Even now, it gave him a bit of a thrill.
Bertie trod carefully. Soon the tunnel branched, and he inspected the ground. At this point, it was muddy, and he couldn’t make out any distinguishing footprints. He decided to try the left fork.
The path descended and soon became even swampier. No one would store anything in this. His torch was getting low, convincing him it would be wise to try the other fork.
The right fork branched again. Since the torch burned nearly to his hand, he knew he needed to head back to the entrance. He should have brought another piece of wood.
He heard voices. Before extinguishing the torch, he used it to study the sandy floor. It looked like the foot traffic had gone to the right again. Stabbing the burning driftwood into the ground, he put out the fire, then slid along the wall in the left-hand tunnel, where he waited. Surely they wouldn’t be moving the goods during daylight?
Two men were coming.
“It’s the best quality. Saint Barnabas.” Bertie heard the soft West Country burr in the man’s voice. “But his nibs thinks we may be trying to put something over on him. He took a bottle away to test it, as he says. He’s gone back to London. Now I’ve got to take care of the lady. It was the devil’s bad luck I missed her yesterday.”
“Are you sure she saw you?”
“Don’t want to take a chance. Excise said as how if they caught me again, it would be transportation this time. Don’t fancy a voyage to Australia.”
Bertie’s heart stilled, and the hair on his nape rose. As they approached the fork, Bertie held his breath and flattened himself against the wall of the left fork. Unfortunately, this meant that he couldn’t see anything. The smugglers passed into the right-hand tunnel, and soon he couldn’t hear anything, but he stayed where he was.
Moments passed, and he felt as though he had been hiding for hours. The walls were unpleasantly damp; they would be the ruin of his riding jacket. The air hung about him, thick with moisture that condensed on his face.
Finally, he heard the sound of voices again.
“We’ll have to wait until his nibs is here to receive the shipment.”
“How long is that likely to be?”
“Who knows?” the other man replied.
“I’m leaving for London for a few days,” said the man who feared transportation. “I’ll call on him once I’ve dealt with the lady.”
Bertie balled his fists. He must warn Lady Catherine and her brother! Easing out of his hiding place, Bertie looked down the tunnel, but the pair had disappeared around the bend. All that remained was blackness. He crept forward, but the way was slow. He had to cling to the wall for direction. By the time he made it to the mouth of the cave, they were gone.
Bertie wanted to leave at that moment for London and ride through the night. A letter would never reach her in time.
* * *
Bertie arrived at the Oaks to an unwelcome surprise. All he wanted to do was pack a few things, saddle Hermes, and ride to London at the first possible moment. However, the Excise, accompanied by the chief constable, had arrived in his absence.
They met together in the library. The short, stocky Excise man was dressed carelessly and sported a shock of red hair.
Before the man could begin his questions, Bertie said, “I just visited the caves below Portland Bill this morning. The smugglers were there. I overheard their plans.”
“That was convenient,” the man said, acid in his tone.
“Lady Catherine heard them in there yesterday. They know it, and one of them is off to London to silence her. I must leave immediately to warn her.”
“Very convenient, indeed,” said the chief constable. “You are staying here, young man. In jail if you won’t cooperate.”
“What’s the loot?” the Excise asked.
“Saint Barnabas brandy. The man they referred to as ‘his nibs’ took some with him. I imagine he wants his clients to sample it. Now he’s gone off to London. They can’t arrange the transfer of the goods until after he returns.”
“We’ll have a lookout posted at the bill and offshore,” said the Excise.
“If you put up a watch, then you’ll know that I am no smuggler,” said Bertie. “I must go to London to warn Lady Catherine.”
“Mention that one more time, and I’ll jail you,” the chief constable said.
* * *
“Bertie, there you are!” said Lady Wellingham, beaming at him as he left the library. Taking his arm, she led him to the drawing room. “My dearest friend has come to stay for a few days.” She gestured toward a tall redhead who, though not entirely unattractive, reminded him instantly of a giraffe—all legs, neck, and nose. “Mary, may I present Sir Herbert Backman, a close friend of my husband since long-ago days at Oxford? Bertie, this is Miss Mary Gilbert, my neighbor from my childhood in Northamptonshire.”
He gave a short bow over her extended hand and tried to hide his annoyance. Was Penelope playing matchmaker? Or was this Beau’s doing? He was not even presentable. His jacket and waistcoat were covered in slime from the wet walls of the cave. And he needed to go upstairs to write an urgent letter to London.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Gilbert. Please excuse me for a bit. Had an encounter with a cave wall.”
“Luncheon will be served in a quarter of an hour, Sir Bertie,” Penelope warned.
He had been gone longer than he realized. Nipping up the stairs, he changed his clothes and then sat at the small desk in his room to compose a short note to Lady Catherine. He didn’t have time to write to Lord Redmayne.
My lady,
I must inform you that I was in the caves today. I heard two smugglers. One of them was the man who shot at you. He is off to London this very day to “take care” of you, for he is afraid you will recognize him. I pray this reaches you in time. You must take every precaution. I would not have you be in such danger for the world.
Yours,
Sir Herbert Backman
Upon reading the missive through, Bertie frowned and wrote it again, deleting the last sentence.
* * *
“Bertie,” said Tony over luncheon. “From the state of your dress when you came in just now, I assume you revisited the smugglers’ lair. We have filled Miss Gilbert in on our mystery. Have you anything new to add?”
“I heard the fellows but didn’t see them. They’re getting ready to move the loot. Saint Barnabas cognac, by the way.”
“I say,” said Miss Gilbert. “This is very exciting. Nothing like this ever happens in Northamptonshire!”
“I don’t imagine they shall move the cognac until tonight. Perhaps we can catch them at it.”
Virginia’s brows came together. “It will be very dangerous,” she said.
“The toff has gone to London for a few days,” said Bertie. “They must wait until he returns to move the goods. I don’t dare go anywhere near them. Excise and Lord Manning have their eyes on me as the Gentleman Smuggler.”
“Bother for you,” said Tony.
“With the Redmaynes in London, I worry for Lady Catherine’s safety. Have you a Debrett’s, my lord?” asked Bertie.
“You won’t need it,” said Lord Ogletree. “The family lives at Westbury House on Grosvenor Square.” His eyes twinkled.
“I understand you are a great judge of horseflesh, Sir Bertie,” said Miss Gilbert.
Bertie struggled to bring his thoughts back to the guest. “Northamptonshire is good horse country,” he said. “What breed do you ride?”
“I actually have two horses,” Miss Gilbert said. “I have a hunter, but my favorite horse is my Arabian. My dream is to have a Lipizzaner someday.”
Bertie’s eyebrows rose. “A Lipizzaner! That is a lofty goal indeed.”
She laughed. “I know it’s impossible. I confess I was only trying to test your attention. I do not think a commoner can even own a Lipizzaner.”
“Not unless he is well connected to royalty and has a fortune to spend on horses,” said Bertie. He restrained a frown. Testing his attention? Was Miss Gilbert the sort that always needed to be the center of everyone’s regard, even if matters such as the capture of smugglers were being discussed? He had not thought his friend’s wife would treasure such an acquaintance. Indeed, Lady Wellingham was not restraining her frown!
After luncheon, he took Tony and Beau into his confidence about the danger to Lady Catherine and Lord Manning’s decision to keep him at the Oaks. Tony obliged him by riding into town to mail Bertie’s letter.