Chapter Three
Lord Tamar tried to find the best in his sitter. A wealthy mill owner, he had a strong, determined face, and if there was also ruthlessness in the set of his lips that could turn quite easily to cruelty, there was challenge in that. Tamar was normally quite happy to paint the middle-aged, the old, or the ugly, who were often more interesting than the young and handsome. But today, he had no interest in any painting except the one in his studio that he’d begun yesterday. Lady Serena Conway.
But this was his bread and butter and he had to force himself to go through the motions. It was not his most productive hour, but he did make some progress and made a hasty arrangement to come back two days later, before he departed and strode homeward.
Rivers, the bum bailiff, was marching up and down the shore road, presumably to keep warm. When the man’s back was to him, Tamar hastened after him and dived into Smuggler Jack’s cottage.
Several children were wrestling on the floor, making such a racket that he didn’t see how their father could possibly sleep through it. But, stretched out on the floor before the stove, Jack seemed to be managing.
“Morning Mr. Tamar!” called one of the children, half-emerging from the pile on the floor, a greeting echoed in a more muffled fashion by his siblings. “Can you wrestle Wee Jack, can you?”
“Right now, I couldn’t wrestle the tiniest Jack who ever lived. Is your father sick?”
“No, he’s resting his eyes. Will I wake him for you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Tamar said.
The child pulled himself out of the sibling pile, rather like a man dragging himself from a swamp, and shook his father roughly.
Instead of the angry, or even violet reaction Tamar expected—for he could smell the alcohol from where he stood—Jack merely opened one eye.
“What?” he demanded.
“Mr. Tamar wants you,” the child said cheerfully and threw himself back on top of his siblings.
“Who?” Jack said, hauling himself into a sitting position and shaking himself like a dog before peering owlishly around the cottage and discovering Tamar. “Ah, it’s you. Just leave your things at the back, out of harm’s way.”
“Thanks, Jack. I wanted a word with you, too, if you’re not too bosky.”
Jack seemed to think about it, then shook his head. “Slept it off,” he pronounced. He raised his voice. “Oi! Go and play outside!”
Somehow, the pile of children fell apart and bolted out of the doorway with cries of careless farewell flung at their father and Tamar.
“They’re lively,” Tamar observed.
“Weren’t you at the same age?”
“Lively, yes, though I seem to remember it a lot more ill-natured. Jack, do smugglers use the castle to store contraband?”
Jack blinked at his bluntness. “How would I know that?” he demanded, getting to his feet and throwing himself on to a chair at the table instead.
“Jack. I need to know.”
Jack scratched his head. “Cargo gets landed at Braithwaite Cove, especially when the family’s not there, but you’d be stupid to leave it at the castle—any more than a couple of kegs for his lordship, that is. Stupid to leave it anywhere. It’d be gone too quick.”
“You mean it’s distributed immediately?”
“Long-standing customers,” Jack explained.
“And are the—er—free traders hereabout long-standing, too? Same gentlemen as always?”
“Well, we had a bit of trouble some months back, nearly brought the soldiers down on all of us. And Captain Alban’s ships passed by a few weeks ago, but they’re long gone.”
“And now?” Tamar pursued.
Again, Jack hesitated, Clearly, it went against the grain to talk about anything in the present.
“I wouldn’t ask,” Tamar said. “But something’s going on at the castle and someone connected with it threatened Lady Serena.”
“Threatened her?” Jack repeated quickly. “You mean to scare her off? Discourage her from meddling?”
“Well, frankly, that would be bad enough. You can’t go around scaring innocent people. But in this case, no, he attacked her with a knife and chased her when she ran. If I hadn’t chanced upon her—or if there had been more than one of them around at the time—I’m pretty sure she’d be dead.”
He spoke with deliberate brutality, because he wanted Jack to face the truth of who he was covering for. But whatever his words did to Jack, Tamar’s own blood ran cold.
“You can’t go round killing earls’ daughters,” Jack said severely.
“No, you can’t,” Tamar agreed. “So you see why I’m worried and need to know.”
Jack tugged at his hair. “There was a strange boat landed at Braithwaite Cove night before last. Landed several barrels. But no one bought from them. No one who buys from the usual gentlemen knew anything about them.”
“So, they are storing them at the castle. Why would they do that?”
“Waiting until supply’s low, then undercut us? I don’t know. Unless they’re Braithwaite’s own men? But then they wouldn’t try and kill his sister, would they?”
“I would hope not,” Tamar said faintly. “So you’ve seen and heard nothing of these characters?”
Jack thought. “Not me, I haven’t. Maybe at the tavern, though. There’s always strangers, there. I’ll spread the word, so they know they’re not welcome.”
“Thanks, Jack. Let me know if you hear anything else?”
“Aye, I will.”
Tamar wasn’t convinced he would, but it was the best he could hope for at the moment. Nodding amiably at Jack, he walked to the door and peered out.
Beyond the children now playing tag with a gaggle of other urchins who’d appeared from nowhere, Rivers was strolling in the direction of the market.
Keeping a weather eye on him, Tamar called to Jack’s children. “Think you can distract that gentleman so that he doesn’t see me going home?”
“Aye, easy!” came the reply, and while Tamar stepped nimbly along the street, the crowd of children roared in the opposite direction. When, fitting his key, he glanced after them, they’d surrounded the bewildered bailiff and seemed to be spinning him in circles.
Grinning, Tamar let himself inside and bolted the door behind him. As he threw his coat on the floor as usual, he caught sight of the two portraits he’d begun yesterday, and smiled. What he really wanted to do was throw himself in front of them and paint until the light vanished. But he needed to get Rivers off his back, and to do that, he needed to sell more pictures.
He’d had a run of sales at the Blackhaven gallery where he exhibited some of his paintings, but foolishly, he’d sent the money back to Tamar Abbey to feed his siblings—who were probably all sponging off his sister Christianne anyway. He knew he should go home and see what was happening there. In fact, he’d fully intended to do so this week, only now there was Serena to paint. After that, he would go. If he could stay out of debtor’s prison.
Impatiently, he walked the length of his studio, looking for pictures to take to the gallery to sell. The trouble was, he never really considered any of them finished. Although there was the one of the harbor…
He pulled one landscape back from the wall, to pick out the harbor scene beneath. It was no longer there. Mildly irritated, he looked through all his other paintings in search of it. He scowled, trying to remember if he’d already sold it or given it away while he was foxed. Perhaps he’d already taken it to the gallery. He needed a damned assistant to take care of such things. Which would just be another expense he couldn’t afford.
Shrugging, he picked up four landscapes at random and wrapped them in the old blanket he used for such purposes. Outside, the children were now marching up the street with the bailiff, engaging him in conversation. He seemed to have softened slightly.
Tamar shrugged his coat back on and waited until the bailiff was escorted in the other direction. Then he nipped outside, locked the door, and sprinted the opposite way along the row, taking the back lanes up to High Street.
Oddly enough, shameful as the whole thing might be, he imagined the hide and seek game with the bailiff would be a lot more fun if Serena was with him.
*
After luncheon with her sisters and Miss Grey, Serena extracted the wine cellar key from the housekeeper.
“Lord Braithwaite wanted me to count the bottles of a particular wine for him,” she lied blithely, “and I shall be writing to him today.” After all, there was no point in frightening her or the rest of the household—at least not until she knew what the devil was going on.
The housekeeper removed a key from her belt. “Be sure to give me it back at once, if you please. For Paton has mislaid his key and this is now the only one we have.”
“How did he mislay it?” Serena asked at once.
“Who knows?” Mrs. Gaskell said tartly. “If we did, we could find it again.”
“True,” Serena said as if she didn’t care, and tripped off to the courtyard with the key.
Paton had been butler at the castle for all of Serena’s life, and she didn’t seriously imagine he could be in league with this set of smugglers, nor that he wouldn’t have reported any theft of his key. But it did seem extremely suspicious that his key had vanished just when the strangers appeared to have acquired one.
Jem was waiting for her in the old courtyard, carrying a lantern already lit. His large presence was something of a comfort as she unlocked the door, though her heart still beat like a rabbit’s, and every hair on her neck seemed to stand up in expectation of some attack.
She threw the door wide.
Nothing happened.
The cellar was dark and quiet. As it should have been.
By the light of the lantern, they descended the old, worn stone steps. At first glance, the cellar looked as it always did, as Paton and Braithwaite between them kept it. Serena began to think she’d dreamed the delivery the night after her arrival, although she’d definitely been awake when she’d chased the stranger into the wood and faced his dagger.
Shivering, she began to walk around, past the rows of bottles and the barrels of ale, all lined up, as far as she could tell, as they had been the last time she’d been here. Years ago.
“I should have brought Paton,” she said ruefully. “He would have known.”
“Known what?” Jem asked.
“If there’s anything unusual here.”
“Why would there be?”
“I heard something the other night.” She glanced at him. “And I saw smugglers rolling barrels in here.”
“No.” Jem shook his head. “They leave it at the gate or down on the beach. Paton always knows. So do I since I do the lifting these days.”
“Then you’re down here quite a lot?” Serena said eagerly. “Is everything as it should be?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, patiently accompanying her on her tour. “There’s nothing…wait, what is that under the stairs?” He held up the lantern to illuminate the deeper gloom beneath the stone staircase.
Serena went closer. Four barrels and several smaller casks stood there. “Are those usual?”
Slowly, Jem shook his head. “No. No, they shouldn’t be there at all.”
A door banged at the top of the stairs, making Serena jump. Jem swung around, staring at her in alarm.
“M’lady?” came the familiar voice of George the footman.
Serena closed her eyes in relief.
“Are you down there, m’lady?” George called.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” she replied. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Grant is here.”
Serena looked blankly at Jem. “Who the devil is Mrs. Grant?”
“The vicar’s wife,” Jem murmured.
“Oh, of course, Mr. Hoag has left us. I suppose I’d better… Thank you, Jem. Um…best say nothing of these barrels for now, but if you know of any intruders, if anyone knows… Oh dear, I feel people should be on their guard, but I don’t want to alert whoever stole Paton’s key. I’ll think what’s best, but for now, I’d better go and welcome the vicar’s wife!”
Hurrying back to the main part of the castle, Serena brushed the cellar dust off her woolen gown.
“Mrs. Grant is in the drawing room, my lady,” Paton told her as she crossed the front hall to the staircase.
“Thank you, Paton.”
It was only when she walked into the drawing room and saw Lady Crowmore by the window, that she remembered the gossip. Wicked Kate Crowmore had married a mere country vicar.
“Yes, it is I,” the lady said sardonically. “In fact, I married a curate, but he got swift promotion shortly afterward, thanks to your brother. How do you do, Serena?”
Remembering her manners, Serena went forward to shake hands. “I am well, just surprised. For some reason I never connected you with our new vicar! Braithwaite might have said. I’m very glad to see you.”
“Are you as bored as all that?” the new Mrs. Grant said sympathetically.
Serena couldn’t help giggling. “Actually, I’m not bored in the slightest.” She rang the bell and told George, who entered immediately, to order tea and cakes.
“I heard you were in disgrace,” Mrs. Grant said bluntly when the door closed. “It is something I am used to, so I have called with sympathy. Do you mind very much? About Sir Arthur, I mean.”
“No, actually, though I suppose I wouldn’t like that to get back to him.”
Mrs. Grant peered at her. “You are a kindhearted girl, aren’t you? We never had much to do with each other before. You were too young, and I wasn’t respectable enough for us to mix together.”
Serena laughed. “And now our roles are reversed! You look well as the vicar’s wife.”
“Thank you, I enjoy it,” Mrs. Grant said surprisingly. “And if you want my opinion—though I can see no reason why you would—you wouldn’t have enjoyed being Lady Maynard.”
“He is very…staid,” Serena allowed. “And I am not.”
“All the same, flirting with Daxton is a dangerous game for anyone. Did you know he was married a few weeks ago? I met his wife. She is delightful.”
“Yes, London is bursting with it,” Serena said impatiently, more concerned with how Mrs. Grant had met the wife. Especially since the artist had seemed to know exactly who Daxton was. Well, he’s a fun person to be with. I’d probably flirt with him myself. “He isn’t here, is he?” she asked uneasily. “Dax?”
“No, they vanished into thin air. I believe they went to his estate at Daxton. Why?” She sat on the sofa, and when Serena sank down beside her, she said with surprising kindness. “You’re not carrying a tendre for him, are you?”
Serena gave a slightly lopsided smile. “No. He’s a lot more entertaining than Sir Arthur, but I knew he was only flirting. So was I. I’m afraid I was bored being good, but I’d honestly forgotten about the first dance when I stood up with him for the third.”
“And so Sir Arthur got on his high horse, you broke the engagement, and Lady Braithwaite sent you up here in disgrace.”
“Something like that,” Serena admitted.
“Well, London’s loss is our gain. The Assembly balls are still in full swing this month, so if you’d like to go this week, you must come with Tristram and me. I have an extra voucher.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” she said wistfully. “I suppose Catherine Winslow will be there, and Bernard Muir, all my old friends. And I would meet your husband.”
“You would,” Mrs. Grant said gravely.
Serena was very tempted to keep her constrictions quiet and accept. She sighed. “I’m confined to barracks,” she said humorously. “I’m not even meant to receive visitors or go into the garden without a chaperone.”
“Well, you’ve broken both of those, haven’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Because I would have.” Mrs. Grant regarded her thoughtfully. “What if I write to your mother, pleading your cause and offering to chaperone you to a few unexceptional events?”
“Could she reply in time?” Serena asked doubtfully.
“Sadly, no,” Mrs. Grant mourned.
Serena cast her a speculative look. “You mean you are prepared to take the chance?”
“That she’ll agree? Of course, she will. You are riper for mischief shut up here than going about and mixing with people. I should know. I’m only surprised you haven’t got into trouble already,”
Serena smiled, thinking of the artist and the dagger-wielding smuggler. “What trouble could one possibly get up to here?”