Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

“We’re right sorry about Granville—he was a good ’un. A real lad.”

She found a smile, lowered her voice. “Indeed. But we—Lord Charles and I—need to know what Granville was up to. It’s quite important, you see.”

Shep and Seth studied her, looked at each other, then Seth nodded. “As it’s you asking, m’lady, I guess it’d be all right.” He nodded to Charles. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, but it wouldn’t seem right otherways.”

Charles waved aside the comment. “I quite understand.”

Only she noticed how clipped his accents had become. “So what can you tell us?” she prompted.

“Well, let’s see.” With considerable qualification, the two described how on several occasions over a period of years, Granville had asked them to take him out to meet with a lugger.

“Never would come close, but it always seemed the same ship.” Shep’s gaze had grown distant. “We assumed she was French, but we thought as how she must sail for those on the same side as us—Frenchies who didn’t like Old Boney. Howsoever, we never did see who Master Granville met with—he’d take the dinghy out, and the man he met would do the same. They’d meet on the waves like, alone, each in his own boat.”

“How often?” Charles asked.

“Not so often—maybe once a year.”

“Nah—not so often as that. P’raps once in two.”

“Aye.” Shep nodded. “Reckon you’re right.”

“Did he ever carry anything to give to the person he met?”

“Naught but once. I did see him hand over a packet, one time.”

“Letters?”

“Something like that. Most often, though, he just talked.”

“Speaking of talking…” Shep and Seth exchanged glances, then Shep continued, “That other one—the new lordling up to the Hall. He’s been asking after much the same, wanting to know who Master Granville used to deal with hereabouts. Who took him to sea.”

“Did you tell him what you’ve just told us?” Charles asked.

Seth blinked. “ ’Course not. He’s not one of us, is he? We couldn’t rightly figure why he needed to know.” Seth ducked his head at Penny. “Didn’t feel it was our place, what with the young master being dead and all.”

Penny smiled. “That was well-done of you. There’s no reason for the gentleman to know anything about Granville’s business.”

“Aye.” Shep nodded. “So we thought.”

Charles asked the last question he could think of. “Do you know if Granville ever went out with any of the other gangs?”

“Oh, aye!” Shep and Seth both grinned widely. “A real lad for the life, was Master Granville. Don’t reckon there was a gang anywhere about the estuary he didn’t run with at least a time or two.”

Penny smiled, albeit weakly. Charles treated Seth and Shep to another round of ale; with good wishes all around, he rose, tugged Penny to her feet, and steered her outside.

“I can’t believe it!” She and Charles, once more mounted, were trotting out of Polruan. “It sounds like we’re going to have to speak with every single smuggling gang.” After a moment, she observed, “That might not be a bad thing—surely someone must know more than the Polruan crew.”

“I wouldn’t wager on it.” Charles glanced at her. “The operation seems to have been well organized, and don’t forget, the procedures must have been set up by your father long before Granville got involved.”

He purposely hadn’t asked if the previous earl had been known to join the smuggling gangs; none knew better than he that those of the local aristocracy who ran with the gentlemen as lads had only to ask to be accommodated. On both occasions he’d had to rush home, the Fowey Gallants had answered his call with an alacrity he’d found disarming. They’d risked the might of the French navy to pick him up, and then later return him to Brittany, purely because they considered him one of their own and he’d asked. None of which he needed to explain to Penny; she nodded and trotted on.

Once they were past the last cottages, he urged Domino into a canter. On her mare, Penny kept pace.

They’d covered just over a mile when he slowed. Penny followed suit, glancing at him inquiringly; he signaled her to silence, and to follow as he turned off the lane onto a narrow track. A little way along, he veered into a clearing, halted, and dismounted. Stopping her mare, Penny kicked free of her stirrups, swung her leg over the pommel, and slid to the ground. She led the mare over to the tree to which he was tying Domino’s reins.

“Where are we?” she whispered, glancing around as she secured the mare alongside.

He looked at her. Instinct insisted he leave her with the horses, but he wasn’t sure that was safe—at least not any safer than taking her with him. On top of that, it was likely the reservations of the Polruan crew over speaking of the dead would surface there, too.

It hadn’t occurred to him, but her presence had loosened tongues far faster than his own persuasions would have.

He mentally sighed and reached for her hand. “We’re near the Bodinnick smugglers’ meeting place.” Bodinnick was a hamlet and didn’t boast a tavern; the fishermen made do with an establishement of their own. “I hadn’t intended stopping here, but as we apparently have to interview all the gangs, then as we’re down this way…”

Turning, he strode back to the track, slowing when she hissed at him.

She came up close, just behind his shoulder; her proximity made him feel a fraction easier on one hand, rather more tense on the other. Gritting his teeth, he grasped her hand more firmly and led her on to the crude hut almost hidden by bushes that the Bodinnick smugglers had built.

He marched directly to the plank door and rapped, a complicated succession of taps and pauses. The instant he’d finished, the door was opened; a ruddy-looking seaman stared out at them.

“My lord! Why, we’re honored! And who…” Johnny’s eyes widened.

“Never mind, Johnny—just let us in, and you’ll learn all soon enough.”

Johnny stepped back, waving them in with a flourish, his gaze riveted on Penny as she followed Charles across the threshold.

He scanned the faces that turned to stare at them. Many were familiar; the Bodinnick gang was one of the smaller crews in the area, but he’d sailed with them often enough in his reckless youth.

The procedure was the same as in Polruan; he donated generously to their drinking fund, accepted a mug, then told them of his mission. They, too, recognized Penny; bobbing their heads deferentially, they answered his questions in much the same way.

Yes, Granville had on occasion asked them to take him out to meet with a specific lugger that had stood well out in the Channel. The tale was the same; he’d always rowed out to meet a man who had rowed out from the lugger. In their case, no one could recall Granville handing any item over.

They also confirmed that Nicholas had contacted them in much the same way he had the Polruan crew.

“Setting hisself up as Master Granville’s replacement, insistent about it, too. Not that we’ve any contacts to give him, o’course, nor likely to have. ’Twas Master Granville himself always had things set up.”

They left having ensured Nicholas would learn nothing, but also having learned that there was nothing more to know.

Once they’d remounted, Penny using a fallen log to clamber up into her saddle, Charles headed for the Abbey. He was barely conscious of the fields they passed, his mind revolving about one simple fact.

They clattered into his stable yard in the dead of night. His stableman looked out; Charles called a greeting and waved him back to bed. Pausing to light a lamp left hanging beside the stable door, he led Domino into the stable; Penny followed, leading her mare.