Chapter 20
“Open in the name of the law,” came an order in a voice which almost froze her blood in her veins. She waited silently until he hammered on the door again, then she flung it open and held her candle high. It showed her a burly young man with a florid face and small, piggy eyes. “Who are you?” she asked. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I am Sergeant Oswald, Falmouth Militia,” he said with authority.
“And so?” she demanded.
“I have reason to believe that this household is involved in smuggling.” He took a step forward with one boot touching the threshold. Summer did not move back, but thrust the candle closer to his face.
“This household, as you put it, consists of one lady. How dare you accuse me, Sergeant?” She sensed one or two men beyond him in the darkness and knew her only weapon was to humiliate him.
“We followed the felon here. No doubt he is one of your servants or grooms. Stand aside while we search the house.”
“You pompous ass!” she flared. “Are you aware that it is the middle of the night, Sergeant? Are you aware that I am alone here, in a state of undress, Sergeant? Are you aware that this household is in mourning, Sergeant?”
His neck flushed until you couldn’t tell where his bright uniform began. “If we find neither culprit nor contraband hidden within, we will leave you in peace, m’lady.”
“You would find neither, Sergeant. You may take my word for it. Good night.”
Oswald thought of Lord Helford’s cold fury and contempt and the verbal flaying Helford had subjected him to that morning. “The new magistrate has ordered that we search any household under suspicion.”
“Then the new magistrate is a bloody fool,” she asserted.
“Fool he may be, but he is a black-tempered authoritarian and I dare not disobey his orders. We must search your house.”
“You may search my house, Sergeant, when you have shown me your search warrant.”
“I don’t have one yet. I didn’t think it would be necessary,” he said with narrowed eyes.
“Let me assure you it is imperative! I suggest you go and get the warrant and come back.”
“It is the middle of the night,” he spat.
“Since you have ruined my sleep, I think it only fair that you ruin the magistrate’s sleep, or you could return in the morning, Sergeant, at a more civilized hour,” she suggested sweetly.
He pressed his lips together in rage and spun on his heel.
Summer threw home the bolt and climbed the stairs on very shaky legs.
Spider, still dressed, lay stretched out on his bed. “The whole story, if you please,” she said quietly.
“It wasn’t wrecking,” he said quickly. “Somebody else must have done that. When we saw the vessel, it was floundering. Belgian or Dutch, so where’s the harm?”
“We’re not at war with Holland yet,” she pointed out.
“Anyway, the wreckers had already looted her before we got to her. All the casks were gone except the broken ones. It was gin by the smell of it.”
“What’s in the cave?” she asked.
“I’ve no idea what it is. It could be worthless, for all I know. It’s wrapped in oilskins.”
“Well, whatever it is, we’d better go down now before the tide carries it out again.”
“Perhaps that would be best. If they search the house in the morning …”
She stood like a pagan in her crimson robe. “We are part of the sea; we will give up nothing.”
There were six heavy oilskin-wrapped bundles. It took them three trips each to carry the contraband into the cellars and another three trips to fetch it upstairs. Summer knelt before the bundles and carefully unwrapped one of the oilskins. Her breath caught in her throat as the candlelight revealed the beauty of the rich cache. “It must be Brussels lace,” she said in awe, reaching out to touch the fine, costly material.
“Who the hell can we sell that to?” asked Spider with disappointment.
“We must find some way of getting it to Auntie Lil. It’s worth its weight in gold. Of course we’ll have to settle for less than its true value, but it will bring us a few thousand.”
“Where will we hide it?” asked Spider.
“In my bed, I think. I’m reasonably certain I’m the only one with access to my own bed,” she said decisively.
She arose at dawn as usual, but it was not to ride the beach. She chose with care the loveliest day gown she owned. It was a cream linen decorated with pale green ribbon loops. She fastened some cream-colored roses into her hair and went to awaken her brother.
He blinked at the vision before him. “You’re going to a ball?” he asked, bewildered. Then he guessed again. “You’re getting married!”
“No, silly. This is a day dress, and a simple one at that, I warrant.”
“Well then, it’s for his benefit,” he grumbled.
“No, Spider, it’s for yours. I have to get to Lord Helford before Sergeant Oswald does. Ruark will have to choose between us.”
Spider grinned. “That bastard Oswald doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”
“No, I’m afraid he doesn’t,” she said honestly. “Now come and hitch your pony to that little ponycart for me.”
“You know how to do that; you’ve done it dozens of times,” he said, yawning.
“Not in cream linen, I haven’t, you lazy dolt.”
As she came up the long driveway to Helford Hall she saw that Ruark was just ready to depart. A groom held his saddle horse while Mr. Burke stood by holding a stirrup cup. The moment Ruark saw her he came toward the cart, but she jumped down in a flurry of petticoats and ran to him. He took her hands in his, wondering how she could possibly look so delectable at six o’clock in the morning.
She looked up at him with distress clearly etched on her lovely brow.
“You’re trembling, love, what is it?” he demanded.
She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again hesitantly.
“Come inside and sit down,” he urged.
“Well … I … well … I.” She hesitated breathlessly.
“Well … I … will,” she said, allowing him to persuade her.
With a protective hand at the small of her back he led her through the entrance hall to a small salon with comfortable chairs and a cheery fire. “Some coffee, Mr. Burke.” He sat down across a small inlaid table from her and said anxiously, “Tell me what’s amiss. Something has frightened you.”
“It was a man,” she said, low. “He came in the middle of the night demanding entrance. I was alone … undressed …”
His eyes blazed with fury; the muscle in his jaw clenched into an iron knot.
Mr. Burke’s voice carried to them as he answered the door and bade Sergeant Oswald wait in the entrance hall. Summer looked through the doorway of the salon.
“Ah, no …” she cried, her hand going to her throat in alarm.
“Was that the man?” Ruark demanded.
Summer closed her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.
Ruark strode into the entrance hall and Sergeant Oswald saluted him smartly and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Helford, but I need your authorization for a search warrant for your neighbor’s property.”
Helford took a threatening step toward the militiaman, who stepped back in alarm. Ruark ground out, “Yesterday, Oswald, I questioned your gross incompetence. Today I think I have my answer. Do you drink, Sergeant?”
“Yes sir, no sir, not on duty, sir.”
Ruark was enraged that this ruddy-faced lout had seen Summer in her nightclothes. “What other explanation could you possibly have for harassing Lady St. Catherine in the middle of the night?” he thundered.
“Sir, we chased a suspected smuggler onto the St. Catherine property. She refused to cooperate and let us search for him.”
“And if you had chased him onto my property, that implicates me in smuggling, does it?” he demanded dangerously.
“No sir, not at all, sir,” Oswald answered, standing at rigid attention.
“By God, Oswald, I should have your commission for this,” said Helford, trying to control his anger. His voice quietened, but it was much more deadly as a result. “If you or your men ever set foot on Lady St. Catherine’s property again, I will take disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?” he asked silkily.
“Yes sir.” Oswald’s eye caught a movement across the hall. Summer stood in the doorway with a complacent little smile on her lips, then she moved back into the salon. Oswald swore she would one day rue the victory she now savored over him.