Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (13 page)

“Not to mention we Redgraves are not at all involved, save for fostering the
idea
in someone’s head,” Kate said, stroking the offending plaid collar, eager to be rid of the thing. “Thank you for that at least, Simon.”

“You’re welcome. But there’s more.”

Kate’s mind was flying in a dozen different directions. “Yes. There’s the journals, and that so-called bible. We’ve been looking for names, and believing the journals to be diaries of their unnatural behavior. But if Barry and our grandfather had the keepers write
everything
down, as it would seem they did, those writings must also contain a treasure trove of tactics detailing
how
they thought their plans would be carried out.”

She stood up and began to pace. “I know I’d want to see how it was done—was planned to be done—the product of delusion or not. Simon, you believe the estate itself played into those plans, don’t you?”

“It seems logical, yes, that everything would have begun here. Especially when considering this area’s long history of smuggling and its proximity to France. Bonaparte long ago saw the use of English owlers. He’s even established comfortable hotels for the men, to sleep, to replenish themselves before attempting the return crossing.”

“Remarkable. Carrying English wool on the way over, French silks and brandy on the return trip,” Kate considered aloud, “and a lovely rest and even ship repairs in the middle, I suppose, all courtesy of the emperor.”

Simon nodded his agreement. “English wool to be made into French uniforms, yes, at times. But the smugglers are also a two-way conduit for information, the transport of agents and perhaps even escaped French prisoners. They transport London newspapers carrying the latest news of our battles and government arguments, even gold from English sympathizers, of which there are more than a few, I’m afraid. I’ve seen crude broadsides and pamphlets in London and elsewhere, extolling Bonaparte and urging our own revolution. But to continue. Some of the larger smuggling craft reach eighty tons now, and could hold a disturbing number of troops. One hundred disguised French land at midnight, to be safely hidden by sympathizers miles away by dawn, while the smugglers enjoy Bonaparte’s hospitality for another night, never realizing how they’ve been duped.”

“The action repeated all along the southern coast. Not an invasion. An infiltration. Bonaparte has actually provided hotels for the smugglers?”

“I understand he’s ordered them constructed in both Gravelines and Dunkirk. Gravelines is supposedly the worst, a compound large enough to house several hundred English smugglers at one time. We’ve recently begun building more Martello towers, having stopped because we believed the threat of French invasion over. I wonder who ordered more to be constructed, and why, don’t you? Fully equipped defensive towers, their guns pointed out to sea? Cannonballs can be launched at English ships as well as French.”

“Now you’re frightening me, Simon,” Kate said honestly.

“Ah, Kate, but there’s more. My head’s been whirling all afternoon. The few ships allocated to patrolling the coast are slow and in disrepair, and the men themselves definitely not in the top tier of soldiers. Again, it’s all something to think about, far-fetched as it might be.”

“So was the Trojan horse,” Valentine mumbled, having taken up his pen again. “Turner Collier was filling Adam’s head with history, assassinations, all sorts of rot. Remember his contribution to the conversation last night at dinner? Conspiracies, ambitions, have been with us for centuries, probably since the beginning of time. Harebrained, brilliant, some succeeding, some spectacular failures. So, insane or not, improbable or not, can we really afford to dismiss
any
theory?”

Kate’s heart was pounding now. “Well, then, that’s it. We now have even more reason to locate the journals and the bible, quickly, praying no one else has already found them. We have to find the smugglers, their hidey-holes. If they’re moving across Manor land, hiding French spies and such on our property, they must be stopped before anyone else finds them. No one would ever believe the Redgraves weren’t involved.”

“You’re supposing anyone else will find a similar thread to pull?”

“It’s possible. Look how easy it was for you to figure it all out.”

“I’ll attempt to see that as a compliment,” Simon said, bowing.

“Oh, stop! You know what I mean.”

“Adding the plaid and the missing coats of arms and the few facts we have about the Society in with what evidence we already possess? Yes, I know what you mean. There has to be more, but for a kingdom at war, that might be enough to encourage some very probing questions of you Redgraves. As I see it, and hope you agree,
we
have to be the ones asking those probing questions.”

“Trixie,” Kate said, wincing. “She has to know more. She was
there,
for goodness’ sake. That isn’t going to be easy, confronting her with what we know. But I see no other choice, Simon, do you?”

“No, but not until we know more. If everything I’ve heard is true, the dowager countess has survived on her wits for a long time. If she does know anything else, she’s certainly kept it hidden from her grandchildren. After all, the men we’re speaking of—possible traitors, seditionists—are her late husband and only son. She’ll logically want to protect them, and her grandchildren, at all costs.”

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?” Valentine asked from his seat behind his brother’s desk, pen in hand and scribbling away industriously on what looked to be a third sheet of paper.

“My apologies, Val,” Simon said. “We did seem to get carried away, didn’t we?”

“Thinking about confronting Trixie? Yes, I’d term that to be in the realm of fanciful flights.” He laid down his pen. “Although I can’t help but remember how she always made sure to keep us from the mausoleum. Why wouldn’t she have simply ordered our coat of arms put on the tombs?” Then he held up his hand. “Never mind. You two have already come up with too many answers. Is there anything else, Simon, before I get back to this letter to Gideon? I already foresee adding another sheet.”

“No, that’s it.” Simon shot a look at Kate. “No, that’s not it. I have enough trouble keeping the truth straight to attempt any more comforting lies. Kate, Val, I brought something up with me, from the pit. I don’t know quite how. Perhaps it became caught on my clothing.”

“Go on,” Valentine said, casting a worried look at his sister, who immediately stopped biting at her bottom lip. Whatever Simon was about to say, she had to listen without blinking, without betraying how ill-prepared she felt for any more shocks today.

“It was a hand. A human hand.”

Kate grabbed at his arm, shaking him. “Barry? You found him? Oh, my God. That’s it. The Society buried him in a tunnel after they were—after they were done with him. How could they do that?”

“I’m sorry, Kate, but no. I should have been clearer. The hand is from a much more recent burial.” He turned to Valentine. “So you might want to tell Gideon it would seem he was right, what happened in the greenhouse was a tunnel collapse.”

“A tunnel in use,” Valentine said, rubbing at his forehead. “I was going to have the pit filled with rocks and gravel. Do you think it’s safe enough for more digging?”

Kate took a steadying breath and rejoined the conversation. For a moment, just a moment, she had thought—but no, her father’s body was still missing. “There’s a lovely old book in the library, several actually, all about caves and such. Mostly mines. There were even drawings. Some of them showed how to dig an entirely new entrance, to rescue miners trapped below the ground. You don’t dig where everything collapsed, Val. You dig down at an angle, and from a good distance away.”

“Several books? Your family has an interest in mining?” Simon asked Valentine.

“Not that I was aware, no. There are more than three thousand books in the library. Perhaps our ancestors bought them by the yard, not caring what was in them as long as they filled the shelves.”

“My late brother did that when he purchased a house in Bath,” Simon said with a small, rather sad smile. “Not only by the yard, but by color, as well. He’d always felt the library at Singleton was too haphazard to be appealing. It’s arranged by subject, you understand. Clearly aesthetically unacceptable to Holbrook.”

“The library here is like yours at Singleton, and well-read, by the looks of many of the volumes. If the Redgraves really did once involve themselves with smuggling and cave digging and such, the books I found would make perfect sense. Wait, I’ll go get them.”

“In a minute, Kate.” Val walked around the desk to take hold of her hands. “I can’t think of a worse time for me to tell you this, but I’m leaving for London in the morning.”

“No! You can’t do that, Val. Not
now.
We’re getting closer every minute, can’t you feel it?”
Can’t you feel the excitement? Or am I terrible to feel my blood running hotter after what we’ve just learned? Simon feels it, too, I can tell. He can barely wait to get back to the chase. Didn’t you hear how splendidly our minds work together? Why, together, he and I can—
Oh.
Oh, dear. Yes, Valentine. Perhaps you should go to London....

“All the more reason for me to go. We may not be the only ones who are
getting
closer.
If nothing else, I believe an audience with Perceval is in order, concerning the Martello towers, and why more are being constructed. There’s a good chance the man didn’t tell Gideon everything he knows. Either that, or somebody convinced him to recommence building, and that would be a name we’d want to know. But to be fair, I was already planning to leave tomorrow. There’s a lady there who requires my assistance.”

Kate pulled her hands free; at least now it wasn’t difficult to make him believe she was angry with him. “There’s always someone who
requires
your assistance, and most all of them are female. You’ll have your heart broken one day, you know, not to mention your head.”

“Yes, so you keep reminding me. My letter informs Gideon of my travels, and I’ve asked him to address any ideas or suggestions to Portman Square. With him and Jessica carefully out of sight and Max somewhere on the Peninsula, it’s not practical to have all of who is left congregated in the same place, doing the same thing. I should be back in a week.” Valentine looked to Simon. “In the meantime, Kate, you’re in good hands. Isn’t she, Simon?”

“Safe as houses, as my valet would say. Kate, why don’t you take yourself upstairs to be rid of that fairly incriminating monstrosity. Then tell your woman to burn it and stir the ashes.”

“You can’t simply order me to—”

“Yes, he can, Katie, my love. It has already been discussed. For his sins, Simon is in charge the moment I leave. Or, as he seems to think, beginning
now.
”

Already been discussed?
Her chin went so high she could nearly see her own cheekbones. “The hell you say. We’ll just see about that, won’t we!” she exploded, and then left the room at a barefoot run.

Unfortunately not fast enough to miss seeing Simon and Valentine shake hands, as if some bargain had been struck. Of course! She remembered what Valentine had said while she and Simon were in the pit:
This is how you take care of my sister, Ravenbill?

Oh, they’d pay for that, the both of them!

CHAPTER NINE

S
IMON
HAD
WAITED
near the statue of Henry and his three-headed dog until one, an hour after their agreed meeting time of midnight, never really believing Kate would appear. She’d probably been in bed for hours; Lord knew he’d felt all but asleep on his feet after what had seemed the longest day of his life.

Then again, her duenna may have locked her in her chamber, although something as paltry as a locked door didn’t seem enough to contain Kate if she wished to be on the other side of it. He did admire her. He felt all sorts of emotions about Lady Katherine Redgrave. Most of them, if acted upon, would have ended with Valentine or one of his brothers feeding his entrails to the hogs.

Did he love her? That’s what Valentine had asked him, even if he’d known it was much too soon for any such inquiry. Simon did already know he loved what she
represented,
however: freedom, intelligence, wit, fearlessness, a thirst for adventure, but all of it tempered by what he instinctively knew was a good and generous heart (at times well hidden behind a fairly fierce temper).

She was nobody else, and that was the main thing. She was simply Kate, and didn’t seem to worry a tinker’s dam about anyone’s opinion of her but her own. Valentine hadn’t just been optimistic in attempting to convince her to change her ways, he’d attempted the impossible; one should never attempt to tamper with perfection. And then there was the rest of her...those eyes, that mouth, those so-enticing curves.

He’d warned himself to stop thinking about Kate. It was too dangerous, especially with Valentine leaving in the morning, promise or no promise, wager or no wager.

Instead, he’d decided on a little investigating of his own. Thanks to the light from the lanterns flanking the wide doors to Redgrave Manor, Simon did at least manage to assure himself of one thing. None of the dog heads lifted or swiveled. There were no conveniently loose slabs in the base; the spear in Henry’s fist didn’t elicit a betraying click when he pushed on it, sending anything to shifting, exposing a staircase leading down to a man-made underworld.

In all, by the time he was done with his inspection, which included getting down on his hands and knees as well as balancing on the dog’s back in order to push around Henry’s marble face and eyes, tug on his ears, he was left feeling fairly ridiculous, as well as grateful Kate hadn’t seen him making a grand fool of himself.

As he’d already begun feeling the physical effects of his time in the pit, and climbing old Henry hadn’t helped matters, he’d then decided it was time to give in, give up and go to bed. Perhaps to sleep, most assuredly to dream...

The shaft of early morning sunlight that stabbed at his closed eyes came without warning. So did the jolt of somebody’s body hitting the bed.

“Get up, you slug-a-bed. How can you sleep?”

Kate.

He pulled a pillow out from behind his head, then clamped it across his eyes. And mouth—for he knew he was about to say something best uttered only in the company of men. He said it.

“I didn’t quite catch that, Simon. Naughty, wasn’t it? Good for you. Now get up, rise, greet the day. Do you say morning prayers? I don’t. I should, but I don’t. Valentine’s gone. That’s one reason for thanking somebody, isn’t it?
Get up.
”

“Bounce again and I may have to toss you out a window,” he warned as, slowly, he lowered the pillow, to see her kneeling on the mattress, already clad in an emerald-green riding habit, a silly, matching shako and curled feather tipped ever-so-slightly on her head. He saw the smile on her mouth, the devil in her eyes. The minx! She was getting some of her own back for Val having put her under his care; she was giving him a lesson of just who really was in charge.

Clearly it wasn’t him. But he’d play her game. For now.

“Are you bloody well out of your mind? Where’s your duenna? Is she going to come
click-clicking
her way in here at any moment, swinging a battle-ax?”

He heard a
click-click
from somewhere else in the room, and groaned, “She’s in here, isn’t she? Of course she is, why am I asking? You two nodcocks believe this means you’re adequately chaperoned? In my
bedchamber?
”

“Don’t be an old lady, Simon. Besides, we didn’t have any other choice. Your valet refused to wake you. Did you plan to sleep the entire morning away? I’ve decided we need to expand our search for caves. We only found the one, remember, and only a small part of it at that. Simon—
get up!
”

She reached for the top of the coverlet and Simon grabbed two great wads of the burgundy satin in his fists before Kate (and probably Consuela) had her first real anatomy lesson. “You probably need to know I’m not wearing a nightshirt,” he said, biting back a smile.

“No?” Kate frowned. “Then what are you—
Oh!
” She hopped down from the bed with some alacrity and quickly hustled Consuela toward the hall. “I’ll see that our mounts are brought round in the next half hour. Don’t bother to break your fast. I’ve asked Cook to prepare a basket for us.”

“Yes, your highness, at once, your highness,” Simon grumbled as the door slammed behind the women, and then fell back against the pillows once more. He ached all over thanks to his time spent in the collapsed tunnel yesterday, with one particularly angry-looking bruise on his right hip, where he had landed on something fairly sharp that, in retrospect, could well have been the ribcage of the body now missing a hand. He’d been all but buried atop a decomposing corpse. Something like that could give a man pause, that’s what it could do. By rights, he should be waking from nightmares for a month, screaming.

Not that anything seemed to upset Kate for more than ten minutes. Or slow her down, come to think of it.

Now she wanted him on horseback? Well, if nothing else, she wouldn’t have to worry about him becoming overtly amorous anytime soon, the Manor swarming with Redgraves or just the two of them in residence (plus the black crow), wager or no wager.

A half hour later, having succeeded in convincing his valet he was not about to allow him to rub foul-smelling horse liniment on his buttocks, Simon was dressed and outside, eying Hector and visibly wincing when it became obvious to him the stallion expected a gallop.

Kate was already aboard Daisy, just as if she’d fully expected Simon to obey her—that would take some thinking about at some point—a wicker basket tied at the rear of her sidesaddle.

“I think we should begin at the West Run and ride south to the coast, and start back from there, don’t you? It’s only nearly a spit of Redgrave land that reaches to the water, at least by Redgrave standards. There’s several cottages nearer the coast, where it’s not suitable for farming, but they’re only leased. The land belongs to us. Do you think there may be a tunnel inside one of them? I don’t know how we’d get inside, though. I believe it would take Gideon to manage that.”

“I don’t know. I think if we just politely knocked on doors and inquired if the occupants would mind us tramping through their cellars, tapping on walls, stamping on floorboards, no one would protest. Overmuch.”

“You’re a bit of a bear in the morning, aren’t you?” she asked him as they headed their mounts onto the drive, and toward the West Run. “So’s Max. He once threw a candlestick at me when I asked him to get dressed and romp in the snow with me before it melted.”

“Imagine that. Tell me, had it been dawn yet?”

“Very nearly,” Kate said, dipping her chin. “Still, I couldn’t have been more than seven at the time. A person should make exceptions when there’s an unexpected snow and the other person is only seven.”

“And now that you’re all of twenty?”

She allowed Daisy to dance a bit as they neared the split in the roadway; clearly both mounts were eager for a run. “Are you suggesting I apologize?”

“I wouldn’t think of it. Just, next time, lock Consuela in her chamber. If you dare.”

“I won’t dignify that with an answer, Simon Ravenbill. Really, if I had known you’d—that you don’t—that is... Oh, stop grinning! Besides, we have a wager to consider, if you’ll recall. Since I fully intend to win, I would say you can consider yourself safe.”

“And as I fully intend to win, I’ll leave the invitation open.” Simon looked out over the massive carpet of fields making up the West Run. “You lead, Kate. I’ll follow.”

“You don’t wish to race? You know you’d win.”

Simon stood slightly in the stirrups, then gingerly lowered himself once more. Win? He was still lamenting having forgone snatching up a pillow from his bed and tying it to the saddle. Why he didn’t simply tell Kate he felt less inclined to indulge in a refreshing gallop than he did the prospect of climbing the steps to the gallows, he couldn’t say.

It must be true, what one of his friends had told him:
Never allow your heart to become involved, it causes your brains to leak out from your ears.
Of course, that friend, Lieutenant Davey Filbert, had been bracketed to his Lucinda these past five years, and already had three infants in the nursery—one for every time their ship had docked in London.

Simon realized Kate had her head cocked to one side, and was looking at him curiously. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? Val’s worth less than nothing before he’s eaten. I should have waited until you’d time to break your fast. I’m sorry. I get an idea into my head, and just naturally believe everyone else will see the brilliance of it and—should we ride back to the Manor and get you fed a proper breakfast?”

The nearly silent
drip-drip
Simon imagined he could hear was undoubtedly a bit of his brains leaking from his ears. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine, Kate. Hector’s anxious for a run in any event. You lead the way and I’ll follow.”
He probably shouldn’t have added that last little bit; not only would it give her ideas, but it was probably superfluous in any event.

Her route involved hedgerows that needed to be cleared, three fences that must be jumped and some increasingly rough terrain as they neared the coast and the waters of the Straits of Dover could be seen in front of them, the spires of Hythe vaguely visible in the distance to their left. By the time she held up her hand and pointed to a stand of trees, Simon, if he’d been a lesser man, would have been whimpering.

But he’d proved his point, whatever his point had been—even if he wasn’t quite sure there was one. Kate would have gone without him and attempted only God knew what at the cottages. That was one reason. Two, he would never let her believe a simple tumble into a pit was enough to have him take to his bed and...well, hell, Kate would have gone without him. That had to be reason enough; anything else would only serve to make him sound ridiculous.

He helped her dismount, ignoring the way she seemed to be purposely allowing her body to slide against his as he lowered her to the ground. The little devil; she was trying to make him lose their wager. And she’d picked a reasonable tactic for her first assault on him; the two of them, alone together, a picnic beneath a spreading tree...his never-strong resolve to keep his hands off her.

He untied the basket from Daisy’s saddle, and assisted in spreading the blue-and-white-checkered cloth beneath one of the trees. He dropped to his knees, depositing the basket...and then he simply gave up and stretched out on the cloth, resting his head against his propped-up arm. It would take pistol fire to get him up again, at least for the next hour.

“Feed me, woman,” he said, attempting an arch smile.

Which got him nowhere.

“Oh, no, you can’t relax yet,” she told him, opening the basket and removing a dusty bottle of wine. “See? I think it’s a good one because I took it from Gideon’s special side of the wine cellar, the side reserved for his most important guests and birthdays and such. But I don’t want to uncork it incorrectly, because people can do that, can’t they?”

All right, so she’d piqued his interest, especially if Gideon’s choice in wines was even half as astute as it was in cigars. He managed to push himself into a sitting position. Other than to pour the bottle’s contents onto his backside, having some of the wine inside him could go a long way toward easing his many aches and pains. “While you were pilfering, did you manage to remember to secure a corkscrew?”

Grinning, she reached into the pocket of her riding skirt and pulled out a familiar-looking silver corkscrew. “It’s Dearborn’s own. He wasn’t using it.”

“Since it’s probably not even gone nine yet, no, I suppose he wasn’t. You’re very much a proponent of the ‘may as well be a sheep as a lamb’ school of thievery, aren’t you?”

Kate shrugged. “I thought you deserved the best, considering the fact your valet told me you’re a mass of bumps and bruises. Not that you’d ever admit it. Max once hid a broken elbow from Trixie for more than a week, just so she’d leave for London as promised, and we could be on our own at the Manor—we’d planned a sort of jousting tournament, you understand, and Trixie wouldn’t have approved of my participation. Max didn’t so much as wear a sling until she left. Did it ever occur to you, Simon, that you males can be idiots? No, don’t answer that. But you could tell me why you allowed me to coax you onto a horse, yet alone a gallop across country.”

“I’m in charge of you now Val’s gone, and Lord knows you can’t be trusted searching out supposed smugglers’ caves without being held on a stout leash as you go about it?” he offered, using his chosen answer, and then pretended to wince as she all but shoved the wine bottle at him.

“Meaning I would have gone, anyway, by myself.” She handed him the corkscrew. “All right, I’ll give you that one. But why didn’t you attempt to talk me out of it?”

“Because although I may have hit the rest of my body against every rock and board—and bone—in that pit, I managed not to bang my head. The only thing that could possibly make you more determined to go would be for me to attempt to make you stay. Hmm,” he said, looking at the markings on the bottle, “does your brother maintain a strict inventory of his bottles? Because if he does, I’ve never seen this one before in my life, and will swear to that on my mother’s grave.”