Moon Love (12 page)

Mrs. Ladd stayed for tea and gossip, during which Amy learned that Mr. Stanford was going to buy a house near the sea, for his yachting pleasure. Mrs. Ladd’s main preoccupation was to discover whether it would be old Judge Connor’s house – so cozy but small – or the Eadie’s place, which was large but required a deal of work.

After she left, Amy spent the time until dinner with her papa, reading him nursery stories and thinking how odd it was that life went in a circle. One began as a child, and ended as one. She was now performing for him these little labors of love he used to perform for her. She wondered if she would ever have a child of her own, to read to her when she was old and childish.

Felix did not return for dinner but sent a note saying he was dining in Easton. He did not say where, which suggested to Amy that he was with Blanche. He would have come home to change if he had been dining with the Spencers or any decent company.

At a quarter past ten, she went to her room and dressed in her Gentleman’s outfit. She peered over the bannister to see the butler was not in the hall before slipping quietly downstairs and into the library to retrieve her boots and slouch hat from behind the pedestal in the corner which held a bust of Shakespeare.

George was waiting with the mounts outside
as arranged. The night was clear and cool, with a sharp wind moaning through the trees. They walked the horses quickly along, not speaking, keeping to the concealment of the park and hedgerows as long
as
possible, only stopping to tether the horses to a tree and heading to the beach on foot when they were a quarter of a mile from the smugglers’ bay.

The black water spread before them, glimmering dully in the light of a crescent moon. The ocean heaved and swelled in the wind, but not so violently
as to prevent shipping. The waves hissed against the shingle, trailing a creamy froth as they receded.

George pointed to the old deformed pine tree, clinging to life in a rocky outcropping above the beach. “I thought you might hide there,” he whispered. “It don’t offer much protection, but in the dark, it will do. If you want to be close enough to hear what’s said, it’s your best bet. I’ll be hiding behind that rock above.” He pointed to an outcropping a few yards from the spotsman’s roost.

“It will do,” she said. “We had best take our positions now. The lookout might be along soon.”

George handed her a pistol. “I’ll be watching out for you, Miss, but just in case–” She stuffed the pistol in the outer pocket of her coat. Then with a pounding heart she took up her position behind the tree.

The wind was cold and the wait was long. Long enough to imagine being captured by Kirby. Her presence there would tell him she suspected it was not only silk he was importing. He couldn’t let her live. How would he kill her? He could hardly shoot her in front of his men. No, he would have his right hand man hustle her off before the others recognized her in her rough clothes. The murder would take place in some private spot, with her body concealed as Bransom’s had been. Would she be stuffed under a pile of coal too? Or would they throw her into the ocean?

The branches above groaned in the wind. She shivered and willed her thoughts into a more optimistic direction. How she would crow when she had discovered Alphonse’s accomplice! Lord Ravencroft would not be so supercilious then. She wondered where he was. Probably at Miss Spencer’s house, being courted with wine and flattery. She told herself the quicker beating of her heart at this thought was due to contempt.

A branch above her head creaked ominously,
as if it might be breaking loose. Many of the lower branches were dead, one did come down in a storm from time to time. She listened, but it was only the wind stirring the twisted boughs. The next sound came from the area above the beach. She peered into the darkness, and saw a hump had grown on the lookout rock. Kirby’s spotsman was there. It wouldn’t be too much longer, then. She couldn’t see her watch in the darkness. It seemed she had been there hours, days, an eternity, that if she tried to move her feet, they would have taken root.

She looked out to the ocean, and saw the sails of a lugger billowing in the wind, making good time to shore. The noise of the wind and the ocean prevented her from hearing the cautious approach of the wagon and team of horses, followed by a gig drawn by one smart mare. She didn’t know they were there until she looked up away from the
sea and saw their silhouette.

She wondered that the Gentlemen didn’t use a string of donkeys, as the brandy smugglers did. The donkeys would each carry two kegs, slung over their strong backs by a leather harness, to predetermined locations. It seemed most of this cargo was going to one spot, with perhaps one or two cases in the gig to some other location. That, she assumed, would be the forged money.

Amy watched as the men flocked forward like a bunch of vultures, black, menacing, silent shadows against the rocks and shingle. She knew Joe Kirby by reputation only. She had never seen him, but his manner soon told her who was in charge. He was surprisingly small, a wiry, strutting fellow. He strutted about, a Jackdaw amongst the vultures, laughing and joking and slapping his men on the back.

They paid her no heed. Once again she heard the tree above her groan but the men, watching the lugger, didn’t notice. Two large rowing boats were being lowered over the side of the lugger. They sat low in the water, already laden with their cargo. Four men scrambled down after them, two in each boat to row it ashore.

Kirby’s Gentlemen waded out into the water to help pull the rowboats on to the shingle. The unloading was done silently in the darkness in a well organized manner. The rectangular wooden crates the length of an ell, half as wide and deep, were carried by a man at either end and stacked on dry shingle, Amy strained her eyes, looking for any unusual marking, but could see nothing by the dim light of the crescent moon. She counted twenty-four cases, twelve in each boat.

She had trouble recognizing which of the French smugglers was the chief. They all dressed alike in toques and dark clothing. They all shared equally in the work, which left none of them free to chat. When the boxes were all ashore and one man approached Kirby for payment, she assumed he was the leader. He emptied the coins from the leather bag Kirby handed him and counted them. Apparently satisfied, he put them back in the bag and thrust the bag into his pocket.

“
A la prochaine
,
Monsieur
, “ he said to Kirby with a wave of his hand, then the four men got in the rowing boats and returned to the lugger.

She hadn’t learned a single thing, and the cases all looked alike. Her last hope was that one of the cases would be separated from the others, probably to put in the gig. She and George would have to follow it. Surely if one went into the gig, it was the important one.

The men, still silent, began carrying the boxes to the waiting wagon, while Kirby stood watching. Twelve men, twenty-four crates, each requiring a man on either end. One crate was put into the gig. It took them only four trips to finish the job, after which all of the Gentlemen but one disappeared into the night. The men in the wagon drove away, leaving the gig and one man behind. But it was only the gig she was interested in now. She watched, waiting.

Amy was still on the
qui vive
when the right hand man, whom Kirby addressed as Gash, returned to the beach, “Are they off?” Kirby asked.

“Aye, smooth as silk.” He chuckled at his little pun.

“No sign of the Revenueman?”

“Nay, Rankin was slipped a tip the lugger was coming in just before dawn. He’s home resting up so he won’t fall asleep when he’s arresting us.”

“We’ll be on our way, then,” Kirby said, and turned to go.

Her tree chose that moment to emit a suspiciously loud creak, that was more like the crack of a pistol. “What’s that?” Kirby cried, drawing out his weapon. “Have a look, Gash. It wouldn’t be the Preventiveman acting smart, would it?”

Gash advanced to the tree, while Amy stood paralyzed with fear, with her heart throbbing in her throat. There was no place to hide, no place to run. If she moved from behind the tree, Kirby would see her. Behind and around her was unprotected beach and the sea. She reached for the pistol in her pocket just as Gash’s arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. He saw the pistol and wrenched it from her fingers, slid it into his waistband.

“It’s just a lad,” he called to Kirby. “But he’s up to mischief. He has a gun.”

“Bring him out and let’s have a look at him.”

Amy ducked her head low, thinking she might have a hope of mercy if they thought she was just a curious boy. Gash began dragging her out from behind the tree. Her only hope was George, but she knew in her heart that George was no match for these two hardened criminals, A whimper of fear caught in her throat.

“Timid little lad, ain’t he?” Kirby laughed, walking toward her. “Let’s see if we rec’anize him.” He reached to pull off her hat.

The following moments seemed like a nightmare, or a dream. A wild shriek rent the still night air, and at the same instant, a monstrous raven with a wing span of three yards came swooping down from the branches of the deformed tree and enfolded Amy in its wings. She couldn’t have been more terrified if the giant bird had taken flight, carrying her aloft into the night. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t even breathe with her head smothered in the black folds of the creature’s wings. But she could feel its heart beating wildly, fast and strong, against her breast.

She waited, hardly daring to imagine what would come next. She moved her fingers, and felt not feathers but a woolen weave. A man’s coat. A gentleman’s coat, to gather by its soft smoothness, and the creature’s embrace, pressing her close against him, felt more protective than menacing. Almost lover
-
like? But that shriek when it seized her – that had sounded inhuman.

From within the muffling folds of the wings she heard another inhuman cacophony as Kirby and Gash ran off, screeching incoherently from fear, as if they had seen Satan himself.

Amy was shivering, more frightened than she had been by Kirby and Gash, yet strangely exhilarated too by this unique encounter. She didn’t dare to move, hardly to breathe. What manner of creature had saved her – was it demon or demigod – and for what purpose? The creature’s wings loosened, she gulped air into her lungs and with trembling fear, she lifted her eyes to see the face of her rescuer.

Another whimper, more terrified than the first, caught in her throat. The thing had no features, just a black mask without even eyes. Then its hand reached out and pulled the mask down.

“You!” she gasped, seized by consternation and humiliation. “Where did you get this costume?”

A sardonic smile touched Ravencroft’s thin lips. In the shadowy night, he looked diabolic, “Why, it is only a cape, and a black neckerchief to cover my face.” He brushed back the hair that had fallen over his eyes.

While she was still trembling, he pushed her aside without another word and went after Kirby and Gash. George, alerted to the excitement by the howls of the fleeing Gentlemen, ran forward to see what was afoot.

“Lord Ravencroft!” he exclaimed.

“Which way did the gig go?” Ravencroft asked.

“Toward Easton. They whipped that poor nag till she flew like a Derby winner. We’ll not catch them.”

“I’ll catch them. Glover has my mount waiting nearby.” He cast a last taunting glance at Amy. “I suggest you take your mistress home, George. She is looking a trifle pale. Now you know why I didn’t want you involved in this, Miss Bratty. Let it be a lesson to you.”

His mocking speech had a wonderfully restorative effect on her spirits. “Get our horses, George. Run!” George looked uncertainly from one to the other. “Go, I say!” He went.

“Amy, for God’s sake, go home!” Ravencroft cried.

She tilted her chin. “I am home. This is my father’s beach. You go home!”

“You’re behaving like a child. Isn’t one brush with death a night enough for you? Have you any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t saved you?”

That was what galled her. That he had saved her. She had to redeem herself. “I would have saved myself. But I am very thankful, milord, even if you did scare the life out of me with that ridiculous performance,
as if you were a giant bird.”

“It was two against one. I decided fear was my best weapon. These provincials are superstitious souls.” He looked around in frustration. “I shouldn’t leave you here alone, yet I can’t let Kirby get too far ahead of me.”

She tossed her head. “For goodness’ sake, go on. I’m not afraid.”

“You were shivering like a frightened rabbit. It would serve you right if – Bah!” He turned on his heel and left, muttering profanities under his breath.

Chapter Fourteen

Ravencroft was long gone by the time George returned with the mounts. They rode into Easton as fast as the elderly jades allowed, but didn’t overtake either Ravencroft or the gig.

“I wager they’re heading to Kirby’s place,” Amy said.

“If you’re thinking of going to his place – well, he’ll not leave the stuff unguarded,” George warned.

“No, we shall have to wait until he’s asleep to sneak in and look.” Already fatigue was overcoming her after her harrowing night. But to envision Ravencroft coming to tell her he had solved the case – it was not to be borne. She had to carry on.

She urged the nag along the deserted High Street of Easton, until the shops petered out into cottages. As they passed a laneway, she glanced down it and saw a gig. She drew into the shadows and urged George to do likewise. The gig was stopped. Two men got out and drew a long, heavy box out of the back. They carried it into a hedged yard. Within two minutes, they came out, slipped quietly back into the gig and drove away, down the lane, that led to another street. Amy watched as the gig turned a corner and the rumble of wheels over rough cobblestone faded to an echo.

“That was Kirby and Gash!” she whispered.

“By Jove, they’ve stashed the goods in that house they just came out of,” he whispered exultantly. “Let us go and have a look. It was the third house yard they came out of. These are mostly just little cottages.”