Surrender The Night (34 page)

“Have it yer way, Frenchie.” Jack drew back his fist to strike.

A soft voice spoke from the aisle behind them. Everyone turned in shock.

“Bon soir, m’sieu. Je parle frangais.”

Jack glared; Jimmy groaned in recognition.

“What’d ye bring her for, Jimmy?” Jack demanded. His fist dropped to an aggressively outthrust hip.

“I didn’t know she followed me.” Jimmy started toward Katrina. “Are you crazy, woman? This is no place for you.” As she came into the glare of the lanterns Katrina drew her sopping shawl closer. She was drenched from the rain, and her clinging dress revealed much to many interested appraisals. The shawl bolstered her courage more than her modesty. “To the contrary I’m invaluable to you at the moment.” Turning to the Frenchman, she questioned him.

After a relieved sigh he blasted her with a hail of French, gesturing with his hands.

She nodded, saying
“oui"
at strategic intervals and inserting terse questions at others.

When he was done, he sagged with almost palpable exhaus
tion.
“Merci beaucoup.”

Jack demanded, “Well? What did he say?”

She folded her arms over her bosom. “Much that was interesting. He told me where you’re to land, what and how much you’re to take on, and when.”

“Come on, come on, tell us.” Jack held his hand up and waggled his fingers impatiently.

“This could be dangerous for me. Aiding smugglers is a crime against the Crown. Of course, if I had something to gain
...”
She trailed off, letting the insinuation speak for itself.

Jimmy watched her, frowning, but Jack raged, “Blast it, woman, ye ain’t got no right to come here and interfere. Either tell us what ye know or get out.”

Without another word Katrina flung her shawl over her shoulder and turned away.

Giving Jack a quelling look, Davie caught her arm. “What does ’ee want, lass?”

“The same thing you all want. To feed your families.” Katrina came forward into the light again and looked at each face in turn, even Jack’s. “You all know John was injured a few days ago. We’ve little food in the house and no hope for more unless one of us finds steady work. I’ve already tried in Truro. Jimmy doesn’t bring in enough from his share.” Jimmy looked down and shifted his feet. They all knew his share would help, if he didn’t fritter it away, but no one said anything.

Katrina took a deep breath. ‘ ‘I want to go on your runs with you. Starting tonight.” For the first and last time she witnessed unanimity among the free traders.

With a collective voice they shouted, “No!” Jimmy was loudest of all.

Katrina waited until the furor died, then said reasonably, ‘ ‘I admit I wasn’t sure what I had to offer—until I arrived. How often has it been a problem that none of you speaks French?’ ’ All eyes went to Jack. That braggart’s silence was enough proof for Katrina. “You need me, especially tonight, since Junot won’t be there. Henri”—Katrina nodded toward the Frenchman—“says the man who’s delivering the goods doesn’t speak English, either.”

‘ ‘So? Once we know where to land, all we have to do is pick up the stuff.” Jack shook his head. “Ye ain’t goin’ nowheres.”

“And what if you have to haggle over price?” Katrina asked. “Henri says the load is larger than usual. You’ll need two boats. And the cargo is different.”

Jack looked tom between dismay and greed. Their price had always been agreed upon in advance, but this changed things.

Faulie, a small man wizened by too many battles with the sea, growled, “Et’s bad luck, taaken’ a woman on a crossen’.” Some of the men nodded their agreement; others looked doubtful.

Davie spoke up. “I says the lassie has as much right to feed her family as we do.”

“Aye,” a couple of the younger men inserted.

Jimmy, gnawing at his lip, said nothing.

“Let’s geve the lassie one chance. Ef she’s trouble, she don’t go again.” Davie’s suggestion seemed a reasonable compromise, to most. After considerable discussion all but Jack and Faulie agreed.

“Now, woman, tell us' what ye knows,” Jack growled, obviously unhappy at being outvoted.

Katrina sniffed, but said, “You’re to land at Cherbourg.”

“Cherbourg! The hell we will. That’s almost half again as far.”

‘ ‘Junot unexpectedly got not only a big shipment of tea, but silk and lace as well. His supplier is coming from inland and won’t sail up the coast. It’s Cherbourg or nothing.”

After a moment of grim contemplation Jack looked at his men. “Lads?”

“Ef et’s worth the haul, mebbe we should try et,” Paulie said grudgingly. “But I still thenks the frog should come.” Others nodded their agreement. Jack turned on the French
man again. The little man scooted behind Katrina and peered over his shoulder at the door. She saw his yearning for flight, so she put a cautionary hand on his arm. He’d not make it out the door before they were upon him.

“He’s still sick from coming over and could get seriously ill if he’s forced to cross and come back so soon.” Katrina matched Jack’s glare.

“So much the better. One less frog to stink up the channel,” Jack threw back and advanced on the cowering Frenchman.

Katrina’s next words stopped him cold. “Somehow I don’t think Junot would agree with you. Making his brother ill is no way to keep good relations with your contact.” She studied her nails. “There’s an easy compromise. Have him held here and guarded. If things go wrong, we’ll have him to bargain with.” Davie chuckled at Jack’s startled expression and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “’He’d best be careful lest the lassie taake over.” He sent an admiring look at Katrina. “That un’s got a good head on her shoulders, right enough.’ ’

The others chuckled, but Jack’s hostility never wavered. “On yer heads be it, ’’ he finally growled. “Make ready both boats. Jimmy, ye can guard this frog until we gets back.” Looking pleased, Jimmy hustled the woeful cook to a bench and used the man’s own scarf to tie him to it. Katrina followed the other smugglers outside, curious to get a look at their boats. Jack and Davie were left alone in the front of the church.

“The man won’t like this,” Jack muttered. “Ye knows he wants the lass himself.”

Davie shrugged. “Won’t be the ferst time he’s disapproved. But he don’t own us. Long as he keeps hes lily hands white and just handles the destrebution, he can’t whine at how we get the stuff here.”

“If ye be so sure,
you
tell him.”

Davie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Who says he has to know?”

“Aw, he’ll find out somehow.”

“Then we’ll tell hem when we have to. Besides, maybe the lassie well be trouble.” But Davie didn’t appear to think so, for his eyes held more admiration than doubt as he watched Katrina enter again, chatting animatedly with the free traders. They’d come back to fetch the pile of barrels they’d hidden in the church. She pushed helping hands aside and lifted a heavy cask herself, staggering under its weight but managing to get it outside.

“No mebbes about it. But sometimes trouble adds a bit o’ spice to life.” Jack’s tongue rimmed his upper lip as he stared after Katrina.

Davie laughed at the joke. Jack didn’t. Even in the dim church, his eyes glittered. . . .

Part Four

‘Hope, like the gleaming taper’s light, Adorns and cheers our way;

And still, as darker grows the night. Emits a brighter ray.”

—Oliver Goldsmith,

The Captivity, an Oratorio

Chapter Eleven

That night, Katrina
learned the true reality of smuggling: it wasn’t romantic, but bone-chilling, backbreaking work. True, prosperity literally rested upon the backs of the men, but it was hard won. Trip after trip they made through the shallows to the anchored luggers, carting tub upon tub of brandy and bolt upon bolt of oilskin-wrapped silk and lace. They seemed tireless to Katrina, who was already exhausted from the rough crossing and the long, bitter price negotiations.

Nevertheless, she persisted in loading the silk until a gentle but firm Davie led her to the beach and pushed her down on the sand.

“Staay, my girl. ’Ee’ve done enough for one night.” Davie glared at the source of Katrina’s tiredness, a cadaverous Frenchman who stood, skinny buttocks resting against his huge wagon, and watched the laboring Englishmen.

As he reached into the wagon for another load Davie brushed against the man, knocking some of the coins from the Frenchman’s counting fingers. A challenging grunt was of
fered and returned. Davie dropped the bolts and straightened martially.

Katrina leaped to her feet and took Davie’s stiff arm. “Please, don’t spoil all my diplomacy. Sullen though he is, we may need this frog again in future. Remember how fine the silk is.
...”

“Jack’s kind of negotiaten’ seems more producteve weth hes kind.” After a final hard glare Davie hefted a pile of bolts.

Katrina hid an agreeing grimace by bending to rescue the Frenchman’s coins. She, too, found the fellow distasteful. She almost regretted that she’d not translated for Jack the many insults the Frenchman had bestowed on them. When the Frenchman snatched the coins out of her hand, she nodded regally.

“A votre service,”
she said pointedly when he didn’t thank her.

He shrugged and dropped the coins into his pouch. Katrina turned a haughty shoulder to his lewd appraisal and returned to helping the men. She was not eager for the long crossing, but she was eager to see Cornwall again. She cast uneasy looks about the deserted beach.

Neither side bothered with adieus when the wagon was finally empty. As the two luggers swiftly left French shores relieved sighs drifted away on the stiff sea breeze. Betrayal came in many forms, and none of the Cornishmen had cause to trust the bellicose Frenchman.

“What a bugger,” Jack said flatly. “Hope we don’t have to deal with him agin.” He patted one of the brandy tubs. “Though I can’t fault the quality o’ his goods.” He raised his voice. “Hurry on it, me hearties, else we’ll catch the dawn.” Katrina knew they’d not allow her to help with the sails, so she watched as the lugger’s canvas fluttered to the mast tops and grew pregnant with the wind. When they were under full sail, Davie sat beside her. He frowned when she shivered and offered her his heavy slicker. She shook her head, but he p
ut it about her shoulders anyway.

Jack snorted. “How gallant he is. But he only wants one thing from ye, lassie. The same thing we all wants.”

Covert glances grew overt as Jack put all their thoughts into words. Katrina shoved her arms into the oversized slicker and drew it over her drenched gown, using the movement to disguise the tremors she hoped they’d attribute to the cold. She knew better than to show her fear, so she stared down each man in turn, coming last to Jack.

“Then you’re all fools. You can get that from any woman; do you know another who can aid you as I have tonight
. You’d have clubbed the man rather than haggle with him. Jack, and brought down upon you the wrath of every supplier on the French coast. Do you deny it?”

The silence spoke for itself. Katrina sniffed. “Then I suggest you appreciate my qualities—in a business way only.”

Jack’s mouth worked in rage. Surprisingly it was Paulie, who’d been most adamant that Katrina not come, who inserted quickly, ‘‘The girl speaks true. Besides, who’d suspect her of helpen’ us? Stifle it. Jack.” For now.

He didn’t verbalize the aside, but all heard it nonetheless. Katrina knew that if her usefulness ended, she’d find herself in peril of her virtue, and perhaps her life, if they saw her as a threat. She’d just see that she stayed useful, she resolved to herself. But her shivering didn’t stop even as her body warmed. . . .

Weary hours later Katrina sat beside Davie in his cart. Dawn began dancing on the water as they lurched away from the church. Hidden in the back of the wagon beneath a load of hay were reams of silk and lace. Jimmy lay atop the pile, the very picture of a snoozing farm boy, but Katrina knew his sleep wasn’t feigned. Had she been less weary, her mind less active, she’d have joined him,

Katrina hadn’t asked where they were taking the contraband, and Davie didn’t offer. She’d noticed that some of the brandy kegs were lugged inside the church, others loaded on wagons for transport.

As he followed her stare after a cart rattling off in another direction, Davie grumbled, ‘ ‘Trust a woman to want to know all. ’Twon’t harm to satesfy that womanly nose. We hides the goods hether and yon—caaves, haaymows, barns. Leaves less of a traail for the revenuers, and maakes destrebution easier.”

“Who handles that?”

Davie’s smile faded. “Best ’ee don’t know that. Only me an’ Jack know who he es.” He patted her knee. “Don’t worry. ’Ee’ll get your share—equal to all who crossed—soon. I’ll breng et myself.”

She longed to retort that she’d earned a greater share since violence would have transpired had she not been present, but she bit her tongue. As for who distributed the contraband, she was probably safer not knowing. However, something else troubled her. On this, at least, she’d have an answer.

“Davie, I didn’t notice anyone keeping a record of all we brought back. I’d be glad to keep the accounts, if none of you wishes to.” She suspected most couldn’t cipher or write well enough to do so, but she could hardly say so.

Davie’s head veered sharply toward her. The rising sun shone directly in his eyes, yet she saw no limit to their impenetrable blackness. “Just see that ’ee keeps to your plaace, melaady. We’ve managed for years thes waay and can manage longer.” Davie slapped the leads against his pony’s back.

Katrina swallowed her hurt. What had she said to deserve the cutting remark? Surely it would be advantageous for all to have a strict record kept. Why would Davie resent the sug
gestion unless . . . unless he had much to lose? She peered at him from the comer of her eye. He was such a likable sort, yet what did she really know of him? He was a smuggler, after all. Yes, and so was she, after last night. Mentally, she reviewed the approximate number of tubs and bolts that had been carried into each lugger. Perhaps she’d start a record anyway. The risk to life and limb was too great to be less than meticulous with the spoils. This time she couldn’t be exact, but next time . . .

Only when they reached the Tonkin cottage did Davie break his grim-lipped silence. His manner was surly as he helped her down, and the minute her feet touched earth he let her go.

Arms crossed over his broad chest, he growled, “ ’Ee knows not to speak of thes.” She nodded. He went on, “And ’ee’d best keep to enterpreten’ and let Jack and me decide what else es emportant.”

He. apparently observed her mutinous mouth, for he took her arm roughly. ‘ ‘Asken’ too many questions es a good waay to get hurt. We don’t like outsiders comen’ here to order us about, whether they be uppity earls or pretty laadies. The West Country has a waay of teachen’ outsiders our waays—easy or hard. Understand?”

This time his eyes were not impenetrable. Katrina read pure menace in them. She croaked, “Yes.”

Without another word he swiveled, went to the back of the wagon, and shook Jimmy awake.

Jimmy stumbled out of the wagon and came to Katrina’s side, watching as Davie urged his laboring pony away. “What bee’s in his bonnet?” he asked.

Katrina barely heard him. Davie hadn’t directly threatened Devon, but even the hint frightened her. What had she done in involving herself with such men? Yet now she was committed.

She rubbed her elbows until her shivers eased. Gamely, she told herself that if the miners were indeed plotting against the gentry, then being part of their smuggling was a good way to discover details.

Thus, when Jimmy repeated his question, she shrugged. “He’s just tired, I guess.” She yawned as she dragged herself into the house. “I’m going to get cleaned up, then I’m for a nap.”

Hours later Katrina was roused from sleep by a gentle hand. “Katrina, you’ve a guest below. A gentleman caller.” Rachel beamed her a warm, approving smile, then hurried back down to the kitchen.

Katrina stifled the urge to throw on her clothes and dressed slowly. Devon! Though she’d seen him only yesterday, it seemed an age ago. She brushed her freshly washed hair, but as she reached for her pins her fingers stopped of their own accord. Smiling to herself, she left her hair loose, enjoying the sensual slide against her neck and arms as she descended the stairs.

As she entered the parlor her welcoming smile froze on her face. Phillip Carrington rose to greet her, setting a wrapped package beside him on the settee. He came forward to kiss her hand.

“How charming you look. I’m flattered that you were in such a hurry to see me that you didn’t even take time to coif your hair.” He sent an admiring glance over the plush hair that was as shiny and thick as golden sable.

Katrina pushed her hair back over her shoulders, trying to hide both it and her dismay as she sat down on a straight- backed chair. ‘ ‘Good day. Lord Carrington. What may I help you with?” Kindly leave, taking your roving eyes and eager hands with you, she longed to add.

“Rather should you ask what I may help
you
with.” Theatrically, Carrington held out the parcel. Katrina didn’t take it. He cajoled, “Please don’t view this as aught but what it is; an apology. I quite misunderstood your, er, relationship with Devon. He and I have had a long talk this morning, and I fear I insulted you to no purpose. Please accept this small token of my regret.”

She’d have been less than gracious to refuse again, but Katrina unwrapped the package gingerly. Shiny turquoise silk and crisp white lace spilled into her lap. Her hands luxuriated in the fabrics.

Carrington said, “It’s obvious you’re both pleased and surprised. I’m gratified, but even silk so fine is a poor match for your beauty.”

Katrina didn’t even hear the fulsome compliment. She was afraid to look at Carrington lest he see the arrested expression in her eyes. Her mind buzzed with questions. Where did he get the silk? How so quickly? And what motivated him to give this precise present to her? Did he know of her involvement? Had Davie gone to him? The facts led to one conclusion: Carrington must be the mysterious disperser of their contraband. Was this his way of warning her to mind her own affairs?

‘ ‘This is most kind of you, sir, but I cannot accept so rich a gift.” She wrapped the bolts and tried to give them back.

He rested his hands on his knees. “Refuse them if you must, but I’ll bu
rn them rather than see another in them. That color was meant for you.”

Katrina wondered if there were another, hidden meaning in his words. She searched his eyes, but saw only the usual feeling she aroused in men. She looked back down at the silk, longing to feel it against her skin. Perhaps she could pay him out of her share.

“Very well, I’ll keep the material, but only if you let me repay you.”

His pleased smile switched to a stubborn scowl. “No.”

She held the bolts out as her wordless response. When he still wouldn’t take them, she rose to drop them in his lap.

“Oh, very well.” He named a ridiculously low sum.

Mentally she made a note to pay him twice that. Her share should still leave enough to purchase a month’s supply of food, if she was given what Davie had promised. Holding the bolts to her breast, she began inching toward the door.

“Thank you. Lord Carrington. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“But I thought we could talk. I’d like to invite you to be my guest at the festival.”

“I always attend with the family. Now really. I’ve much to do.”

With a stiff bow he left her, banging the front door behind him. Katrina slumped against the wall. Dear Lord, who would have thought it? How ably Carrington lived his double life: country peer and head of a smuggling ring. Yet, as she took her precious burden to her room, her brow crinkled. Something still didn’t fit. Carrington’s wealth was too old to owe all to smuggling. And Carrington was a pompous man, conscious of the differences between the classes. Would he actively pursue a calling that would require him to have close contact with men he considered beneath him? Yet, if he was not involved, how had he gotten the silk so quickly?

Katrina set the bolts on her bed and went to the drawer where Rachel kept her sewing supplies. As her fingers flew, sketching a design for a simple but elegant gown, her thoughts remained on other subjects. An hour later she had a completed sketch and a firm decision to show for her toil. Which design would end the neater was a moot point now; her mind was made up to pursue each. Both were daring, perhaps, but if she were to risk liberty and virtue, she’d do so in style.

When Rachel told her, after lunch, that John had asked to see her, Katrina gladly set aside the pattern she was making. Rachel had strictly regulated family visits, and Katrina had only seen John for brief moments.