After they left, Lady Marchbank turned a laughing face to her remaining guest. “Gracious! I almost wish they were not going out, but then we could not talk in front of Hartly. John runs the smuggling hereabouts, you must know. Guthrie is bringing in a load now."
"Really! You mean Cousin John is the Black Ghost?"
"Good gracious, no. He is well past that sort of flying about at night. The Black Ghost is merely a goblin to frighten the simple village folks. It is John's nephew, Peter Masters, from Romney. He runs the operation there. He will take over the Blaxstead run as well when John retires. John has a cozy setup here, as he is the magistrate. No harm in it, eh?"
"It seems to be accepted by everyone except the government,” Moira conceded.
"It is all that keeps body and soul together for the local families. Of course, I would not like you to tell Hartly any of this. He might very well be a Revenueman sent down from London. They pull off those sly tricks from time to time."
"Oh, dear! Do you think that possible?” Moira exclaimed.
"There is no saying. Did you plan to make him your beau? I take it he does not know who you really are."
"He has no idea. He is just a man staying at the inn. He was asking for Major Stanby, which is why I am a little interested in him."
She gave a cagey smile. “He is monstrously handsome. An ex-officer, I take it?"
"Why, no, he said he has an estate in Devon."
"He walks like a soldier, and he has the swarthy complexion of the fellows returned from Spain. Returned officers have been given these plum jobs with the Revenue Service before. Keep an eye on him for us. John will want to know what he is up to. But if he was asking for Stanby, perhaps he is with Bow Street. The police must be onto the bounder by now."
"I had not thought of that!"
"Do not trust him until you learn for certain. Perhaps he is what they call a Corinthian, a sportsman, just having a holiday by the sea. Some of them turn a wretched tan color from being outdoors. Now, tell me all about your adventure. Have you hooked old Lionel March, the bounder?"
"I have scraped an acquaintance. In fact, I shall be standing up with him at an assembly at the inn this evening."
"Excellent! I shall be there. My presence will confirm that you are indeed Lady Crieff. Between us, we'll reel him in and gaff him. I think, Moira, that you ought to wear some real jewelry this evening."
"I have been wearing my diamond necklace."
"That is good, but to keep wearing one piece when you have a whole collection-it does not seem natural. I slipped the word to our junior footman that Lady Crieff is rich as a nabob and has a fabulous collection of jewelry. His sister works for Mrs. Abercrombie in Blaxstead, so the word will be out by now. I shall show you my jewelry, and you shall tell me if any of it matches items in the Crieff collection."
She led Moira to her bedroom, another large, ugly room, and took out a wooden box that she kept hidden in a hatbox. Her jewels were antiquated and were not a good match for the Crieff collection. There was one set of sapphires that might pass inspection.
"My ball gown is green,” Moira said. “I could not wear sapphires with it."
"But they are not so valuable as emeralds or diamonds. That might provide an excuse for wearing them at a public inn."
"I would be nervous having them at the inn, cousin."
"I shall take them home with me after the rout. How is that?"
"That should be safe enough,” Moira said.
She put the sapphires in her handkerchief in the bottom of her reticule and they returned belowstairs.
They refilled their teacups and settled in for a good cose.
Outside, Hartly did not turn left. He headed straight for the beach and the fishing smack. He had already observed that Cove House was ideally situated for smuggling. The ship at the dock was similar to the one that had stopped at Owl House to unload brandy, concealed beneath its cargo of mackerel. Lady Marchbank's feeble excuse for keeping them away from the stable suggested that the cargo was being transferred there. The only impediment to confirming this was David. He had to get rid of the lad, preferably in a manner that would not raise his suspicions.
"You did not think to ask your cousin about that cave,” he said. “That would be something to see. I daresay it would not be the thing to interrupt the ladies’ cose. Pity."
Jonathon stopped in his tracks. “You go on ahead, Mr. Hartly. I shall meet up with you later. I just remembered something I have to tell Cousin Vera. She wanted to know about… about what school I shall be going to next autumn."
He scooted off, leaving Hartly with another question. He had assumed Sir David was being educated at home with a tutor. But if so, why change the routine at this time, when his presence at Penworth would be useful? He was reaching the age when he should be learning about the management of his estate, especially with his papa dead.
A few other items bothered him as well. Lady Marchbank's reference to seeing Lady Crieff when she was a child suggested the relationship was with the girl's family, not Sir Aubrey's. It seemed unlikely that a simple shepherd from Scotland was related to Lady Marchbank. He wondered, too, what else the wicker basket contained besides the tablecloth.
These were matters he might best discover by watching and listening later. For the present, he wished to confirm that Cove House was being used for smuggling. Some highly placed people were involved, Bullion had said. Who, in the area, was more highly placed than Lord Marchbank? Was it possible old Marchbank was the infamous Black Ghost? Hartly meant to be back at Cove House in time to meet him.
He approached the fishing ship cautiously, crouching behind rocks. An elderly gentleman was there, giving orders. He was indeed selecting a few fish, but e'er long, he looked all about, then said something to the man in charge of the ship. Half a dozen fishermen were called, and there, in broad daylight, twenty-four barrels were rolled ashore. A youngster soon appeared, leading two donkeys. A pair of barrels was put over the animals’ backs, one on either side, and the donkeys were led off, presumably to either the stable or the cave, where they would be concealed until picked up for further shipment.
Hartly had seen enough. He began walking along to the west, as Lady Marchbank had suggested. The donkeys were heading east, toward the stable. After half an hour, David had not joined him, so he returned to the saloon.
"Where is David?” Moira asked at once.
Hartly had forgotten all about him. “Did he not return here? He said he wished to tell Lady Marchbank something."
Moira felt cold fingers tapping at her spine. Hartly had kidnapped Jonathon! Right under their noses, he had spirited him away.
She leapt to her feet. “What have you done with him?” she gasped.
Hartly's stunned face told her she had guessed wrong. Before he could reply, Jonathon came prancing in, covered with dust and cobwebs.
"I say, Cousin Vera! That secret passage is something like!"
Moira collapsed in relief onto the sofa. It was Lady Marchbank who had turned a ghastly shade of gray.
"How did you find it?” she demanded. Her eyes slewed accusingly to Mr. Hartly, who was gazing unconcernedly out the window.
Jonathon said, “Why, I just opened that little blue door at the side of the house, and there it was. Why do you keep so many bar-"
"You should not have been snooping without permission, David,” she scolded. “There are rats down there. You might have been bitten and caught the plague. It is a nasty, dirty place. Now come and apologize. There's a good lad."
The little incident was smoothed over, but after such displays of temper, the mood was uncertain. They all heard the heavy footsteps sounding in the hallway. Lady Marchbank announced, “Ah, here is John, at last,” with a great air of relief, as if he were Christopher Columbus, safely returned from his journey to the New World.