Hartly sat on alone, his gammon and eggs cooling on his plate as he reviewed his situation. The lady-woman-held a stronger hand than she knew. If she reported him to Marchbank, he would be whisked out of the inn and into irons before he had time to warn Stanby what she was about. She did not realize it, but Marchbank certainly would. He would have to move quickly. Settle the purchase of the smuggling operation before nightfall and hope she did not run to Marchbank in the meanwhile.
Within ten minutes, Ponsonby strolled into the room, fanning himself with a letter. He joined Hartly
"Good day, Hartly. The major not up yet?” he asked.
"No, but Lady Crieff has paid me a visit. A new problem has arisen. Stanby has told her the whole story. She knows, from Marchbank, I daresay, that the smuggling operation is not for sale."
Ponsonby considered this a moment, then said, “She will cooperate. Stands to reason."
"What the devil are you talking about? She wants his money herself. And stands a better chance than we of getting it. She will resort to marriage if necessary."
Ponsonby frowned. “That would not be legal, would it? Marrying your steppapa.” Hartly looked at him, bewildered.
"Ah, I have not told you the news,” Ponsonby said, holding up his letter. “I dashed off a line to Aunt Hermione the day after I arrived and had my man ride it off to London. Hermione knows everyone. I was curious about Lady Crieff's connection to the Marchbanks. I have the answer here. Moira and Jonathon Trevithick. That is who the Crieffs are."
"Who the devil are the Trevithicks?"
"A genteel family from Surrey. Old Stanby married their mama four years ago, when the youngsters were-well, younger youngsters. The mama died within a couple of months. Stanby took off with Moira's dot. Ten thousand, plus fifteen thousand he had wangled out of the estate by a mortgage. Took ‘em for twenty-five thousand all told. The youngsters have had a rough go of it since then. Lady Marchbank is their cousin. She must be giving them a hand to diddle Stanby. That explains it all, eh? They are here to try their hand at getting their blunt back, same as us."
"Good Lord! What have I done?” Hartly whispered.
"You haven't told Stanby?"
"No, but I… spoke rather harshly to Miss Trevithick."
"Ah, well, she'll understand. She is in the same boat with the rest of us. Dashed fine gel. Not a Bath miss. A regular man-er, woman, of bottom. Fooled me, with her coquettish ways. I always liked a dasher. Might offer for her when this is all over. She would not have me in the normal way, but if she don't get her blunt back, she might welcome a decent offer."
"I must speak to her, apologize.” Hartly was just about to rise when Moira appeared at the doorway.
She had changed into a more stylish gown and coiffure that did not become her nearly so well. Unfortunately, she was accompanied by the major. The major joined her and Jonathon at their table. She nodded at Hartly and said, “Good morning,” as if this were the first time she had seen him that day. Her greeting to Mr. Ponsonby was noticeably warmer.
"Think she rather likes me,” Ponsonby said aside to Hartly. “Mind you, she's a tartar about my drinking. She would cure me of my favorite vice. Well, perhaps my second favorite."
Hartly was not listening. He sat like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake as Moira flirted her head off with the major. Every smile and glance was a blow to his heart. Not because he was jealous, but because he knew how painful this charade must be for her. And he had added to her difficulties. He should have known she was an innocent. The first evening he had insulted her, he had sensed her maidenly innocence. Since then, he had heaped insult on injury, accusing her of all manner of indecency. She would never forgive him, and who should blame her? He would never forgive himself.
He rose and approached their table.
"I should like a word with you when you are finished with your breakfast, Major. Something has come up."
"I shan't be long,” the major replied. “Let us meet in my room in half an hour."
"Very well."
Hartly tried to convey to Moira some of his chagrin, but as he was unable to use words, she misinterpreted his speaking glances as a challenge. She just lifted her pretty little nose and looked away. Hartly bowed and left.
Chapter Eighteen
"I say, you ain't having second thoughts about helping us?” Mott asked Hartly.
The three gentlemen met in Hartly's room after breakfast to discuss the latest development.
"We have no right to diddle Miss Trevithick out of her chance to recoup her losses,” Hartly pointed out.
"Robbie's losses are as great,” Mott objected. “Stanby took him for fifteen thousand-and my brother a mere schoolboy at the time."
"Dash it, Stanby took my papa for ten thousand,” Ponsonby added, in an injured tone. “It was pure blind luck that he never saw me, for he ran tame at Papa's house for three months."
"But she is a lady!” was Hartly's only defense. He could not like to state baldly that he loved Moira Trevithick. “And Jonathon is only a lad."
"The pair of ‘em are as good as an army. They are up to anything,” Mott said.
Hartly replied, “You are forgetting she can squelch our whole deal by telling what she knows."
"And we can squelch hers,” Ponsonby declared. “Dash it, Hartly, you said you have struck a bargain with her. Let it rest at that. We all have an even chance. Daresay Stanby will opt for her in the end. I mean to say-dashed pretty gel. She has the advantage when all is said and done."
"Who is to say Stanby is not deep enough in the pockets to snap up both bargains?” Mott suggested. “He has robbed dozens of people."
"He took in half a dozen others along with Papa with his shares in that gold mine,” Ponsonby said supportively. “He must have hundreds of thousands on deposit. We ought to all get together-us and Miss Trevithick, I mean."
"Share and share alike,” Mott said, warming to the idea.
"If need be, I would settle for half,” Ponsonby said. “Better than nothing. We will each work on our own scheme. Whichever of us reels him in shares fifty-fifty with the other. That way, Miss Trevithick will not go home empty-handed, nor shall we. Put it to her, Hartly. She will listen to you."
"I am the last one she would listen to. It would come better from you, Ponsonby."
"She would think it was the drink talking. You do it."
"Both of you do it together,” Mott said.
They agreed to call on her after Hartly's visit to Standby.
Hartly glanced at his watch. “I was to meet with Stanby in his room in half an hour. It is time I leave. We shall broach our idea to Miss Trevithick later."
"Be sure you let Stanby know we must have his answer by noon,” Ponsonby mentioned.
"And his blunt by nightfall,” Mott added, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
"We ought to warn Miss Trevithick we plan to move tonight,” Hartly said. He was greeted with derision, but he stuck to his guns. “We have a bargain. I would do no less for a gentleman. I shall not take advantage of her being a lady, and so young."
Hartly left. As he entered the hallway, Moira was just coming up the stairs. He decided to speak to her at once, while he had the opportunity. She brushed past him with her nose in the air. Hartly took hold of her wrist and drew her to a stop.
"I have something important to say to you, Miss Trevithick,” he said.
Miss Trevithick! The words sounded like thunder on the silent air. She wrenched her arm free and turned on him in fury. “So you know that, too. Congratulations, Mr. Hartly. I daresay you have already told Major Stanby?"
"Of course not,” he said angrily. “Why did you not tell me from the start? Why did you let me believe… Well, you know what I believed."
"I told you Stanby was a scoundrel! I could hardly say more to a man who was posing as an officer of the law. You threatened to have me put in prison."