"I fear that is impossible,” he said reluctantly. “We have everything arranged for tonight. I am not alone in this, Moira. I have to consider my partners."
A little thrill raced along her veins to hear him call her by her own name. “Perhaps I can talk him into giving me the money tonight,” she said doubtfully
"No, that will only alert him to mischief. Let your plans rest as they are."
"But I may lose out entirely. You said yourself he would be doubly suspicious after being duped once."
"I shall handle it."
"How?"
"Did he put the money in Bullion's safe?"
"Yes."
"Then I know how to get hold of it. Pack your trunk and be ready to flee when I come for you."
"I must know what you plan to do, Mr. Hartly."
A reckless grin flashed. “I plan to shear a sheep. A black sheep. And now you must return below and simper and smirk at your fiancé. But you need not let him hold your hand."
"He is not my fiancé! I did not say I would marry him. I would as lief marry a rat."
"Your maidenly modesty forbids a quick capitulation. I assure you the major considers you his own. And I, for one, wish him every success."
On this strange speech, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a warm kiss on her fingers.
"I assure you I have no intention of marrying Stanby!"
"You misunderstand me, Moira. I did not mean that major!"
He gave her a strange smile, then left. The door to Jonathon's room opened with a suspicious alacrity the moment he was gone, and Jonafhon stepped into the sitting room.
"I could not help overhearing what Hartly said. It looks as if our troubles are over, Moira. I shall begin packing. Cheer up, old girl. This is the last time you must endure March's company."
Moira stared at him as if in a daze. Her fingers tingled where Mr. Hartly had placed his lips on them. Should she try to get the money from Stanby tonight? It seemed an impossible thing to suggest. What would she do with such a sum, except leave it in the safe, where it already sat? Stanby would be bound to suspect if she kept it in her room. Could she trust Mr. Hartly, who was not Mr. Hartly at all but a total stranger? Did she have any option?
"You had best stay up here, Jonathon. You have got red ink smeared on your other hand as well. It looks nothing like blood."
Moira returned belowstairs, but she was so nervous that she soon claimed a headache and went back upstairs, to continue her worrying there.
Chapter Twenty
At a quarter to twelve, Jonathon tapped at Moira's door and entered, to find her sitting on the edge of her bed with her trunk packed. She and Jonathon had discussed the matter fully. Having little choice, she had decided to go along with Mr. Hartly's suggestion.
"I am going to follow them when they leave the inn,” Jonathon said. “They are meeting at the cove by Marchbank's place. I figure if there is any trouble with the Gentlemen, I can let Cousin John in on it, and he will help out."
"I have been thinking and thinking,” Moira said distractedly. “I have written to Cousin Vera, telling her of the change of plans, for she expects us tomorrow. Take her my note, Jon, and warn Lord Marchbank what is afoot. It was reckless of Mr. Hartly to use Marchbank's cove."
"It lends an air of authenticity to the thing, though."
"I am so nervous. Do you think we can trust Mr. Hartly?"
"He is a right one,” Jonathon said warmly. “With him and Mott at the helm, nothing will go wrong. They have seen stronger action than this in the Peninsula."
"What do you mean? You said nothing of the Peninsula. Was Mr. Hartly in the army?"
"Of course he was. He was a major. Did he not tell you?"
"No!” A major! “The major considers you his own.” “I did not mean that major!” Was it possible… Her cheeks felt warm.
"And Mott an officer as well. A crack shot. Whoever would have thought that man milliner would know how to use a gun? Well, I am off. Where is the letter?"
Moira handed him the letter. She considered going with Jonathon but felt someone ought to remain at the inn with the money and the jewelry, in case Stanby had some sly plan to return before the others and run off with the lot.
Jonathon rode to Cove House. It was a nice, scary ride, with the dark water shimmering on one side of the road and black trees whispering their menace on the other. Cove House was in total darkness, but he knew the back door was always left on the latch in case of an emergency with the Gentlemen. He entered and crept up to Lady Marchbank's chamber. She was a light sleeper. Her husband's career involved so many strange doings that she was not at all surprised to see Jonathon appear at her bedside at close to midnight. With a blink of her eyes she was wide-awake. She snatched her spectacles from the bedside table, read the note through, and said, “Marchbank ought to know about this."
"Yes, I want to speak to him."
They went together, Lady Marchbank wrapped in a faded woolen housecoat, with a cap tied under her chin.
Marchbank listened to what Jonathon had to say and read Moira's letter. “So that is what is afoot,” he said, nodding. “Moira ought to have told me."
"She did not want to lead Hartly to you. He could still report you, even if he ain't a Revenue inspector. Not that he would, but we did not know the whole until tonight."
"I have lost two nights’ work for no reason,” Marchbank said. “Speak to Jack Larkin, in the stable, Jonathon. He will see young Hartly is not disturbed. If any of the Gentlemen come at night, Jack deals with them. But they have been told to lie low until Hartly leaves. Not a Revenueman, eh? That is good news. I dislike to think London is taking an interest in me."
Jonathon went down to the stable, where he found Jack Larkin napping, fully dressed, mounted on a bay mare. Jonathon jostled him awake and gave him Marchbank's message. Larkin nodded and was soon asleep again. It was said of Larkin that he could sleep standing up and ride sound asleep.
By the time Jonathon reached the cove, the Black Ghost had already arrived. Jon was sorry he had missed the arrival. The cluster of men-Stanby, Ponsonby, Hartly, and his batman, posing as the Black Ghost in a black hat, mask, and domino, stood in a circle with their heads bent. They were limned in charcoal against the silver sky, with a dog-starred moon high above and the rippling ocean below. The sight gave the strange illusion of some medieval ritual. Jonathon could not hear their words, but he could hear the light clink of gold as the bags were handed to the Black Ghost, who shook hands with them all in turn before leaping astride a huge black stallion. The horse reared on its hind legs, whinnying. The Black Ghost emitted one eerie laugh, raised his arm in farewell, and disappeared into the black shadows of night, leaving only the ghostly echo of horse beats behind.
The remaining gentlemen began to climb up the embankment to recover their mounts. Jonathon turned back to the inn, to avoid being seen on the road in front of them. He was soon rushing into Moira's room.
"He did it! Hartly pulled it off. I wish you could have seen it, Moira. It was better than a stage play. They are on their way back here now. It won't be long. Are you all set to leave?"
"We cannot leave yet. Hartly has got his own money, and Ponsonby's. He has not got mine. Stanby was putting up only twenty-five thousand. My money is still in Bullion's vault."
Jonathon, caught up in the thrill of the moonlight escapade, had not thought of this.
"I begin to think it was all a ruse to keep us from disturbing his plan, Jon,” Moira said grimly. “All Mr. Hartly cared about was his own money. He will leave the inn as soon as Stanby retires, collect his ill-got gains from the man acting the Black Ghost, and never be seen again. We have been outwitted."