Lace for Milady (22 page)

“Yes, you do. It is like riding, and
can
be taught. Relax and enjoy it.” He kissed me again, more strenuously, but I don’t think he followed his own advice. He was not the least relaxed, but became sufficiently ardent that I was obliged to struggle free.

“Oh, you're coming on rapidly,” he said with approval. “A natural. You’ll be giving me lessons before the week’s out.” He put his hand on the back of my head, just like the Frenchman, but I pulled it away, for I was a little frightened of my own feelings. I had not thought the whole body reacted so violently to a kiss.

“That’s enough of that,” I said primly.

“Not near enough. I’ve been wishing I’d done this since I took my leave of you; if you’d been in your usual sparring trim I would have. You’re a very attractive woman, Prissie, hard as you try to conceal it with your modest dress. And you were right; Prissie
is
the wrong name, thank God. I was half afraid you’d be a cold one.”

I expect I was still suffering a little from my ordeal in the cellar, or I would have stopped him sooner, but when he tried to resume kissing me I objected strongly. “See here, Clavering..."

“You have the most sensuous lips I’ve ever kissed,” he said, leaning toward me with his hands out.

This was not to be trusted, nor endured. “Burne!”

“I am aflame, my love. I have been for ages. You can even shout a ‘Wed’ at me and I won’t take it amiss. Someone is singing it in my ears already.”

“That would be your conscience, if you have one! I think you had better go now,” I said, pulling my dressing gown tightly about me. Not to say that it was open; it wasn’t, but the belt was working loose.

“I might as well, if you mean to lock up all the sweets.” I glared at him, shocked at such a bold speech. “All right, Priss, I’m going.” He arose.

“I hope there is some way you can keep that menacing Frenchman out of my house.”

“I trust Louie has taken care of him by now, and if he hasn’t, you may be sure I will. What would you like me to do with him? Put him on the rack—pull out his fingernails—cut out his tongue. Remember the temptation the poor fellow was subjected to. And he is French, you know.” He walked to the parson’s bench and lifted the lid.

“Well,
au revoir.
Time to crawl into the bench. Ah, listen, my Prissie, you won’t do anything foolish like run to Officer Smith with this story, will you? I shall be back early in the morning to explain everything.”

I don’t remember what I said. I recall he stood on the first rung of the stairway leading below, and very nearly tumbled over, cracking his shins when he reached out toward me and I stepped back suddenly. I also remember he uttered some ungentlemanly oaths, but apologized.

"Shall I tell Slack?” I asked. I must have been still in shock to ask such a question, to ask permission to do it, I mean.

"Suit yourself,” he answered curtly. "It is clear you have no intention of further humouring
me.
Good night, Miss Priss.”

Chapter Fourteen

The minute Clavering was gone, I put down the bench lid and placed on top of it the heaviest things I could find in the room. Some of his own tomes on Roman ruins, some blocks of wood, a large fern in a nice heavy pot, and other smaller oddments. Then I went to bed. Not that I had any thoughts of sleeping after such a night. I lay awake for hours, thinking. Firstly, I wondered how I had been deranged enough in my mind to have let him away without getting a full explanation of his part in this criminal smuggling business. It must have been shock, pure and simple. My mind was not functioning properly after such an ordeal, and his love-making hadn’t helped clear it, either. In fact, he had very likely kissed me to make me forget it, and as it was a new experience for me, it had succeeded; but the morning was coming, and I would have my revenge. He would explain his web of lies over the past weeks. His pretending not to know about the Roman ruins next door, his close association with Louie and the smuggling. How did he come to be embroiled in these low pursuits? Was it a love of excitement and danger? If so, why not involve himself in the war with Napoleon? Plenty of chance there for any reckless, danger-loving man to combine duty and pleasure.

With so much to consider, sleep was impossible. I saw the sun rise through my window, a beautiful golden-rose glow that promised another fine day. As it crept above the treetops, I began to consider rising, then my eyes closed at last and I slept—till noon. I was furious when I awoke and glanced at the clock. Why had no one awakened me? Before many moments I was up, dressed, and hurtling down the stairs. I ran first to the saloon, to see that someone had moved the obstacles from the lid of the parson’s bench. The room was empty. I ran next to the morning parlour, to be confronted with the spectacle of Miss Slack hovering over Clavering’s shoulder, pouring him a cup of coffee and smiling gaily.

“Well, young lady,” she said. “I think you might have included
me
in your little adventure last night.”

“You told her?” I asked Burne.

“You know these women. They always worm all your secrets out of you.”

“Then she has done a good deal better than I have, for it seems to me I managed to let you off without an explanation, and I am eager to hear it now.”

“I am eager to give it. Do sit down and have a cup of coffee, Priss.”
My
home and
my
coffee! Kind of him to allow me to enjoy them.

"This is the last cup. I’ll pour it and get some more,” Slack said, but she was only being discreet again, and leaving us alone.

"I must say, you don’t look any the worse after last night’s frolic,” he said, with his eyes lingering on my face.

"Never mind thinking to trick me out of an explanation with that old stunt. I mean to hear why you have taken to smuggling with your cousin, Louie FitzHugh.”

"Officer Smith, I understand, is your informant? Well, it’s true enough. Louie is one of my family connections.”

"How nice for you!” I said, settling back with my coffee.

“Convenient, certainly. He is the best seaman in Pevensey. Louie could land a ship in the middle of a howling storm without wetting the decks. But, of course, he’s part Clavering, and that must explain his skill.”

“As well as that little streak of larceny that seems to run in the Clavering blood.”

“Quite. We have some fine gold plate and jewelled crosses at home that one of our ancestors helped himself to in Peru when he was sailing with Sir Francis Drake. We have been at it for centuries.”

“Shall we dispense with ancient history and get right down to the present pirate in the family?”

“Smuggler. There is a shade of difference. Louis is a smuggler only. Well, throw in bribing officials, to revert to history.”

“But not the only smuggler, nor only briber of officials, either.”

“It gets dull, you know, sitting in the House in London, listening to long-winded speeches, then coming home and talking to tenant farmers and bailiffs. Everyone needs a little excitement in his life.”

“Not everyone chooses to indulge his whim by turning smuggler, and even those who
do
do not in the general way set themselves up as pillars of rectitude, looking down on the smuggling community. And I think you must surely be the only aristocratic smuggler in all of England.”

“No, no. I can tell you for a fact my cousin, Lord Tremaine, is also active. He operates from Dover.”

“Well upon my word! And you said not a month ago you were going to replace Officer Smith because he is not wide-awake enough!”

“But I didn’t do it, you notice. His somnolent manner of proceeding suits me very well.”

“Clavering, do you mean to sit there and tell me unashamedly that you are a
smuggler?”
I demanded in astonishment, for I was sure he’d try to put some good face on it.

“I am a little ashamed,” he confessed. “But there’s no real harm in it. It keeps Louie and the boys out of worse mischief.”

“If you were ever found out, you would be
disgraced.”

“It would be embarrassing, and that is why I am come to ask if you could find it in your heart to overlook the events of last night.”

“You’re asking me to conspire in crime?”

“Not actually take an active part. ‘Watch the wall, my darling.’ It is an old..."

“Yes, I know all about it. George told me. Good God! Is George in on this, too?”

“He doesn’t work with my group,” Clavering answered blandly.

“Then you admit you are in charge. You called it
your
group.”

“You didn’t expect me to take commands from Louie FitzHugh? I organize the runs, but we use Lou’s ship, the
Nancy-Jane,
and he is the better sailor, so he is the captain of the ship. Nominally he is in command at sea, I suppose. A difference has not arisen on the high seas to put it to the test.”

“You mean you actually go to France with them?” The more he talked, the less could I credit that he was telling the truth.

"That’s the best part. The rest of it is
work.”

“And that’s where you’ve been these past days, when you let it out that you were in London at Parliament?”

“Yes, we got back last evening, in the teeth of a booming gale, but Cousin Louie is up to anything. You spoke of my deception in making clear my displeasure with the smugglers, but that keeps Smith pretty well away from my stretch of coast, you know. I have my own patrol out, so he doesn’t bother with it. He feels they wouldn’t dare land here, and my warnings of mantraps keep the lands free of trespassers who are likely to disturb us in transit from sea to chapel, so we have pretty clear running. I don’t think there is much risk of being discovered. Really, I think I have devised an admirable arrangement.”

“I doubt Leo Milkin, the cripple at the inn, would agree with you. To gain freedom of detection in
criminal
proceedings at the cost of crippling probably dozens of men..."

“There is not a mantrap of any kind on any of my land.”

“But you’ve posted your signs, and killed all your
foxes!”

“Oh, killing my poor foxes, that was the hardest part of the whole thing. How I hated to part with them. But as to the signs, it is not illegal to post without actually laying the traps. I looked into it. It is illegal to trap without posting, but not to post without trapping.”

“How did the man at the inn come to be crippled then, eel?”

“He fell into an excavation at the ruined chapel one night he was drunk, and broke or sprained his ankle. As I had posted my signs the day before, it was generally assumed he was my first victim, and as it proved so efficacious in keeping others away, I did nothing to allay the rumour. In fact, he was paid handsomely to drag his limb around town and tell everyone he met what had happened to him, as a warning.”

“You actually
paid
the man to blacken your character?”

“No, just to lie a little.”

“Yes, you’re fond of that. The lies you’ve been telling me. You knew all the time why my grate was shaking, with your men rolling their brandy around and banging against the walls, and you let me go on worrying.”

“It was accidental at first. I was away, first in London and later in France when you came here, and by the time I got back you had already bought up Seaview. If only I had known your aunt wished to sell, what a lot of bother we would both have been saved. I really am eager to restore the bite to the tip of my piece of pie. I would have bought it gladly, even if it had been standing empty. But no, you were in and complaining of the noisy chimney before I knew what was happening. It was accidental the first time, but when you spoke of ghosts and proved impervious to all my lies and bribery, we decided to see if we couldn’t scare you out. I went down one night and Louie the next morning and gave the wall a couple of good boots. But you reciprocated by calling in Pickering to hint you toward the parson’s bench, and when you began speaking of excavating..."

“And you knew all along that there was no fort underneath Seaview.”

“I regretted I had chosen a
fort
when I remembered the remains of one at Pevensey, just three miles away. Once Slack took up an interest in the hobby I was in constant dread she would tumble to it.”

“I
was the one who tumbled to it. I knew it couldn’t be another fort. What is it, by the way?”

"The remains of a villa. The wall that forms one foundation wall of your cellar is part of a drawing room. Rather a nice mural on one wall, but badly deteriorated. It was a large affair, the villa, covering the better part of an acre. Must have been a pretty wealthy gent. I believe my little ruined chapel is built on the remains of some private temple, for it is too small to have been for public use. My great-grandfather is the one who made the discoveries, and first became interested in all this digging business. When he built Seaview, he had dug out most of the land between the chapel and there, and put in the underground tunnel at that time. It runs from the chapel to the foundation of your cellar, and up into your parson’s bench, of course. I can’t think why he did it, for there was an unusual period of peace prevailing at the time, under Robert Walpole. But we had just made peace with France after the Spanish Succession Wars, and it may have been thought the peace would not long be with us. Nor was it, in historical time lengths. Or it might have been done to give easy but private access to the remains of the villa without laying them open to the elements. In any case, he had the tunnel built, and it is an excellent place to hide the goods.”

“I don’t see why you have to bring it all the way into the room that joins my house.”

“We don’t. It is left about ten feet inside the mouth of the tunnel, but that room is the only one in good repair, with all the walls standing. The rest of them are crumbling badly. In fact, they are shored up, and the tunnel leads to only that one room. I have the plans of the villa at home, but only that one room is actually open, and it is an excellent place for the men to hide out, for they can’t hang about in Pevensey, you know, and I certainly don’t want a gang of Frenchies at Belview causing talk.”