The Lonely Earl (14 page)

The conversation subsided into normal channels of frothy chatter, and Hugh contented himself with watching Faustina’s color ebb and flow. Perhaps, a wayward thought came to him, perhaps she was right about Althea! Perhaps he had neglected the child. If Faustina truly had the child’s interest at heart, and dared to brave his own stifling anger, then there was something in the girl that he must respect.

He dismissed the thought at once. She thought him a monster, didn’t she? He hardened his heart against Faustina.

“But how brave you are,” marveled Lady Waverly, not for the first time. “I vow I would be cringing inside my bed curtains if someone shot at me!”

“How absurd, Aunt Louisa!” said Faustina shortly. She had been more worried than she wanted to think about when word came that Hugh had been shot at the night before. She had envisioned him lying in his own blood — “weltering” was the word — in the night, with no one to carry the news to the Hall while his life ebbed away. It was a picture that she had difficulty in thrusting away.

And here the victim was in ha drawing room, full of vitality and good spirits, as though nothing untoward had happened! She was furious with him.

“How absurd,” Faustina repeated. “You see, nothing has happened to him. Why should he be fearful?”

“Because of the next time, of course,” said Hugh with a smile. “I must trust that, if I am indeed the target, his hand shakes more than mine, you see.”

“You have no idea who shot at you?” demanded Faustina.

“None whatever. A poacher, I suppose, imagining he had a free hand since we were all engaged at Kennett Chase.”

Faustina’s face was easily readable, the earl realized. She was very close to arguing the point of the poacher with him, and he revised his opinion of her intelligence. He hurried to divert the conversation into channels he had carefully prepared.

“I must tell you what Miss Astley suggested,” he invented, “and then you will let me know what you think of it She thought it would be great fun if we all arranged for a picnic along the beach. I remember there was a suitable cove not too far away, on the bay. Is it still there, or have the tides altered the beach much?”

With the question, he turned to Faustina for the answer. She did not have time to veil the angry fire leaping in her eyes. Helen Astley! Helen suggested a picnic, and Hugh leaped to agree. She herself promised a picnic to Althea, and he forbade the diversion. How unfair he was! How arrogant, how full of bare-faced hypocrisy — she could not think of words severe enough for him, and wished she had listened more closely in her childhood to the uninhibited phraseology of the groom who taught her to ride.

Hugh hastily turned back to Lady Waverly. Faustina had reacted in the appropriate fashion for his scheme, and he was content, for now.

“But if you do not go, Lady Waverly, then we cannot go at all.”

Louisa was enchanted. This was how life should be: a handsome earl — he was handsome, almost — siting for her presence at an occasion. Not like that dreadful Abernethy! Her self-esteem, flattened by the dashing captain’s perfidy, began to pick itself up.

Her only thought when she had decided to abandon London and come down to Devon had been to immure herself beyond sight and sound of her onetime friends in London. Even Beaufort, she considered, was not far enough away. But no one would look for her at Kennett Chase, to see how she was taking the captain’s defection, and hurry back to London to spread the word.

But several days’ reflection on the journey had provided her with a new interest. Dame Rumor in London said that young Hugh Crale, having succeeded to the title, was coming home, a widower. With a title and extensive lands, he would be a catch indeed. And since Julia at hand was an ever-present reminder of her own hurrying years, she formed a scheme. And so far, it was all going swimmingly!

“How charming!” said Louisa warmly.

Hugh moved on to the planning of the picnic. “Leave it all to me,” he suggested. “Mrs. Robbins will provide us with the picnic baskets. And of course Miss Waverly will join us?”

While Faustina fumed, the picnic was arranged. There was nothing for her to do in connection with the excursion — not even, she realized with a feeling of disbelief, attend. For she apprehended that she had not been invited.

Lady Waverly, yes. And Julia. And of course Helen Astley!

Hugh, with a nice sense of timing, said, “Miss Kennett? I fear you are weary from your delightful party. But, of course, if you feel up to it by tomorrow afternoon, we should be glad of your company.”

Poised on the brink of a punishing negative, Faustina quickly determined that would not do. “How good of you to ask me,” she said with an appearance of languidness. “I shall be delighted. If, of course, I feel up to it!”

Mystified, Julia said brightly, “I’ve never seen you look better, Faustina. Truly,” she added enthusiastically to Hugh, “my cousin has unbelievable energy and spirits. A small thing like last night’s party would not overcome her, I assure you.”

Faustina was suddenly amused at her young cousin’s efforts on her behalf. Since Faustina had decided she would go on the outing if she had to crawl, Julia need not go to such lengths to reassure Hugh.

“And of course,” said Hugh, “I should have to have company for myself. Aubrey Talbot and perhaps Ned will join us. I must speak to Lord Egmont.”

He took a graceful leave, but turned at the door. “By the way, will it be a nuisance if my daughter comes? I think she might enjoy an outing such as this. Lady Waverly, what do you think?”

He addressed Lady Waverly, but his eyes rested challengingly on Faustina. He was bamming her, she realized suddenly, and his impertinence flooded her with anger. Well, if it would please him to make her angry with him, then she would not give him that satisfaction. He would see that not every woman met provocation with temper.

It was an effort. But she managed to bestow upon Hugh a benevolent smile of approval, and had the satisfaction of seeing the faintest of surprised expressions flit across his face.

Hugh Crale had not heard the last of this, she vowed silently. Taking her own idea, her own picnic, stolen by Helen and brought back altered in major structure, with Faustina a dubious guest and Althea an afterthought… She bestowed her attention on a large rose in the carpet and forced silence on herself.

Fortunately for her self-control, he left the ladies, crossed the hall, and let Bone announce him to Lord Egmont.

Inside the library, Lord Egmont sat at his desk, Ned Waverly in a deep chair close by. The expressions of both men were unwontedly grave. “Perhaps I intrude?” suggested Hugh quietly. “I can come again…”

“Not at all, Pendarvis,” said Ned. “Bone, close the door, please.”

At Ned’s calm taking charge, Hugh raised an eyebrow. But he said only, “I came simply to inform Lord Egmont that I have invited the ladies to a picnic on the shore tomorrow, and happily they have accepted. I will ask Aubrey Talbot, whom I have known for years, and I also want to invite you to attend — if you wish, Lord Egmont, although I can’t imagine it would be amusing. Now, as to Ned, perhaps you would find the outing diverting?”

Egmont said heavily, “Hugh, I understand you were shot at last night. On Kennett land?”

“News travels, doesn’t it? I had quite forgot until Lady Waverly also seemed aware of the mishap.”

“Forgot?” burst out Ned. “That you were shot at? That argues a certain amount of aplomb that I must say I envy.”

‘‘Not at all,” said Hugh. ‘I meant to say that I had forgotten how swiftly news travels in the country. But no doubt it travels equally fast in London.” He turned to Egmont. “No, sir, it was on my own land. And while I have not talked to Maddox yet, I expect it will prove to be a poacher with faulty eyesight.”

“All very well to laugh about it,” muttered Egmont. “I would myself. But it’s a dangerous thing to have shots flying about.”

“I quite agree,” said Hugh wryly. “Revanche was wounded in the neck, and while it is not serious, the next time could be.”

“Then,” said Ned, pouncing, “you agree that there could be a next time?”

“Until Maddox ensnares the poacher, I suppose it is only common sense to expect another shot. I have decided not to frequent dark coppices on moonlight nights.”

“Is it possible that a poacher is not at fault?” pursued Ned.

“We will not know,” said Hugh pleasantly, “until we find out who fired the shots, will we?”

“Shots?” said Egmont. “One wounded your steed. But I did not know there were two.”

“The other, I am sorry to say,” said Hugh lightly, “ruined my new coat that Nugee made for me only last month.”

“That close!” exclaimed Egmont.

“Maybe they mistook you for someone else,” suggested Ned.

Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps they did,” he said frostily. “I confess I weary of the subject.”

But Ned, if Hugh meant to snub him, did not seem aware of it. “But only a few people could be expected through that shortcut. Do you know of any enemies you might have?”

Hugh rose. Ominously he said, “I fear that my affairs intrude too much on you, Ned…”

“Sit down, Hugh, if you please,” said Egmont with a resumption of his authority. “Ned, your questions are out of line. You should see that. Unless you explain to Hugh what you told me earlier.”

“I quite agree,” said Hugh, sitting down again. There was a serious note in the two men that alerted Hugh, and he was prepared to give them his full attention. Secretly, he knew he was snatching at a hope that the reason for the shooting — which seemed to exercise Ned to the fullest — might be found in some endeavor far removed from Crate Hall, and from young Vincent Crale. Hugh had not quite admitted to himself that he suspected his half-brother, but neither had he convinced himself that Vincent was innocent of all wrongdoing.

Hugh leaned back in his chair. Upon prompting by Lord Egmont, Ned embarked on what promised to be a long narrative. Hugh was not disappointed.

“I don’t know how much you know about my work,” said Ned, with a reluctant glance at his uncle.

“Nothing,” said Hugh promptly.

“Without going into too much detail,” said Ned, “please understand that what I tell you is in confidence. My uncle vouches for your discretion, and I must accept that.” He looked a question at Hugh, who nodded once.

“Very well, then. It has come to the attention of certain departments of the government that there has been a marked increase in the incidence of smuggling. Especially upon the Devon coast.”

Hugh watched him unwaveringly.

“And while it is illegal to import brandy and certain cloth-stuffs from the continent without paying the excise tax, it is in the long run a crime that probably cannot be stamped out completely. Not,” he added with some bitterness, “while gentlemen like their brandy and wink at the countraband goods.”

“The brandy in that decanter,” announced Egmont, “paid its tax. In case you were wondering, Ned.”

Ned had the grace to flush slightly. “I meant nothing, Uncle James. But now, not only does the government need the increased revenue that enforcement would bring in, but also there’s a worse threat.”

“Worse than money?” said Hugh lightly.

“You’ve just come from France,” said Ned bluntly. “You know what the situation is there, with Bony splitting his waistcoast with his swelling ambition.” 

“Not France,” corrected Hugh mildly. “Brussels. I haven’t been in France for some years.”

Ned shot him a disbelieving glance. “Well, then, Bony’s getting ready to declare war on England. And there’s a certain amount of contraband that may come over walking on two legs.”

Egmont snorted. “Spies, he means.”

“Already?” asked Hugh.

“We have word,” said Ned, as though neither had spoken, “that there is something big in the wind. Someone of great importance will be brought ashore.”

“As though he were a keg of brandy?” asked Hugh in disbelief.

Stubbornly Ned said, “Much like that. Although they will have to come inshore to land the man. Not like…” He glanced sharply at Hugh.

“You mean the process by which they anchor the kegs just under the surface of the water far offshore, so they can be picked up later by the locals,” said Hugh. “I trust that my knowledge of that bit of lore doesn’t throw my innocence in jeopardy.”

Egmont intervened. “Ned’s not trying to trap you, Hugh.”

“I should like to hear Ned tell me so,” said Hugh calmly, “for he seems above all things suspicious’of me.”

Ned seemed to struggle with inner thoughts. Finally he said, “No, I’m not trying to trap you. But I tell you that I will prevent the landing of any French spy on our coast.”

“I quite agree,” said Hugh. “And I must tell you in all honesty that this is the first I have heard of any smuggling. I am just back from an extended sojourn abroad, you know, and I cannot help you. I have lost touch, you may imagine, with local malefactors. In any case, I don’t quite see that there is a connection between someone shooting in my coppice and Napoleon. You say the spy has not yet landed? Then he can’t have been the man in my coppice, can he?”

“Of course not.”

“And it seems to me — without prejudice, you understand — that no spy worth his salt would be loosing his gun in such a stupid, noisy fashion.”