Memoirs of a Hoyden Read online

  Ronald cleared his throat. “Er, does that mean you want me to go with you, Kestrel?” There was much less suspicion than eagerness in his voice.

  “I could use some assistance. I would have taken you into my confidence earlier, Ronald, but I feared that would mean having Miss Mathieson hanging around our necks as well. This is no business for a lady. I must warn you, there’s some danger in it. I confirmed from Sir Herbert earlier this evening that the smuggled ship­ment of brandy is expected tonight. I’m fairly certain the letter will go to France on that boat when it leaves. My hope is that we’ll catch our contact from Longville Manor when the letter is delivered to the boat, as we obviously missed it earlier. We may have to deal with a cutthroat band of smugglers, which is why I could use your help. And obviously why I don’t want Miss Math­ieson involved.”

  Mr. Kidd was addressed as Ronald to confer a spu­rious air of camaraderie. Whether it was that or the lure of danger, or the opportunity to pitch himself into an adventure denied me that convinced Ronald, I could not say. His reply, however, was “I should be honored to assist you, Kestrel.”

  He was too poor a liar to be pre­tending to believe Kestrel. He did believe him. I, being “well over thirty,” had to be wise for us both, and maintain my doubts, and my vigilance over Ronald. Though I wasn’t too old to hope Kestrel was not a trai­tor. Beneath his impertinent question, there was a tone of interest about Miss Mathieson.

  In my mind, I pictured the short ensuing silence was due to one of Kestrel’s conning smiles. “I wish you will call me Nick, as I’ve taken the liberty of using your Christian name.”

  “That’s odd!” Ronald exclaimed, and laughed. Oh no! The idiot wasn’t going to blurt out that I had asked if he knew Kestrel’s name.

  “It’s short for Nicholas; not Old Nick—Satan.” I breathed a small sigh of relief. It was short-lived.

  “No, what is odd, Marion was just asking me a mo­ment—a short while ago, when I spoke to her upstairs, what your name was.”

  “Was she indeed? You can tell her when next you two meet, not that she’ll ever use it. You’ll need some peace offering after beating her to the gun in catching the spies. But more importantly, you’ll need some pro­tection for tonight’s escapade. Let’s go to the arma­ments room now and find you something.”

  “Yes, by Jove, and this time I’ll make sure the trig­ger ain’t welded shut. Odd Marion didn’t notice that.” They both gave a superior little laugh at my oversight. You would think Ronald had been outside the door dur­ing the transaction, and not holding the pistol and prais­ing its balance.

  They left, taking the candles with them, and I stood up, to ease the cramps out of my knees. My humor was about as black as the room. I would crown Ronald with a water jug after this was over. A private secretary is not expected to announce his employer’s most intimate secrets to the public. If he insists on doing so, he might at least get the facts straight. “Well over thirty”! Nick would think I was an antique. And like a typical man, Ronald hadn’t even the wits to discover Kestrel’s age, or anything about him.

  All this would provide much rancorous repining later, and much angry debate, but for the moment, I had more important things to do. Paramount amongst them was to discover the location of the armaments room, and avail myself of a weapon. Ronald might at least have had the wits to leave the door open. He knew I would be following. The damn knob began to squawk when I turned it. I had to wait till the men were beyond hearing to open it and follow them. It was almost impossible to see anything in the hallway. It was only the telltale glow of the candle ahead that showed me the location of the armaments room, a few doors down and to the right, Naturally, I had to wait till Ronald had procured a weapon and left before I was after mine.

  One cannot choose a weapon in the dark, which meant wasting precious minutes finding the tinderbox and a lamp. A paneled room sprang into dim view, its walls plastered with all manner of weapons, mostly ancient. There were crossed halberds aplenty from the fifteenth century. A handle six feet long was longer than I re­quired, nor did I particularly wish to spear the enemy. There were pikes and battle-axes, some handles with spiked heads attached, and standing guard below it all a row of rusty suits of armor and shields. I was sur­prised a sheepbreeder housed such an arsenal, but what was not there was a modern pistol. I could see the spot on the wall where one had been removed for Ronald. The open ammunition box for it still sat on the table.

  What guns remained on the wall were antique weap­ons and hunting guns, great, cumbersome things fit for shooting elephants. I had never used one, and hadn’t a single notion even what sort of ammunition would be required. Precious moments were slipping away. If I waited longer, I’d lose track of the men entirely. Des­perate, I removed the shortest sword I could find on the wall—really, more like a long dagger—and with that under my jacket, I blew out the candle and left.

  Kestrel and Ronald had left the house by then. At least I knew their destination. The coast lay to the south. I hurried to the front door and nearly capsized Miss Longville, on her way out. The sly thing only pretended to agree to my offer of speaking to her papa. She was no more pleased to see me than I was to meet her.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded angrily.

  “You’re supposed to be in bed!” I replied, in the same tone.

  “You’re not my mama. I can go out if I want to.”

  I took a firm grip on her elbow, ruing every sec­ond’s delay. “We shall see what your papa has to say about this.” I prayed she was susceptible to a threat, for my feeling was that her papa was not in the house at all, but en route to the coast. Fortunately for me, she was.

  “Oh, Miss Mathieson!” she sniffled, and pulled out a dainty lace-edged handkerchief. “I must go. Bernard is waiting for me.”

  “You said he was not!”

  “I didn’t want you to know. I must see him.”

  “For God’s sake, go to bed, Nel. This is no time for tears and tantrums.”

  “But I must. I only wanted to see him. I have written everything we agreed on in a letter, and only meant to give it to him and leave.”

  Desperate to be rid of her, I said, “Give me the let­ter. I’ll deliver it for you, with your apologies. Where were you to meet him?”

  “Our trysting place is the big willow tree, down at the end of our private road—just where it turns off from the main road. He’ll be waiting there. Bernard doesn’t like me to have to go off Papa’s property, yet we cannot meet too near the house, in case of being seen.”

  A model of consideration, this Bernard. “Give me the letter,” I said impatiently.

  She handed me a letter, romantically bound up in a satin handkerchief folder, tied with ribbons and scented with violet. “Tell him—tell him I still love him,” she said, dabbing at her tears.

  “Of course. Now you go back to bed, Nel. I’ll report to you in the morning what Bernard said.”

  She nodded and went back upstairs. Her pace was slow, her shoulders sagging. There was an air of res­ignation about her that had been absent earlier. I felt she would really stick to our bargain this time. At long last I was free to continue on my way. I turned the knob and walked out into the cool night.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  The sky overhead bore a resemblance to last night’s sullen gray canopy. The wind was up tonight, too, but it had not that oppressive feeling of imminent rain. There was moisture in the air, carried on the breeze from the ocean, tanged with salt and the aroma of sea­weed. It moved the branches overhead, and pulled at my skirt. This was a night when my trousers would have been welcome. It was rough walking in dainty slippers over the cinder road down to the beach.

  Was it only last night I had slogged through the torrents, fi­nally finding sanctuary in an abandoned cottage? It seemed an age ago. England was proving less dull than I feared. Aurelia was presently involved in the treachery of her own family, but when next she appeared between covers, she might find h
erself mixed up with spies and smugglers.

  Meanwhile it was I who was involved, and I must keep my wits about me.

  As I hastened southward, I peered around the tall and sedate poplars and the more frivolous spreading lime trees that bordered Longville’s drive. Something moved in the road just in front of me, and I nearly screamed, till I learned it was just a small night creature. In my fright, I dropped Nel’s letter. An­other nuisance. I wouldn’t deliver it till after the more important business was settled, unless Kemp was actually there waiting at the willow tree, in which case I’d hand it to him and be on my way.

  When matters of national importance are at stake, one’s first concern should be the safety of the country, but as I went skimming through the night, it was of Ronald’s safety that I thought. And possibly Kestrel’s, if he was indeed innocent. That question bothered me considerably. How would I know? Of course, if I found Ronald backed up against a tree with Kestrel’s muzzle against his chest, there would be no question. If, on the other hand, they were together, Ronald not in imme­diate jeopardy, what course should I take? I would con­ceal myself nearby and watch. Childish dreams whirled in my head of a smuggler creeping up on Kestrel, my­self behind the smuggler, knocking him cold and saving Kestrel’s life. Then he would eat his words about this not being a place for a lady.

  Before I reached the end of the private drive, the pub­lic road was visible ahead, a white ribbon in the night, going to Dover and Hythe. As I hastened toward it, I saw on my left a sprawling willow tree drooping its ropes to the ground. I took a close look, but there was no sign of Mr. Kemp. If he had been waiting since Nel first tried to go to him, he would have given up and gone home. That was an hour ago. I wouldn’t bother stopping at all. I glanced to the left, prepared to go by.

  Even knowing he might be there, Kemp’s sudden ap­pearance scared the wits out of me. He didn’t make a sound, but just detached himself from the shadows and swooped down on me like a bird of prey. Before I knew what was afoot, he had me in his arms, his lips burning a hot kiss on mine, while his strong arms crushed me against him. Expecting Nel, he had mistaken me for her. It flashed into my head that this was a very pas­sionate man for little Miss Longville to have attached. He kissed like a well-seasoned veteran in the war of love. Could this be Bernard Kemp, or was it— The face in my mind as those bold lips seared mine was Kes­trel’s. It was Kestrel’s arms that bound me to him with such ardor. I felt an unexpected, quivering response to his passion. It started at the base of my skull and trem­bled down my spine, making my arms weak, and my breath short.

  After a lusty embrace, he held me off at arm’s length, and I saw that, contrary to my wild imaginings, it was not Kestrel I faced, but a total stranger. A dark, dash­ing, handsome man with teeth that flashed in the shad­ows as he smiled. “Darling!” Then he stopped. A quick frown replaced the smile of welcome. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded roughly.

  I detached myself with what dignity I could. “Mr. Kemp, I assume?”

  “Who are you?” he repeated.

  “I am Miss Longville’s emissary. She was unable to get away tonight, and asked me to deliver her apolo­gies, and this letter.” On this speech, I produced the satin folder. Kemp, for I assumed he must be, reached out and snatched it eagerly.

  In a great rush to be off, I turned to leave. “Oh, and she said to tell you she loves you.”

  He was still holding me by one arm. I looked at his hand rather peremptorily. “I am in a hurry, Mr. Kemp.”

  “But who are you?” he repeated.

  “If you must know, I am Miss Mathieson, a house guest of the Longvilles’.”

  “I didn’t hear they had company.”

  “Well, they have. And now, if you’ll kindly release me.”

  He dropped my arm, and I proceeded on my way. He wasn’t a step behind me. “Where are you going? The Manor is back that way,” he said, pointing back up the drive. There was a certain something in his tone that made me walk more quickly.

  “I am not blind, Mr. Kemp. I know where the house is. I am not going to the house.”

  He soon overtook me. His fingers seized my arm again in a ruthless grasp. “What are you up to?” he scowled.

  “I am on a very important private mission. Let go of me at once or—”

  He pulled me roughly off the drive, into the shadows of the trees. My first spasm of alarm shot a little higher. “Not so fast, miss. I’ll have an explanation, if you please.”

  Much as I disliked to humor the man, he was stronger than I, and extremely persistent. Telling him what he wanted to know seemed the fastest way to be free of him. The urgency of my mission would surely gain my freedom. “If you must know, I am on my way to catch some spies, and it is an extremely urgent matter.”

  “What spies? There are no spies around here.”

  “You are mistaken. There are, and my friend is in some danger of being killed by them.”

  “Who’s your friend? Kestrel?” His voice was cold, ruthless, and held a fair share of contempt.

  Claiming friendship with Kestrel seemed a poor idea. “His name is Mr. Kidd. He’s my secretary.”

  “What’s a lady doing with a secretary?”

  Experience has taught me to keep a calm voice when my insides are shaking. Yes, I admit I was shaking. Though I have been through much, danger still unset­tles me. Our officers in the Peninsula have a saying, Bravery does not consist in feeling no fear, but in over­coming fear.

  “I employ him to conduct my business correspondence and other matters of a private nature,” I answered with seeming composure. Mr. Kemp ap­peared much less handsome than before. There was a hard look on his face, and a rough, indeed menacing, edge to his voice.

  “Tell me more about this spy business,” he said. As he still gripped my arm firmly, I was less curt than I wished to be.

  I quickly outlined the situation. His eyes narrowed and he listened closely. “So you think there’s a letter going out to France on the smuggling boat tonight?”

  “Yes, if we can’t prevent it.”

  “Who, exactly, is we?”

  “Mr. Kidd and myself.”

  “I saw Kestrel in town today. Is he here, too?”

  “He might be joining us,” I said vaguely, but it didn’t fool Kemp.

  “Where are Kestrel and Kidd?”

  “They went down to the coast. I don’t know exactly where, but Kestrel seemed to know the spot. Perhaps you would know where the smugglers land?” I asked.

  “Are they armed?”

  “I assume smugglers and spies arm themselves.”

  “I mean Kestrel!” His voice was quite impatient.

  “Of course they are.”

  “How long ago did they head out?”

  “Good gracious, so many things have happened. It must be a quarter of an hour to twenty minutes. Now please, let me go.”

  I saw the look of indecision on his face. I thought that, like Ronald, Mr. Kemp had a mind to pitch him­self into the fray. He was a strong man, with presum­ably a good knowledge of the coast. Perhaps he’d help me. Imagine my astonishment when he drew a pistol out from beneath his cape and leveled it at me. An ugly laugh rent the air. “You’re as stupid as Nel,” he said.

  I was certain he was going to shoot me. I still think it was only his fear of the resulting noise that deterred him. In any case, I knew I was in mortal danger, and my instinctive response was to open my mouth and holler. Kemp’s reaction was so swift, I didn’t get out more than a grunt before he clamped a hand over my lips and dragged me under the willow tree, with the leaves and branches scratching at my face. The branches touched the ground all around. Under the tree, it was like a private room, pitch black and airless and very still.

  “One squawk out of you and I’ll kill you,” he growled. There was an air about the man that left no doubt as to his seriousness. He pushed me down on the ground and stuck a leather glove into my mouth. Within seconds I was trussed up like a goose for the oven, bound w
ing and leg—wing with his spotted Belcher kerchief, and once my hands were useless, he ripped a piece from my skirt and tied my ankles together. Did it all in the darkness, without a single word, which was somehow more threatening than abuse or curses.

  Truth to tell, I was so relieved he didn’t kill me that I didn’t object to being tied and gagged. The better part of valor is still discretion. When Kemp had me helpless on the ground, he ripped off another strip of my skirt and bound me to the trunk of the willow tree. This done, he peered through the willow branches and soon disappeared through them. With his departure, some tiny shred of peace returned, enough at least to try to figure out why he had done this senseless thing.

  I had done him a favor, bringing him Nel’s letter. Why then had he treated me like an enemy? And Nel— ‘You’re as stupid as Nel!’ he had scoffed. Yet that passionate kiss when he thought I was she. What hypo­crites men are, and what fools we women. Kemp was playing a double game, and before too long, glimmer­ings of it began to dawn on me. Had I not been so startled and frightened by Kemp, no doubt the light would have dawned sooner.

  Meanwhile I was making strenuous efforts to free myself. I had spat out the glove as soon as he left, but shouting was not recommended, lest it bring him back. Freeing my hands, tied behind my back, was the first item of priority. He had bound them so tightly the blood couldn’t circulate properly. Already my fingers were becoming numb.

  Considered in the relative peace and quiet of the wil­low’s branches, Kemp’s close questioning about where I was going and what I was doing appeared ominous. He showed too much interest in my story of spies and smugglers. And I had told him too much—exactly where Kestrel and Ronald were going, that they were armed, what they meant to do. None of it seemed to surprise him either. He had spoken of Kestrel in a disdainful way. As a local fellow, he’d know Kestrel by reputation at least. In short, I feared that what I had done was to send either a spy or a smuggler or both after Ronald and Kestrel. There was no doubt that Kemp was up to some chicanery. His eagerness to go haring off to the coast confirmed it if his questions did not.