The Wily Wastrel Read online

  Even the need to slip back into the inn unnoticed did not daunt her. Nor the way James tried to frown at her. There was too much concern patent in his fine gray eyes. Too much warmth in the way they caressed her. Perhaps, she thought, he did care after all.

  Chapter 21

  Over the breakfast table, James eyed Juliet warily. They’d both been too tired the night before to do anything more than fall into bed and go to sleep. But there was a look in her eyes this morning that he greatly distrusted. What the devil was he going to tell her when she started asking her questions?

  But Juliet didn’t ask any questions. Instead she said, “Since I do not think you were attempting to signal to smugglers, I must believe that you were trying to signal all the way across the channel.”

  James gaped at her, too stunned even to disagree.

  Juliet dabbed daintily at her lips then went on in a disturbingly calm voice. “You have not discussed the matter with me since we were in London; nevertheless I have been thinking about it and I have one or two suggestions of how you might increase the output of light.”

  This, however, was too much for James. “What makes you believe that the output is the only essential factor? Perhaps I want the minimum light that will do the trick!”

  He growled the words, frustration patent in his voice. Juliet’s eyes opened wide. Then she reached across the table and put her hand over his. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed softly. “An even better challenge for us!”

  James blinked. He started to speak and stopped. Finally his shoulders began to shake. He was laughing. He could not help himself. What else was there to do when one had a wife like Juliet?

  She was not amused. “Do you think I cannot help you?” she demanded.

  Abruptly he stopped laughing and placed his other hand over hers. “I think perhaps I would be foolish not to let you try,” he said.

  Then she smiled. “Good. Now tell me, what have you tried thus far?”

  ———

  At Dover Castle, the governor of the place regarded his visitor with even greater impatience than he had greeted the gentleman from London. This fellow was, after all, only the chaplain’s assistant and why should it be thought necessary that he meet with him? Except that there seemed to be some sort of mystery about the fellow. No one quite knew who had accepted the orders assigning him to Dover Castle. And there had, after all, been those odd goings-on last night around the tower.

  Meanwhile, even as the governor studied him, the chaplain’s assistant regarded the governor with just as much interest. There was even a certain gleam in his eyes that the governor found most disconcerting. The moment they were alone, however, the chaplain’s assistant spoke first.

  “Do you not remember me, Whiskers?”

  The governor gaped. “Baines?” he demanded, an incredulous look on his face. He peered closer. “Damned if it isn’t! Always were good at disguises, as I recall. But what are you doing here? And when on earth did you become a chaplain’s assistant, anyway?”

  Frederick Baines, gentleman and sometimes much more, quietly explained. At least he explained as much as he thought proper. By the time he was done, the governor had given his assurances that no one would investigate anything that occurred at the bell tower, no matter what bizarre things appeared to be happening there.

  “What excuse shall I give my men?” the governor of Dover Castle asked thoughtfully.

  Baines hesitated. “You’ve heard, no doubt, about the contretemps with smugglers last night?”

  The governor was even more hesitant. And defensive. “Langford told me to order my men not to pay any attention to him. No matter what! And they didn’t.”

  “Yes, yes, to be sure,” Baines agreed. “Now let us use that to advantage. Let slip word that the government has decided to see if the smugglers can be confounded by having lights flashed from the bell tower.”

  The governor slowly nodded. “Yes, it might work. It certainly sounds plausible. Who will be doing this flashing of light? You and Langford?”

  Frederick Baines smiled. “For a while. Then I’ll do it alone. Eventually there will be another man to take my place. He’ll be reliable and I promise I shall bring him to meet you first.”

  “All right.” The governor paused. Then, as if he could not help himself, he asked in a burst of words, “What part does Langford have in all of this? I should think that you, of all people, would distrust old Darton’s son!”

  Baines hesitated again. He chose his words carefully. “There is not,” he said, “everything known, I think, about that case. Suspicions, yes, but never proved. And I have reason to believe they might have been false.”

  It was patent the governor struggled with himself. Finally he shrugged. “If you are satisfied, I suppose there is nothing for me to cavil at. But I tell you bluntly I don’t like it!”

  “Yes, well, young Langford will be gone soon,”

  Baines said, rising to his feet. He held out his hand to his old friend. “Thank you. It is important, you know.”

  The governor smiled a wry smile. “I rather thought it was, if you were involved.”

  Again Baines waved a careless hand. “I’m only a minor character.”

  The governor snorted. “Oh, sure. Just as you were a minor character in the old days, in the Mediterranean. No, no, that won’t wash with me! But never mind. You’ve gotten what you wanted and meanwhile I’ve a mystery on my hands, but one, you may be sure, I shan’t be foolish enough to attempt to investigate.”

  Baines nodded and took his leave. The governor was left to explain to his aide de camp that the chaplain’s assistant who had just left was rather more important than he seemed and that he was to be given all possible assistance should he ask for it. Just why the chaplain’s assistant was important the governor left to his aide’s imagination, although he did indeed hint that it had to do with stopping smugglers.

  ———

  James rose to his feet at the sight of Harry coming into their private parlor. He blinked several times then said, “What is it, Harry? Surely you are not calling off the experiment so soon?”

  The major shook his head. “No. Quite the opposite. We have sufficient results. My contact got word to me yesterday. The experiment was a complete success.”

  The next several minutes were spent with Harry and James talking over which signals had been most effective and whether they ought to be refined even further.

  As they were talking, Juliet came into the room. Instantly Harry fell silent. Both men rose to their feet. A tiny frown creased her brow as she greeted them.

  Harry shot a significant look at James then bowed and said, “I must take my leave now. I trust you understand everything?”

  “The signals, you mean,” Juliet said in a knowing way.

  At Harry’s look of dismay, James hastened to say, “She caught us at it. But she’s been a great help, truly she has, and she won’t gossip. Will you, my love?”

  For a long moment she gazed at him with a dazed look in her eyes. “Did you call me love?” she asked, in a voice that was not altogether steady.

  He nodded—bravely, Harry thought. She took a deep breath and then turned to the major. “You needn’t worry. I understand fully the need for secrecy. I’m not such a fool that I can’t keep a still tongue in my head.”

  Harry made up his mind in an instant. He bowed to her again and said, a wry smile quirking at the corners of his mouth, “I never thought you were.”

  He offered her a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, somehow, in doing so, he managed to spill some on her dress. To his chagrin, she did not leave the room to change but settled for mopping at it with a napkin.

  Harry sighed inwardly and gave it up as a bad cause. Clearly he was not going to be rid of her and perhaps it was just as well. If she were to prove as resourceful as Philip’s wife, she might be useful at some point.

  His thoughts were so occupied that at first he did not hear James. And then, when he did, the words seemed to make no se
nse.

  “Please wait a moment, Harry. I’ve got to go and get Father’s mirror.”

  The major looked at Juliet. She looked away and bit her lower lip. Apparently, as odd as James had sounded, she at least understood what he meant.

  Fortunately for Harry’s peace of mind, James returned shortly. But instead of carrying a mirror, he held out a letter to Harry.

  The major took it and started to read. He was rather astonished to find it was in French, but his facility with languages was something of a legend in the family and he made the translation even quicker than Juliet had done. He looked up sharply at both of them, his face pale.

  “How and where was this found?” he asked, with an indrawn breath.

  James and Juliet looked at one another. Finally she said, “I dropped the mirror.”

  “Mirror?”

  “Father’s mirror. From his dressing case,” James explained. “I’ve never liked the thing. Far too ornate for my taste. So I’ve never used it. Apparently it had a false back and the letter was hidden inside.”

  “Have you read it?” Harry asked.

  “I have,” Juliet said. “And I found it most disturbing.”

  “Why the devil would Father have had such a letter in his possession?” James demanded. “He had no love for the French! Yes, yes, I know he championed the rights of the poor, but he never felt England ought to go the way of France! Not after they murdered all those people.”

  “So far as we know, he did not champion the French,” Harry replied, a grim edge to his voice. “But can we be certain? This is a most damning letter.”

  He looked again at the letter, paying particular attention to the signature. He shook his head, more than once. Finally he handed the letter back to James.

  “Keep this safe,” Harry said. “I would take it with me but I think it better not to do so. I will, however, ask about and see if I can discover anything. I cannot believe it means what it seems to mean but I will allow that it makes me uneasy.”

  “Nor I,” James agreed. He paused, then asked with patent concern in his voice, “You will be discreet? If anyone else were to learn of this letter, it would be the most appalling scandal.”

  Harry smiled and it was not a pretty smile. “No one shall know a thing,” he said in a voice that made both Juliet and James shudder.

  And then he was himself again, the carefree young officer. Major Harry Langford bowed lightly, gallantly, then said, “I must be going. I thank you, James, and you, Juliet, for all your assistance.”

  “Where do you go from here?” Juliet had the temerity to ask.

  Harry smiled a seraphic smile. He waved a hand carelessly. “To the castle. Perhaps pay my respects to the governor. And then, why then I might walk about a bit and visit the church and the bell tower.”

  Then, with another bow and more words of polite leave-taking, Harry was gone.

  ———

  Harry knelt in the church. He prayed with the fervor of a man who knew he might be going to his death. He prayed with the fervor of one who knew he might be observed.

  And he was. He had scarcely risen to his feet when someone came up the aisle toward him. “May I help you?” the man asked gently.

  They recognized each other at perhaps the same moment. A matching smile lit both faces briefly. Then the same wariness, the same cautious gaze around to make certain they were not being watched.

  “I am the chaplain’s assistant here,” Frederick Baines said with unctuous concern. “Perhaps you would like to have me point out the features of our little chapel?”

  “I should like that very much,” Harry replied gravely. “I have not seen it before.”

  Then, as they made the circuit of the small church, they talked softly, so softly no one standing even two feet away could have overheard what they were saying.

  “It worked?”

  “Marvelously well. The French presumed it to be smugglers.”

  “Here the smugglers presumed it to be ghosts.”

  The two men smiled for a moment at one another, then resumed their discourse. It centered, for a bit, on intensity of light and length of time it was safe to be sending messages and how often.

  Then, “You will undertake to supervise this side of things?”

  Frederick Baines bowed. “I have already arranged to be responsible for the bell tower. No one will question what I do up there.”

  “Good. You know I am very grateful to you for your part in this.”

  Baines smiled a wry smile. “I liked your father. He would have wanted me to help you.”

  At the mention of the late Lord Darton, Harry’s expression grew grim. Of a sudden he was no longer so certain Baines was the right person to whom he should entrust the task of overseeing the signaling.

  The other man put a hand on Harry’s arm. Softly he said, “You had best go. It would not do to draw attention to the connection between us.”

  In an instant Harry made up his mind. Letter or no letter, he could not believe his father had been a traitor. And even if he were, Frederick Baines had served the government well in the Mediterranean and there was no reason to believe he would not do so again, here.

  Harry nodded. “Thank you for all your assistance,” he said. “I will send you word, if necessary, through the same channels as before.”

  Baines bowed gravely, as though giving a benediction to the young soldier going off to war, and then they parted, Harry striding purposefully out of the church and Baines moving to carry out his duties as assistant to the chaplain of the church.

  In one of the more disreputable inns to be found in Dover, a group of men sat and grumbled amongst themselves.

  “I tell you there’s no such thing as ghosts!”

  “You wouldn’t say so if you had been there.”

  “Even if there are, them two was up in the tower more’n one night and the ghosts didn’t bother ‘em none.”

  “They must’a been laughing their heads off thinking about how we run away,” one man said slyly.

  That earned him a glare from their leader, but he could tell his words had hit their mark. It would take time, but their leader was not a man to take defeat lightly. There would be something done, there would. And none too soon, he thought with grim satisfaction.

  Chapter 22

  When they were alone in the parlor again, Juliet turned to James. There was a hint of wistfulness in her gaze as she said, “So the experiment is over? And just as I was finally about to be able to help you?”

  James nodded absently, his mind on other things.

  Juliet tried again. “Will you need to collect your equipment?”

  “No, I shall leave it for the man at the tower to use. Harry will explain everything to the fellow; we need not go within the castle walls again.”

  Really, it was very provoking, Juliet thought, feeling suddenly unaccountably shy. She started to speak again but then James looked at her in such a way, with such anguish in his eyes, that she actually took a step backward.

  “James, what is the matter?”

  He looked at her and gave a sigh of patent exasperation. “I do not wish to feel the way I do,” he said. “I do not wish to blame you for finding the letter, for making both Harry and myself doubt our father. But I find that I cannot help doing so.”

  Shaken, Juliet reached out a hand toward him. “James, I’m sorry! Had I known—”

  “Had you known, you would not have dropped the mirror?” James demanded. “I am sorry but it is too late for that. But in the future I shall expect you to leave my possessions alone. And should you ever find a second letter, I hope to God you may have the sense to burn it.”

  “But you said I should not!” she protested.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “I was mistaken.”

  And then he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

  “James!” she called out after him.

  He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  Her expression ough
t to have melted his reserve. It did not. And when she saw that it did not, Juliet dropped the hand she was holding out to him.

  “I did not think, indeed you told me you were not, a man who would run from the truth,” she said.

  And because, in general he was not, James left the private parlor all that much the faster. Behind him, just before he closed the door, he heard her sink onto a chair and he knew, even without looking, that there would be an expression of despair on her face.

  But he could not bring himself to care.

  Whom could he talk with about this? No one! He dare not let anyone else know about the letter. Certainly not George. Perhaps Philip. But Philip was back in London. And to be sure, Harry had said they could go back to London, that Baines would take over the signaling at the bell tower, but James found himself strangely reluctant to tell yet another brother what he had found.

  It went against the grain to give even a moment’s credence to the notion that his father had been a traitor. And yet the letter was damning. As was the fact that his father had kept it hidden in the back of a mirror. If the correspondence had been an innocent thing, why hide it at all?

  Lost in these thoughts, James wandered about the town aimlessly. At some point he finally noticed the whispering, and just as he realized the voices sounded a great deal like those of the smugglers from the night before, something struck the back of his head.

  ———

  Juliet was not a patient woman. When James did not return to the inn within the hour, she decided, perhaps unwisely, to go looking for him. She questioned Woods closely but he swore that Mr. Langford had told him nothing of what he intended, nothing of where he meant to go save that he was certain he had not gone up to the castle.

  It was irrational, Juliet knew, but she began to grow worried. She would have spoken with James’s brother Harry but that would have meant trying to seek him out at Dover castle. Even if she could find him there, what would she say? That she and James had had a fight? Harry had a ship to catch. She could not risk causing him to miss it when she had no better cause than this.

  Instead, she decided, she would walk about the town and see if she could find James. But not in a gown stained with coffee.