Chapter 17.

If the shouts and slamming of doors left anyone in the house unaware of the "newlyweds"' spat, they soon realized it from Benedict's and Camilla's behavior over the next few days. They stayed apart from each other, speaking rarely and then only if they had to. It was well-known among the servants that they slept in separate beds, equally rumpled and disturbed, as if by fitful slumbers, and only a fool would have missed Camilla's icy, remote demeanor or Benedict's air of controlled fury.

Camilla spent most of her time talking in a spritely manner with her aunt Lydia or her cousin Bertram, or locked up in her bedroom, from which retreats she always emerged with reddened eyes. Benedict, on the other hand, spent most of his time in various gentlemanly pursuits, primarily riding horses or playing cards, with Anthony or the other young man, James Woollery, whom they had brought in and installed in one of the other nursery rooms.

Camilla had been rather surprised when Anthony and Benedict brought Woollery into the house, saying that he was a friend of Anthony's and explaining his need to stay in bed the first few days by saying that he had been thrown from his horse on the ride to Chevington Park. It seemed to her a foolhardy move.

"Aren't you afraid that his attacker will try again to kill him?" she asked Anthony, pulling him aside after supper that evening. "It seems to me that you are making him an obvious target."

"Mm. Probably."

"What? How can you be so casual about it?"

"It is part of a plan. Benedict thought it up." The young man's face glowed with enthusiasm, as it always did nowadays, whenever the subject of Benedict came up. Camilla's hand itched to slap him. "James is the bait with which to catch the killer. We are hoping he will try to sneak in some night and dispatch him, and we will be waiting to nab him."

"Is that where Benedict has been sneaking out to in the middle of the night?"

"Yes. He and I take turns standing watch for intruders."

"And I suppose poor Lieutenant Woollery was fool enough to agree to this plan."

"Of course. He thought it was a jolly good idea, and so do I. Really, Camilla, I don't understand why you are so hard on Benedict. Ever since we found out that there is nothing wrong with him, you have been acting exceedingly strangely."

"You would, too, if you had discovered that you had been taken advantage of by someone you trusted."

"That's doing it a bit brown, don't you think?" Anthony replied with brutal candor. "You never trusted him. You thought he was a thief until I convinced you that he was a customs officer. We always regarded him with suspicion."

"But I didn't suspect him of being a lord or a war hero."

"You aren't making any sense." Anthony regarded her with puzzlement. "Honestly, Milla, you are not acting like yourself at all."

Camilla knew that she wasn't. She realized that a great deal of what she said nowadays was bitter, and she spent most of her time either crying or acting far happier than she was. She missed talking to Benedict and being with him; most of all, she missed making love with him. She lay awake half of each night, it seemed, tossing and turning and thinking about Benedict's hands on her body. It seemed bizarre that the absence of the pa.s.sion which they had shared so briefly should make such a huge hole in her life.

"I don't understand why you won't marry him," Anthony went on quietly.

Camilla narrowed her eyes at him. "Did he tell you that?"

"He told me he had asked you. Well, you wouldn't both be so miserable, would you, if you had accepted?"

"I am not miserable."

"I'm not a green 'un, you know," Anthony retorted. "If you are happy, I would hate to see someone sad. Even Grandpapa knows there's something wrong. He was asking me yesterday what it was. He likes Benedict, you know."

"I am well aware of that. My entire family loves him."

"Honestly, Milla, how much more could he do? It wasn't his fault, you know, that my mother told that silly story about your being married to him. Nor was he the one who wanted to pretend to be your fiance. But when you are faced with a ruined reputation because of those things, he up and offered for you, which seems to me the gentlemanly thing to do."

"If that isn't typically male!"

"Well, I am a male," he pointed out reasonably. "But I ain't the only one here who would say he did the right thing. So would Mother and Aunt Beryl, if they knew about it."

"Oh, yes, he's done the right thing," Camilla responded in a goaded tone of voice. She looked at her beloved cousin with exasperation. How could she make him understand that she didn't want Benedict's duty, she wanted his love? She sighed. "Can't you understand? I don't want to hold a man because my mistakes have put us in a compromising position. It would be punishment, not marriage, and I refuse to do that. How would you like it if you had been put in Benedict's position, if you had offered to help a girl, even with ulterior motives of your own, and then you wound up having to marry her in order to save her reputation?"

Anthony looked taken aback at the thought. "I wouldn't like it by half."

"You see? How can I hold him to it? It was gentlemanly of him to offer, but I can't be cold and calculating enough to accept it. Especially after I've heard the lieutenant go on about what a catch Benedict was on the Marriage Mart and how he did not want to marry."

"I daresay it is hard on him," Anthony agreed undiplomatically. "But, Milla, you have to accept. Your reputation is ruined otherwise. Just think of what Aunt Beryl will say."

Camilla let out a low groan. "Please, don't remind me.

There was a pause. Finally Anthony said, "So you aren't going to change your mind?"

"No. I think not."

Anthony sighed. "And everyone says I am the one who doesn't think!"

Camilla retired early. She had grown to hate the nights, the lying awake and thinking about Benedict, wondering what he was thinking and whether he, too, missed the pa.s.sion they had shared. There were times when she thought that she was a fool not to accept Benedict's proposal. Surely marrying a man who did not love her would be better than these long, aching nights alone.

She looked over at his cot against the far wall. It made it ten times harder, his sleeping in the same room. She ought to have insisted that he move up to the nursery with Anthony and Lieutenant Woollery. They could turn it into bachelors' quarters and leave her in peace.

Camilla sighed and began to take down her hair. Perhaps one could make a good marriage out of a mutual l.u.s.t. Certainly couples married who did not have even that much. At least if they were married, she would not feel so restless and unsatisfied all the time. She grimaced, aware of the persistent, throbbing ache between her legs. She wondered if Benedict knew how his sleeping here affected her, and if that was why he continued to do it. It would be just like him. Last night she had lain in bed, pretending to be asleep, while she watched him undress through slitted eyes. There had been a moment, as he lingeringly pulled his shirt off his shoulders and arms when she was convinced he knew she was watching and was making sure she witnessed every little movement. It had been enough to make her close her eyes and turn away.

She rang for her maid, undressed and crawled into bed, determined that tonight she would get some sleep. However, the minutes pa.s.sed slowly, and still she could not sleep. After some time, it occurred to her that Benedict was rather late coming to bed. He usually followed not too long after her.

She found herself waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hall or the door to their bedroom opening. Sleep grew more and more distant. Eventually, she gave in to the need to look at the time. She got out of bed and walked over to the clock on the mantel. It was getting close to midnight. Where could he be? There was nothing to do; everyone in this house retired by this time, even night owls like Aunt Lydia and Cousin Bertram.

She supposed he could be upstairs, playing cards or drinking with James Woollery and Anthony. Or he could have just stayed there to guard Woollery instead of sneaking out of her bedroom later to do it. Or he could be slipping through the dark outside, with Anthony and the almost-recovered lieutenant, on a smuggling mission.

There was a tap on her bedroom door, and she opened it to find her grandfather's ancient valet standing there, her grandfather's spygla.s.s tucked under his arm. It confirmed her worst fears. "Jenkins!"

He nodded lugubriously. "Miss Camilla. I have been keeping watch out His Lordship's window, just as you asked me to."

Something he did half the time anyway, Camilla knew; it was why she had asked him to keep watch for her. "Yes? Did you see-my husband?"

"Yes, miss. Him and the young master, going furtively across the garden not ten minutes ago. I barely saw them, dressed all in black as they were, but I caught a glimpse of the young master's face when he took off his hat for an instant."

"There were only two of them?"

"Yes, miss."

"They must not have taken Lieutenant Woollery. I wonder why." She chewed thoughtfully at her lip. "All right. Go down and get Purdle. He is the only other one we can trust. You will go with us to keep watch at the top of the cliff." The old man was not fast enough or strong enough to be of much help in a fight, but his eyes were still eagle-sharp, and, armed with the Earl's spygla.s.s, he would make a good lookout for them. "I will get dressed and enlist Lieutenant Woollery. We shall meet you and Purdle downstairs in a few minutes."

"A stranger, miss?" Jenkins looked doubtful.

"He has great loyalty to Benedict, and therefore he will help me." Camilla was not entirely sure of his a.s.sistance, particularly if Benedict had ordered him not to help her. But, hopefully, Benedict had not had the foresight to suspect that she would follow them, and she was confident of her ability to bully the young man into helping her. After all, having been left behind, he would doubtless be champing at the bit for an opportunity to get in on the adventure.

She dressed quickly in some old, dark clothes of Anthony's that she had pulled out of one of the trunks in the attic a few days ago in preparation for this moment. Anthony had worn them when he was much younger, so she had to roll up the trousers only a little to make them fit. Piling her hair atop her head and cramming a cap over it, she thought she made an adequate lad, at least in the dark. She ran lightly upstairs to the nursery, where she knocked and went in before Woollery could get out a word. He was sitting at the table, looking sulky, a bottle and gla.s.s and a pistol lying on the table in front of him.

"Lady Rawdon!" He popped up, staring at her odd attire and trying to look as if he were not. "I am sorry, ma'am. I wasn't expecting company." He pulled his jacket from the back of his chair and started to pull it on.

"Don't bother, Lieutenant. I came unannounced. I can hardly expect to find you prepared for company." She did not address the subject of her clothes. "So, they have gone."

He stared. "How-how did you know?"

"Really, Lieutenant Woollery. This is my home, after all, and my servants. And I make it my business to know what is going on."

"Yes, ma'am. Of course."

"I see they did not take you with them."

"No, ma'am." He could not entirely conceal his disappointment. "Lord Rawdon said my shoulder wasn't healed enough. I feel no pain," he said, somewhat aggrievedly. "But he was afraid I wouldn't be up to lifting barrels. Besides, he wanted me here in the house in case someone used the smuggling foray as a diversion to dispatch me." He gestured toward the gun. "I'm healed enough to shoot."

"It's just as well. I need your help."

"You do?" He looked puzzled, but said gamely, "Whatever I can do..."

"Good. We are going after them."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am taking some men and following them. I don't like this plan of Benedict's. There are too many pitfalls-he and Anthony alone with all those smugglers, trying to figure out which one of them is the traitor. I am afraid they will be far more obvious than he."

"But, my lady!" The young man looked shocked. "You can't go bursting in on a bunch of smugglers!"

"I don't plan to burst in on them. That would be foolish indeed. We will simply follow them, keeping safely out of sight. We will come to their aid only if they need it. If they get into trouble."

"But-what if someone sees us?"

"We shall simply make sure that no one does," Camilla a.s.sured him with a smile. "Come, come, Lieutenant, time's a-wasting. Are you coming with me or not?"

"I am sure Lord Rawdon would not like this."

"Perhaps not. But would he like your letting me go off on my own? That is really the only question."

Woollery looked rather taken aback. He could well imagine the verbal hiding he would get if he allowed Rawdon's wife to get into some mess by herself. "Yes, my lady. You are right."

She waited outside in the hallway for him to pull off his white shirt and subst.i.tute a dark sweater of Anthony's. Then they went downstairs to the kitchen, where Purdle and Jenkins were waiting for them. Both the servants had changed from their starched uniforms into dark, rough workmen's clothing. Camilla could sense Woollery's astonishment as he stood beside her, staring at the two servants.

"I- Are they going with us?"

"Yes. These are my men." Purdle, though his hair was thinning and his middle was growing, was still able-bodied. Jenkins, of course, was another matter, but she could not turn him down.

"Come, gentlemen, let us go." She started out the kitchen door, one hand on her jacket pocket, inside which lay one of her grandfather's pistols. Jenkins, she noted, had the other one of the pair stuck into his belt. Purdle, on the other hand, was armed with a stout wooden cudgel and a lantern.

They set out through the dark, keeping the lantern's shields down on all but one side. Jenkins led the way. He was slow, but surefooted, even in the dark.

They left the gardens and made their way toward the sh.o.r.e. They angled along the cliff, stopping now and then for Jenkins to search the beach with his spygla.s.s. Finally, he let out a grunt.

"There they are," he said in a low voice, crouching down. The others all followed suit.

He handed the gla.s.s to Camilla and explained to her what points to pick out, and finally she was able to make out the dark, low boat out at sea, and the two smaller boats making their way between it and the sh.o.r.e. She was even able to see the two dark, almost invisible figures of the men who Jenkins said were the smugglers' lookouts.

"They will be coming up from the beach down there, miss," Jenkins told Camilla in a whisper, pointing a k.n.o.bby finger toward a well-used path. "They need a good path for the pack animals.''

Camilla nodded. "And from there, where will they go?"

"Your guess is as good as mine about that, miss. You had best find a good place to hide and follow them."

Camilla nodded. She, Purdle and Lieutenant Woollery worked their way back from the edge of the cliff, careful not to stand up and reveal their silhouettes against the lighter darkness of the sky. She knew that it was easier to spot them standing on the cliff than it had been to see the men working down on the beach and ocean. They found an outcropping of stone and took up their positions behind it and the low bush that grew at its base. Then they sat down and waited.

And waited.

Camilla's knees grew stiff, and her back began to ache. On one side of her, she saw that Purdle had drifted off to sleep and was softly snoring. On the other side, Lieutenant Woollery shifted restlessly. She suspected that he was thinking uneasy thoughts about Rawdon's reaction if his wife got into trouble while she was in his care.

It did not surprise her when, a few minutes later, Woollery began to tell her all the advantages of her going back to the house. She dealt with him in the way she had found best with lecturing males. She nodded now and then and made vague sounds, all the while without really listening. Seeing her, the lieutenant thought that he was making headway, though Anthony could have told him that she had not heard anything he said.

"Well, my lady?" he said at last, when Camilla made no response to his repeated suggestion that she return to Chevington Park. "Don't you agree?"

"Agree with what?" Camilla asked, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

"That it would be far safer for you at the house. I am sure it is what Lord Rawdon would wish."

"No, what Lord Rawdon would wish is to be out there, exactly where he is. But if you feel it's best, you are perfectly welcome to return to the house."

He stared at her, his eyes bulging. "I didn't mean me! I don't want to go back."

"Good. We are in agreement. Neither do I," she said, leaving him gaping like a fish in need of oxygen. "Ah, here comes Jenkins now."

The old man appeared in the darkness, shuffling toward them as quickly as he could. "They have finished unloading," he said as he squeezed into place beside the others, panting from the effort he had made. "Or near enough. They're starting the ponies up the trail. It may be a long walk, Miss Camilla."

Camilla stuck out one foot, showing the st.u.r.dy brogan that decorated it. "I wore my best walking shoes."

They fell into silence, mindful of the men who would soon be approaching. Before long, there was the m.u.f.fled jingle of a harness. The four of them crouched behind the rock, hardly daring to breathe, as the quiet procession drew closer and then pa.s.sed them by.

Cautiously Camilla peeked around the edge of the rock. She had thought that she would recognize Benedict and Anthony, even in disguise. She had thought that a gait, a movement, would give them away, that she knew them so well that she would know their height or body shape. But, in fact, even though the men walked by not fifteen feet from her, she recognized no one. There were only the dark, lumpy forms of men, shapeless in dark, full shirts, hats pulled low on their heads, and faces wrapped around with kerchiefs, m.u.f.flers and masks. The best she could do was eliminate three of the men as being far too short to be either Benedict or her cousin.

She thought about the fact that these were probably all men she knew, men she saw regularly around Edgecombe, and yet they were completely foreign to her. She felt Jenkins beside her and realized that he was peering at the pa.s.sing parade through his spygla.s.s. She wondered if he was having any better luck identifying Anthony or Benedict.

The pony train seemed to go on forever, but finally the last of the animals pa.s.sed them. They waited for a few moments to make sure that no stragglers came along, then slipped out from their hiding place.

"I'll go back to the house. I would only be a hindrance to you now," Jenkins whispered regretfully, handing Camilla his spygla.s.s. "Here, you might be able to use this.'' He handed the old dueling pistol to Woollery, who tucked it into his belt on the side opposite his own army pistol.