Mary Nichols – Sir Ashley's Mettlesome Match (страница 3)

Sir Ashley Saunders was breakfasting with Sir Felix Markham. Having been alerted by his informers that a cargo of contraband was to be landed at Narbeach on the north Norfolk coast, he had jumped at the chance to leave London for a while. His latest mistress, Arabella Thornley, was becoming more and more demanding and had broken the explicit condition of their relationship and was hinting quite openly that he ought to marry her. It was the last thing he wanted. At thirty-four, he was a confirmed bachelor and intended to remain that way. His previous mistresses had understood and agreed to bide by that and it annoyed him that Arabella should think she was any different. He had once been fond of her, appreciative of what she provided, but the prospect of making her his wife filled him horror.

Norfolk was far enough from the capital to afford him some respite; as it was currently being plagued by smugglers who were openly defying authority, he had taken the opportunity to investigate their activities. Arriving in Narbeach, he had made himself known to Sir Felix, who had invited him to stay at Narbeach Manor. ‘Can’t have someone of your rank staying at the Cross Keys,’ he had said, when Ash told him he was spending a holiday in the area.

Ash did not tell his host that he belonged to the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals, popularly known as the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club. They had their headquarters in Piccadilly at the home of Lord Trentham, who had encouraged James, Lord Drymore, to set up the group twelve years before and it was now well established. Its principal members, besides James and Sir Ashley, were Viscount Jonathan Leinster; Harry, Lord Portman; Captain Alexander Carstairs and Sam Roker, Lord Drymore’s servant, who had been recruited in the early days because he was familiar with the cant of the criminal fraternity and could gain access to places where a gentleman would have stood out like a sore thumb. Not all of them were such masters of disguise as Harry Portman.

Each had their own area of expertise and each was required to promote law and order. They were not empowered to arrest anyone, but they would track them down and alert the watch or the parish constable or the army, who would apprehend the criminal, preferably with incriminating evidence on him. They were not paid for their services, but did it for love of their country and in a spirit of adventure, so it was important that each was of independent means. Ash had inherited a property and some money from his grandfather and had managed to increase it several-fold with judicious investment and was now prodigiously wealthy. He had joined the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club because the ever-increasing crime in the country was something that needed addressing and membership gave him something useful to do.

Lately he had turned his attention to the smugglers who operated along almost every coast of the British Isles. Like the coiners whom Harry Portman investigated, their activities were depriving the government of thousands of pounds of revenue and threatening to destabilise the country’s finances. With the army away fighting a war there were not enough troops to deter them and they mocked the efforts of the Customs and Excise men to catch them. The war, which had been waging in Europe for seven long years, had ended the month before, but the troops had not yet been brought home and only a handful of dragoons helped patrol the coast.

Ash was not concerned with the village men who took part out of necessity. There was little labouring work to be had in the winter months and what there was did not keep a man and his family in food, let alone other things they might need, like fuel, clothes and medicines, and the smuggling barons paid them well for their services. It was these barons who were the focus of Ash’s attentions. He suspected that Sir Felix knew more than he was admitting, but it served Ash’s purpose to pretend he believed him innocent, if not exactly ignorant.

They had almost finished their leisurely breakfast when a footman appeared to say Mrs Whitehouse and Miss Kingslake had arrived and wished to see Sir Felix on an urgent matter.

‘What can they want at this hour?’ Sir Felix murmured to Ash. ‘It is hardly a civilised time to make calls.’ To the footman he said, ‘See that the ladies are made comfortable in the withdrawing room. Tell them I will join them directly.’ Then to Ash. ‘I must go and change. I cannot receive them in a dressing gown. You will wait for me here?’ He did not wait for a reply before dashing from the room.

Ash left the table and wandered about the room, idly looking at the ornaments and pictures. There was one of Sir Felix with his family grouped about him: a wife, upright and unsmiling, and three girls, which must have been executed some years before because he had been told Sir Felix was twice a widower and his daughters were all adults with families of their own.

The door behind him was flung open and he swivelled round to face a middle-aged woman dressed in widow’s weeds, who had determination written on every feature of her lean face. She was followed by a younger woman, who was endeavouring to restrain her. ‘Aunt, you should not come in here. We were asked to wait in the withdrawing room—’ She stopped suddenly when she caught sight of Ash. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’

She was tall, he noticed, wearing a blue wool gown with an embroidered stomacher that emphasised a slim waist and an enviable bosom. Her hood had fallen back from her cloak and it was her hair that struck him most. It was a fiery red and so curly it had defied all attempts to confine it. It spilled from the combs that were supposed to hold it in a knot on the back of her head and stuck out in all directions. He took his gaze from her hair to her face. It was a perfect oval, with high cheekbones, well-shaped brows and the most brilliant green eyes he had ever seen. He was reminded of a ginger cat and wondered if this one had claws.

‘Think nothing of it,’ he said, sweeping her a bow. ‘Sir Ashley Saunders at your service.’

She curtsied. ‘Sir Ashley, how d’you do. I am Philippa Kingslake and this is my aunt, Mrs Whiteside.’

He bowed. ‘Your obedient, ma’am.’

‘We have come to see Sir Felix,’ the lady said, bowing her head in response.

‘He will be with us directly. In the meantime, may I help you? I am spending a few days with Sir Felix.’

‘No, we must speak to Sir Felix,’ Augusta said. ‘He is the magistrate and only he can help us.’

Sir Ashley was a handsome man, Pippa decided. There was a glint of humour in his dark eyes as if he would burst out laughing at the least provocation. It might have been that she had not had time to see to her toilette properly and her hair had escaped from the combs and pins she had hastily dug into it. Knowing she was visiting Sir Felix, she did not care that she was looking less than her best. If it served to put him off, so much the better! And their errand was urgent. But to find herself confronted by a vision of elegance in a superbly tailored suit of burgundy velvet, whose own dark hair was sleeked back into a queue with not a strand out of place, was disconcerting. He wore no make-up and his face was tanned as if he spent long hours out of doors in all weathers.

‘Ah, then, am I to suppose you have come to report a felony?’ Although Ash was addressing the older woman, his gaze was on the younger. He could not take his eyes off her. She intrigued him. He saw the slight expression of impatience she did not bother to hide and added on a sudden flash of inspiration, ‘Or has someone close to you been taken up?’

‘How did you know that?’ Augusta demanded. ‘Have you seen him? Do you know what happened? Where have they been taken? Are they still here?’ She fired questions at him, allowing him no time to answer.

‘Madam,’ he said, lifting his hand to stop her in full flow, ‘calm yourself and tell me what has happened.’

Whoever he was, Pippa would rather talk to him than Sir Felix; as her aunt had been forced to stop for lack of breath, she decided to explain. ‘My young cousin has been apprehended by the Customs, Sir Ashley. He is no more than a boy with a love of adventure and went down to the beach to watch a landing last night. He was not involved, simply a spectator, but the Customs arrived with a troop of dragoons and rounded some of the men up, and Ben along with them.’ She decided to say nothing of her brother whose presence on the beach, if he were there—and she could not be sure of that—could not be explained away in the same manner.

‘There was a landing of contraband last night?’ he queried, annoyed that he had missed it and wondering if Sir Felix had known it and kept him talking over supper to distract him from his purpose.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Sir Felix is the local magistrate; the prisoners would have been brought to him to deal with.’

‘I heard nothing of it,’ he said. ‘Though my room is at the back of the house and Sir Felix might not have wished to disturb me.’