The Gentleman Spy: A Guardian/Ward Historical Romance

Chapter 17

Beau had been desperate for her to reveal a little of herself to him, to confide in him her wants, dreams, desires. Instead, she sewed her lips up tight and left him with nothing to do but lead her to the drawing room, where she sat as far away from him as possible and kept herself occupied by playing backgammon with his sister, making the occasional comment to his mother when the dowager’s soliloquy on a London season necessitated it.

Miss Doubleday had not appeared at breakfast the following morning. ‘Gone riding,’ his mother had succinctly put it when he’d gone so far as to inquire, and as he ambled down one of his favourite paths through the park, he wondered if he would catch sight of her.

‘Beau! Beau!’

He turned just as Louisa pulled up alongside him in her little gig. ‘How well you look driving a handsome pair of horses, Lou.’ In truth, his young sister appeared quite grown up driving her own pair, and very much like their mother.

She bowed her head at the compliment. ‘Let me take you up. Martha doesn’t like when I go fast enough to overtake the little turtles near the pond,’ she said with an amused look at the maid next to her.

When Beau looked to Martha, the poor maid was already standing, ready to jump if she must. He suppressed a smile and offered a hand to help her down.

‘No groom?’ he asked once he’d seated himself next to his sister.

‘Emerald doesn’t think it necessary when I stay inside the park.’

He kept his thoughts on the immeasurable extent of his ward’s authority to himself, and asked, ‘And what does our mother think?’

‘Oh, you know.’ Beau imagined his sister would have added an airy wave of her hand, had one been free. ‘She’s rather lucky we’re both so good, is she not? Short of eloping with the baker’s son, I don’t know she’d ever stop me from doing anything that might secure my happiness.’

‘Would eloping with young Stuart make you happy?’

Her light laugh flitted away as if it had wings. ‘I’ve missed your teasing, brother.’

Beau detected a note of melancholy in her words. ‘How kind and ridiculous you are to say so.’ After a pause, he pressed, ‘And Father, do you miss him terribly, sweetling?’

‘In the beginning, of course. It was like an awful pit of despair opened inside of me and was trying to consume me from the inside out. The pain now is not so terrible or bitter. Instead it’s more a dull ache or a wistful feeling when I think of everything he’s already missed and everything yet to come.’ She cast a quick, assessing glance in his direction before adding, ‘This might sound strange, but sometimes Emerald reminds me of him.’

‘Oh?’

‘Little things. She murmurs to herself sometimes when she’s working, like he did, and even makes some of the same faces. It was she who nudged me into visiting tenants on my own—tricked me, really, making me think it was my idea because I was so grown up. Just the way he used to get me to do things I didn’t want to or didn’t think I could.’

His sister, it seemed, could wax poetic on Miss Doubleday endlessly, and his curiosity outweighed his desire to switch to a new subject, so he refrained from interrupting her.

‘I see in her his steady determination, his kind but firm resolve, his desire to help others. She had enjoyed teaching some of the children in the village basic arithmetic and reading, and I think she would have spent more of her time doing so, if not—’ Louisa broke off, and Beau knew she’d figured out that finishing her sentence would also mean drawing attention to his absence. A sliver of silence wedged between them, and he let it expand. How the conversation continued would be decided by his sister.

Beau stared out at the different shades of green woven together in the Kent countryside. In spring, there would be fragments of yellow when the rapeseed blossomed. He loved the land, the care that crops and livestock necessitated, the harvest and sustenance Oakmoss provided for tenants and farmers. Each time he rode out, his heart swelled with gratitude. He hadn’t missed fighting with his father or being redundant, but he had longed to sit under his favourite oak tree, to run his fingers through the grass and feel the blades flutter with life. Beau had begged his father to understand. Roots and bark, great stalks of wheat, the first daffodils of spring, carried with them the changes in his heart without ever questioning his constancy, his dedication and devotion to them.

Louisa spoke again, her voice calm, quiet, serious. ‘You were gone too long, Beau. You don’t need me to tell you that. People think children are silly or deaf and therefore cannot comprehend what happens around them. It was always obvious to me, the discord between you and Papa. Not to say you and he didn’t get on, only that I know it was easy for me to be Papa’s child and less so for you.’ Her eyes remained focused ahead on the little path down which they travelled, but he could see what it cost his younger sister to expose herself and him. ‘And Emerald,’ said Louisa with a dramatic sigh.

Beau thought his sister would say more. When she didn’t, he pressed, ‘And Emerald what?’

Louisa was quiet a long, thoughtful moment while she composed her thoughts. In the distance, Beau registered the calming sound of running water. Part of the estate ran all the way to the coast, the furthest reaches of the property cut up with little inlets and shallow coves.

‘She would be mortified to receive our pity, but it’s near impossible for my heart not to squeeze with compassion for her if I spend even a moment thinking about how she wound up here, or even how her life has played out since. You know, Father began taking her out to ride the estate because it was one of the only things to interest her after her own papa died—that, and playing the pianoforte. It would be impossible for another to fill the space left in one’s heart by a parent, but sharing ours helped.’

Shame made Beau feel hot all over. ‘She’s done very well here.’

‘Because she’s had to. I’m not cross with you, you know, and if you tell me you’ve been away doing something important, I’ll believe you, of course. But even though it may seem like everything is well, that’s not an indication it’s also been easy.’

Louisa allowed them to lapse into their private thoughts as she pulled her gig into the stable yard and accepted Beau’s hand to help her down.

‘You go on,’ said he. ‘I think I’ll go for a ride.’

‘But the weather is turning.’

Beau shrugged, gave her a scoot forward, and turned away.

From the doctorBeau visited in Broadstairs, he had learned the man who’d spoken of Jemmy the night he’d watched the smugglers was a Mr Poughill, son of a clergyman and father to half a dozen children, including one who survived scarlet fever as a baby but suffered lasting effects. And that Mr Poughill helped the current elderly clergyman in the church garden and cemetery every Wednesday.

When Beau approached, the man was on his knees ripping weeds from a long-forgotten grave despite the fat drops beginning to splatter the gravestones. Mr Poughill glanced up to see who was standing next to him, his eyes narrowing. Beau stood with the pretence of paying his respects, but said quietly after a moment, ‘I believe I have the honour of addressing Mr Poughill? Don’t stand. Continue as you were.’ He looked down over his shoulder, meeting the man’s suspicious gaze.

‘I recognise you. You were outside the Silver Swan some time ago.’

‘Good memory.’

‘I wasn’t foxed, and neither were you.’

A little muscle at the corner of Beau’s lips twitched in appreciation. This man was no fool. ‘This isn’t the only work you do.’

‘No, sir. I’m the butcher as well.’

‘Of course you are, but that’s not the work to which I’m referring.’

There was a notable pause. ‘I can’t say I understand you.’

‘Come now, you’ve already introduced the Swan into the conversation,’ and, a little impatient to get on with things, Beau added, ‘Your son Jemmy is a fine young lad.’

The man threw down his spade and made to stand. ‘You leave my boy?—’

Beau turned his head a very little. ‘I’ve no intention of bringing harm to your son, but for your safety, his, and my own for that matter, I’d really rather you avoid drawing any unwanted attention.’ The church was situated a short distance from the village, and the cemetery behind the main structure. No one was about, but Beau had no desire to explain away his presence or their conversation. Mr Poughill dropped back down. ‘Am I right in thinking you smuggle to pay his medical expenses?’

The man gave a terse nod. ‘I don’t feel good about it. I was raised to know better—to be better’—he cast his eyes skyward as if seeking forgiveness—‘but with Jemmy?—’

‘Just so. What if I could help you, your son?’

Suspicion clouded the man’s face.

‘Yes, it sounds too good to be true, does it not? You’re right to look at me so. I can help, and will, gladly, but require something of you in return, just as you suspect.’ Beau had Mr Poughill’s attention. ‘First, tell me what Babin pays you.’

‘Two pounds per haul.’

Beau reached into his coat and retrieved a billfold from which he withdrew ten pounds of one-pound notes, handing it to Poughill, who protested. ‘Take it, and tell me what you know of his London plans.’

The man put the money in his coat pocket, looking at his hand like he couldn’t believe it had held such a sum at once. ‘Not much. He rants about what he sees as injustice for Napoleon. Talks about retribution for France. To be truthful, I didn’t take it much too seriously until several barrels of gunpowder arrived. The copper hooping has French manufacturing marks.’

‘Have you a date and time?’

Poughill shook his head. ‘After Easter, I think he said. The barrels are coming over six at a time. Based on what I’ve heard, I’d say he’s got three more shipments to wait on.’

‘But you haven’t alerted the authorities?’ Beau’s tone was curious rather than censuring.

‘Mr Babin, like his father before him, is not a man many would cross. At least not those who know him here in Broadstairs. There is no choice between men I’ve never met and keeping my own family safe. That’s just the way it is.’

Beau considered the man before him and his own brand of morality. ‘You’re not afraid of speaking with me?’

‘I didn’t say that, but you said you could help my Jemmy.’

‘Indeed I did.’ Beau proffered another ten pounds under the astonished eyes of Poughill. ‘Keep me apprised of Babin’s movements, deliveries, the like. If you’re worried for your safety, you may leave your correspondence with the doctor. He and the apothecary will send Jemmy’s bills to me from now on.’

When Beau returned home and told his valet what he’d discovered from Mr Poughill, Saunders let out a long whistle. ‘I guess we’re for London.’

‘Indeed.’