Chapter 4
An Approaching Storm
“Captain Underwood, what a lovely surprise!”
The captain, as well as Izzy’s father, jumped in alarm as Izzy burst unceremoniously into the study.
She had seen the captain knocking at the door of the vicarage and had run the rest of the way up the hill, terrified he might be demanding to search the property after the orders he’d been given.
The smile she pasted to her face in the second before she flung the door open felt odd, stiff upon lips that were not feeling the least bit cheery.
Forcing back her discomfort, she refused to acknowledge the odd picture she must present, her cheeks blazing with a mixture of embarrassment and the effort of having picked up her skirts and belted home as if she were being chased by a madman.
The two men blinked at her, clearly startled by her sudden appearance as she exploded through the door.
The captain took a moment to gather his wits but was too well-mannered to express dismay at her interrupting their meeting without so much as a knock. Instead, he shot to his feet, giving her a polite bow.
“Miss Honeywell, a pleasure to see you too.”
Izzy beamed at him, wondering how long her heart could keep up the rapid tattoo it was beating before it gave out.
Whilst she could not deny the sickening possibility that she might be harbouring a French spy in the vicarage attic, her instincts told her to trust Boreas over the sneaky fellow who had crept about in the shadows of a back alley.
Captain Underwood certainly had not liked or trusted him, and her father believed the Captain to be an honourable man, which was good enough for Izzy.
Moreover, her father trusted Boreas, or he would never have helped him in the past, which she knew he had.
Her father was the keenest judge of human nature that she had ever known, and she took a good deal of comfort from this.
All the same, she needed to ensure the Captain had no opportunity to search the house.
“Shall I ring for tea?”
Her father nodded, giving her a curious look. “The captain has just come to explain what all the noise was about last night.”
“Noise?” Izzy said, feigning innocence as she went to ring the bell. She turned to Captain Underwood with a warm smile. “What noise?”
Her father chuckled. “You must forgive Izzy, Captain. Nothing rouses her when she’s asleep. Once, when she was a child, we had the most terrific thunderstorm. It rattled the old house to its foundations and struck the apple tree outside her bedroom window. She never noticed a thing.”
Izzy blushed, uncertain whether to be grateful for the recitation of this story, for it did not strike her as a flattering portrayal. Yet it served its purpose. The captain smiled indulgently.
“Well, for my part, I am glad to hear it. I confess, I was troubled to think the young lady had been frightened.”
Izzy blinked, a little startled by the admiration in Captain Underwood’s eyes. Still, she needed him on side right now, and as far from suspicious about her or her activities as possible.
“Frightened?” Izzy said, taking the seat beside the captain. “Why? What happened?”
Underwood turned towards her. He was a handsome man, his light brown hair cut severely short, and his face tanned by a life led mostly out of doors. His eyes were an interesting shade of hazel and warmed when he looked at her, dispelling the gravity that she usually felt in his presence.
“I’m afraid we were trying to apprehend a smuggler by the name of Boreas. He’s well known in these parts, and rather a romantic figure, I fear. Yet, he is a criminal, and I have been tasked with bringing him to justice.”
“Justice?” Izzy repeated, studying the captain’s face.
“Is that what it would be? Hundreds of thousands of men have returned home after spending years defending our liberty, risking their lives against a foe that threatened our way of life, and they have found the country changed in that time, the jobs they left to go to war no longer there for them. Can one blame such men for finding other ways to support their families?”
Izzy held her breath, wondering if she was about to receive a stern lecture on the letter of the law, but Underwood’s expression softened.
“You are a compassionate soul with a kind heart, Miss Honeywell, and I admire you for it. In truth, I have sympathy for many of these men too, but if we allow the laws to be broken, our country will descend into anarchy, and then the war would have been for nothing. Besides which, Boreas is no ordinary smuggler.”
Izzy stiffened, wondering what he might say. “Oh?”
The conversation was interrupted as Polly appeared with the tea tray and Izzy met her father’s eye.
He gave her a stern look, a clear implication that she was to get off the subject of Boreas as quickly as possible.
Settling down to make the tea, she said no more, but the captain replied to her question.
“Boreas is unlike any smuggler I’ve come across.
He’s an extremely clever fellow, for one thing, and rumour has it he’s a gentleman by birth.
Why such a man has become involved in this dangerous trade, I can only guess, but perhaps the lure of adventure appeals to him.
Perhaps it is simply a lucrative business, but either way, I shall bring him to justice. ”
Not if I can stop you, Izzy thought, concentrating on pouring the tea.
She glanced up at the captain, smiling and desperately trying not to remember that she had a wanted man—a smuggler, and quite possibly a French spy—hidden in the attic.
Good Lord, she did not know how real spies got through an average day.
The effort of trying to appear normal was grating on her nerves and making her feel decidedly queasy.
“Milk and sugar?”
“Please.”
She handed him the cup, rather impressed that her hand did not so much as tremble. The captain thanked her, turning his attention to her father. “I know your sympathies are with the smugglers, Reverend, and I understand that, but I hope you will not stand in the way of investigation?”
Her father sat back in his chair, regarding the captain placidly from over his desk, returning a smile of such innocence that she made a mental note to ask him how he lied with such ease.
How did he justify his actions before God, she wondered?
But that was a silly question. He believed God was on the side of justice, and her father had very definite ideas about that.
“Oh, no. Indeed, I would not,” the reverend said with shocking sincerity.
“But I would remind you that Boreas and his men are unlike the other gangs in this area in another significant way. They do not use violence, either to intimidate those folk who might have information to share about them, or against the Revenue men. Might I ask if he fired upon your men when you hunted him last night?”
Izzy regarded Captain Underwood with interest, for she very much wanted to hear the answer to that question too.
To his credit, the captain only hesitated for a moment before he answered. “No, he did not,” he admitted with a sigh.
Her father nodded, apparently unsurprised by this intelligence. “No, because your men were doing their duty as they saw it.”
“He shot Silas Mourney dead,” the captain retorted, looking rather irritated now. “Boreas is no angel, sir.”
“Did he? Did he indeed? Well, whatever a violent gang leader was doing in Winsham Woods last night can only be guessed at, but I suspect Boreas believes if one lives by the sword, one is liable to die by the sword.”
Izzy suppressed a shiver, well able to hear Boreas saying such a thing and believing it too.
“You seem to know a good deal about him, Reverend.” Captain Underwood gave her father a pointed look over the rim of his teacup.
Papa shrugged, absently stirring his tea, though she had prepared it to his liking. “Oh, well, I am God’s ear in a small town. There is little that is said that does not find its way to me, in time.”
“Indeed. Well, I should be glad if that information came to my ear next,” the captain replied, a little terse now.
“Naturally you would,” the reverend replied placidly.
“Though I can tell you no more about Boreas, certainly not of any more violence he or his men have committed. Indeed, the only violence I know of has been to defend their interests from rival gangs who have no such compunction. Oh, well, and that nasty incident at Cuckmere Haven last week, of course, but that had nothing to do with Boreas and his men.”
Underwood nodded, and Izzy saw sorrow in his eyes, frustration too, if she knew anything. “I knew William, he was a brave man and did not deserve to die so brutally. I want nothing more than to see the men responsible stand trial for their crimes.”
“Then perhaps you would do well to turn your attention towards them rather than a man who makes a point of not using violence against innocent people, or men who are just doing their job,” Izzy remarked, her tone a touch sharper than she had intended.
Underwood’s expression became troubled. “Would that I could.”
Her father frowned, leaning forward across his desk. “You cannot?”
They watched the captain, who seemed to struggle to decide what to say.
“My orders are to bring Boreas in and to ignore all else until he is in custody,” he admitted, the frustration in his voice evident.
“And whilst I waste my time chasing a damned shadow, crimes such as the one at Cuckmere Haven are passed over.”
“But that is madness!” Izzy exclaimed.
Underwood returned a cynical smile. “Indeed, and so it seems to a dull-witted fellow like me, but such is the chain of command, Miss Honeywell. My orders are clear, and I have no option but to follow them.”
The Vicarage Attic, Little Valentine, 22nd January 1816