Chapter Six
The Queen’s Barque Inn, Suffolk, That same evening
Kit had promised not to approach Miss Fenneman, yet he fretted over her situation.
She’d once said her father’s interest in her was perfunctory.
From what he’d seen today, Fenneman was indifferent to her needs and desires.
However, a man who struck his own child was far from disinterested.
No, Fenneman possessed a strong interest in his daughter as a useful tool for his own advancement.
That sort of interest placed Miss Fenneman in a precarious position.
When a tool failed a violent criminal, the most common action was to destroy the offending implement.
Entering his rooms, Kit tossed his cloak—the Sea Grange butler returned it to him with no explanation—over the slipper chair nearest the door, poured himself a glass of brandy then flung himself into one of the large chairs near the fire crackling in the hearth.
Is Margaret Fenneman’s life in danger from her father?
She didn’t behave as though she expected such a threat.
Yes, she’d shown an instant of fear, but confident, calm reason dominated her demeanor in front of her father’s temper, and at other occasions.
At Trout Creek, she’d taken Kit’s own ill-considered interference in stride.
She’d scolded loudly and rightfully after their dunking, but she’d eventually let go of her ire and forgiven him.
He smiled at the memory. As a drenched and draggled virago, she’d somehow been extraordinarily beautiful.
Strength of character always impressed him.
’Twas why he despised Fenneman so much. Like most criminals, he lacked the confidence and fortitude to act openly and honestly.
The Squire lied, cheated and stole in secret, hiding behind his clerk and the cloak of respectability cast by military rank and public service.
Why couldn’t his daughter see that? Or did she see it and simply refuse to believe what she knew to be true.
Kit’d heard too many accounts of the harm Squire Fenneman and Brookbank’s criminal activities caused. Something must be done to end their smuggling tyranny. But what? Kit stared into the flames as if the answer was writ in fire.
The parlor door opened and closed. “’Tis good you are here, sir.”
Kit shifted his focus to his approaching valet.
“You’ve a note from your cousin.” George held out a folded packet bearing the Earl of Dunitsbane’s seal.
“Thank you.”
“Shall I order your supper, sir?” George gathered up Kit’s cloak and took it to the armoire.
Kit broke the seal, opened the letter and read. “Yes, please. Yours as well, George. I need to speak with you, privately.”
“As you say,” George replied. “I’ll return momentarily.”
Kit carried the letter to the desk then searched out writing materials. The well-stocked desk was a tribute to Brewster’s thoughtfulness as an innkeeper.
Kit re-read his cousin’s letter then dipped a quill in ink and began to write.
“I received your message just now and am pleased to know you intend to visit Fenwick on Sea. However, I must beg your aid …”
He explained the smuggling situation and what he’d learned of Squire Fenneman’s involvement. He hoped his very influential cousin would persuade the government to send a troop of light dragoons for the purpose of removing the smugglers.
Satisfied with his message, Kit sanded the paper. George returned as he applied his seal.
“Ah good. Pour yourself a brandy, George, and join me near the fire.” Kit, addressed the sealed missive, folded away his cousin’s letter and carried it to his chair by the fire. George took the seat opposite, and Kit handed him the letter.
“You must take this to my cousin, Dunitsbane, in London. Leave at first light. The earl’s on his way here but has stopped in London on personal business. This letter must reach him before he continues traveling as it contains a commission he must perform in London.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. As a precautionary measure, I omitted details you must repeat to my cousin.”
Supper came and went while Kit imparted instructions. “In addition to the information I’ve given you in the past half hour, you must tell my cousin that urgency’s required.”
George raised a brow and sipped his brandy.
“Since the object of calling in troops is to catch the smugglers in the act, we must be ready when the moon’s new and the night’s darkest.”
“Aye,” George agreed, “’Tis the most likely time for the gang to do their smuggling.”
“Are my instructions clear?”
“They are, sir. Though I still don’t understand why you ask your cousin for a blank and pre-approved commutation of sentence.”
“My reasons need not concern you.” The document might not be needed. “Now we’d best retire. Tomorrow will be taxing for both of us.”
Despite the need for a good night’s sleep, Kit lay awake into the night.
Images of Margaret Fenneman filled his mind’s eye.
Laughing at some teasing comment from a local resident.
Looking down her nose at Brookbank. Furious and thoroughly soaked, then laughing at her own ire.
Challenging her father and standing stalwart—if a bit frightened—in the face of Fenneman’s threatened violence.
Speaking calmly and intelligently about the advantages and disadvantages of the various properties Kit’d seen in the area.
Which of those locations would she favor, he wondered, then fell asleep imagining the sun gleaming off her rich brown hair as she sat by a window in a house they shared.
***
Dinner at Sea Grange was a very uncomfortable affair. Meg sat at the foot of the table, with their guest, Mr. Sousman, on her right and Brookbank on her left. The clerk sat morose and glaring at their guest.
Sousman didn’t notice. He’d recovered from whatever indisposition he’d suffered and plowed his way through every course. He drank copious amounts of wine and constantly played patty fingers with her skirts beneath the cover of the table linen.
Her attempts to discourage him and keep her legs covered drew Father’s attention.
“Really, daughter.” He used his iciest tone.
“Cease fidgeting. I didn’t think meeting your fiancé would give you nerves.
Mr. Sousman, Margaret’s usually the most placid of ladies.
I assure you, as she comes to know you better, you’ll find her a pattern-card of decorum.
Now, please have some more wine with your dessert. ”
“’Tis an excellent vintage, so yes, I’ll have more.”
Father signaled the footman to refill Sousman’s glass.
Brookbank drew Meg’s attention with his fingers on her hand. “I am sorry you’re subjected to this display, Miss Fenneman,” he murmured as Father and guest addressed their plates.
“I’m sure you bore no part in it,” she replied and withdrew her hand.
“Precisely. Your father ignores the fact that my father was elevated to Baron several years ago, and although French, my mother was connected to the Bourbons. Squire Fenneman should realize I am a very eligible parti.”
“Yet you labor as a clerk. Not many eligible gentlemen would take such a position.” She beamed a smile, hoping to distract him from the sarcasm in her tone.
“Daughter.” Father’s commanding timbre forced Brookbank to straighten and break off the conversation.
“Yes, Father?”
“You should move to the parlor. We’ll join you upon finishing our cigars and brandy.”
“Thank you for informing me, Father. However, if you don’t mind, I find the capon disagreed with my stomach, and wish to retire for the evening.”
Father cast a quick glance at Brookbank who gave a slight nod in reply.
What was that about? If Father needs permission for me to absent myself for the rest of the evening, wouldn’t that permission be sought from Sousman? Exactly who’s in charge between Father and Brookbank?
“Of course, girl. You may escort Mr. Sousman on a tour of the house after breakfast tomorrow.”
She’d spend some time tonight devising a way to avoid her would be fiancé. For now, being excused was enough. Wishing the gentlemen goodnight, she fled as rapidly as decorum allowed.
In her rooms and ready for bed, Meg dismissed Amanda for the evening.
She locked the door behind the girl, glad she’d obtained her room key after Father’s return.
She wouldn’t put it past Sousman or Brookbank, with or without Father’s cooperation, to slip into her unlocked room and compromise her. The idea filled her with disgust.
She paced the floor; her mind circling through a dozen scenarios for ridding herself of suitors. She hated the idea of being wed to Sousman. Even less did she like the prospect of marriage with Brookbank. He’d boasted of being an eligible match to fish for her reaction to him as a life partner.
She snorted. “Partner, hardly. More like a lifetime master.”
I must find a way out of the marriage snares looming before me. If only I could ruin myself.
’Twas a ridiculous idea. Ruination might put off Sousman, but she doubted Brookbank would care as long as she was not with child.
Hours later Meg decided she should read and distract herself, allowing her mind to work out a solution under less pressure.
Unfortunately, Amanda had returned all her books to the library in one of her cleaning frenzies.
If Meg wanted a book, she must risk going to the library in her nightgown and robe.
While I’m there, I’ll take the skeleton key hidden in Father’s desk so no one can use that to enter my rooms while I sleep.
She descended to the library with swift, stealthy steps.
Turning into the corridor to the library she paused.
The door stood slightly ajar, spilling light into the space beyond.
Resuming a more cautious pace, she neared the door.
Two voices rose in conversation. Meg kept moving, until she was as close as possible to the open door.
She recognized Brookbank and Father speaking.
“You should never have approached Sousman with the idea of marriage to your daughter,” Brookbank chastised.
“I want to cement his relationship with us,” Father actually whined. “Make the business ties stronger.”
“Margaret’s marriage to him would have the opposite effect,” the clerk sneered. “Don’t you know anything?”
“Sousman would never allow her to testify in court.”
“That drunkard couldn’t stop her. You know how determined she is. The only blessing for Sousman would be spousal privilege preventing her from testifying against him.”
“But marriage is a long-recognized way to cement relationships.”
“Aye, in open and honest relationships. Sousman’s a sot and a blabbermouth. Once married to him, Margaret’ll learn of our smuggling. Then she’ll inform the customs office. You and I will be arrested, possibly executed.”
“Margaret would never lay information against me. She loves me.”
“You are blinded by your affection for her. Your daughter, Squire, is one of the most honorable women I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. She’d see informing on us as her duty. She might plead for mercy for you, but she’d honor her obligations regardless.”
“Won’t Sousman cause problems if we break the engagement before it’s even announced?”
“No, he likes the money gained from selling our smuggled goods too much. He’s no danger to us, as long as he’s as vulnerable as we are.”
“Then what’s to be done?”
“Margaret must marry me.”
“You?” Revulsion dripped from the word.
“Don’t be so dismayed,” Brookbank jeered. “Marriage to me ensures her silence, and I’ll never permit her to lay information against you or Sousman. I want to keep my partners.”
“Partners, hah. I stopped being your partner when I allowed you to convince me to join the Commissariat Corps in order to increase our profits.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Meg heard the shrug in the clerk’s words.
“Yes, and gave you opportunity to cement your control of our Fenwick enterprises in my absence.”
“To both our benefits,” Brookbank ground out. “Besides, you were more than eager to make sure I didn’t go to the customs office with the information I gained from interviewing some of your less loyal employees.”
“You murdered them and made me an accessory,” Father resumed whining.
“They were unreliable. What I did was a security measure and a warning to others in the gang who might consider telling tales they shouldn’t.
” The clerk’s voice grew hard and cold. “Now, in the morning, you’ll inform Sousman that Margaret’s declined his suit, and because she’s of age you cannot force her.
Then you’ll send for the vicar and arrange for her wedding to me. ”
“I doubt Vicar Taylor would cooperate, if Margaret makes known she doesn’t want the marriage.”
It wasn’t an objection but acquiescence in the form of a point to consider.
“True. I’ll send for a prelate I know in Yarmouth.
He’ll bring a common license, appropriately back-dated.
He’ll need several days to obtain the documents and travel here.
Meanwhile, you’ll add a small amount of laudanum to all Margaret’s meals.
The cumulative effect over a week or two will make her easier to control.
By the time the prelate arrives, your daughter will be most cooperative. ”
“I don’t like the idea of giving her drugs,” Father issued a half-hearted protest.
“You’ll do it nonetheless,” Brookbank ordered. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to meet the same fate as your former employees.”
Meg smothered a gasp.
“I think perhaps I should retire for the evening,” Father said.
“Not before we discuss arrangements for the delivery expected during the new moon.”
Meg fled to her room. She didn’t care if she could learn more.
Her well-being, if not her life was at risk.
She must protect herself. Not simply to survive, but also to give evidence of what she’d heard and perhaps beg clemency for Father.
Clearly Brookbank was coercing Father into criminal activity.
Activity that harmed not just her but the entire Fenwick community. Action was imperative.