Chapter 36
Aknock at the door might have woken Henry if he was not already tying his cravat. Nervous energy coursed through him as he crossed the room to the door. After six years, he would finally have answers today.
The footman from the study stood in the hall, appearing as if he were about to walk away.
Henry finished off his cravat, eying the boy. “Jimmy, did you need something?”
“Yes, I mean, no, sir. It is only that—well—”
Henry lifted a brow. The boy’s eyes shifted to the floor. “It was stupid, really.”
“I sincerely doubt that. How can I help?”
“I think . . . that is . . . I didn’t know who else to tell. Mrs. Trumble told me to mind my own business, and I daren’t tell Mrs. Seymour. What if she thinks I’m a part of it all?”
“A part of what, Jimmy?” Henry backed into his room, gesturing Jimmy after him.
Jimmy came, looking over his shoulder as he did. “The smuggling, sir,” he whispered.
Henry’s gaze sharpened. “What’s happened?”
“They had us help. Last night. Carry in all the crates.”
“Here? Windvale?”
The boy nodded. “My ma would kill me, but I can’t lose my job.”
Henry grabbed his coat from a chair beside the door, thrusting his arms in. “Where are the crates?”
“In the storage room beside the kitchen. You’ll vouch for me, won’t you, sir? You’ll tell the constable I had no part of it?”
Henry grasped the boy’s shoulders. He was only half a foot shorter than Henry, but the fear in his eyes made him seem far smaller. “You’ll be just fine, Jimmy. Go about your day and tell no one of this. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The footman nodded, relief clear. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Henry patted the boy on the shoulder, steering him from the room and sending him on his way.
Henry made for the kitchens.
It ought to have been far busier belowstairs, with servants prepping for breakfast and the day ahead, but Henry encountered scant few people on his way, and the corridor outside the kitchen was entirely deserted.
He tried the first door, only finding a closet of linens, but the second opened into a stone room.
Darkened shapes lined the back wall, and it did not take long to ascertain that Jimmy had been correct.
Windvale was involved in the smuggling. And Henry could keep it to himself no longer.
He found Alice in the study. Her eyes widened to see him at her door, but then her brow furrowed and she stood.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
He closed the door behind him, coming to her desk. “I need to speak with you.”
“Very well.” She sat, gesturing him to a chair. He’d have preferred to pace, but sat regardless.
“I know you are aware that there is smuggling on the island.”
Her responding nod was tight.
“I believe Windvale to be involved.”
Her brows flew up. “How dare—”
“No, Alice,” he said, words low and propriety forgotten. “You must listen to me. I have told you some of my past but not all. It was too dangerous, but now I have no choice.”
Her nostrils flared but she nodded. “Go on.”
“I came to the island seeking the head of a piracy band but found more than I bargained for. I do not know all that I need, but I do know several things: the pirates and smugglers are one and the same, and your home is being used to store stolen goods.”
Silence fell between them as Alice seemed to consider the information. Her eyes darted back and forth on the wood of her desk, connections possibly forming in her mind. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because even now, the storage room beside your kitchen is full of smuggled alcohol.”
“Do you suspect me of involvement?” she asked, eyes meeting his. Hers were cold, guarded.
His gaze did not waver. “No. But I will not see you take the fall. Nor can I allow the danger to be underfoot and you unaware.”
She blew out a breath. “I warned them all against it. I have made my position very clear—I do not sanction the smuggling nor do I allow my servants to be a part of it. I . . . heavens above, I cannot call the constable to my own home. I cannot—do what? Arrest my staff?”
“We cannot call the constable regardless. Alice, I do not know for certain who is involved, but if we bring a lawman here, my expectation is that the guilty parties would learn of it and flee. And I need to find the man in charge.” He took in air, hoping it would steady him. “Whoever it is, he killed my father.”
Her gasp was quiet. “I . . . Henry, I am so sorry.”
His name on her lips was a balm to his pain, but he had to set those feelings aside. This was a job. She was now a job. And he had to treat her as such. “Can I convince you to leave? To go somewhere safe until this is all done?”
“No, I cannot. My house is full of guests—they are my responsibility. And where would I go? Half the island is a part of the smuggling. If there is true danger, I cannot imagine I would be any safer than here.”
He swallowed. “Then do not allow yourself to be alone.”
“But why? What harm could they mean to me?”
“I do not know exactly. But if they are using your house, then they are no respecters of your authority. You have shown yourself against the smuggling, and should you get in their way—intentionally or not—I would not be surprised if they become violent. And I . . . I just need to know you are safe. Get Julia and stay with her. I think Jennings may be involved as well.”
“Jennings too?”
Henry nodded. “And Lieutenant Carruthers. And . . . your husband.”
She swallowed, eyes widening. “What are you going to do?”
“Find help.”