He really ought to marry the woman the first chance he got. She was too clever to let go.
Thinking about Poppy helped keep the worst of his terror at bay. He ignored the sense of the crushing weight of tons of rock above him, and the dampness of the air that seemed to inhibit easy breathing, and the absurd feeling that time had simply stopped.
When he’d been locked in that closet as a child, he experienced the same horror—the conviction that surely it had been hours and hours, or days, only to realize that mere minutes had passed. The caverns were worse. They’d been here for eons, and would exist until the end of days. Time just didn’t matter here.
No. Think about Poppy. Time did matter, because she needed him now. And he’d find her as fast as possible, and when this was over, he was going to tell the whole world that she was his, and they’d get married, and live joyfully somewhere in the bright sun and fresh air, and he’d never set foot in a cave again.
A grand plan.
First, he had to survive the night.
Chapter 23
They walked, and walked, and walked. Rowe kept behind Poppy, who held the lantern to guide the way (being untied after he got her safely into the tunnels). The deputy gave her directions from time to time, and Poppy kept pulling at the loose threads on the bodice of her dress, spilling small quantities of seed pearls every time their path took them down a new tunnel. She wasn’t even sure why she was doing it, because no one knew she’d been taken. But a Wildwood girl always had a plan, and plans kept panic from taking over. Poppy looked back over her shoulder each time she scattered a new bunch of pearls, but Rowe hadn’t seemed to notice anything. But he didn’t like when she surveyed him, and he waved the gun meaningfully to get her moving again.
Rowe forced her through what felt like miles of tunnels. How far away were they going?
“Is it much longer?” she asked when they entered the large cavern that had so many other openings along the walls. She plucked at the pearls on her dress, trying to make the gesture look like pure nervousness. When Rowe finally steered her through the next tunnel, she had to leave a trace…or no one would ever find her.
God, she hoped Carlos was having better luck than she was tonight. Was he onboard the Agustina yet? Did the smugglers suspect that they were going to be ambushed?
“Not too far. Why? You eager to begin your new life?”
“Don’t be vulgar,” Poppy snapped. “I’m having a difficult evening as it is!”
“Sorry,” Rowe said, rather surprisingly. “I’m just following orders.”
“Well, isn’t that a relief!”
“Look, you should have known what the risks were when you got into this. Did you really think that Drake was going to let a flighty woman walk around free, knowing that he was the head of a smuggling ring? We’re wrapping matters up shortly, so Drake gave the order to get rid of you.”
Poppy didn’t try to explain to Rowe that she wasn’t who he thought she was. First, he wouldn’t believe her anyway, and second, she had a chance to learn more about this whole operation since he thought she’d already been involved for weeks.
“Is Dr. Drake really the man in charge?” she asked. “I mean, a doctor just doesn’t seem…”
“I know. He’s got the perfect image in Treversey. Quiet Dr. Drake. No one would dream he’s got a second side as a criminal. But he’s smart, knows the value of money, and he got all the gangs working under Spargo now. Everything goes through them. It’s more efficient, and a lot safer. We pass the savings onto our London contact, and everyone benefits.”
“London contact?”
“Ainsworth.” Rowe blinked. “You didn’t know? He didn’t mention it while you were all up at that house together?”
Poppy remembered that she was pretending to be Elowen. “I was trying to keep my involvement a secret.”
Rowe chuckled. “Lot of little secrets up there. Too many. It would have been easier if Ainsworth bought the place. But the Towers got the jump on us. Doesn’t matter. Soon we’ll control all of the Cornish cross-channel trade. We’ll have landing sites on any beach or cove we need.”
A short while later, she saw brighter light ahead, and then they were in a familiar place. Poppy looked around the cavern. It was the very same one that she and Carlos found that first night. But now it was crowded with more boxes and barrels. The deputy hailed a man sitting on one of the crates at the other end of the large cavern. “Sir! Got her, no problem.”
“Who’s this?” asked the smuggler, looking at Poppy.
“The signaler. Miss Metcalfe,” Rowe said.
“Miss Metcalfe has dark hair, and is about five inches shorter than this lass.” He glared at Poppy. “Who are you?”
Poppy sighed. “Does it matter at this point?”
“Not for you,” said the man she recognized as Peter Spargo (thanks to seeing him through her spyglass the other day). “But if this idiot grabbed the wrong girl, it means that Drake’s order still needs to be carried out. Rowe, get back through those tunnels and back to the house. Find Miss Metcalfe and get her down here.”
“Wait,” said Rowe, just catching up. “You’re not Elowen Metcalfe?”
