“Miss St George,” the lady said. “You are a woman of much vigor! You went all the way down to the beach and back already? And you gathered such treasures,” Blanche said, with a glance at the rough shells and stones in Poppy’s hands. “How…rustic.”
“It seemed the thing to do.”
“I wanted to better acquaint myself with you,” Blanche went on, in a sweet tone. “The Misses Metcalfe and I aren’t of a feather, of course. So it’s good to have another woman from London around. I can’t wait till the next Season starts—that’s the most exciting time. You must feel the same.”
Poppy raised an eyebrow. Did she look like the sort of girl who dreamed about the parties of the Season? She was in fact the sort of girl who sold gowns to the girls who did. She decided to nip any misconceptions in the bud. “Certainly, my family looks forward to the Season. My stepfather imports fabric, you see, and we sell so much for gowns and things in advance of the Season.”
“Trade?” Blanche asked, stepping back as if Poppy announced she had the plague.
“Indeed. I often help out in the warehouse and our shop. It is most gratifying to assist my family in their business.”
Blanche now looked both appalled and confused. “If you’re…but then how could you know a viscountess?”
What a snob. Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “You mean Rosalind? Well, she was my cousin before she was a viscountess. And I was her companion before I was a shopgirl. Life is full of changes, Miss Ainsworth. One never knows what’s beyond the horizon.”
“I see. I wondered why dear Carlos—I mean Mr. de la Guerra—had not spoken of you.”
“He has no reason to, I’m sure,” Poppy said. Dear Carlos?
“So many women who meet him seem to have designs on him, you know.”
“Well, I have none,” Poppy snapped.
“That is wise of you, Miss St George. I always pity ladies who set their caps at men who clearly have no intention of reciprocating. It’s just sad, isn’t it?”
“Not as sad as a lady who thinks she’s far better than she really is. In fact, Miss Ainsworth,” Poppy went on, “I think the saddest thing of all is someone who thinks a battle won, when in fact the armies have yet to take the field.”
If Blanche heard the new challenge, she didn’t show it. “You are a most curious person, Miss St George.”
“Curiosity is the least of my traits, Miss Ainsworth.” With those words, Poppy retreated to her room. Of course she had no designs on Carlos. She didn’t even like him. But she was piqued by the other girl’s suggestion that Poppy wasn’t good enough for Carlos. Perhaps that was true, but Miss Ainsworth was not the arbiter of such things.
And Poppy was not the kind of girl who backed down from a fight.
Chapter 4
Dearest Carlos,
By now you must have been in Cornwall for some weeks, and I hope that you have made some progress in your search. Your visit was a great help to me, and think I may have passed through the worst of the shock, though not the sorrow. Every day, I see objects around the house that remind me of Mateo, and I am so certain that he’ll enter a room at any moment, calling my name and ready to tell some exaggerated story from his most recent voyage. Those moments hurt, and yet I do not wish to forget them, because that would mean forgetting my brother.
And that is why I write now. After you left, I recalled a conversation with Mateo, where he mentioned that the leader of that gang had a ship of his own. Apparently, that is not usual. Most smugglers are landsmen who simply work with captains or sailors—you would know better if this is true, of course. But I thought it might help you to identify the gang, and ultimately Mateo’s killer.
I pray for your success in this matter, and I pray for you (I know these things are separate, and that the latter is more important than the former).
Fondly,
Ximena
After reading Ximena’s letter, Carlos stared out the window for a long moment. Her memory was a significant one. He’d heard mentions of numerous smuggling operations in the area, but he’d had little luck identifying which might be the group working with Mateo. But if he was looking for a gang that actually owned a ship, that would narrow it down to just a few at most. It would be a huge stride forward.
These early summer days were long, but at last evening descended, and that meant the inevitable dinner and endless chit-chat with other guests. Carlos dressed with slightly more care than usual (he remembered that Poppy had strong opinions on fabric and clothing, for obvious reasons). When he was finished, he put on a cross hanging from a gold chain, tucking it under his shirt. This wasn’t a matter of style—it was a reminder of his purpose. The cross was Mateo’s. Ximena gave it to Carlos when he left, as a token. He touched it through the fabric, feeling the outline of the metal.
“Hermano, los voy a encontrar,” he said softly. He glanced in the mirror and decided that he looked about as well as he ever would. Carlos could just barely pass as a gentleman in Britain. He knew how to dress and what to say. But he spent half his life very far from the drawing rooms and upper-crust clubs of this world; placing himself in the role of “unassuming, polite gentleman” was a strain whenever he remembered the freedom of a life at sea, or the more familiar setting of Santo Domingo. Things could be very formal there as well…but not always, particularly when he was out among the people.
However, he was here now, and his mission depended on circulating among the upper-class guests at the house, and the locals in Treversey. Carlos had wrangled an invitation to Pencliff Towers from a friend of a friend in London. The ostensible reason was to strike up an acquaintance with another guest at the house. Mr. Ainsworth was up to his neck in the smuggling of French imports. The current war hampered all legitimate trade, with British navy blockading French ports, and privateers taking any opportunity to run down French ships.
Carlos learned that Ainsworth was one of the primary contacts for smugglers looking to get goods through Cornwall and onward into England, including London. Carlos made it known that he was ready and willing to sign on as an occasional partner. After all, Santo Domingo was a thriving port itself, and there was always interest in getting goods from the old world into the new.
Luckily, Ainsworth accepted Carlos’s story and he seemed open to the idea of an alliance. But he was still very cagey about the exact operations in Cornwall, which was all Carlos really cared about. It would be suspicious to pry too much. He had to bide his time.
