Page 68 of The Return of the Rake

“I’m not disturbing you, I hope?” King asked, eyeing the teetering piles of correspondence that seemed to be arranged in haphazard mountain ranges upon his desk.

“Not from anything I have any desire to continue doing,” the reverend replied with a chuckle. “In truth, I have been counting the minutes, because it is just about—” A knock at the door made the fellow give an irrepressible smile of satisfaction. “Tea time!” he said merrily, hurrying to the door.

A young maid came in, hefting a heavy tray laden with a teapot, cups and saucers, and a splendid array of cakes and biscuits.

“Anything else, sir?” the girl asked politely.

“No, no indeed, Polly, that will do very well.”

Bobbing a curtsey, the girl hurried out again, and Honeywell invited King to sit down and make himself at home. “Well, you’ll take tea with me, I hope? There’s something a mite stronger we can take a sip of later,” he added with a wink.

King laughed. “I’d be pleased to, though I’ve some things I need to discuss with you that are a touch, er… delicate.”

“Well, no time like the present. Shall I be mother?” he asked, giving King a dubious look before nodding. “Yes, I think I better had,” he said, answering his own question and adding several lumps of sugar to both cups.

King waited while he prepared the tea, taking with thanks the steaming cup the reverend offered, but refusing the cakes for the moment. He needed to get this over with first.

“Is this anything to do with Mrs Adamson?” the reverend asked cautiously, giving him a significant look over the rim of his cup.

King looked back at him, unblinking. “What do you mean?” he asked, wondering what the old devil knew and how on earth he knew it.

The reverend looked innocently back at him. “That she has never been married a day in her life,” he replied bluntly.

“Well, I—” King began and then stopped as he recognised how pleased the reverend was at having surprised him. “You mean to say, all these years Anne has counted on you lending her your support, believing all this time that she was deceiving you, and you knew?”

“From the very first,” Honeywell said placidly, though his expression grew serious. “To be clear, I did not know for certain, yet I strongly suspected, but she was such a delightful young woman, and so brave. It was clear to me she had run away from something, or someone, and she was so obviously a dear and kind creature, I knew she would never have done so without good reason. This world of ours judges people, women especially, upon standards a saint would balk at. I was not about to see the inhabitants of this town treat her harshly when she had so much to give to us all.”

King felt a swell of affection and gratitude for the old man and let out a huff of amusement. “Is there anything you don’t know?” he demanded, half in jest.

“Naturally,” Honeywell replied with a smile. “Though I confess I do know how a certain fellow got himself tangled in his own fishing nets and, er… drowned.”

King stilled, a sensation akin to iced water sliding over his skin.

The reverend shook his head, setting down his teacup. “Good heavens, don’t look so alarmed. I knew I ought to have fetched the brandy out before I told you. Forgive me. Wait just a moment and I shall get it.”

He hurried over to a dark wood cabinet, rummaging inside as bottles clinked and giving an exclamation of satisfaction as he appeared once more, the bottle in hand.

“How?” King asked, his heart thudding unevenly as he considered who else might know if the reverend did. For Honeywell might be trusted, even in this, but anyone else…. He felt sick. Not now, he cursed, not when everything was going so perfectly. “Were you there that night?” he asked, hoping against hope.

“No,” Honeywell replied, uncorking the bottle. “But there is a deal of smuggling in this neck of the woods, you know, and the beach at night— Well, it’s never quite as empty as you might imagine.” He poured two healthy measures and passed one to King.

King took it from him and downed it in one swallow. “Am… Am I or anyone else in any danger of—”

“Good heavens, no,” Honeywell said, giving the glass a look of anticipation but reaching resolutely for his teacup. “You and Captain Dearborn are quite safe, I promise you. Indeed, the person I speak of has nothing but admiration for you and is as relieved as many are that such an unpleasant man is no longer here to trouble his poor wife. He told me it was accidental, by the way,” he added reassuringly.

“It was,” King said faintly, hardly able to believe his ears. “Dearborn was only protecting himself. Bill fell and hit his head. He was dead the moment he landed. There was nothing to be done.”

The reverend nodded, his expression grave. “Poor, unhappy soul. One must pray he finds the peace he never found in life, but I confess it is a difficult thing to regret his passing. I have asked forgiveness for it.”

“I don’t regret it, and I’ll ask forgiveness of no one for thinking it,” King replied. “But I feel damned uneasy, knowing someone is aware of this. What if they change their minds and decide it’s something that needs to be made known in the future? I won’t see Anne embarrassed by such a scandal!” “Hush, my friend. Listen to me. The person you are so afraid of has secrets of his own. He will never betray you, or Captain Dearborn. Upon that, I give you my word of honour, as he gave his. He is an honourable man.”

King studied the reverend, considering this, considering everyone he knew and who it could possibly be. “Boreas,” he said.

The reverend only lifted his teacup to his lips once more. “Do try the fruitcake. It’s one of Mrs Addie’s specialities,” he replied, smiling benignly.

Chapter 15

Wedding Bells.