Page 42 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Richard dismounted and extended a polite but frigid hand to Noelle. Equally politely, Noelle took it and slid off Snowflake. Richard let go of Noelle’s hand and flicked a coin to a nearby lad. “Mind the horses for me,” he said, with typical aristocratic indifference to the wishes of the lower orders. Not that the boy was likely to refuse, but how difficult could it be to add a simple “please?”

The crowd parted to let them through, offering congratulations as well as a few off-color references to the previous night. Richard grinned and demanded, “What’s going on in there?”

A flurry of voices hastened to explain. “Good Lord,” Richard said. “There’s been brandy in that damned tomb since I was a boy! I know, because Daniel and I stole some once.”

Laughter and ribald comments greeted this revelation.

“Now you all know what to retort when he harangues you about your sins.” Richard left Noelle behind and strode into the churchyard, accompanied by more laughter. Anyone less given to delivering diatribes than Daniel Davison could scarcely be imagined.

Noelle swallowed her chagrin at being so rudely abandoned. Another foolish thought, for surely the way he’d left her a few years earlier had taught her not to care. She assumed a semblance of indifference and followed. The rest of the crowd surged around and behind her, friendly and kind.

Daniel loped toward them across the grass, all long limbs and gestures. He wrung Richard’s hand, bowed to Noelle as she approached, and said, “Let me offer you my felicitations, Lord Boltwood, Miss de Vallon.”

Noelle thanked him with a false but brilliant smile.

Richard turned and said, “Oh, there you are, darling.” His affable smile didn’t dim by even a flicker, but a chill ran through her nonetheless at the memory of last night. He offered his arm, and she knew better than to repudiate him. This time, it was she who’d offended. Her facial muscles ached, but she kept on smiling.

Daniel said, “I expect you’re here to discuss the funeral and also the wedding, but first I need some assistance. Lord Boltwood, if you would but convince this fellow that Tommy Dalbey came here at your mother’s request, and not to pick up a tub of brandy secreted here, I should be most grateful.”

Noelle replaced the painful smile with a look of innocent inquiry. They walked leisurely toward the table tomb, while Daniel explained the situation, his large expressive hands waving this way and that. Tommy Dalbey leaned against the tomb, cocky as always in spite of the excisemen flanking him and the brandy at his feet. He tipped his cap and flashed a grin at Noelle. “Morning, miss.”

Noelle smiled at Tommy and pointedly ignored the excisemen. She wanted to shriek at Richard for putting Tommy in such a dreadful situation. Instead she summoned up a besotted expression and gazed up at him.

Needless to say, he wasn’t looking down at her. Perhaps he was so angry at the insult she’d dealt him that he didn’t want to, which was completely understandable and fine by her. They were merely playing roles. He frowned in feigned disbelief at the tableau before him. “The man’s run mad,” he said loudly enough for Hale to hear. “First in Sir Matthew’s garden, now here.”

Lieutenant Hale came forward and bowed frigidly. “There is a difference, Lord Boltwood, between last night and today. I found this fellow in possession of smuggled brandy this morning.”

“That’s not true,” Tommy said. “I was digging near the tomb”—he pointed out a couple of holes and a spade—“but I never touched that tub. It was you, my fine gentleman, who opened the tomb and took it out.”

“After you hid it there when you saw me coming,” Hale growled. “You weren’t digging when I saw you. You were hovering by the tomb.”

“Having a bit of a rest, I was,” Tommy said. From the crowd came muffled guffaws. Tommy and Will Dalbey spent much of their time doing little or nothing, except where smuggling was concerned.

“Adjusting the lid of the tomb, more like,” Hale said.

“I don’t believe so,” Daniel Davison said. “As I’ve been trying to explain—”

“Mr. Davison, don’t make excuses for this criminal,” Hale said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you’re as softhearted as a woman.”

Daniel was a picture of clerical dignity. “Softhearted I may be, but I do not condone smuggling. Moreover, Tommy has hardly been out of my sight since he arrived.”

Richard waved everyone to silence. “Tommy, if you were not retrieving brandy, what were you doing in the churchyard?”

“Lady Boltwood’s gardener sent me here to plant them there flower bulbs, my lord.” He indicated a small pile of daffodil and crocus bulbs next to the spade. “On orders from Lady Boltwood.”

“He also brought a quantity of used furniture donated by Lady Boltwood to the poor,” Daniel said, “which he has already unloaded from the cart. His purposes here are completely legitimate.”

Hale drew himself up. “To bring the furniture and bulbs, perhaps. To plant them, unlikely. Why not Lady Boltwood’s gardener himself? Why not the sexton?”

Richard looked down his nose at Hale. “You are impertinent, my good fellow. My mother’s gardener is extremely occupied, as my mother has uprooted most of her conservatory just when we are about to have unexpected guests. As to the sexton, he is about to dig my father’s grave.”

This produced an appropriately somber silence. Hale stood ramrod stiff. It finally occurred to Noelle why Richard had orchestrated this little scene. Impulsively, she squeezed Richard’s arm.

He didn’t squeeze back.

Noelle tried on an adoring smile, but it felt like a grimace. She knew herself for a complete fool, and Richard’s quick glance down at her indicated he agreed.

Hale persevered. “Lady Boltwood directed you to this tomb in particular?”