Page 82 of The Smuggler’s Escape

“Pshaw! Even if your theory weren’t rubbish, how will you get proof?” Darsington puffed and scowled. “It would be so much simpler if one of the smugglers were the traitor. Better yet, a refugee from France, like Miss de Vallon.”

Richard stiffened, and Sir Frederick waved the pipe irritably. “Or some other refugee.” He jabbed the pipe in Richard’s direction. “The country is swarming with émigrés, most of whom need money. Are any Frenchmen in service in Sir William’s household? Living in the village?”

“Not that I am aware. If you will give me a day or two longer, I will find your proof. Hopefully, Sir William confided your most recent misinformation to his wife before leaving her in Sussex yesterday.”

“He may have confided in someone else as well,” Sir Frederick muttered. “She may have blabbed to her maid, for all I know, who blabbed to a smuggler behind the stables at midnight.”

Richard exerted himself to be patient. “The more mouths and ears involved, the less likely the information conveyed will be correct. You tell me it has reached France intact in the past. To me, that indicates not only a minimum of individuals involved, but very likely written communication.”

Sir Frederick stabbed the pipe again. “And if you do prove it, which you won’t, how will that help matters? Whichever way you look at it, it’s a beastly tangle.”

“Beastly indeed. You cannot wish to unleash your assassins on such highly-placed individuals.”

A cloud of smoke burst from Sir Frederick’s mouth. “Damn you, Boltwood! Can’t you mince words just a little?”

“I merely attempt to state the facts. Needless to say, you balk at the murder of one of your closest friends and his wife. The proper, and even more dreadful alternative, however, will also end in their deaths, causing the ruin of not only his family but quite possibly yours, with a far-reaching impact on the government. Clearly, you would prefer a quieter solution.”

Sir Frederick wiped his brow with a table napkin. “Of course, I would! As if we don’t have enough chaos in the country already. Have you seen the seditious pamphlets they’re putting out these days?” He drew a crumpled leaflet from his pocket and tossed it across the table to Richard. “It’s all we can do to keep these people under control. Laws don’t stop them.”

Richard eyed the grubby pamphlet with distaste. “They are acting on principle. Flawed, perhaps, completely impractical, no doubt, but principle all the same. People in the grip of their beliefs can be quite mad, you know.”

“I suppose you will next tell me that Lady Ariadne is possessed of such madness. That she approves of the slaughter of the French aristocrats.” He sucked on his pipe. “Nonsense. Utter folly.”

“Madness, yes, but not the principled sort. Lady Ariadne sells information for money, and money alone.”

“Why in Hades would she need money? She came well-dowered, and Sir William, although not enormously wealthy, is not in the poorhouse by any means.”

“Nor does he intend to be in the poorhouse. You have perhaps not played cards with his lady.”

“I daresay I may have been dragged into a rubber or two of whist from time to time. Come to think of it, I partnered her once. Dreadful player. Couldn’t remember which cards had fallen if her life depended on it.” He gnawed on his pipe. “I take it you’re suggesting she has gaming debts.”

Richard nodded. “And that she pays them by selling information.”

“She’s not likely to run up huge sums playing whist with her set. If she and Sir William were Prinny’s intimates, perhaps . . .” He shook his head. “I would have heard if she were bankrupting the poor fellow.”

“Sir William, being a cautious man, didn’t let it get to that stage. By what I have gathered from local gossip, piquet is the culprit. There was a huge row, and Sir William has forbidden her to play for anything but farthing points.”

Sir Frederick’s mouth dropped open, the stem of the pipe clinging to his lip. “Farthing points! Dash it all, that’s not play.”

“To someone for whom the risk is the exciting factor, rather than the play itself, you are absolutely correct, sir.”

Sir Frederick frowned at the pipe, which had gone out. “She can’t possibly suggest farthing points in public! Damned embarrassing, that would be.”

“And yet she can’t play openly for high stakes, or Sir William will keep her permanently in the country. He may even banish her to that moldering pile he owns in Scotland.”

“Yes, indeed. Humiliating for both of them, but for William, being beforehand with the world comes first.” He emptied the pipe into a dish. “I can’t say I think much of this tobacco. I don’t suppose you know of any smugglers who bring in something decent?”

“Not in my area. You’ll have to try the west coast, I expect.”

“Or Ireland,” Sir Frederick muttered. “Perennial troublemakers, the Irish.”

Richard steered the older man back to safer waters. “Hence my conclusion that Lady Ariadne plays in secret and pays with her ill-gotten gains. A week or two ago she pulled me into an alcove at a card party and begged me to play with her. Imagine my relief when I realized seduction wasn’t what she had in mind.”

A bark of laughter. “A narrow escape, that, eh?” Sir Frederick’s mood had improved. “Well, you may be right. Still, I don’t see how you’ll find proof.”

“I shall set a trap for her,” Richard said. “I shall bait it, and once she has taken the bait, I shall tell her exactly where she stands. Given the choice between being hanged as a traitor and living permanently in the highlands of Scotland, I suspect she will choose Scotland, to the detriment of the unfortunate Scots. I shall leave the groom to you and your assassins.”

“Dash it all, Richard, you needn’t put it like that. We can’t let the fellow live.”