Page 40 of Rogue’s Holiday

Chapter 9

The next morning, Robbie strode past the king’s stables to the green lawn in front of the dense stand of trees on the Pavilion’s grounds where he was told he might find his uncle. Narrowing his eyes, he glimpsed the sun flickering off a silver blade as it flew from Jack’s hand to lodge in a knot in the broad trunk of an old oak with a “thwack”! Another joined it seconds later. Then another. The distance was far and the accuracy deadly.

Jack never missed.

Robbie crossed the lawn to join him. “Tiller gave me your message. Why did you ask me to join you with my pistols loaded?”

“I thought we might practice.” Jack said over his shoulder as he strode to the tree and pulled the knives free.

Robbie came alongside him. “Here on the king’s grounds? Not likely.” He gestured to the large domed building some distance away crowned with a cupola. “The stables, Jack. Think of the horses. Why, Zeus and Apollo would be shrieking in their stalls were I to send off shots within their hearing. And why now? It’s not as if we need to polish our skills.” Robbie had hoped the two of them might take his curricle for a jaunt around Brighton to exercise the grays before breakfast. With the sky portending rain, he was anxious to leave.

“It occurred to me a worthy display of skill might serve to warn any who would be watching us that we are armed.”

Robbie let his gaze travel over the grove of elm trees at the edge of the lawn, so dense he could not see through the branches. If there were eyes staring back, he neither saw nor sensed them. “I suspect anyone who would plot against the king’s ministers cares not that we can defend ourselves. Cowards rarely face a man head on. They act with stealth, always at one’s back, waiting for the moment to strike.”

“Très bien,” said Jack, sliding his knives back to their hiding places, the last fitting neatly into his boot. “Is it your wish to ride before breakfast?”

“I thought perhaps we might exercise the grays. I asked Tiller to have a groom ready my curricle.”

“I like that idea.”

The stables were only a short walk away. When they arrived, a groom awaited Robbie alongside his curricle. The grays snorted, impatient to be off. He stroked their necks, whispering soothing words to remind them he was their master and knew well their preferences. A gentle touch helped to quiet the spirited horses but did not rob them of their eagerness to run.

Climbing into the vehicle, he slid his pistols into the compartment beneath his feet he had designed for his weapons.

“A clever hiding place,” remarked Jack as he climbed in beside Robbie.

“One never knows when a scurrilous thief will attempt a robbery. I have an extra set in my chamber.”

Robbie took great pleasure in the taut reins of his matched pair as they moved with alacrity down the Steyne and turned left onto the Marine Parade. Once there, he let the horses have their heads on the deserted stretches. The breeze from the sea smelled of salt and fish. He never tired of it, for the sea had been the smell of home for many years.

Few people were out walking this early, for those coming to Brighton from London generally kept city hours, rising late. It was rare, however, that Robbie slept to midday. His years at sea had given him the habit of greeting the sun as it rose in the sky.

Moving along at a good clip, Robbie inquired, “Did you enjoy your jaunt in my curricle with the lovely Rose Crockett?”

“Indeed, I did. She was quiet at first, but when I took off at some speed, she held on to her bonnet and laughed, her dark eyes sparkling with delight. Beneath her quiet demeanor lies a woman who dearly loves to have fun.”

“She is lovely,” said Robbie, noting the pensive look on his uncle’s face.

“I have been thinking your mother may have the right of it in urging us to find wives. My father would urge the same of me. You don’t have the need to produce an heir as I do; still, knowing how you adore your nephews, I think you will find yourself married one day. As for me, since my mother is English, a bride from England would be well accepted into the Donet family.”

“You are thinking of Miss Crockett?” asked Robbie, not realizing his uncle had been so taken with the girl.

“Let me just say that I find her reserve attractive, especially when she sets it aside. She is thoughtful and does not engage in idle chatter, and she is a great observer of people. Her remarks are often astute.”

Inclining his head to better view his uncle, he noted a wistful look in the man’s eyes. Perhaps he was smitten with the country lass. “You could do worse than a gentle country girl.”

As he turned the horses back toward the Steyne, Robbie saw folks gathering on the beach some way down the Parade. “’Tis the fish market,” he remarked. “Here’s where the early risers go.” Robbie slowed the grays as he recognized Chastity Reynolds and her friend just stepping onto the beach. “Look, Jack, ’tis Snow White and Rose Red. Shall we greet them?”

“By all means,” said Jack.

Robbie slowed the curricle to a stop.

Jack hopped down, a broad grin on his face.

Robbie tied the reins to a nearby post and took in the scene on the beach where the denizens of Brighton who had managed to rise early had flocked to buy fish. Beyond the wives of the fishermen who sat beside large baskets hawking their fish, the boats had been pulled up on shore, their nets hoisted to dry. Tiller had told Robbie that on any given day a hundred ships might return to Brighton bringing fish to the local market and beyond. From what Robbie could see, less than half that number was arrayed on the shore today.

As they approached the two women, Robbie tipped his hat, asking if he and Jack might join them.