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I could feel Branok’s amusement as if it was my own, but the magistrate elaborated, “I said that smugglers are a disgusting breed.”

“I believe that my mother said something similar when our cocker spaniel had puppies in her dressing room,” I said idly and heard a muffled chuckle from Branok.

He shared a look with the vicar—a strange glance as if they were amused by something. Then he turned back to the magistrate. “Are they really so bad?” he asked. “Or are they helping people who are now so poor that they cannot afford anything that gives them pleasure?”

The question was so mild that at first I don’t think the magistrate knew that Branok was contradicting him. Then his face darkened.

“Aye they are, sir. Stealing and selling foreign goods. I wonder at you defending such actions.” Branok shrugged, which angered the magistrate more. “They are costing the crown a small fortune every year. And the revenue men are at their wit’s end.”

“Ah, the revenue men,” Branok said with a delicate disgust. “What a fine bunch. It should not take them long to find an end to their intelligence.”

The magistrate had no sense of irony and huffed and puffed. “They are indeed a noble group of men.”

I covered my surprised laughter with a cough and quickly sipped my wine. Branok tapped the table and when I looked down, I saw with a bright sense of joy that beside my commentary on the magistrate he had drawn a tiny sketch that featured the bombastic man as a giant toad sitting on a lily pad. I looked up and our eyes clashed, and for one moment, I had the sense of finding something that I never knew I was missing.

The magistrate cleared his throat, and I looked back to him. “I have heard of these smugglers, but as the heir to the St Claire title, I should learn more,” I said smoothly.

There was no sign of the amusement I’d felt this afternoon when I read my father’s last letter to me. It seems that my papa had carried on his habit of disobeying the English laws into his old age, because the St Claires have been funding the smuggling trade for over forty years.

I could almost hear his laughter in my head, and I had to endeavour to repress a smile.

When I looked up Branok was watching me and I saw a spark kindle to life in his eyes.

“My father spoke of you,” I said lightly, watching as his lip twitched in amusement.

“How kind of him,” he replied.

I nodded. “Yes, he said you were a useful man to know. One who could enlighten me to the way things are around here.”

The magistrate tutted. “I am sure there are better men than Captain Richmond.” He turned to Branok. “No offence intended, sir.”

“Of course,” Branok said lightly.

The vicar, who had been darting glances at me all evening, stirred at that point. “I could help you,” he said eagerly. “I have much knowledge of the local families and their customs.”

“That is very kind of you,” I said, distracted as Branok turned to me.

“Then if I am to be your guide, mayhap you should call me Bran,” he said in his rich, deep voice.

The magistrate interrupted. It had obviously been far too long since I had heard another of his opinions. “I hope your lordship will join us in our fight against the smuggling trade. It is pervasive throughout the coastal regions. Men, women, and children are all involved in helping and shielding these men. Why, they are becoming folk heroes like Robin Hood. Ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” I echoed, picking up my pencil and adding an overflowing wine glass to the hand of the toad. I could feel Branok’s amusement and looked at the magistrate. “Well, I promise you, sir, that I shall make the same effort my father made regarding smuggling. Rest assured of that.”

I felt rather than heard Bran’s chuckle and when I looked at him, he looked right back.

And now I sit alone in the library, the candles guttering and dawn a distant promise on the horizon. I have a strange foreboding of trouble coming and that this night will have a huge impact on my life. I know I will not leave this world unscathed by Branok Richmond. Bran.

The problem is I do not fear that, and instead, I feel a sense of wanting to rush time along. I want to run into that trouble headfirst for I somehow know he will be waiting for me.

Midnight

I am adding this to record a strange happening.

I sat for a while by the fire in the library. Eventually, it died away to gleaming coals. I was about to get a candle and make my way to bed when I heard a noise. It was a creak and the scrape of a foot. It came, not from the corridor outside, but inside the library.

At first, I felt a thrill of fear. Was I witnessing a ghost? Then I realised. It was coming from the secret passage.

I ran to the bookcase and pressed the hidden lever, the feel of it in my hand so startlingly familiar. And the door opened the way it used to before the passage became impassable, and my father forbade Catherine and I from playing in it. Imagine my surprise when I looked into the corridor and the candlelight picked out not a passage strewn with rubble, but instead one that had been swept clean and emptied.