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“Again with the term house,” Roger said as if he could not feel the thick tension in the dim shed. He was more likely ignoring it. “It’s more like a cottage. Or a hut, really. Or just neatly stacked stones.”
“Do you not fear retribution from Ainsworth?” William pressed.
“Bah! He has no power here. We are in Devon now.”
“Which, oddly enough, is still considered England and thus still policed—”
“We can be up and running within a month, easily, and Jack needs a place to drop his next run,” Father said. “He’ll be coming here.”
William’s body tensed, his grip tightening on the shovel’s wooden handle as the small smile slipped from his lips. William’s brother Jack was coming here, and he was bringing a ship full of goods for them to distribute. He hadn’t seen his brother since that awful, stormy night in Dorset weeks before, and as much as he loved Jack, it had been something of a relief to take a break from smuggling.
William had hoped the break had been clean, that he wouldn’t ever have to smuggle again.
Father huffed. “But it won’t work if you’re spreading distrust among the people of Collacott. We’ll want them on our side, son. Not wary of us.”
“How am I supposed to manage that?”
Father smirked. “You need to ask?”
Flirt. Father wanted him to spread charm thickly over the patrons of the local village. Don his friendly mask and set to the business of ingratiating his household among the locals. It felt foul and ingenuine, but had he any right to pass judgment on the scheme when it was what he’d done so many times before?
Pippa Sheffield’s thin, pleasant face slipped into his thoughts, her expressive eyes full of mistrust even while her tongue slashed sharp barbs back at him. He assumed she’d been waiting for him to prove himself a dangerous man. Hadn’t she mentioned that she had yet to determine precisely that? William had the strongest urge to prove her false, to prove himself worthy of her good opinion.
But not unless it was authentic.
“We have a fortnight until Jack plans to make the first drop. We need a good deal of people on our side by then.”
“Shall we attend services tomorrow?” William asked, wondering how far he could push his father. He was fairly certain sitting in a church pew was beyond the man’s limits.
Father screwed up his face in thought, peering at William through narrowed, dark eyes. “Not a bad idea, Will. Nothing like a good churchgoing man to instill faith and trust, eh?”
“Not what I’d been going for—”
“I like it.” Father nodded once, the matter settled. “Tomorrow, we go to church.”
The finality of his words rang through the air, chased softly by the groan seeping from Roger’s throat. William shoveled the ground again with renewed effort. He slicked the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist and kept digging until Roger and Father both left the shed. Shadows drew long outside the door, stretching the farther the sun moved in the sky. He emptied his water flask and kept moving, digging until he was near to his shoulders level with the ground. The hole wasn’t wide enough, but it was probably deep enough.
Bracing his hands on the edge of the hole, William pushed himself up onto the ground. He sat hard and breathed heavily.
Fine, if Father wanted him to put on a mask of pleasantries and make friends with the good people of Collacott, he could do so. He might feel like a wolf, sneaking into their perfectly cozy congregation and sniffing out the unsuspecting sheep, but he would do his job well enough to protect himself and his family.
For one thing was clear: when they’d been caught and opened fire on the revenue sloop giving them chase on the Dorset coast, Roger’s bullet had hit a revenue man, and William had seen Ainsworth’s face when it occurred. In a flash, Ainsworth had reached for his fellow officer as the man slipped from his grip and fell forward into the inky black sea, anguish and fear evident in his expression.
Ainsworth’s promise to make them pay had not been an empty threat. He was likely already searching, and he would find them.
Evidently, it was up to William to keep an eye out for trouble.
Because like it or not, trouble was on their tail.
