Page 30 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

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Vincent and Matthew exchanged glances. They deliberately avoided looking at Miss Walden, though from the corner of his eye he saw her gulp. He took a long drink of his tea and carefully set the cup on its saucer.

“Smugglers are using the tunnels,” Vincent finally said, aware Gert would quickly grow impatient if he stalled further. “We set out to find proof of who is impersonating Mother Hobart and instead found a cavern full of contraband.”

Gert slammed her palms on the table. “The devil you say!”

“Last night they came to collect some of their goods. I followed them into the tunnel while Matthew stayed outside.”

“You did what ?” Agnes’s face drained of all color.

Miss Walden slowly stirred her coffee, staring transfixed at the contents of her cup.

“We planned to catch them in the middle,” Matthew added. “Apprehend them as they came back out.”

“There were two of them and two of us, and we had the advantage of surprise.” Vincent decided there was no need to mention Miss Walden’s participation. At least not yet.

“And what went wrong with your brilliant plan?” Gert set her mouth in a firm line.

“There was … I may have made a noise that alerted them to my presence.” He really, really wanted to defend himself, to explain that the noise he’d made had been in response to the sound Miss Walden made that had first alerted him to her presence, but perhaps they could avoid the worst part of the scandal.

For now. “One of them fired his pistol.”

Agnes gasped. Gertrude raised her eyebrows.

“He missed me, but his shot triggered a cave-in.”

“I was unable to clear the cave entrance by myself, so I fetched Kendall.” Matthew’s quiet admission had Agnes gasping again. “He determined we needed more help. And that’s how your male staff spent part of the night. Helping me.”

Gertrude steepled her fingers, her elbows on the table once more. “And how badly were you injured in this cave-in?” She directed her steely gaze at Vincent.

“What makes you think—”

“I smell lavender on you.” She took another sniff in his direction.

“And basilicum powder, yarrow root, and other herbs. Your valet got the recipe from Kendall, you know. I believe it was after you engaged in a race down the short path to the beach and cut your head and sliced open your knee and shin.”

Ah, yes. He’d won that foot race and the wager, at the cost of new scars after he tripped on jagged rocks. His stockings and long hair hid them. He shrugged. “You know how badly head wounds can bleed, even for the most trifling of scratches.”

“ Hmmpf .”

Some color returned to Agnes’s cheeks. “Was the cavern with the caved-in entrance the same one where they hid the contraband?”

“No, a little further along the tunnel, closer to the beach than the house.” Vincent turned to confirm that with Matthew, who nodded.

“Then the contraband is still in a cave in the tunnels on my property?” Gert sounded affronted. Considering the Hobart family’s history with smuggling, no doubt her ire was tied to the contraband being there without her knowledge or consent, rather than objecting to smuggling itself.

“Except for two large sacks of flour that they took with them last night, yes.” Matthew turned to Vincent. “I was surprised they didn’t drop the sacks. They ran remarkably fast for carrying them.”

“Are there more of their goods still in the cavern?” Agnes leaned forward.

Matthew nodded. “More than two men could remove in one night.”

Gertrude and Agnes exchanged alarmed glances.

“I don’t think there’s any risk of them coming back during daylight hours to retrieve what they’ve left behind,” Vincent rushed to assure them.

“But they will return.” Miss Walden spoke so softly he barely heard her. She took a sip of coffee and resumed staring into the contents of her cup.

“Unless we make it known that their merchandise is gone.” Aunt Gertrude tapped one finger on the tabletop.

“Yes, we could simply summon the magistrate. Let him fetch the Revenue men and whoever else needs to get involved.” Agnes nodded and relaxed, as though that settled the matter.

“Do you know the magistrate? Personally?” Matthew leaned around Vincent to get a better look at Gertrude.

“What if he thinks you are involved? Or one of us?” Vincent’s gesture took in himself and Matthew.

Aunt Gertrude let out an indignant huff. “Well, of course we’re not involved! The Hobart family in Sidmouth has a long history of—” She pursed her lips. “Blast. Your great-grandfather supplemented the family coffers … in creative ways. He is the one who enlarged several of the caves.”

“That’s why the beach is so rocky just outside the tunnel,” Agnes piped up. “What they dug out had to go somewhere.”

Vincent took a moment to picture the portrait of his great-grandfather that hung in the family gallery of Hobart Hall in Sussex, looking genteel in his powdered wig and pale green satin knee breeches and coat, sitting at a desk surrounded by books, his hounds at his feet. So refined. So proper.

Appearances were deceiving.

Just look at Miss Walden across from him, looking demure and proper, so petite that her feet barely touched the floor when she sat in a chair.

He was fairly confident the schoolteacher had cursed at him when he was reluctant to wake up in the cave last night, preferring the painless cocoon of unconsciousness.

And despite her diminutive stature, she’d heaved rocks with fierce determination rather than sit back and rely on someone else coming to her rescue.

“What if we set up a watch? Catch them in the act and capture them ourselves?” Matthew looked at everyone, searching for agreement.

“That went so well the first time,” Vincent drawled, looking at Matthew sideways.

“What if we did nothing? Let them fetch their goods uncontested and be gone.” Miss Walden set down her spoon and sipped her coffee.

“They saw me.” Vincent noticed her tiny shudder only because he was watching her closely.

“They are using my property without my permission.” Aunt Gert clenched her fists on the tabletop. “And if we don’t do something, they will continue to do so.”

“Repeatedly.” Aunt Agnes nodded, her lace cap fluttering. “Perhaps even when one of us is taking a walk at night when sleep eludes us.”

Aunt Gert pointed a bony finger at Vincent. “You said you saw them. Do you think you could recognize them if you saw them again?”

“I don’t need to see them again. I recognized Clyde.”

Aunt Gert sat back. “You’re certain it was he? Renwick’s son?”

Agnes gave an indignant huff.

Vincent nodded. “Even if I hadn’t seen him clearly, he was annoyed with his associate. He uses a distinctive phrase for encouraging his employees to move faster.”

Miss Walden snorted, and quickly covered it with a cough.

Aunt Gert’s brows threatened to climb into her hairline before she gave out an aggrieved tsk . “That boy needs a stern talking to.” She called for Kendall as she stood up from the table.

The butler appeared in the doorway almost immediately, as though he had stationed himself just out of sight. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Have the carriage readied and brought ‘round as soon as possible. I’m going into Sidmouth.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t mean to go by yourself to confront Clyde?” Vincent also stood.

“Don’t be silly. I know you would follow me on horseback if I didn’t allow you in the carriage. And I have no intention of speaking to Clyde.” She headed for the door. “I’m going to have a chat with his mother.”

* * *

Two hours later, Vincent and Matthew flanked Aunt Gert on the beach near the tunnel entrance. The young footman, Marshall, stood at attention nearby. Kendall and Bickford had stationed themselves just out of sight on the steep path above them, within hearing, both armed.

Mr. Renwick had followed Gert’s carriage from the inn on horseback, while Clyde and an ostler from the inn followed in a cart. They arrived a few minutes later, having travelled on the sunken lane rather than the main road.

“I’m right sorry about this,” Mr. Renwick said for the third time. “I don’t know what my lunkhead offspring was thinking, using the cave without your permission.”

Aunt Gert gave a magnanimous wave of her hand. “Simply remove the goods, and we’ll say no more about it.”

Easy for her to be magnanimous, Vincent thought. She wasn’t the one Clyde had fired upon, wasn’t the one nursing a throbbing headache.

Clyde jumped down from the cart, saw Vincent, and visibly blanched.

Using his extraneous height, thick build, and dark coloring to his advantage, Vincent snapped his eyebrows together, crossed his arms over his chest, straining the seams of his coat, and glared at Clyde.

Clyde gulped.

“Get to it,” Vincent growled at him, deliberately using his lowest, most gravelly speaking voice.

“Y-yes, my lord.” Clyde hurried into the tunnel, calling for Davey the ostler to get the lead out of his arse as he followed.

At Vincent’s nod, Marshall followed them with a lit torch.

Mr. Renwick had barely begun to engage in awkward conversation and more obsequious apologizing when the three men ran out of the tunnel.

“It’s gone!” Clyde looked to be losing the struggle to be polite to his betters, expressions of anger, dismay, and shock chasing themselves across his face. “It’s all gone!”

“He’s right, ma’am,” Marshall said to Gert. “The cave is empty.”

“Gone?” Vincent grabbed the torch from Marshall and went to see for himself.

Sure enough, the cave was as empty as it had been as long as Vincent had been visiting, except for yesterday. Clyde’s anger and frustration proved Vincent hadn’t simply imagined the crates, sacks, and casks.

Vincent headed back to the beach, doing his best not to stumble when he passed by the cave where he had been entombed with Miss Walden.

“I know my dolt of a son used the space without permission, ma’am,” Renwick began, “but—”

“We certainly had nothing to do with moving the contraband,” Aunt Gert said. “Did we?” she called up the hillside.