Indiscreet Part 13

"Was he the one who brought it up?" Camilla asked as they reached the staircase and started up it. "I thought it was Cousin Harold."

"Oh, Cousin Harold couldn't keep from spouting off about it, of course, in that brainless way of his. But it was your Mr. La.s.siter who worked the conversation around to it in the first place. And now he's going to wring every last bit of information out of them that he can. Thank heavens Harold is such a self-important fool. He will act as if he knows everything, when he knows nothing about it at all. He could not misdirect the man more if he tried."

Camilla looked at her cousin oddly. "What does it matter? Why do you care whether he finds out anything? Personally, I would much prefer that he is an excise officer than a thief, which was your other surmise. If he is a customs man, at least we aren't in any danger."

Anthony glanced at her quickly, then away. Camilla came to a halt, realization dawning on her. "Wait!" She reached out and took Anthony's arm, pulling him to a stop beside her. "Anthony! Are you-"

She glanced all around, then dragged him down the hall and into her room. When she had shut the door firmly behind them, she turned to him, hands on hips. Anthony fidgeted, looking anywhere but at her.

"Anthony Lionel Fitzwilliam Elliot!" she said fiercely, keeping her voice to a whisper, as if they might be heard even inside this room. "Are you involved with the smugglers?"

He set his jaw, still not looking at her, which was answer enough.

"Anthony! I cannot believe this of you! What about your mother? What about Grandpapa? If he finds this out, it will kill him!"

"It's not that bad. Grandpapa doesn't condemn them. Why, he even buys from them," he answered sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't be absurd. Buying brandy, or even feeling sympathy toward the smugglers, is a far cry from actually partic.i.p.ating in smuggling! What if you get caught? Even Grandpapa will not be able to save you. Not if you're caught red-handed and hauled off to jail. Think of your family, Anthony. Think of the disgrace. The future Earl of Chevington, caught smuggling!"

"I won't get caught. I'm careful."

"Oh, Anthony, you never think you will get caught."

"Usually I'm not."

"All it would take would be one time. It will be the end of you. The ruin of all of us." She turned away and began to pace. "Why? Why did you do this? It can't be for the money."

"Of course not I just did it for a lark one night Jem was doing it, and he was telling me about it."

"Jem Crowder?"

Anthony nodded, and Camilla groaned.

"I should have known. You and he have always gotten each other into mischief."

"They needed an extra hand. So I said, sure, I'd go along, and I went. And, oh, Camilla, it was such fun!" His handsome face lit up, betraying how much he was still a boy, no matter how large he had grown. "So I asked if I could do it again, and you know Nat, he was always a stand-up chap, and he let me. I've been doing it ever since."

Camilla put her face to her hands. "Anthony, Anthony..."

"Come on, Milla," he said coaxingly, going to her and wrapping his hands around her wrists, pulling her hands from her face so that he could look down into her eyes. "I am not me only one who's gotten into sc.r.a.pes. Who is it that's managed to work herself into a masquerade of marriage? You let your tongue get away with you, and now you're in a terrific jam. If anyone finds out, you will be completely disgraced. Just like me."

Camilla flushed. She could not deny his words. She was just as bad as he was, getting herself in such a fix. "You're right," she admitted. "I have gotten myself into a mess, and it's going to be the very devil to get out of it. But at least, if I am caught, I won't be hanged for it. If you are caught-"

"I won't be. You know the 'gentlemen'-" he gave the smugglers their local nickname "-haven't been caught.''

"Not recently. But there have been those in the past who were. And you know what happened to them. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you! The whole family would be ruined. Your mother could never again go back into Society. And Grandpapa-"

"I know. I know," he said wretchedly, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, Milla, I know I should not have done it. It was just that it was such fun, such excitement, and Chevington Park is so deadly dull."

Camilla heaved a sigh. "I know you are bored. I told Grandpapa he ought to at least send you to school. I understand that he didn't want you to go into the army. You are the heir, after all, and after your father's death, he was desperately afraid of losing you, too. But it would have been much better for you at Eton, where you could have been around other boys, not spending all your time here, bored and lonely and letting Jem Crowder talk you into things."

"Don't blame Jem. He's a good fellow."

"A good fellow who is likely to end up on the gallows," Camilla retorted. "Anthony, surely you see that you must stop. Don't you? You cannot go on with this."

"I know. I will end it. I will tell Jem, and-and when they can find someone to replace me, I will quit"

Camilla sighed. She supposed that she would have to be content with his promise, although she would have preferred that he quit right now, cleanly, and not wait for them to replace him.

"Anthony..." she asked after a moment, "do you know anything about Nat's death? Was it because of the smuggling?"

He frowned and shook his head. "No. I don't know anyone who knows what happened or why. Even Jem knows nothing. Nat was just found dead one morning."

"Is there a new leader? Do you think he killed Nat?"

"I don't know. I've never seen him. Everyone wears masks or kerchiefs over their faces. That way none of us can turn the others in if we get caught Of course, some of them I know by their voices or the set of the bodies, but there are plenty whom I don't recognize. And I don't ask questions. It isn't wise." He paused, then went on, "There must be someone making plans and giving orders. Everything runs more smoothly now than it did when Nat was alive. But I never hear anyone say who should do what or where or when we go. I just get the word from Jem, and I think that's the way it is with most of the men. Someone tells someone else, who tells another. The thing is..."

"What?"

"They're talking now about swearing blood oaths. You know, taking an oath not to leave the ring and not to betray it. Having a ceremony, you see, and committing yourself to it."

"This is something you think the new leader advocates?"

He nodded. "One of the men started talking about it, but I know he didn't think it up. He is too stupid. Several of the others think that it's a good idea. To insure loyalty."

"What would happen if you left the ring, then?"

He looked away from her. "They're talking about swearing to the death."

Camilla turned white. "You mean they would kill you if you left?"

He nodded slowly. "But we haven't sworn anything yet. And none of them know who I am, anyway, except Jem, and he would never tell."

"Oh, Anthony, think!" Camilla exclaimed. "If you can tell who some of the other men are by their voices or their size and shape, don't you think that you are easily recognizable to them? Who else among them has hands like an aristocrat? I dare swear that you haven't a callus on your palm."

She grabbed his hands and turned them palm up. "Look. And what about your speech? Who else among them talks like you?"

"I'm not a fool, Camilla. I wear gloves, and I change my manner of speaking. I copy Jem. You know I can take on the accent. You've heard me. I wear clothes I borrow from Jem. They don't know me.

She gave him a long look. "There are other things you can't disguise. Your build, for instance. I'm sure that you and Jem are together always. Everyone knows that the two of you have been friends all your lives. Maybe you wear Jem's s.h.i.+rts, but he's far too short for you to wear his trousers. You think any of them have trousers of that cut and material? There must be one or two of them who are sharp enough to put two and two together, no matter what you've done to hide it"

Anthony looked a little nonplussed, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of that. You might be right. But they're all loyal to us. They would never turn me in."

"Hopefully not. But it's not a good situation."

He sighed. "Yes, I know. And you're right I will give it up. I promise." He looked a little wistful. "But it was jolly good fun, Milla."

"I am sure it was." She smiled at him. "I will talk to Grandpapa and try to convince him that you need to spend some time away."

"Maybe a trip to London!" Anthony's eyes sparkled at the idea. "That would be smas.h.i.+ng!"

"Yes, it would."

Anthony hesitated, suddenly serious again. "And you won't tell La.s.siter, will you?"

"No." Camilla was aware of a curious longing to unburden herself to Benedict. However, if there was a chance that Anthony was right and her "husband" was an excise man, then he was the last person she could tell about Anthony's escapade. "You are right We shall have to be very, very careful to keep it a secret."

"Keep what a secret?" asked a masculine voice from the doorway.

Camilla gasped and whirled around. There in the doorway stood Benedict, looking at them questioningly.

Chapter 10.

Camilla stared at Benedict. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

"What?" she asked, stalling for time as her mind raced furiously.

"What is it you have to keep secret?"

"Oh, that." Camilla gave a little chuckle. "Nothing, really, just a...something that Anthony doesn't want Aunt Lydia to hear about. He's, ah, wanting to purchase a horse."

"Yes, that's right," Anthony jumped in. "Mama worries-you know how mothers are. She's afraid that the horse is too wild." He added in a realistically sulky voice, "She treats me like a baby."

"Now, Anthony, dear, she is just concerned about you. You are her only child, after all."

"I wish I were not," he retorted in a heartfelt voice.

Benedict glanced from one of them to the other. Camilla wondered if he believed them. She had been so rattled at seeing him there that she had reacted badly, she knew. But at least Anthony had been convincing; she hoped that would be enough to make Benedict believe the story. If only she knew how much of their conversation he had heard! If he truly was an excise officer, as Anthony surmised, it would be disastrous for him to have heard the whole, or even a good part, of what they had said.

"I am surprised to see you here," Camilla said brightly. "I thought you were staying behind to talk to Cousin Harold." Had he merely said that in order to skulk along behind them and spy on them? She was feeling more and more distrustful of him.

"Yes. We talked. But it's time for luncheon, and I decided to come tell you. You see, ah, the vicar and Mr. Thorne were discussing poetry."

Camilla giggled at the pained expression on Benedict's face. "I understand."

"I should think so!" Anthony overlooked his distrust of Benedict in an upsurge of fellow feeling. "That chap Thorne is a dead bore."

"I can't think why Aunt Lydia invited him down here."

"She didn't. Mama may be flighty, but she's not a sapskull. She said the fellow just showed up on her doorstep when she was leaving and insisted on escorting her to Chevington Park. He has been hanging around her for months now, professing his undying love and all that sort of tripe." Anthony grimaced. "He told her that he could not allow her to travel all this way without anyone to protect her. As if Batters, who's driven her everywhere for over fifteen years, and George weren't enough protection. Not to mention her maid and the driver of the second coach with her luggage. She tried to talk him out of it, but he kept jawing, so finally she agreed. Once they got here, she couldn't very well not invite him to stay for a visit. It wouldn't have been polite. How was she to know the leech would live here a month?"

"A month! He's been here that long?" Camilla asked, astonished.

"Yes. Mama tried to hint to him that he needn't remain any longer, but he just said that he could not leave her to face this 'family tragedy' all alone."

"It's a wonder you haven't kicked him out."

"I would have." Anthony looked grim. "But Mama is too soft-hearted. She thinks he must be short of funds, that he wanted to escort her because he was fleeing his creditors. So she's reluctant to toss him out. She says she has been in the same position sometimes when her allowance ran out. I don't know. Maybe she is hoping he will drive Aunt Beryl away. If he could, even I would be in favor of his staying."

"Have your cousin and his friend been here all that time, too?" Benedict asked. "It seems an awfully full house."

"Too full," Anthony agreed darkly. "Those two have been here even longer than Mr. Thorne, though, thank G.o.d, neither one is as big a gudgeon as he is. Cousin Bertram's not too bad. At least he's not prosy like Cousin Harold and Aunt Beryl. But that other one, Oglesby-he's a strange one,"

"Really? In what way?"

Anthony, who was not one to a.n.a.lyze his thoughts, wrinkled his brow. "I'm not sure. There's just something odd about him. Besides his clothes, I mean. I can't stomach pink waistcoats on a man, can you? Cousin Kitty and Cousin Amanda, of course, think he's the handsomest thing ever, and the two of them have been flirting like mad with him." A small grin flitted across his face. '"Course, he merely looks bored by them, so he can't be entirely lacking in good sense." He shrugged. "Perhaps it's merely that he's quiet. I rarely hear him say anything. But, somehow, I don't know, he seems...out of place."

"Out of place?" It was Camilla who asked him the question this time, her curiosity aroused by Anthony's answer.

"I can't explain it, Milla. Spend a little time around him, and you'll see what I mean."

Benedict said nothing more, deciding that he had asked as many questions as he could without arousing Anthony's or Camilla's suspicions. He still wondered what the two of them had been talking about when he opened the door. Camilla's explanation had been feeble, he thought, and there had been that flash of panic in her eyes when she turned around and saw him standing there. She had specifically said that they must keep something a secret from him, and she had obviously been fearful that he had overheard what they were discussing. He wished that he had opened the door a few moments earlier.

He found it difficult to believe that either Camilla or Anthony was the person he was seeking. Anthony, after all, would become an earl upon his grandfather's death. Perhaps a hotheaded, adventure-seeking young man might be foolish enough to risk all that for the excitement of smuggling, but his very youth argued against his being the mastermind of the destruction of Gideon. As for Camilla, however odd her actions might be, she was a lady. Moreover, she had only just arrived in Chevington Park after several months away.

Their mystery, whatever it was, was probably rather innocuous-some family secret, or the location of something valuable that they did not want known by an outsider. Still, Benedict would have felt better if he had known what it was.

There was no use pressing the point, however. He had to pretend that he believed them. "Well, I imagine that luncheon is ready now. Shall we go down, my dear?" He offered Camilla his arm.

"Thank you. Coming, Anthony?"

Anthony scowled. "With Thorne and Cousin Harold and all of them there? I think not. Mrs. Blakely will send one of the footmen up with my food."

With those words, he left them, heading for the back stairs leading up to the nursery. Benedict watched him go, saying casually, "Your cousin doesn't have a room on this floor?"

It was odd for a family member-the future earl, no less-not to be staying on the same floor with all the others, where the pleasantest rooms were.

"No. He sleeps in his old room upstairs." Camilla took his arm, and they started strolling toward the stairs.

"You mean, in the nursery?"

That fact struck him as even odder. What eighteen-year-old boy would want to stay in the rooms labeled for children?

"Yes. It's easier, he says. He and his tutor can use the schoolroom for his studies, and he likes his old bedroom. Personally, I think it's just because it's easier to avoid all the adults that way. There is no one else up there, so he can do as he pleases."

Benedict suspected that Camilla had hit the nail on the head with her supposition. The lure of being left to his own devices would appeal to any adolescent male; it would be heaven-sent for one bent on mischief. He wondered what sort of view the third-floor nursery windows would have. He thought that it might be an excellent place from which to look for signals indicating that there was a s.h.i.+p to be unloaded that night.

"Perhaps I ought to visit with Anthony a bit," he suggested casually. "Get to know him a little better. It might allay his fears about me. Perhaps we could go out riding."

Camilla glanced at him, surprised. "Why, that's very thoughtful. It would be nice if you could rea.s.sure him that you are not going to 'take advantage' of me. He feels that because he's a sort of brother to me, he should protect me."

"Someone should," Benedict agreed.