The sirens captain, p.10
The Siren's Captain, page 10
Ree made sure to keep walking slowly and steadily. “You will frighten him away looking like that,” she scolded softly. “Smile and laugh, as if I said something amusing.”
No one would doubt the engaging smile he directed her way or the appreciative chuckle. Ree lowered her head as if shy, but she watched the red-haired man from under her lashes as they drew nearer. He seemed to have lost interest in the mail coach, turning away from it as if gazing down the hill toward the ships and the cove. What did he hope to see?
Quill led her around the others who had disembarked until the two of them were parallel with the stranger. Then he dropped her arm and stepped in front of the fellow.
“Quite the view, eh?”
The man jerked back, then turned as if determined to escape. Ree darted into his path, and he bumped into her. Solid. He had muscle. He also had green eyes, a long nose, and a firm chin. A scar traced its way down one sculptured cheek.
“Beg pardon,” he muttered, ducking his head and attempting to edge around her.
Oh, no. She was not letting him get away again. Ree dumped her armload of daisies at his feet. “Oh, dear! Look what I have done. You must help me, kind sir.”
Everyone turned their way.
He stood for a moment, gaze careening around as if seeing enemies everywhere. Then he shoved past her and fled, feet slipping on daisy petals and Quill in hot pursuit.
Chapter Ten
Quill dug his toes into the dirt of the road, pushing harder. The fleeing stranger was as swift as the wind down the Channel. He dodged behind the houses farther along on High Street, then veered onto Castle Walk. That area had few outlets, unless he meant to climb the path up the headland to the Castle How grounds. Quill ought to be able to catch him there.
But as Quill dashed around the corner, he caught sight of the fellow swerving onto Lavender Lane instead. He powered after him, rounding the corner only to skid to a stop.
The lane yawned empty. Every cottage door was closed. Not a person walked among them. How had he lost his quarry, again? Was the stranger a wraith that he could disappear at a whim?
Hands fisted in her pelisse, Ree hurried up to him, breath coming fast. “Well? Where is he?”
“I have no idea,” Quill said, glancing around again. Not even a curtain twitched on a window, as if the occupants were elsewhere or couldn’t care less what happened outside their brightly painted doors.
She huffed. “He cannot get away so easily. Where does this lane lead?”
“Only to that house, there,” Quill said, nodding to the end of the lane. “It’s a newer part of the village, built in the last couple of years. Mostly rentals, as far as I know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, someone visiting the spa.”
Quill shook his head. “I’ve seen no redheaded gentlemen listening to you sing. And Jesslyn disclaimed all knowledge of a man of that description.”
She made a face, lips puckering. “He cannot be a figment of my imagination. We both saw him, twice now. And both times he did his best to escape us. Why, if not that he is up to something nefarious?”
“A mystery indeed,” he said. He offered her his arm. “I have a sudden desire to promenade about this fine street. Join me?”
She latched on with a determined smile. “My dear captain, I would be delighted.”
Together they ambled up the short lane, past cottages with tile roofs, lacquered front doors, and window boxes now waiting spring’s return. They stopped here as if examining a particularly pretty shrub, there to exclaim over a cunning brass door knocker shaped like a mermaid. But of the redheaded stranger, there was no sign.
“He seems rather timid for an assassin,” Quill said as they exited the lane and turned for High Street. “If he wanted to attack, he’s had ample opportunity.”
“When we noticed him, too many were witnesses about,” she countered. “And we do not know how many times he approached you and we did not see him. I cannot like it.”
Neither could he. “He also led us in this direction twice. I wonder if Mrs. Kirby, the leasing agent for the village, might be willing to tell us who has the leases for these cottages.”
Ree squeezed his arm. “Why, we must speak to her, then. As a newly engaged couple, we should inquire about leasing a larger cottage, perhaps on Lavender Lane.”
With a chuckle, Quill led her down High Street to the lady’s place of business.
The older Mrs. Kirby also had red hair, piled up on top of her head with tight curls around her ears. The color matched her quilted redingote.
“Lavender Lane,” she said, steepling her fingers in front of her as they sat on her wide front porch in wicker chairs facing the street. “The previous Lord Howland had the houses built about five years ago, but we haven’t had call to lease them until recently. Doctor Bennett and Mrs. Denby have done such a splendid job at the spa that we cannot keep up with visitors, even in the winter season. I’ve had quite a call for properties in the last month.”
Quill shot Ree a look, then aimed his charm at the leasing agent. “No doubt your good services also account for the popularity. Mr. Howland speaks highly of you.”
Her broad cheeks widened in a smile. “How kind of the magistrate.”
Ree leaned closer, brows knitting. “So there is nothing for my dear captain and me to lease? Dove Cottage is charming, but I was hoping for something larger.”
Larger would mean a higher rent and a greater commission for the leasing agent. Mrs. Kirby turned her smile on Ree. “I’m sure we can find a spot for you and your handsome groom, Mademoiselle Fortier. There’s a fine estate between the village and Upper Grace that might suit you. Four bedrooms, room for servants, a coaching house with stalls for riding horses, and a view out over the village.”
He could picture it. Ree at his side, looking out over the Channel, watching its moods shift and change. Racing across the Downs, the wind in their faces. Coming home to entertain friends around the table. Hot chocolate before retiring to bed…
“Oh,” Ree said dispiritedly, and it took him a moment to realize she was responding to the leasing agent and not the vision in his head. She lay a hand on his arm as if for support. “I had so hoped to be in the village itself. I have heard the Regulars stay on Lavender Lane. We would not want to settle among strangers.”
“Our Regulars generally stay closer to the spa,” she advised, blue eyes thoughtful. “Most of those leasing the cottages on Lavender Lane are what we would call Newcomers. The only house left was the one on the corner of Lavender Lane and Castle Walk, and I’m afraid a gentleman took the lease about a week ago.”
Gathering his thoughts, Quill leaned back as if the subject held little interest, but he kept his gaze on the leasing agent.
“Oh?” Ree asked, perking up. “Perhaps I met him at the spa.”
“Doubtful,” Mrs. Kirby said. “Mr. Smith seems the solitary sort. His London solicitor took the lease for him. All I know of him is that he was an officer in the Army, wounded, like you, Captain.”
He’d thought the fellow stood proudly the first time he’d seen him. Military training could have that effect. Still, a wounded former officer hardly sounded like the sort to be lurking about the village, running every time he was recognized. Unless his wound was as fictitious as his name.
“Perhaps you could give us a list of properties still available, and Mademoiselle Fortier and I can consider what would suit us best,” Quill said. “We may be able to make do with Dove Cottage.”
The leasing agent’s face sagged. If he stayed in Dove Cottage, she had no commission. If he left, she might earn money from both the new lease and next lease for his cottage. “Of course. I’ll have a copy sent up to you this afternoon.”
“No hurry,” Ree said, rising. “I doubt we will have time to pursue the matter further until Saturday. We will be attending Lord Peverell’s wedding tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes, the wedding,” she said. “It should be delightful. Enjoy yourselves.”
Quill thanked the leasing agent for her time and escorted Ree down to the street.
“So, we may have a name for our mysterious stranger,” she said as they started up the hill again. “Mr. Smith.” She shook her head. “Not very original.”
“But perfect for the task,” Quill said. “It’s English enough and common enough not many would question it.”
“I suppose. And we know which of the houses he leased. Shall we beard the lion in his den?”
He had a sudden image of her hairpin stuck under the fellow’s chin. “Perhaps you would allow me that pleasure.”
Her eyes widened. “Alone? Are you mad?”
Quill started laughing. “I have somehow managed to take care of myself, with the rare help of others, since the day I was born. It’s a little late to set a governess over me.”
“Do you mock me?”
He glanced her way to find her color high and her look dark. “No, Ree. I’ve seen you fight. And your first demonstration was rather…pointed.”
Her lips softened, which only reminded him how they had felt against his. He forced his gaze away.
“Allow me to indulge my curiosity, then,” she said, once more linking arms with him. “I would like to meet our redheaded ghost.”
It could be dangerous. Smith might have others in that cottage with him, servants at the very least. Would they come running to aid their master? Or was he really just a former Army officer, nursing a wound?
“Very well,” Quill said. “But keep that hairpin of yours handy.”
~~~
Ree’s shoulders came down as she accompanied Quill back toward Lavender Lane. She should not feel such pleasure to be included in his plans. The first time he’d laughed at her, she’d been humiliated. This time, the hurt might have gone deeper. He’d worked with her for nearly a week now, and still he didn’t trust her skills?
It had been the same among the émigré community in London. Some had decided to make their way in England, joining the Anglican church, finding new occupations or perhaps an occupation for the first time. Many, however, longed for their glory days in France, when they had owned lands and mansions, commanding troops and servants. They gathered behind closed doors and plotted ways to overthrow Napoleon and his upstart government. But a young lady, helping in any way? No, no, it was not to be considered.
“You are a fair flower of France,” one of the comte’s men had told her when she’d admitted training with her father and the comte’s master at arms. “It is our honor to protect you, not the other way around.”
In the end, they had not been able even to protect themselves, and she had been forced to make her way alone. She’d had singing lessons most of her life. Easy enough to convince one of the émigré doyens to have her sing at a dinner party. That success had led to others, until she was signing contracts to sing at prestigious events, even before the king himself.
Yes, she knew what she was capable of, had been tested multiple times. A shame she could not convince Quillan St. Claire.
His steps slowed near a cottage with a shell-shaped window over the door. “Is that Maudie?”
Ree frowned at the dark figure hunched over in the front garden. As they approached, Maudie straightened, and Ree spotted Mr. Guthrie down on his hands and knees among the remaining plants.
“Maudie?” she asked, letting go of Quill to hurry up to the pair. “Mr. Guthrie? Are you all right?”
“No,” Maudie said with a stomp of her foot that set her black bombazine skirts to swishing. “We lost them.”
Quill stilled, though his voice came out pleasantly enough. “Who, dear lady?”
“Pixies,” Mr. Guthrie answered, climbing to his feet. His face was red, but from his exertions or embarrassment, Ree wasn’t sure. “We were certain we spotted a glimmer of their iridescence, but I appear to have lost the trail.” He looked to Maudie, mouth bunching. “Can you forgive me, my dear Mrs. Tully?”
Maudie’s face softened. “You did your best, Mr. Guthrie. Not many would go to such lengths.”
He bowed his head. “You inspire me to do my utmost.”
She put a hand on his lean arm. “Jesslyn should be home soon. Why don’t you stay for dinner?”
“De-de-delighted,” he stammered, head coming up. He beamed around, then blinked as if surprised to find Ree and Quill still standing there. “Lovely night for a stroll. Have you seen anything interesting?”
He and Maudie waited with bright eyes. Maudie was no doubt hoping for stories of encounters with mermaids or trolls. Ree could only wonder why Mr. Guthrie was so eager to hear about their activities. Was it a coincidence they had found him on High Street just as they were passing for Lavender Lane?
“I find nothing more interesting than the lovely ladies of Grace-by-the-Sea,” Quill said with a look to Ree.
Mr. Guthrie nodded. “Well said, sir. Do not let us detain you.”
“Watch for storm clouds,” Maudie advised with a glance to the sky. “There’s danger on the wind.”
Ree felt it too. They excused themselves from the couple and continued on their way.
“I cannot trust him,” Ree said, glancing back to find Mr. Guthrie watching them. She faced Quill. “He seems sincerely devoted to Maudie. I would like her to be happy, but could he be only pretending?”
“There are easier ways to blend in at Grace-by-the-Sea than courting its most renowned citizen,” he pointed out.
Ree laughed. “You should have warned me before we agreed to a courtship.”
He smiled. “Perhaps I should have. But you needn’t worry about Maudlyn Tully. She is a canny lady. If he’s toying with her affections, she’ll see through him soon enough.”
Ree could only hope he was right as they approached Castle Walk again.
His arm tightened beneath hers as they reached the corner with Lavender Lane and Mr. Smith’s cottage. Like the others nearby, the two-story house was built of cream-colored stone. This one had window boxes and trim painted a jaunty red. White curtains on the multi-paned windows kept the interior hidden from prying eyes. Perhaps this fellow was better at the game than they’d thought.
Quill put himself slightly in front of her as he banged the bulldog-faced bronze knocker against the door. The sound echoed down the quiet street. It probably echoed inside the house as well. But no footsteps approached in answer. Quill tried the latch, but it wouldn’t budge.
He bent and put his head closer to hers. “Stay here. I’ll go see to the rear door.”
“Not alone,” she insisted.
He grimaced, but he straightened, glanced about again, and then led her around the side of the house. The windows there were shuttered from the inside. She could see nothing through them. She could only hope that meant the occupants could not see her and Quill either.
The rear garden was overgrown, grass poking up among the flower beds and stalks of hollyhocks bowing with the weight of drying blossoms. Clumps of silver-green bushes told of the lavender for which the street had been named. Hints of the scent still hung on the breeze. She might have thought the house unoccupied if Mrs. Kirby hadn’t said otherwise.
Quill approached the rear door and pressed on the latch.
“Locked,” he said, stepping back. “Just like the front. Mr. Smith likes his privacy, it seems.”
“Perhaps his neighbors disagree,” she suggested. “We should ask.”
Their knock at the house next door was answered by an elderly manservant who would only say that his mistress was not expected back from the spa until evening. No one responded at the next house down. They had crossed the street before they found anyone at home. The maid admitted them to a pleasant parlor facing the street.
Mrs. Rollens was a Newcomer. Ree recognized her from the spa. She’d first appeared only two days ago and had spent several sessions with Doctor Bennett. An elderly woman with a round face and flyaway grey hair, she was delighted to receive them.
“Your singing, Mademoiselle Fortier,” she warbled in a high-pitched voice as she sat on a claw-armed chair with Quill and Ree on the matching sofa opposite. “Delightful. Charming. You are a very fortunate fellow, Captain St. Claire.”
“And well do I know it,” he assured her with a fond smile to Ree. She was likely the only one to notice the determined glint in his dark eyes.
She focused on their hostess, perched on her chair, brown wool skirts spread about her.
“It was so nice of you to receive us,” Ree told her. “We are considering leasing one of the houses here on Lavender Lane, but it seems so out of the way. We were hoping you could tell us of your experiences.”
“It’s been lovely,” she assured her, hands resting on the arms of the chair. “Quiet, certainly, but that is all to the good after spending a day among the gaiety of the spa.”
“Friendly neighbors?” Quill put in.
“The friendliest,” she said. “Mr. Marsh to the east of me is always bringing me something from his garden. He’s been here the longest and has some lovely squash. The Waltons to the west will walk me home sometimes, if I stay overlong in the village without my sedan chair.”
“And across the street?” Ree asked, making sure her gaze betrayed only interest.
Her smile faded. “I cannot say. I haven’t met the fellow.”
“Not even to catch a glimpse of him?” Quill pressed.
“A glimpse, but no more,” she allowed. “There’s a flash of light from the upper window as the sun is setting. I haven’t determined the cause. As for my neighbor, he dresses like a gentleman, but he does not meet my gaze. Perhaps he’s concerned I would judge him for his scar.”
“Oh, a scar,” Ree said, allowing a little of her excitement to leak into her voice. “No doubt a dark-haired fellow with a sinister mustache as well.”
“He is cleanshaven,” Mrs. Rollens said. “But as to his hair, it appears to be a deep shade of red. I wouldn’t hold that against him either.”
“No indeed,” Ree agreed. “Odd that I have seen no such a gentleman at the spa.”
“I have only seen him twice,” their hostess admitted. “Both times when I was coming home later than planned from the village and without the Waltons. He may be one of those who prefers the common house to more sophisticated company.” She gave a sniff and turned the topic to other matters.
