The stable yard opened before them. Anne ordered the phaeton, and the stable boy went at once to do her bidding. She then led Richard to a side stall where a low kennel had been built beneath the manger. Kneeling, she lifted a small hound that scrambled up her arm and covered her cheek with eager kisses. Richard reached for another, but the pup wriggled so fiercely that it tumbled into his lap, its tail wagging furiously all the while.
Anne rubbed the puppy on his soft little head. “Sweet little tempter. These puppies break every resolution, and before I know it, I’ve spent a couple of hours playing with them.”
The boy ran up. “The phaeton is ready, Miss Anne.”
Richard handed her up, and he watched as she gathered the ribbons with the ease of an experienced driver. He then took his place beside her, and together they set off, turning smartly through the gate.
“Your destination, cousin?” she asked.
“Anywhere,” he said, then with a look of mock terror. “Only do not subject me to the company of venerable, long-winded widows. I value my time.”
“Hunsford village will suit,” she decided. “A baker there sells plum pudding of rare merit. And the scones are heavenly. Your time will be well spent.”
“Describe your days, Anne,” he said as hedgerows slid past. “Hours at the pianoforte? Sketches of ruined arches? I have never seen a portfolio.”
“God forbid a portfolio,” she replied with a smile. “I play in secret, for I will not perform on command; if Mother knew I could play, she would summon me for every caller. I plead a headache, and she accepts the fiction. Books serve me better for amusement. I take breakfast upstairs, where the newspaper arrives with my tray, and my mother is not around to forbid me. Once a week, I drive Mrs. Jenkinson into Westerham, where a circulating library keeps my subscription. There I find new volumes, and also journals filled with accounts of antique marbles, frescoes from Pompeii, discoveries at Herculaneum, and even curious notes on the medicinal uses of plants. Reading is one of my favorite pastimes.”
“An admirable regimen,” Richard said. He found that he liked her. Anne was a clever woman, and she had learned to enjoy life in her own way, even if she must take her innocent pleasures in secret, for her mother was both stubborn and controlling.
She drove them to the village and stopped in front of the bakery. They browsed through the shop together, and after Anne made the selections, Richard stepped forward to purchase the treats. With the parcel in hand, the two cousins settled themselves upon a wooden bench that stood beneath the barren oaks. There, they unwrapped the package, and Anne handed Richard his cup of plum pudding before placing his scones upon the paper she had spread neatly on the bench between them. The pudding was delicious. When he finished, Richard brushed a crumb from his jacket and then looked at his cousin, his face serious. “Anne, I must ask a grave question.”
Her smile faded. “Ask it.”
“What would you say if I told you that kegs of spirits lie stored on the Rosings estate?”
She set her scone upon its brown paper; her gaze fixed upon him. “A speculation, or a fact?”
“A fact,” he said. “Darcy walked with Miss Elizabeth this morning, and they observed a line of mules moving along a rutted track that leads to the old garden that Sir Louis built for his first wife. The animals were laden with kegs. He told me about it as soon as he returned and mentioned a newly built barn in the same direction. We rode there immediately to see whether it stood empty or stored contraband. The doors are heavy, and there are no windows. We found a gap in a warped plank, and through it, we saw that half the building is filled with kegs.”
Alarm drained her face of color. “I have read the history of the Hawkhurst men. The Gray brothers ruled the coast by terror. They murdered officers and ruined the lives of the common working class. The tales still frighten children to this day. Do such men move again?”
“I believe so,” Richard said. “I do not know how widespread the gang is, but they are very strong. They travel in broad daylight at an easy pace because they do not fear discovery. That speaks of confidence. A network protects them. Payments flow to local officers. Possibly to the magistrate as well. You must avoid the eastern fields. A chance encounter could place you in harm’s way.”
“I do not drive that side,” she replied. “The tracks jar the phaeton. Mrs. Jenkinson dislikes rough ground. My routes lie toward the parsonage, then west. Three estates sit beyond; the roads in that direction are well maintained, or I travel into Westerham.”
“Good. You must speak of this to no one. Not to your maid. Not to your coachman. Not to Mrs. Jenkinson. Silence preserves lives.”
“I understand.”
“Darcy suspects your mother’s knowledge,” he said.
Anne caught her breath; her hand flew to her mouth. “My mother? A smuggler?”
“Not a partner with pistols,” Richard replied. “Complicity of another sort. Payments for inattention. Permission for storage upon land that bears her name. Explain the barn otherwise. The steward may assist her as such a scheme requires oversight. Tell me, Anne, can you think of any person behaving out of character?”
Anne looked across the green as the wind stirred the oak leaves. She thought for a moment before speaking. “I have seen lights from my window,” she said at last. “They flare upon the far fields. The sight is not nightly, but frequent enough. I hadassumed the laborers were working late with lanterns, yet your description suggests they may have been signals.”
“Likely,” Richard said. “Those fields suit quiet traffic. There are few cottages and no alehouse within reach. Perfect for mischief.”
“My observation of the servants offers little,” Anne continued. “They keep no odd hours, nor do I hear them whispering in corners. Mother meets with the steward more often than before, and they claim it is to discuss a new drainage plan for the eastern fields, which could be true.”
“Or they could be speaking in code,” Richard said dryly. “Has the estate purchased carts for heavy loads, or fresh harness, or additional beasts?”
Anne considered before answering. “No. No such bills have crossed my desk. I see only charges for gowns, food, candles, and the usual things. If Mother is involved, it must be only in allowing storage.”
“Let us hope so.” Richard rose and offered his arm. She placed her hand there, her gaze steady.
“Hear me, Anne,” he said. “You must not investigate. Do not make small inquiries. Do not take brave excursions. Danger lies close. Promise me your silence.”
