It was clearly some sort of work room. Rows upon rows of jars, bottles and storage containers lined one wall, each neatly labelled in the same, small scrawling script that had so painstakingly detailed the smuggling activities, and each filled with something different.
They all watched as Harriett moved to a small cupboard at the back of the room, nearly invisible because it was located in the darkest corner of the unlit room behind a large tree-like plant. She pulled out a large wooden box and placed it carefully on the table. Inside were copious hand written sheets that looked very similar to the papers Jemima and Eliza had carried that they could have been copied from them.
“Oh, lord,” Peter whistled, staring at page after page of parchment, each clearly detailing shipments, people and times.
“How do you know the contacts?” Edward asked, tilting the sheet of parchment he held to study the tiny script.
Harriett stared blankly at him, momentarily lost for an answer. Clearly she had someone who was supplying her with information, but who?
“Harriett?” Hugo persisted when she made no attempt to answer.
“Does it matter? We have done nothing wrong. After all, these papers are what you need to bring Scraggan to justice. Take them. I have no use for them. I will be glad when I don’t need to make such detailed notes, and can get on with my life,” and her voice became almost defensive as she tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“You have done an excellent job as always, Harriett.” Sensing her friend’s disquiet, Jemima hastened to reassure her. “Can you thank your helper the next chance you get? They have done a commendable job.” She hoped her soft voice would mollify her friend, and shot a warning glance at Hugo.
If they hoped to get out of here before the Redco
ats arrived, they couldn’t afford to antagonise her. Clearly she wasn’t prepared to identify who had provided such a valuable source, and that was that. They couldn’t force her. If her contact was a smuggler, then he would be rounded up with the others and would face his own justice. Though Jemima didn’t tell her friend that, she wondered if Harriett already knew. Clearly something was bothering her friend, and she wasn’t prepared to talk about it.
“How do we get this out of here?” Edward sighed, studying the size of the box warily. “We certainly can’t carry it on foot, and we don’t have the time to sift through it to pick out the most important pieces. This is incredible,” and he waved a hand toward the table in general, still shocked at the sheer volume of information they had been given, and the painstaking hours it must have taken to write such notes.
Hugo bit back an impatient curse and wearily rubbed a hand down his face.
“There is nothing else for it,” Jemima replied, picking up a large sheaf of parchment and tucking it into the deep pocket of her cloak. “We each take some. That way, if we do get caught up in anything, not all of the information is compromised.”
Peter felt a surge of pride at Jemima’s logic, and took his own share of the parchment. He stood back and watched as the remainder of the box’s contents was split between Harriett, Hugo, Eliza and Edward. It seemed that Miss Harriett Ponsonby had decided to go with them after all.
“I want it known that as soon as the Redcoats leave, I am coming back,” she mumbled, her voice trailing off, lost in the heavy cloak she was dragging across her shoulders. “I am not going too far away either,” she added, tucking her own share of the papers into her pockets. “I need to water my plants before I go.”
Hugo felt his patience snap. “You secure the cottage, I’ll water your damned plants!” He ignored her protests and stomped moodily toward the back door. He didn’t like the feelings that the witch was stirring in him and had the sudden urge to get her off his hands.
“Don’t you dare,” Harriett snapped, grabbing hold of the back of his cloak with more force than was necessary. “I will water my plants.” She glared at him as she stalked past, her small pert nose high in the air.
As she passed him, Hugo caught a whiff of roses and something alluringly unusual. Despite her fairly dainty stature, her glare was fierce as she silently challenged him to stop her as she swept past. The fact that she had to tip her head back to sniff haughtily at him was not lost on him.
The tip of her head barely reached his shoulder, so she would have to stand on tiptoe when they kissed. He abruptly snapped off that thought and shook his head, more disturbed than he cared to admit. He didn’t object when Edward brushed past him to keep a careful watch on her while she tended to her beloved plants.
“What about Harrold?” Harriett asked moments later, when Hugo tried to usher them out of the house.
“Leave him here,” Hugo snorted, rubbing his chest absently.
“I will not leave my cat to fend for himself!” Harriett snapped, her eyes burning orbs of temper as she glared at him in outrage.
“Do you have a box or something for him?” Edward asked, wondering if they could squeeze the huge beast into the small box the papers had been kept in.
“Harrold doesn’t like tight spaces,” Harriett replied.
“That rules out a grave then,” Hugo growled, ignoring her glare of contempt. Right now he didn’t care if she put a hex on him; he had to get her to leave the cottage.
“We’ll have to carry him,” Eliza suggested, looking at the group for a volunteer.
That was enough for Hugo, who snorted rudely and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
Peter chuckled and watched him go, then turned to look questioningly at Edward who shook his head, his hands held out defensively as he backed toward the door.
“Not in this lifetime,” Edward snapped, shooting Harriett an apologetic glance. “I know he is your pet, but he’s feral and that makes him dangerous.”
Harriett couldn’t really blame him for not wanting to get acquainted with Harrold; he hadn’t really shown himself in a good light, after all. But he was still Harriett’s pet and only companion, and she simply couldn’t leave him behind.