The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace 3)

‘Insolent wretch,’ Aunt Rosie said, her voice cutting through the clear air. ‘I knew him when he was a boy, and he was a pompous little no-account then.’ Sir James’s ears turned scarlet, but he did not turn. ‘And as for that jackass Penwith, you are wasting your time attempting to arrange an affair of honour, Mr Defoe. He has none.’

‘Cris—’

He rode back, dismounted and held up his hands to her. ‘Courage, Tamsyn. They are blustering. It can only be a bluff. Now come down, eat this wonderful picnic, admire the view.’

‘Of course.’ She managed a smile. ‘I cannot let those idiots spoil Aunt Rosie’s special day.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he murmured as she slid into his hands, down the length of the hard steady body. ‘I’m here, they won’t hurt you.’

She stood for a moment, just leaning into him, feeling the strength and the reassurance flowing from him to her, wishing she could put her head on his shoulder. Instead she pushed away and walked towards the militiamen. Do not weaken. He won’t be here forever. ‘Sergeant Willis, isn’t it? Do make yourselves comfortable. None of us are going anywhere for a while and I am certain our picnic will stretch to give you your luncheon also.’

‘Ma’am.’ The sergeant looked hideously uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and looked round as though for inspiration.

‘Might I suggest your men stand guard, one at a time on rotation, while the rest of you sit over there with our staff and refresh yourselves?’ Cris scanned the surrounding area. ‘I feel certain that the country hereabouts is open enough to give good warning of the approach of dangerous gangs of smugglers intent on subverting Mrs Perowne’s evidence.’

‘Er…yes, sir. Just as you say, thank you, sir. Perkins! You heard the gentleman. On patrol for half an hour, then you, Downton.’ They marched off stiffly.

Tamsyn fought a rather hysterical giggle. ‘This would be funny. If it—’

‘Wasn’t,’ Cris finished. ‘Quite. A very bad farce. Come and sit down.’

She managed a rueful smile for the aunts, both of whom, she was relieved to see, were fuming rather than fearful. ‘I simply cannot believe that there really is a large-scale smuggling operation going on,’ she said, once they were settled with slices of raised pie and cheese and apples. ‘Things were becoming more difficult even before Jory died. With the end of the war and the changes in taxes, there just isn’t the range of things to smuggle to make it worthwhile. Not on this coast, at any rate.’

‘I suppose they cannot overlook a murder,’ Aunt Rosie said, obviously struggling to be fair. ‘But they must be demented to think Tamsyn has anything to do with it.’

‘After the inquest it will be quite apparent there is no evidence.’ Gabriel sprawled with careless elegance across one corner of the rug, a chicken leg in one hand. ‘I assume you have been nowhere near this Cat’s Nose Bay, Mrs Perowne?’

‘Not for several weeks,’ she said. ‘But I know it. It was one of Jory’s favourite landing beaches and it is probably still used for some small runs. But violence has never been the way down here, not since Jory was running things. He always found a way to slip past the militia and the Revenue. Someone must have been desperate, or cornered.’

‘You don’t shoot a man in the back if he’s cornered you,’ Cris pointed out drily.

Aunt Izzy was beginning to look anxious. Tamsyn took a deep breath and found a smile from somewhere. ‘The inquest will be held in Kilkhampton, so I will be able to get some shopping done at that excellent milliners Mrs Holworthy recommended. We must make a list of what we need.’

Always assuming I am not being hauled off to the lock-up right after the inquest.

Her tone and smile must have been suitably optimistic, for Aunt Izzy brightened up and reminded her that there was also a very good stationers and they needed sealing wax and black ink.

Somehow they managed to ignore the militiamen marching up and down, a discordant flash of scarlet in the corner of the eye, however hard everyone looked the other way and pretended they were not there.

Eventually Rosie announced that she was becoming a little tired and perhaps they should return. The picnic was loaded on the pack pony, the sedan chair set off down the hill and the two men flanked Tamsyn with the militiamen bringing up the rear.

‘Right, now we are out of earshot of your aunts, let’s have a serious discussion about this,’ Cris said briskly. Tamsyn felt an irrational wave of relief that he was not going to pretend everything would be all right. It was not and she needed help, not soothing. ‘First thing, we get that silver hand of yours out of the house.’

‘How? They will stop any of us leaving, I am certain. And if they search, they will search everyone’s possessions.’

‘I’ve a secret compartment in my carriage. It has defeated virtually every border guard on the Continent. If you go and get the hand out of the strong box immediately when we get back, then I’ll find an excuse to be in the stables, getting Jackdaw settled.’

That was a relief. She pushed to the back of her mind the question of why Cris needed a secret compartment in his carriage.

‘I am assuming this is another of Chelford’s little games,’ he continued.

‘Franklin? But this is murder…’ She thought about it while Cris rode on in silence, waiting for her to catch up with his reasoning. ‘He spreads rumours about a new smuggling gang, he shoots that poor man and somehow implicates me? That would explain Sir James’s confidence. But there cannot be any evidence.’

‘That

is what is worrying me,’ Gabriel said. ‘It means that something has been fabricated and it is likely to be something so obvious that even that blockheaded coroner will swallow it.’

Perhaps, after all, it would be nice to be treated like a damsel in distress and not be subjected to this bracing dose of reality. As if he sensed her wavering courage Cris reached out and closed his hand over hers on the reins. ‘Don’t worry, we’re here. If you can just get it clear in your mind that you are not going to be hauled off to gaol and hanged, you can relax and enjoy this.’