and she crossed the room do so; it was then she caught a glimpse of people moving about on the marshes. Her tiredness left her. Nat might be with them and she had to persuade him to come home before Sir Ashley found out what he was up to.
She hurried to her brother’s room and fetched a pair of breeches, a shirt, a waistcoat, a coat and hat from his clothes press, which she took back to her own room.
Ten minutes later a red-haired young man crept from the house and made his way down to the marshes. There were crowds of men working there in almost total silence, some knee-deep in icy water, as they fetched kegs and oilskin-wrapped bundles from their hiding places among the creeks left by the receding tide and loaded them onto carts waiting on firmer ground.
Pippa joined them, trying to appear as though she belonged there, but all the time looking about for her brother. She knew most of the men, but dare not make herself known to them. If they thought she was spying on them, they would have no mercy.
‘Nat Kingslake, what are you a-doin’ here?’ one of the men said, as she helped haul a keg into a cart. ‘Thowt you’d a mind to mek yarself scarce.’
Pippa looked about her, expecting to see her brother until she realised the man was John Bristow, the blacksmith, and he was addressing her. She put on her gruffest voice. ‘Why d’you say that? I’m one of the team, aren’t I? I was on the beach when this lot came in.’ She had only Joe’s word that this statement was true.
‘Yes, but I see yew jump into the boat and get rowed out to the Sally Ann. Do that mean the rest of the cargo hev bin landed some other place? That i’n't fair, that i’n't. That cargo were ours.’
Nat was not dead as she had feared he might be, but it was clear he was one of the smugglers. How to answer the blacksmith she did not know. If the smugglers thought Nat had betrayed them and kept a landing from them, they would be after his blood; on the other hand, if they realised who she was, they would be equally merciless. ‘I didn’t go on board,’ she said, trying to sound like her brother. ‘We waited until the coast was clear and the sailors rowed me back.’
‘Why didn’ yew go home then? Joe Sadler hev bin askin’ all round after yew.’
‘I couldn’t. Sir Felix is there much of the time and he has a guest.’
‘We know that. Yew’d do better goin’ home and keepin’ an eye on the man for us. We want to know what he’s up to.’
She could learn no more about Nat and the longer she stayed the greater the risk someone would penetrate her disguise, which hadn’t been meant as a disguise but simply a convenience. ‘Very well.’ She nodded and turned to go home.
‘We’ll see yew in a day or two when yar’ve had time to find out more about that there guest,’ he called after her.
The night was very dark and she had to pick her way carefully for fear of falling into one of the creeks or being sucked into the bog. It was not long before she realised she was being followed. Either they did not trust Nat or they had realised she was not her brother. She tried to hurry, but was hampered by the terrain.
‘Oooh!’ The cry was forced from her as she lost her footing and found herself slipping sideways into a water-filled creek. The coldness of it took her breath away and she floundered helplessly, trying to find her feet. The next minute she was grabbed about her waist from behind and hauled out. Her rescuer set her on her feet on firm ground, but he did not let go of her. She was shivering uncontrollably and it felt comfortingly warm against his broad chest.
‘Little fool!’ he murmured.
She knew the voice and twisted her head round to see Sir Ashley Saunders looking down at her. Had he recognised her? She had not seen him among the men, but that was not surprising; he was dressed in the rough clothes of a labourer. Spying, she presumed, but she could hardly condemn him for doing something she had been doing herself. ‘I thank you for your timely rescue, sir,’ she said, trying to sound masculine, but failing miserably on account of her chattering teeth.
If he was surprised to discover who it was he had rescued he gave no sign of it. ‘My pleasure and privilege, Miss Kingslake,’ he said, still holding her close, though she was soaking the front of his coat. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck and it was enough to send trickles of heat down her spine, right down into her frozen toes. It did nothing to stop her shaking. Quite the opposite.
‘You knew …’
‘Of course. Slim young men do not usually have curves where you undoubtedly have them. And very delectable they are, too. But let us not waste time in idle chatter—you must go home and into the warm. Explanations can wait.’ As he spoke he turned her round and slipping off his coat, put it round her shoulders, then he held it there, drawing her against his side while he guided her steps to higher ground. Neither spoke.
Pippa’s shoes were full of water and her head full of questions. What was he doing out on the marshes when the land smugglers were busy? Why had he come alone instead of being supported by dragoons and Revenue men? And how could she explain away her own presence? Did she need to? Was it any of his business? And why, oh, why did the feel of his arms about her, have such a devastating effect on her body? It was not only the cold making her shake.
They reached Windward House and went round to the kitchen door, which she had left unbolted against her return. They stood on the step, facing each other. The air was fraught with tension, with unanswered questions and the realisation of the sheer absurdity of their situation. Knowing her aunt and everyone else were in their beds she could not invite him in and yet it seemed churlish to dismiss him out of hand. She took off his coat and handed it to him. ‘Thank you for your escort, Sir Ashley. You had better put this on, you must be very cold.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, smiling and slipping it on. ‘And so must you. I suggest you go in and strip off those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold. I would not like to be held responsible for your demise. Go to bed. We have an early start in the morning.’
‘You are still going to take us, then?’
‘Of course. I do not go back on my word.’
‘I will say goodnight, then.’
‘Good morning would be more appropriate. It is past midnight.’
‘Is it? How time flies.’
He laughed and, turning her about, opened the door with one hand and gave her a gentle push with the other. ‘Much as I would like to prolong this delightful encounter, I must insist you go in and go to bed. I will return at eight o’clock and we shall see if you are well enough to go to Norwich.’
The next minute she was standing in the kitchen, lit only by the dying embers of the fire, and the door had been shut behind her. She heard his footsteps as he strode away and then she began to shiver so violently she could hardly light the candle she needed to see her to her bed. She needed something to warm her. She thrust a poker into the embers of the fire, filled a cup with wine and held the poker in it for several seconds. Then she drank the hot liquid down in one long gulp. She felt its warmth course its way down her throat and into her stomach and rather unsteadily climbed the stairs to her room, where she flung off Nat’s clothes and climbed into bed. It took a little time, but the shivering ceased at last and she slept, her dreams filled with near-drownings and strong warm arms engulfing her.
It was her aunt’s exclamation of dismay that woke her next morning. ‘Philippa, whatever
