‘Well there is nothing secret about that! Mama showed me the tunnel when I was a child. She told me her grandfather had built it so that the family need not get wet walking to the boathouse on rainy days, but if that was the case why does it come up into the kitchen? And why is the entrance hidden behind the panelling at the back of the boathouse? From the outside the tunnel is well hidden; it appears that the boathouse is built into the bank.’ Eve shook her head. ‘I always believed it was built for smuggling goods into the house, but Mama would never admit it.’ She forgot her anger as a half-forgotten memory surfaced. ‘I remember having nightmares about people stealing into the house through the tunnel, so Papa took me down there. He showed me the iron grating at the far end. It had a big lock and the key was kept on a hook in the tunnel, so that anyone from the house could get out, but no one could get in.’
‘That is still the case, Eve, so you may still rest easy. But the boathouse is in a sad state of repair.’
‘When Mama and Papa died the boats were sold. Grandpapa kept the house in order, but we only visited Monkhurst once or twice after that.’
Nick had stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. His fingers were playing with one of the curls at her neck. It was a great temptation to turn her head and rest her cheek against his hand, but she resisted it.
‘And what about you, Eve?’ he said softly. ‘Do you dislike the house?’
‘Oh, no, it holds only good memories for me. We lived there until I was about nine, you see, then I went to stay with Grandpapa while my parents went abroad and…they never came back. They died in Italy.’
His fingers left the curl and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I know, you told me they caught a fever. I am sorry.’
‘So, too, am I, but it was a long time ago.’
‘I am sorry, too, about your grandfather, and even sorrier that I could not be with you.’
She drew herself up, not prepared to accept his sympathy. She hunched her shoulder to shake off his hand, yet was disappointed when he removed it. She said gruffly, ‘We are straying from the point, sir. Why did you leave Makerham so suddenly?’
‘My enquiries had led me to suspect that Lord Chelston was involved in this business. He owns a sizeable property near Northiam and keeps a yacht at Hastings. I have had people watching him for some time now, but he is very elusive. On the morning after our wedding I received word that a rendezvous had been arranged. After so many months of work I could not leave my men to deal with it alone, so I had to come here to the coast.’
‘But you have not arrested Lord Chelston?
‘He is a powerful man. We need hard evidence before we make our suspicions known. Besides, I want to catch all the main players and close down the whole operation. If we move too soon they will merely go underground, move production to a new location.
‘These people are clever; they have a warehouse in Boulogne. The French are not averse to helping anyone who is working against England. You said yourself, smuggling is a way of life in these parts; the local gangs are trusted by their regular customers who believe they are purchasing good Black Bohea.’ He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘There were reports that a consignment of smouch was ready to be shipped out of Hastings on a brigantine and transferred to a French lugger cruising off this coast. We thought it would be possible to catch Chelston’s men red-handed with the goods; with their evidence we could convict him. Captain George has a cutter at his disposal, the Argos, but on the night of the rendezvous some of us were in disguise on a small fishing smack, hoping to get close enough to the brigantine to board and overpower the crew, but they discovered the plot.’
‘What happened?’ asked Eve, enthralled in spite of herself.
‘In the fighting I was shot and toppled into the water.’
‘Shot!’
‘A flesh wound, just below the ribs. Nothing serious, but it carried me over the side. Thankfully I managed to swim to the Argos, but having been lost overboard it was decided it would be to our advantage to let everyone else think I had perished.’
Eve kept her eyes on his profile, noting the fine laughter lines etched at the corner of his eye and at the side of his fine, curving lips. It would be so easy to lose her heart to him all over again. She squared her shoulders, determined to resist the temptation.
‘I understand that you would not want these villains to know you were alive, but what of me?’ she said quietly. ‘Why did you send Granby to tell me you were dead?’
He turned his head to look at her and for once there was no smile in his blue eyes. ‘I never intended to tell you. I thought we could wrap up this matter quickly and there would be no need for you to know. Then I received your note, saying your grandfather had died, and I knew I would have to send Granby to you.’
‘But why? I do not understand.’
‘Because the man who shot me was your cousin, Bernard Shawcross.’
‘Either the world has gone mad or I have lost my wits!’ Eve put her hands to her cheeks. ‘Confess you are joking me.’
‘It is no joke, Eve,’ Nick said quietly. ‘When you wrote to tell me of Sir Benjamin’s death, I knew Shawcross would go to Makerham. When your note reached me I was too weak to leave my bed or I promise you I would have found some way to get to you. Instead I had to send Richard to protect you.’ With a sudden, impulsive move he slid from the sofa to kneel on the floor before her, taking her hands and looking up earnestly into her face. ‘I never meant to cause you such pain, Evelina; we had known each other less than a month, only one night married—I did not think you could care for me so very much.’
‘Well, you were wrong,’ she muttered, pulling her hands away. She rose and walked about the room, trying to make sense of all he had told her.
Nick sat back down on the sofa, watching her. At last he said, ‘You are looking very pale, love. Are you hungry? When did you last eat?’
She stopped her pacing, frowning as if she did not understand his words. ‘At breakfast.’
‘Then we must dine.’ He jumped up. ‘But first, my little termagant, we need to call your maid.’
Martha was quickly summoned and came into the room, dipping a slight curtsey towards Nick as she did so.
‘I am very pleased to see you looking so well, Captain Wylder.’
‘Thank you, Martha,’ he responded cheerfully. ‘Would you be good enough to bring up some fresh glasses? We had a—er—little accident with the others. But mind, not a word to anyone that I am here.’
She nodded solemnly. ‘No sir, I’ll keep mum, my word on it.’
Nick smiled at her and Eve noted with a stab of irritation how her usually stern-faced maidservant softened under the force of his charm.
‘And I’ll fetch a brush to clear up the glass in the corner, too, Cap’n.’
When
