Page 3 of The Scholar’s Spy

Davenport redirected his gaze to Perrin.

“Unfortunately, there was little I could do other than gather information,” Perrin said. Davenport was certain he must have been outnumbered, but nonetheless, the lieutenant looked embarrassed with himself.

“What was the information you gained?” Davenport asked into the stilted silence.

“Shifting loyalties, rumors galore, the employment of ‘bat and tub-men’, warring pursuits of at least two rival gangs, and then…and a ringleader was mentioned. There was a silly nickname, but most clearly, I heard the smugglers refer to their leader as a woman. His lordship fears that it might be more than brandy they are smuggling.”

The gentler sex taking part in something as hazardous and treasonous as smuggling was not necessarily the most shocking of news, but leading a gang certainly was. It was a hard thing to picture given the women of his acquaintance. To think of them ruthlessly dispatching his fellow warriors, and giving orders to murder…

“Someone is selling state secrets,” the baron said into the silence. “I want to know if it is coming in from Dorset.”

As for the alluded to idea of treason—well, that was what all present feared, why they were all in the navy to stop the threats to the crown.

“Surely,” Davenport said, “you know of my injury to my eyes, that if you wish me to be involved, I would be honored but perhaps I am not the right man—”

All Montacute had to do was shift in his seat to draw the silence he sought. “It is a part of the world where my own estate is. I do have a vested interest in the area. You are precisely the man for this job. As a young unwed man of passing looks, if there is a woman involved, you are wonderfully placed to find and charm the bitch. Besides, your injury means that you will be less suited to the next phase in Clarendon’s plans, which is going to involve far more hand-to-hand combat. Your mission is of a more subtle nature.”

Annoyance flared in Davenport’s chest, at how he was considered now by his fellow officers, and he wondered if Montacute caught this reaction. The baron did not react but continued on. “Your abilities are not merely physical but practical, which is why I’ve asked you here today, Captain. Your loyalty is what marks you out. The revenue service will set you up with an alibi and funds to investigate if there is any treason at play.”

“Where will I be going?” Davenport asked.

“I need you to go to Lyme Regis, and investigate all that Lieutenant Perrin has reported on. Bring me back the names of those involved. See what crimes are being committed.” Montacute leaned forward so as to emphasize his point. “Especially this female figurehead Perrin spoke of. I want to know everything you can discover about her and the gang she leads. If it is treason, secrets being traded, then we need to know. And then when you have the information, you will remove her.” The baron let the silence hang before he added, “By any means necessary.”

Chapter One

Lyme Regis. March 1814.

Dusk had fallen long ago. If she was entirely honest with herself, Abigail would admit that it was nighttime. But if she didn’t, she continued with her laborious work. The idea of returning home did not appeal to her.

Bending in closer over the desk, she continued to work away. Her clothes were shabby, including her father’s breeches, but that didn’t matter since he had died four years ago.

She bent closer to the ammonite, tugging her recent find gently into the only source of light. With a deep sigh to steady her anticipation, Abigail bent, studying her find. If it was as valuable as her previous fossil, it would be a great boon to her family coffers. She continued to dust and move the remains of the sandy peat away until she was interrupted by a small but very familiar tutting sound from behind her.

“It’s gone seven,” someone called from the darkness of the workshop. Abigail sat upright and glanced back over her shoulder. She already knew it was her oldest sister. No one else could convey so much protective judgement in so few words.

“I’ve got my knife,” said Abigail. She really would prefer to stay out despite the wintry chill in the air which would be worse on the walk home.

Judith stood ten feet away, almost entirely hidden by the shadows of the mainly unlit workshop. The only thing that was truly visible was the light glinting off the long flintlock blunderbuss musket that Judith held. It had belonged to their father and then it had been left to their manservant, but since Lindfield hadn’t kept his position long, it had passed to Judith.

“The food is growing cold,” Judith tried again. She moved closer and Abigail observed the confidence with which her oldest sister handled the weapon, as if she would not mind if she had to fire it. Judith was straight backed and prim looking with her plain hair scraped back, making her look older than her thirty years. “Mother told me to keep an eye on you.” It was Judith’s winning card: the promised threat of their mother, and one which Abigail had to listen to.

With great reluctance, Abigail stood up, dragging a weighty piece of black material over her treasured find. Fossil hunters had increased in the last five years, although they were normally gone during the cooler months. No one would be mad enough to break into the workshop, Abigail told herself. She stretched as she walked closer to her sister.

Rather than greet her, Judith leaned forward and blew out Abigail’s source of light.

“Better now to draw too much attention,” Judith whispered as she linked her free arm with Abigail. Her sister often made comments like this, about the possibility of dangers in the night, but Abigail had never seen any evidence of that. Her knife was more likely to be used for cleaning or unearthing a fossil than anything else.

Judith directed Abigail out of the workshop, and waited while Abigail locked up.

Once done, they started back toward home, cutting through the gloom, down a well-known track that ran along the seaside bank, before taking the track that would lead toward their house, which was located in the heart of Lyme Regis town.

Judith was an old hand at maneuvering through the unlit streets whereas Abigail would have struggled without a light.

Once they’d reached the outer limits of the town, Abigail felt her sister relax a touch. Judith said in her normal tone of voice, “A letter arrived from Bath.”

“Are Mother and Sophia both well?” The two of them had been gone for the past two weeks, obstinately to enjoy the waters and the sights of the fine cosmopolitan city but in reality to find a much-needed husband for Sophia. A titled one was the aim, a wealthy one was a requirement.

“I refrained from opening the letter without you,” Judith replied.