Page 86 of A Perilous Passion

Charlotte smiled wanly. “True. But it doesn’t help us today.”

“What if,” Flora said after a lengthy silence, “you send Rafe a message via one of the village children? Jacky Scadden would do anything for a penny or two.”

Charlotte nodded, and felt a bit brighter. “Then all we’d need is a way of keeping the gossips, the match-making mamas, and the local gentry clear of the farm.”

Now that she had a co-conspirator, Charlotte felt much more optimistic about finding an answer. Between the two of them, surely they could come up with something.

She jumped at the loud ringing of the dinner bell downstairs. Mama hated anyone to be late for breakfast.

Suddenly, Charlotte knew exactly what to do. “Aunt Flora!” she said excitedly. “Are you still in contact with your doctor friend?”

Her aunt’s cheeks pinked, and she looked so self-conscious Charlotte felt inclined to laugh. The answer was clearly yes.

“Why do you ask?” Flora queried cautiously.

“Because I think I’ve hit on exactly the solution we need. But we’re going to need a little bit of help from a medical practitioner.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Rafe had just finished examining the newly discovered beacon, when he heard the frantic ringing of church bells from Fortuneswell.

What the hell?

Despair flooded over him. The enemy was already here and he’d received no warning? Each peal of the bells was a knife blow to the heart.

He’d failed in his duty.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, not when his plans had been laid so carefully. After mapping the last beacon, he’d worked out they were all set just below high points along the coast. Working on this premise, he’d sent the militia out in small groups, which discovered a further six beacons covering a full five miles of coastline.

He’d set a watch on each one, with strict instructions that any child approaching should be swiftly removed from danger, and any adult should be taken into custody for questioning.

How could a signal possibly have been sent to Bonaparte if the beacons hadn’t been lit? And even if some further down the coast had been ignited without his knowledge, how could the French have arrived so quickly?

Too many things just didn’t add up.

The erratic clanging of the church bells continued. How could someone in Fortuneswell have seen what he had not?

Impossible.

Something else must be afoot in the village. A house collapse, perhaps? Or a child falling down a well? A fire?

The bells were being rung with considerable clumsiness—therefore, not in the hands of their usual operators. This was curious.

And everything out of the ordinary required investigation.

Stepping back from the latest pyre, he dusted his hands on his breeches and eyed the band of riflemen borrowed from the fort. Leaving a pair of men as lookouts, he ordered the others to return to Dovehouse Farm with him.

By the time they reached the farmhouse, the clamor from the village had ceased. All was eerily quiet. Even the weather seemed to be holding its breath, the air still and cool with low clouds covering the sun.

His troop had traveled openly but met not a soul on the road. There was no sound of human activity at all. No herdsman whistling to his dog, no children laughing or shouting in the fields.

The hair on the back of Rafe’s neck prickled. This was definitely not normal.

As soon as Hamblett let them in, Rafe sent his men to the kitchen to grab a bite and took his valet aside, out of earshot. “The bells ringing in Fortuneswell earlier,” he said quietly. “Do you know what they were for?”

“I’m afraid I do, my lord. A young lad was here not ten minutes ago with an extraordinary piece of news—a troubling one. Will your lordship be able to keep the riflemen here for a while?”

“As long as the invasion hasn’t begun.” He frowned. “Does what’s happened in Fortuneswell affect our assignment?”