Page 47 of Rogue’s Holiday

Turning around in the water, she glimpsed Rose stepping cautiously down with the help of the dipper, a sturdy woman who tied a tether to Rose’s wrist.

“Just jump!” Chastity urged. But her reluctant friend raised her nose in the air and shouted, “I shall enter in my own way.” Chastity laughed at the picture Rose presented yet she admired her friend for her insistence on entering the water at her own pace.

Not far off, Aunt Agatha ventured into the water. She was a sight with her plain bathing gown and her feathered bonnet.

“You wore a gown, too?” Given her great-aunt’s penchant for the unusual, Chastity was surprised to see her fully clothed.

“Were I your age,” Aunt Agatha said, swimming toward Chastity, “I would not have done so. But at my age, one needs all the covering one can get.”

Chastity laughed and looked toward Rose, who came as far toward them as she could with the tether. “So, what do you think?”

“I’m cold,” said Rose, “but I am trusting the seawater to do me good as Lady Sanborn assured us.”

Chastity’s great-aunt stood, the water churning around her. “You will soon find yourself enjoying the water, my dear. It will be a memory of your visit to Brighton that will last your life long.”

Chastity silently agreed. When she returned to the slower pace of life in Northampton, she would have many memories. But were memories all she would have?

Robbie’s instincts told him he was being followed. Tempted to glance over his shoulder, he resisted. It would only tell the brigand Robbie was aware of him. Somewhere in the distance on North Street, behind them both, Jack would be pursuing, ever watchful. It had been their plan to find out who was tracking Robbie and the location of his hiding place. For surely such a man would be holed up in some loft over a tavern or a shed at the edge of town. What Robbie really wanted to know was the identity of the one who had written the note, for Robbie’s instincts told him the miscreants numbered more than one.

He had worn a light overcoat for the effort in order to hide the small percussion pistols he had purchased from James Purdey of London. Purdey had developed a new firing mechanism for sporting guns that deprived birds of an early warning by avoiding the initial puff of smoke from the flintlock powder pan. It also had a shortened interval between the trigger pull and the shot. Adapted to pistols, the mechanism served well a spy’s needs.

Robbie made the quick decision to enter Woolbridge’s cigar shop, hoping Jack would expect him to exit onto the alley as they had done before. He waited for a moment but no one entered the shop after him.

Mr. Woolbridge glanced up from the counter expectantly and Robbie said, “Just passing through.”

“Again?” the shopkeeper said, perplexed.

He smiled apologetically. “Can I help it if I like the scent of fine tobacco?”

Once in the alley, Robbie looked around, seeing nothing save old packing crates. The alley led him to Ship Street where he paused, taking in the shoppers and those coming and going from The Old Ship Inn a short way down the street. No one paid him any mind. He was about to continue when footfalls behind him caused him to turn, his hand on his pistol.

“C’est moi,” said Jack.

Robbie breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I followed the man down North Street until he went to ground ahead of me in one of the alleys.”

“They may have lodgings there. We should examine the boarding houses off North Street. But why did he stop following?”

Jack ran a hand through his auburn hair in a frustrated manner. “I suspect he became aware of me.”

“No matter. Tell me what he looked like.”

“His appearance tended toward the ordinary. He was of middling height and weight. Whatever clothes he wore were covered by a chestnut-colored cloak, likely weighed down by pistols heavier than yours judging by his drooping pockets. His boots were brown and worn. Beneath his sloppy top hat, I saw a fringe of red hair. I didn’t get a look at his face but when he turned to look down an alley, I detected no beard or side-whiskers.”

“You did well. Red hair distinguishes him from many others. And such a one coming and going from North Street narrows it further.”

“Would I make a good spy, peut-être?” Jack inquired with a grin.

Robbie chuckled. “We both come to the profession honestly given our sires, but you will have a better life if you keep to your vineyards and your ships.”

“Aunt, would it be all right for Rose and me to walk to Lulham’s, the shop where we ordered our shoes? They should be ready by now.” Seeing her great-aunt purse her lips as if pondering the request, she added, “We could pick up your order, as well.” Chastity wanted to retrieve the pair of slippers she had designed for Aunt Agatha with no one save Rose aware.

“I think that would be permissible,” said her great-aunt where she sat by the fire, tending her stitchery. “After all, North Street is not far and ’tis early. But don’t linger overlong. There is tea to think of and Cook has made a special tart.”

With Rose by her side, Chastity donned her pelisse and bonnet and set off, crossing the Steyne to North Street. A short way on, she spotted Sir Robert and M’sieur Donet coming toward them.

“Perhaps they are returning to the Pavilion,” suggested Rose. It was a reasonable thought since the Pavilion was just to the north but Chastity was inclined to think of something else.