Page 45 of Echo in the Wind

She and Freddie mounted their horses while Zack climbed into the seat on the large open wagon. A brown oilcloth lay in the back, ready to cover the goods once they loaded them at the shore.

“Nate will meet us on the beach with the other wagon,” Zack said. He looked up at the scattered clouds. “The sun will be down soon.”

Joanna’s palms grew moist and her mouth dry. Though she was committed to the run before her, she did not dismiss the danger inherent in what they were doing. Nor had she forgotten the trial of John Shelley or its end in his sentence of death.

“I’m thinking this will be our last run,” she told them. “We need to find a better way to help the people of Chichester.”

Zack and her brother gave her an incredulous look.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” she said. “There’s no time tonight.”

Chapter 12

Bognor, West Sussex

Jean sailed la Reine Noire to Bognor and gave the order to heave to just offshore. The cold wind chilled him where he stood amidships, his eyes scanning the beach. The twilight sky, a brilliant lavender streaked with pink, cast a faint light on the shore.

On deck, his men stood ready to deliver the goods to the beach or flee as the circumstances warranted.

Jean thought only of seeing Lady Joanna, once again costumed as a lad. As one who had donned many disguises, he admired a good one. Hers was not so well done as to hide her feminine curves but, still, as disguises went, it was passably fair. Émile had yet to discover the leader of the Bognor smugglers was not only a lady, but the sister of an English earl and the object of Jean’s interest.

One day, Jean would tell Lady Joanna he had known from the beginning she was the slender English smuggler, but perhaps not tonight.

“I expect they will want to examine the lace,” he told Émile, who stood nearby, his feet apart and his hands clasped behind him, looking toward shore.

His quartermaster gestured to one of the chests on deck. “The lace is just there, Capitaine.”

Lined with linen, the chest was one they had used before to transport the delicate needlework. Machine-made lace was available, but the fine bobbin lace he had brought Lady Joanna was meticulously handmade. An aristocrat such as she would know the difference.

The signal flame flashed from the beach and he gave the order to lower the longboats. Adept at their task, the crew quickly had the boats in the water and were busy handing down chests of tea and casks of brandy. The lace he kept on deck, expecting Lady Joanna would want to check the new goods as she had the tea and brandy before. The silk would be his surprise.

As the longboats cut through the water toward the beach, a small rowing boat carrying three figures launched from the shore. The largest of the three did the rowing. Jean assumed this was the same scarred man he’d seen on their last run to Bognor and then again in London on the quay. All three wore hats pulled down over their heads, their features hidden in shadows.

Minutes later, the scarred man clambered over the rail and his smaller companion followed. The third remained below in the boat.

Jean acknowledged the two who had come aboard with a nod and looked over the side. To his surprise, gazing up from the boat, his face no longer obscured by his hat, was Lady Joanna’s younger brother, Frederick, who Jean recognized from the Pitt reception.

Torrington could have no idea of his siblings’ involvement in the Bognor smuggling ring or the danger they courted, danger to their family’s good name and to their very lives. One might assume such a risk to feed one’s family as he had done long ago, but Lady Joanna and her brother? What need had they?

Jean’s men reached the beach and were unloading the goods. One boat was already returning to the ship.

Lady Joanna and her companion watched Émile as he knelt and opened the chest, then peeled back the linen to reveal the fine lace.

Lady Joanna gave a sharp intake of breath. “This is exceptional,” she remarked in a low voice, as she lifted the lace and draped it over her fingers.

“That is not everything,” said Émile. “Should ye be interested, we also have French silk.” He opened another chest revealing lengths of brocade silk in sapphire blue, vermilion and ivory.

The ivory silk, embroidered with roses, reminded Jean of Claire’s wedding gown he’d had made for her in Paris.

Lady Joanna’s wide grin spoke loudly of her pleasure at the quality of the silk. “This is exquisite!” she exclaimed, giving away her woman’s knowledge of the finest silk brocade.

Jean watched his quartermaster carefully and noted a frown on his rough-featured face his tricorne did not hide. Émile had not expected a young smuggler to recognize the finest quality. After all, what would a young villager know of silk?

Lady Joanna shifted her gaze to Émile. “It must be dear. I cannot pay more than the prices agreed by my agent.”

“’Twill cost ye nothing.” Then looking toward Jean leaning against the rail, Émile added, “The capitaine would make ye a gift of the silk.”

Aware his quartermaster thought him insane, Jean merely nodded. He wanted to see what the lady would do. Would she covet the silk for herself? He had included the vermilion because it would go well with her coloring. Or, might she reject the gift, suspicious he would bestow anything so valuable on a fellow smuggler?