Secrets in the Mist Page 35

  “The words mean nothing to most people, but Haywood would have recognized it immediately. It told him at which point along the coast to look for the gold that had already been stashed there for him to retrieve. And it let him know how many casks holding the gold had been sunk in the shallow water at that location.”

  “Is that what you all were doing while I paid my visit to the Reliance?” I asked in some shock.

  “No. The work of sinking contraband is almost always done at night. And I had not been part of that particular crew.” His mouth twisted wryly. “That day we were actually plying an honest trade.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Except for the part I had to play.”

  “Yes. Except for that.”

  “So I guess I wasn’t supposed to reveal the code to you when you asked me?”

  “No. And I had to make a quick explanation as to why you’d told me when Reynard began to rant about how you had betrayed us after their twenty-three casks of gold were confiscated by the revenue service.” He flashed me a grin.

  “What did you say?” I gasped.

  “That you had been acting jittery and I was afraid you would forget the message or relay it wrong.”

  “And he believed you?” I asked doubtfully.

  He shrugged. “He didn’t have me killed.”

  Hearing him state it so bluntly made me realize just how much danger he’d been in. At any point, if Reynard or any of the others had realized who he really was, or had even begun to suspect his true reason for joining their crew, they would have murdered him and sunk his body in the marsh. “How long have you been working to entrap Reynard?”

  “The better part of a year.”

  And all that time I’d never known it. But, of course, I’d also never apprehended that a smuggling ring was centered at Greenlaws for the past four years, or that Robert was involved. Clearly I was not as perceptive as I’d believed.

  The direction of my thoughts must have been evident, for Jack reached out to brush a stray hair back from where it curled against my jaw. “Remember, I said they were more furtive than most. And I haven’t been here in the fens the whole time. I did spend my fair share of nights crossing the channel, dodging naval vessels manning the blockade, and secluded at the special compound Napoleon has built near Gravelines to accommodate and encourage British smugglers.”

  I stared at him wide-eyed. It was almost too much. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “Napoleon recognizes that if he wants to win this war his best chance is to weaken the British economy. And his best chance of doing that is by encouraging the guinea run.”

  It was dastardly, and seemingly occurring without most people knowing about it. But perhaps that was by design. Perhaps the government didn’t trust this information not to cause panic, or inspire further smuggling. But something Jack had said earlier troubled me. “And you said it’s happening elsewhere?”

  “Yes.” His eyes were serious, as if he already anticipated my next question.

  “And you’ve been given the task of stopping them?”

  “Given and willingly accepted. But it’s not all I do. And most of the time it does not require me to work in disguise.”

  What he wasn’t saying, what I knew he meant, was that it did require him to travel extensively, to place himself in danger, and sometimes to embark upon jobs such as this one, where he concealed his true identity to work alongside the smugglers. I could read it all in his eyes, and it settled over me like a heavy blanket, smothering the foolish hopes I had been harboring in my heart.

  I swallowed past the lump that had formed in my throat and nodded, hoping he could not sense my disappointment. I tried to gather my thoughts, to voice my thanks for vouching for me and my father so I could then escape with my dignity still intact. But before I could find the words, Jack found his.

  “I have something for you,” he declared.

  I didn’t know what to expect, so I watched with some misgiving as he leaned over to pull something from inside his boot. It wasn’t until he raised it to his head that I realized it was a knife. I pressed a hand to my throat in alarm as with a swift slice he severed several strands of his hair.

  Then he held out his palm to me, showing me the dark hairs nestled within. I glanced up into his eyes to find him staring at me intently. Still uncertain, I reached up to accept what he offered.

  “Now you also have power over me,” he murmured. “Though in truth, you always did.”

  The impact of his words pushed the breath from my lungs, so that all I could do was exhale a startled puff of air as I wrapped my fingers tightly around his gift. But he must have understood anyway, for he gathered me in his arms to steal the rest of my breath.

  Sometime later when he pulled away, I discovered I was trapped between his warm body and the rough dock post, and not in the least averse to such a position. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, and the rumble of his voice when he next spoke.

  “I told my brother I require several weeks of leave, so we shall be able to have the banns read here in Thurlton and across the marsh in my home parish beginning this Sunday.”

  I lifted my head to look up at him in astonishment. “The banns.”

  “Yes,” he replied as if he’d just declared something entirely reasonable. “Unless you wish for me to procure a special license. I’m sure my brother could arrange it.”

  “Of marriage?” I asked, still trying to comprehend.

  “Yes.” His eyebrows lifted. “Unless you object.”

  “No. But…” I gazed up into his face at the sly slant of his eyes, the scar near his hairline, the amused quirk of his lips, and realized it was senseless to argue. Not when my answer to his unasked proposal was yes.

  So instead I smiled and kissed him.

  Later, when the candle in the lantern had begun to burn low, we still stood in each other’s arms, whispering things to one another that had yet to be said. And when our words were through, I rested my head against his strong shoulder, marveling at the turn my life had taken, wondering at the twists that awaited me. I should have been tired, but the joy still thrumming along my nerves kept my eyes open, staring into the swirling mist that seemed to wrap around us like a cocoon, sheltering us from the rest of the world.

  It was then that I noticed the light. It was faint, just a tiny orb shining in the distance, but it sent a chill racing down my back. I blinked once, then twice, trying to clear it from my vision, to dismiss it as a part of my imagination. But there it remained, if possible seeming to glow brighter.

  I opened my mouth to tell Jack, but then stopped. Would he chase after it? Would he insist on discovering what it was? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  So I held my tongue, and seemed to be rewarded when the light slowly began to fade, until there was nothing but fog and beyond that the dark of night. But it was a long time before I closed my eyes.

  Titles by Anna Lee Huber

  THE LADY DARBY MYSTERIES

  The Anatomist’s Wife

  Mortal Arts

  A Grave Matter

  A Study in Death

  A Pressing Engagement (an e-novella)

  As Death Draws Near

  GOTHIC MYTHS SERIES

  Secrets in the Mist

  Anna Lee Huber is the Daphne award-winning author of the national bestselling Lady Darby Mysteries, as well as the forthcoming Verity Kent Mysteries and the anthology The Jacobite’s Watch. She is a summa cum laude graduate of Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee, where she majored in music and minored in psychology. She currently resides in Indiana with her family and is hard at work on her next novel. Visit her online at www.annaleehuber.com.

  Secrets in the mist

  Published by Brightstone Media, Inc.

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Aycock

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or ot
her means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the USA.

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