Surrender (6 page)

Eight men were seated at one of the long trestle tables in the room, and all conversation ceased the moment she shut the front door behind her. One of the men was John Trim, the proprietor, and he leaped to his feet instantly.

Her heart raced. She felt terribly out of place in the common room. “Mr. Trim?”

“Lady D’Orsay?” His shock vanished as he came forward, beaming. “This is a surprise! Come, do sit down, and let me get the missus.” He guided her toward a small table with four chairs.

“Thank you. Mr. Trim, I was hoping for a private word, if possible.” She was aware now of the silence in the room, that all eyes were trained upon them, and that every word she uttered was being heeded.

Trim’s dark brows rose, and he nodded. He led her into a small private dining room. “Please, have a seat, and I will be back in one minute,” he said, and rushed out.

Evelyn sat down, rather ruefully, certain he was racing to his wife to tell her that she had called. She laid her gloves down on the dining table, glancing around the simple room. A brick fireplace was on one wall, several paintings of the sea on the others. He had left the door open, and she could see into the common room if she wished to do so.

She had no intention of explaining to Trim why she wished to engage a smuggler, and a specific smuggler at that. But she did not expect him to press her.

Trim returned, smiling. “The missus is bringing tea.”

“That is so kind of you.” Evelyn smiled as he took a seat, now clutching her reticule tightly. “Mr. Trim, I was wondering if you are acquainted with Jack Greystone.”

Trim was so taken aback that his eyes widened and his brows shot up, and Evelyn knew his answer was yes. “Everyone knows of Greystone, Lady D’Orsay. He is the greatest smuggler Cornwall has ever seen.”

She was aware of her heart racing. “Do you know him personally, sir? Has he passed through this inn?”

His expression of surprise was as comical as before. “My lady, I mean no disrespect, by why do you ask?”

He was wary, but of course he was—smugglers were hardly free men. “I must locate him. I cannot explain why, exactly, but I am in need of his services.”

Trim blinked.

She smiled grimly. “Greystone got my family out of France, almost four years ago. I prefer not to say why I must speak with him now, but it is an urgent matter.”

“And it isn’t my concern, of course,” Trim said. “Yes, Lady D’Orsay, he has passed through my inn, once or twice. But I will be honest with you—I haven’t seen him in several years.”

Her disappointment was immediate. “Do you know how I can find him?”

“No, I do not. The rumor is that Greystone lives in an abandoned castle on a deserted island, in the utmost secrecy.”

“That is hardly helpful,” Evelyn mused. “I must find him, sir.”

“I don’t know if you can. There’s been a bounty on his head, which would explain why he lives on that island. He is wanted by the British authorities, Lady D’Orsay.”

Evelyn was slightly amused. “Aren’t all free traders wanted by the preventive men?” Smuggling had been a capital offense for as long as Evelyn could recall. Bounties were hardly uncommon. However, a great many smugglers got off scot-free, once they agreed to serve in His Majesty’s navy, or find a few friends to do so in their stead. A smuggler might be able to plead down his case, as well, if he had the right solicitor. Many smugglers were deported, but they often returned, illicitly, of course. No smuggler took a bounty very seriously.

Trim shook his head grimly. “You don’t understand. He has been running the British blockade. If His Majesty’s men catch him, he will hang—not for smuggling, but for treason.”

Evelyn froze. He was running King George’s blockade of France? He was supplying the French in a time of war? Suddenly she was cold. “I don’t believe it.”

“Oh, he’s running the blockade, Lady D’Orsay—they say he brags often and openly about it. And that is treason.”

Evelyn was shaken. “Is he a spy, then, too?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

She stared, but rather than seeing Trim before her, she saw Jack Greystone at the helm of his ship. So many Cornish smugglers were spies for the French. But he had helped them escape France. Surely a French spy would not have done that.

She did not know why she was so dismayed. “I must speak with him, Mr. Trim, and if you can help me, I will forever appreciate it.”

“I will do my best. I will make some inquiries on your behalf. But my understanding is that he lies very low, to avoid His Majesty’s Men. If he is not at sea, he is on his island. I do know that, once in a while, he has been seen in Fowey. You might try the White Hart Inn.”

Faraday Hall was just outside Fowey. Was it possible that her uncle might know, or know of, Greystone?

“You might also go to London,” Trim said as his wife entered the room with a tray filled with tea and refreshments. “His two sisters live there, and so does his brother, or so I have heard.”

* * *

E
VELYN
STARED
AT
the letter she was trying to write.

Dear Lady Paget,

I hope I am not offending you by writing to you now. We have never met, and you may find my request presumptuous, but it has come to my attention that you are Jack Greystone’s sister. I was briefly acquainted with him several years ago, and am currently trying to contact him. If you could help me do so, I would be greatly in your debt.

Sincerely,

Lady Evelyn D’Orsay

It did not seem right—it seemed terribly forward and bold. Evelyn laid her quill down and tore the parchment into shreds.

Any woman receiving such a missive would instantly dismiss it. If she received such a letter, she would assume that some lovesick woman was pursuing her brother! Yet Evelyn could not state why she wished to locate Greystone, and therein lay the problem.

She might have to go to London, and boldly call on either the Countess of Bedford or the Countess of St Just, Evelyn thought grimly. As she did not know either woman, the notion was daunting. However, she had learned that Lady Paget was married to a man with French relations, so she might be able to use that as some kind of entrée. But before she took such a trip, which would require some expenses and take several days, she would leave no stone unturned in Cornwall.

She felt some despair. Having already spent the past week unearthing a great many Cornish stones she did not have very many left to turn over.

Greystone had a bounty on his head. If caught, there would be no pleading down the charges of smuggling, no simple transportation. If caught, he could be imprisoned indefinitely—habeas corpus had been suspended last May—or he could hang, as John Trim had said. And that meant…Jack Greystone was in hiding.

Of course he was. She happened to know firsthand how clever, resourceful and adept he was. She had no doubt that he was also an extremely wary man. A few days ago, she had been so hopeful, and so certain, that she would be able to find him and convince him to aid her in recovering the gold in France. Now she was filled with doubt. It almost felt as though she was looking for a needle in a haystack. If he did not wish to be found, would she ever be able to locate him?

She had spent the past week asking everyone she thought could be even remotely helpful about him. She had gone to the various shopkeepers in the local village, one by one, but while everyone knew of him, no one knew him personally. He was most definitely notorious, and held in the highest esteem by the local Cornish people.

Then she had turned her attention to Fowey. She had spoken to the owner of the White Hart Inn, as John Trim had suggested, but he had been purposefully unhelpful.

She had spent two days in town, speaking with the shopkeepers and merchants there, but to no avail. She was beginning to think that there were very few stones left to turn. Of course, there did remain one—and it was a rock.

She was going to have to call on her uncle.

* * *

E
VELYN
STARED
AT
the imposing front entrance of her aunt and uncle’s home. A tall square stone house, the front entrance was in the style of a temple, with large columns supporting a pediment. She inhaled. She had not been back to Faraday Hall since her marriage, almost nine years ago.

As she slowly got out of the gig, she thought about her childhood: her aunt’s constant harping, Lucille’s cruelty, and spending most of her time by herself, doing various chores. A wave of loneliness swept over her. It was accompanied by a wave of grief. How had she survived such a lonely childhood? Her husband had changed all of that, by taking her away from this place, by giving her Aimee. But in that moment, as she stood there looking at the entrance of the house, she felt just as lonely as she had as a child. In that moment, she missed Henri, and realized how alone she was, even though she was a mother, and Laurent, Adelaide and Bette were as loyal and beloved as family.

It was foolish nonsense, she decided, shaking herself free of such despondency.

Evelyn rapped on the front door, using the brass-ring knocker. A moment passed before Thomas answered. The butler, whom she had known for years, took one look at her and gasped. “Miss Evelyn?” he asked.

She smiled at the short, bald manservant. “Yes, Thomas, it is I—Evelyn.”

He flushed and bowed. “I beg your pardon, Countess!”

She smiled, and in doing so, shook off the last vestiges of her past. “You must not bow to me,” she said.

She meant it. The staff had always been kind to her—far kinder than her own family.

A few moments later, she was escorted in to see her uncle, and she was relieved that her aunt was not at home. Robert greeted her warmly, surprising her. “I am so glad you have called. I have been meaning to send Enid to do so, to see how you are faring,” he said. “But you look well, Evelyn, considering what you are going through.”

She wondered if she had misjudged her uncle, if his indifference had been nothing more than that. “We are managing, and do not put Aunt Enid out, please, not on my account. I have decided to ask you for help, if your offer stands.”

He gestured for her to sit in one of the two chairs before his desk. A tall window was behind it, and through it, she could see the gardens behind the house, and the sea, just above the treetops. He turned to the butler, asking for tea and cakes. Then he sat down behind his desk. “I would love to help you if I can.”

“Will you keep what I am about to tell you in confidence?” she asked. “I am in an unusual position, and I hardly wish to have anyone know—not even my aunt.”

His smile was amused. “I keep a great many confidences from my wife, Evelyn, and I hardly failed to notice that she did not care for you greatly when you were a child.” He sighed. “I have never understood the ladies.”

She had no comment to make on that sore subject. “I am sure you have noticed that I am currently somewhat short on funds. However, Henri left a fortune for me and Aimee—at our home in France. The time has come for me to find a way to retrieve the family heirlooms he has left us, and I have decided to hire someone to do so.” She had decided not to tell her uncle that she meant to go with Greystone to France to retrieve the fortune there.

“I am relieved to hear that D’Orsay left something for you, but by God, how will you ever convince anyone to go to France now to retrieve the valuables? And are you sure that whatever Henri left for you, it is worth the risk?”

“It is quieter in France now than when we left, isn’t it?”

“It is hardly quiet! The countryside remains up in arms over the secularization of the clergy. Mobs continually attack the priests who have taken the new oaths required of them while opposing mobs attack the priests who have refused to do so. Vigilantes hunt down the terrorists, or what remains of them. The need for revenge remains as strong as ever—it is just directed at different groups. How will you find someone capable of getting to France—and then getting to your country home there? And again, what if nothing remains of the heirlooms? There has been a great deal of looting and theft in the great châteaus.”

He made her plan sound daunting and difficult, indeed. God, what if the gold was gone? “I have to attempt to retrieve it, Uncle. Henri said he left us a chest of gold,” she finally confessed.

His eyes widened. “That would be a good fortune, indeed! But then you have the problem of finding someone you can trust!”

How perfect his cue. “Have you ever heard of Jack Greystone? He smuggled us from France, and I was impressed with his courage and his skill. I have been trying to locate him since the funeral.”

Robert stared, flushing a little. “Of course I have heard of him, Evelyn. He is rather famous. Or should I say infamous? I didn’t know Greystone got you out of the country. Well, I am not surprised you think he is the man for the mission. I suppose, if anyone could retrieve that gold, it is he. And I would even trust him to do so, in this case—he is rather fond of beautiful women. Or so they say!”

Was he suggesting that Jack Greystone would help her because she was beautiful? “I am prepared to pay him well,” she added. “Once he retrieves the fortune.”

“I do not know if I can ferret him out,” he quickly said with another flush.

Evelyn was dismayed, but trying to decipher Robert’s somewhat odd behavior. She sensed he was withholding something. “Is there something I should know?” she asked.

“Of course not. I will begin making a few inquiries for you, immediately,” he said. “How is your daughter managing, Evelyn?”

She tried to hide her disappointment, wondering if she was engaging in more futile action. Briefly, they discussed Aimee, and Evelyn assured him that Aimee was doing well.

She was about to leave when she heard the front door open. Evelyn grimaced as she thanked her uncle and left the study, leaving him immersed in his papers.

But her aunt was not in the front hall; Annabelle was there, and so was Trevelyan. She was handing off her cloak, as he was his coat, and when she saw Evelyn, Annabelle faltered. Trev instantly came forward, smiling. “This is a delightful surprise,” he said with a brief bow.