Page 150 of A Winter By the Sea
Sarah’s stomach clenched at the news. “Oh no.” It was worse than she’d imagined.
He nodded. “It’s my father’s fault. He loves drink and gambling more than his wife and daughters. I am the only one who can help them. I would have sent them more of my wages, but we have not been paid in some time. Still, I did not realize things had become so dire until I received Mamma’s letters—the news going from bad to worse. My mother is not strong. And my youngest sister has never enjoyed good health—always the first to catch every fever that goes around. You don’t know what those places are. I must rescue them at any cost.”
“Would your mother want you to steal to accomplish it? There must be another way.”
“What way? Even if I could pry my unpaid wages from Conroy’s grasp it would not be enough.”
“We will think of something. I will help you.” She extended her hand to him.
“It’s too late. You figured out what I did. In no time others will too.”
“Not necessarily. Captain Conroy came to retrieve the candlesticks but left satisfied with only two.”
“Did he?”
Sarah nodded. “Apparently he does not know there should be more.”
A faint glimmer of hope shone in his round, boyish eyes, then quickly faded. “The duchess knows. So does the general.”
“Then return them quickly. There is still time to make this right.”
He hesitated, seeming to hover on the edge of decision. Again she extended her hand toward him, hoping he would either give her his own hand or the case itself.
While she stood there, silently pleading with him, waterlapped over her feet. She sucked in a breath. Just a wave, or was the tide rising?
For a moment longer he studied her face, perhaps searching for deceit. Finding none, he lifted the bag with one arm and reached for her hand.
“Well, well, well,” a voice said. “Ain’t this a sweet scene? Right touching.”
They both whirled. The roar of the sea had concealed the approaching boot steps. The man who stood there was a bullish, broad-shouldered man in his forties with a thick head of hair, a deep crease between bushy brows, and a prominent nose. In his beefy hand, he held a knife.
This must be the man Mr. Mutter worked for, Sarah realized, dread filling her.
“Surprised I was to hear voices, as you was told to come alone. I beached my boat a ways up shore, in case it were a trap. Thought you’d been stupid enough to bring an excise man. Reckoned this one must be young indeed, with a voice not yet changed.” He pointed his knife toward Sarah. “Who’s this, then? Yer sweetheart?”
“No. She...”
“He did come alone as instructed,” Sarah said in a rush. “I was worried about him, so I came to find him.” Thinking quickly, she added, “The Duke of Kent’s men are looking for him too, and you don’t want to be here when they come. Captain Conroy will be armed.”
“As am I.” The man lifted his knife. “Tut-tut. Such threats. And here I thought we was to have a quiet and civil business dealing, Mr.Dearing.”
“We were, but I ... I have changed my mind.”
“After I come all this way? Ain’t keen on leavin’ empty-handed. Let’s see what ’ee brought.”
Mr. During hesitated, then glanced anxiously at Sarah.
She said, “Unfortunately, we must leave directly. The candlesticks are needed at Woolbrook Cottage. The Duke of Kent has died and is soon to lie in state. The entire village is invited to pay their respects.”
He laughed. “Won’t see me there. Ain’t a sentimental sort, nor beholden to royalty. I’d rather have what’s in that bag to remember ’im by.”
He stepped closer, each footfall crashing onto the pebbles while another wave slapped the shore, water splashing up the shanks of his boots.
His eyes narrowed menacingly. “Show me.”
With a visible swallow, Mr. During set the heavy bag back on the rock and leaned down. Opening the clasp, he extracted the two large candlesticks.
A shaft of sunlight pierced the cave’s shadowy interior and glinted on the gleaming silver. The smuggler’s small eyes gleamed in reply.
