Page 10 of The Swan Syndicate
“Where is Mary?” Beckworth took a seat in a chair next to the sofa. “I would have expected her to be running Mrs. Walker ragged with supervising the housekeeping duties.”
“She’s spending a couple of days with Eleanor.” Hensley dabbed at his forehead before shuffling paper around.
“Something about needing time away from all the men in the manor.” Jamie grinned.
Lando, who always preferred standing, as if itching to have someplace to go, leaned against one of the bookcases and nodded with a huge grin.
Hensley’s cheeks reddened, and Stella held back a smile.
“And you sent Fitz to check on them?” Beckworth asked.
“Is that where he went?” Jamie asked. “I thought he was checking on the foal.”
“He probably got a craving for Eleanor’s meat pies,” Lando responded.
“Well, it must have been a difficult walk from Eleanor’s. We left him in the kitchen with another meat pie.” Stella grinned and fingered her opal.
“He’s never been one to sit long.” Lando moved to a straight-backed chair that Stella was positive would be considered an antique even in this era.
She had to give AJ, a burgeoning antiques broker, credit for not bringing home items to sell. Stella made it a personal mission if she had the opportunity, to buy something for her. AJ might not have the best memories of her time in this century, but she’d made friends that she’d left behind. It wouldn’t hurt to have a memento or two to remember the good times. Maybe a hair ornament like the one Beckworth had bought her.
“So, Hensley, why is it my carefully made plans for a hunting party have been delayed for a fortnight?” Beckworth leaned back and appeared comfortable with a leg crossing over a knee.
She suspected his casual appearance wasn’t the full story. He wasn’t angry, or she’d see it reflected in a tightened jaw. It was more a combination of the curiosity she’d seen earlier on Hensley and concern over what was so important it forced his guests to rearrange schedules. If nothing else, Beckworth was a consummate host. His first thoughts would be of his guests—more specifically, Dame Elizabeth Ellingsworth.
“Not to worry, Beckworth.” Hensley reviewed a letter, set it aside, and picked up another one. “I caught Barrington before the invitations went out and replaced them with an apology on behalf of the Crown for the delay.”
Mention of the Crown made Beckworth and Stella sit a bit taller. If Hensley was tossing around the Crown as the reason for the postponement, this had to be important. England was at war with Napoleon. When Stella was last at Waverly and had considered asking Beckworth to go home with her, she’d backed off when she’d overheard a conversation between him, Hensley, and Jamie. She racked her brain. It had been months since that day, but it came back easily enough. There had been word of a possible spy in the war council. Big stuff. Was this the same concern?
“What’s so important to the Crown that you’d need a ship?” Beckworth jogged loose a question she hadn’t considered. Which was strange considering the men in the room. “And I must ask, as good as it is to see Thomas, does this also touch the new master of Brun Manor? Or is he an earl already?”
Thomas answered first. “He’s not an earl and has quite a lot to learn before that day ever comes. When I first met him, he seemed like a man I could work for. But when he moved in, he brought his own men to form an elite guard. I was invited to stay on in a minor security position.” He clenched a hand into a fist. “If the earl were alive to see the caliber of men the new lord brought with him, he’d run them off his land. Not a single manhas seen battle, nor do they have the experience to train fighting men. I took the last of my pay and headed south.”
“And it was fortunate that his first stop was in Bristol.” Hensley’s smile was sincere. “The loss of the earl was quite a blow, but death comes for us all.” He paused a moment, then turned to Beckworth. “Thomas has been working with the network for the last couple of weeks, mostly working with our contacts to meet the players. The reason we’re here and why I need a ship has to do with something Jamie and Fitz uncovered while the rest of you searched for the missing Mórdha Stone Chronicles.”
“I only heard parts of that story.” Beckworth scratched his head. “Something to do with smugglers?”
Jamie nodded and took up the tale. “We’d just dropped Maire and Ethan off in Newport for their run to Bransford. Before we turned for London, we sailed to Dublin to pick up cargo.”
“You mean Irish whiskey,” Beckworth corrected.
“It’s a popular cargo during wartime or peace.”
Beckworth chuckled. “No doubt. I’m remembering now. Something about someone who should have hung at Newgate.”
The door opened at the right time as Fitz strolled in. He must have heard the conversation before entering because he finished Beckworth’s statement with, “Thaddeus MacDuff.” He shut the door and found a spot on the floor, drawing up his legs. “He’d been sailing along the southern coast of Ireland, stopping at ports and riling up the locals with talk of France being our salvation to rid ourselves of the English.”
“More like finding the best ports to run his smuggling operation.” Jamie stood and walked to a map on the wall that showed the British Isles and the northern coast of Europe. “From what we’ve been able to pickup through our contacts and ship captains, MacDuff has been seen along both coasts—Irelandand England. His travels take him from just north of Dublin to the southern tip of Ireland and along the western coast of England.”
“Could be typical smuggling operations,” Lando said.
“Or a way to bring French spies to England while finding isolated ports to moor French ships.” Fitz pulled out a pipe and stuck it in his mouth but didn’t light it.
Stella didn’t remember Fitz smoking a pipe, and she considered the first mate. He was a decent-looking man. Not as roguish as Finn or Jamie, but he carried a carefree attitude that seemed to lure women to his bed. Or so Beckworth had told her. And while not her type, she sensed the magnetism. At first, she’d considered him a roughneck sailor and nothing more. But she’d been on a few missions with him. He was competent and somewhat of a chameleon, easily adapting his persona to fit a situation, similar to Beckworth’s ability. Perfect spy material for Hensley.
“Though frowned upon, the Crown isn’t overly concerned about smuggling at this time.” Hensley stood and replenished his glass with an amber liquid. Some of that Irish whiskey, if Stella was to guess. Once he returned to his seat, he continued. “England doesn’t have the resources, not while battling Napoleon.”
“But the rumors about possible French spies must have the War Council concerned.” Beckworth tapped his fingers on the armrest, his brows knitted.
