Sunlight was streaming through the open curtains when Jemima awoke the following morning. She lay for several moments and simply enjoyed the soft sheets beneath her cheek and the warmth of the morning sunlight on her face. It had been so long since she had awoken without thinking about working. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced the luxury of sleeping on such a soft mattress.
In the quiet of the early morning, she slowly became aware of the soft rumble of a snore not far away. A frown crossed her brow as she lay perfectly still and listened. She was alone in the bed, of that she was fairly certain, so where was he?
A cursory glance of one side of the room revealed it to be completely empty. Carefully she rolled over until she was facing the fireplace.
There, lying on the floor, fast asleep, was Peter. His hair was tousled and his chest bare to the waist as he lay on his back before the hearth, covered in nothing but a single sheet that did little to preserve his modesty.
She knew she should wake him up and usher him to his own room, but couldn’t find the heart to wake him.
Once again the memory of their last moments in Mr Simpson’s office returned with startling brutality. The raw emotion, the pain, the heartbreak, the helplessness all came flooding back. He had been absolutely devastated by what he had considered his failure to help her. She was surprised he had found her at all, much less put everything that was his at risk of social censure in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to keep her alive.
Although she hadn’t been raised in the higher echelons of society, she was fully aware that, for someone of Peter’s breeding, being connected to any condemned person, especially a woman, would bring about immediate social disgrace. Despite the risk to his title, estates and family name, he had tried to claim her as his bride anyway.
But where did that leave them?
Her thoughts turned to the first time she had seen him.
She had loved him from the first time she had seen him sitting around the dining table in Devon. She had been working as a servant and had stood at the side of the room beside the footmen, helping serve a meal. The deep rumble of his cultured voice had held her captive. She had served him soup and had been startled as his gorgeous eyes had met and held hers briefly as he murmured his thanks. A thrill of anticipation had settled low in her belly, and she had been aware of him watching her as she resumed her position beside the serving table. As a servant she was supposed to be invisible and forbidden from conversing with the guests unless they approached her. But that was fine with Jemima, as long as she could stand in the dining room and listen to him talk. The silken warmth of his voice shivered over her, holding her captive to his every word.
She knew he was simply staring because of her outlandish behaviour at the table. She shouldn’t have looked at him so directly, but didn’t regret any anger he may have felt toward her. The moment was hers, and nobody could take it away from her.
The following morning she had been sent to light the fires in the bedrooms before people started to rise. She had entered the room without realising it was his. Most of the guests slept with their bed curtains closed, and didn’t know she had even been in the room. Except Peter, who had left the bed curtains open and himself in plain view. She had stared openly at the broad expanse of chest clearly outlined against the stark white sheets. A tiny thrill of feminine attraction unfurled in her belly until she began to grow uncomfortable with the warmth stealing through her.
“Thank you, Jemima,” his soft rumble had made her freeze with her hand on the doorknob and she had reluctantly turned back to him, her heart hammering furiously beneath her breast.
“Y-you’re welcome,” she had replied, rushing out of the room. She had been halfway down the corridor before she realised he had used her name.
Over the following days their paths had crossed on more than one occasion. She had tried to be like every other servant and had stood to one side, her eyes lowered respectfully while he passed, only for him to actively seek to converse with her.
He had been kindness itself, generously overlooking her lowly status as he had questioned her age, background and shared funny titbits about his day. He had such an air of calm reassurance about him that was so intrinsically reassuring that Jemima quickly grew to love the few brief snatches of time she had with him and looked forward to the next time he spoke to her with girlish joy she held secretively to her heart.
It all went horribly wrong the day she saw Scraggan’s son Rogan in the village. She had been sent to collect some items for Cook, when she had caught sight of him walking toward her. Instinctively she had ducked into a shop to wait for him to pass, and had still been there when Peter had trotted past with his friends. He looked so arrogantly debonair, and at ease with his place in life, in such stark contrast to the grubby unkempt Scraggan who visited her own world, that she realised just how unfair she was being even talking to the man.
Rogan Scraggan Senior, was a loathsome creature, with a son who was just as mean. Together they ran several ruthless smuggling gangs along the Cornish coastline. As Magistrate for Padstow, Jemima and Eliza’s father had taken papers detailing Scraggan’s illegal activities to the War Office, only to be brutally murdered on his way home. Suddenly finding themselves alone, and without a guardian or protector, had forced Jemima and Eliza to run for their lives. To see Scraggan so close to someone as handsome, and – well, civil – as Peter Davenport, was enough of a warning to Jemima not to involve anyone him.
Peter Davenport was just being nice, that was all, whereas she was halfway in love with him. Although she had decided to keep her distance from him, fate had other ideas and the following morning she was once again sent to light the bedroom fires.
Images of Rogan and Scraggan had haunted her dreams, and she was tired and frightened when she entered his room. She was just about to leave when she heard his voice. She couldn’t be rude and ignore him, but it hurt to remain. He had immediately picked up on her distress and left the bed, pressuring her into telling him everything. Like a fool Jemima had poured her heart out to him, burying her head in his solid shoulder and sobbing as though her heart had broken. In reality, it had. She knew there and then that she loved him. He was everything she ever wanted for a husband, and it hurt to know he could never be hers.
He had offered to help her, pressing her for more and more information until she had told him everything. She hadn’t thought to question his request for time to digest the facts, but had agreed to meet him somewhere where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Their meeting later that night was the first of many over the following few weeks, as Peter teased as much information from her as he could. Jemima was not only glad to have someone to turn to, to confide in, but she was also grateful for the precious moments alone with him. He seemed confident that he could help her, assuring her that he had contacts who would help. His calm reassurances went a long way to soothing her fears. Each time they met, she fell in love with him just a little bit more until he became as essential to her as the very air she breathed.
She hadn’t protested when he had first kissed her, simply revelling in his tender warmth. It had been inevitable that their attraction would grow until neither was able to deny the passion that burned. Their lovemaking was tender, generous and oh so very sweet in a world of turmoil and confusion. It was the oasis in a desert of desperation and fear. She hadn’t the strength, or heart, to deny him anything. He had seemed just content to spend time with her.
Until the day when her rose-tinted glasses had been so cruelly ripped away, leaving her to stare at the horrifying reality of the danger she had put him in. At first she hadn’t believed the servants discussing the strange accident that had befallen one of the guests. It appeared the saddle girth worn by one of the guests’ horses had been severed, although the stable hand had insisted he had checked it when he had saddled the horse. The guest had almost been killed, having been trodden on by his friend’s horse moments after hitting the ground.
Knowing she risked losing her job, Jemima had quickly crept upstairs to see for herself. Her heart had broken at the sight of him lying, battered and bruised, on the bed. She had cried as she stood beside him, despite his reassurances that he was all right. She hadn’t linked his accident to Scraggan at first, until she returned home later that night to find a knife and a piece of saddle girth on the footstep of her aunt’s house.
She had known there and then that in order to keep Peter alive, she had to leave and sever all contact with him.
Knowing Scraggan was in the area, she had taken a great risk to pay Peter one last visit. At first she had simply wanted to comfort him, and spend a few final moments savouring simply being with him, but he had sensed her disquiet and demanded to know its cause. She hadn’t told him, because she had been determined that he should learn nothing else that would put him at risk. Instead, she spent their final hours together saying her own private goodbye.
Their loving was turbulent that last night, the passion flaring brighter than ever before. Bathed in the warm glow of carnal sensation, she had tearfully declared her love for him, aware of his searching gaze. He seemed to sense that something had changed and had repeatedly demanded to know what and why. It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed to deny everything but concern for him after his accident.
Leaving him before dawn the next morning had been the hardest thing she had ever done. The tears she had shed as they had quickly left town under the cover of darkness had continued ever since.
Jemima sighed deeply and carefully closed the door on the past. The young women who had left Devon that night had long gone. Her flight across the country with Eliza had taken her further and further away from Peter, breaking her heart just a little bit more with each passing mile.
At the time she had thought she was leaving him behind. She hadn’t stopped to consider that he would follow her with the same dogged determination as Scraggan.
The first time she had seen him, she had merely put it down to them both travelling in the same direction. From her position among the crowds of the busy market town, she had watched him trot past, his face stern and forbidding. She had given him enough time to leave before heading in the opposite direction. She had thought that had been the last of it, until she had seen Scraggan’s right-hand man in the same village they passed through. Again they had moved on, desperate to escape the threat that they didn’t seem to be able to leave behind.
Then, a couple of months later, she had seen him again. She had been working in a coaching inn, collecting pots and washing dishes, when he had sauntered in, looking as debonair and handsome as he had the first time she had seen him. The job had been a wrench to leave, but she had been given little choice. Their exit had been swift, the post chaise they used to get out of town speedy but uncomfortable.
The months that followed had been a confusing time of new jobs, Scraggan, Peter, moving on at speed until neither she nor Eliza knew where they would be sleeping from one day to the next.
Until the day they had found themselves in Derby. The bustling market town had been just what they needed. People coming and going, a vast array of shops, taverns and coaching inns provided ample opportunity for both Eliza and Jemima to find work. They had quickly settled, but had stayed too long.
Scraggan and Peter had both caught up with them with far too much ease.
The thought made her pause, and she frowned deeply, carefully considering their way of life in Devon. If Scraggan had wanted to kill her and Eliza, why had he not taken one of the many opportunities they had given him? After all, Eliza spent most of her days, and evenings sitting by herself in their aunt’s house. With no protection, and no neighbours to hear her scream, why hadn’t Scraggan or his men taken the opportunity to break in and kill her? More importantly, although she had been carrying a very sharp knife, Jemima herself had walked at night, alone, in the dark through the gardens of the huge estate to the rear of her aunt’s house. She had been alone, in the middle of nowhere. A prime target to have her throat cut.
So why hadn’t Scraggan taken the opportunity to get rid of both of them when he had a chance? Why chase her halfway across the country, and go to the time and trouble of setting her up?
She went cold inside, and recalled their journey to Derby, fraught with tension and worry. They had no sooner settled, found jobs and somewhere to live when Scraggan or his men would appear, forcing them to move on. It was almost as if they were being shepherded toward Derby.
Jemima frowned and shook her head. She was being ridiculous – wasn’t she?
The more she considered the events of the past several months, the more she felt that something about the entire situation wasn’t right.
Her stomach rumbled loudly in protest at being deprived, prompting her to see to her more pressing needs. At the moment, they were questions that had to remain unanswered, but she made a mental note to discuss them with Peter later.
One thing was for certain: the threat of Scraggan was still very real. While he roamed free and was able to run his smuggling gangs, and go where he chose, she was just as much at risk from him as she had been back in Devon, and she couldn’t afford to allow Peter’s presence to lull her into a false sense of security.
Her own brush with death had been far too close. She still didn’t understand what it had all been about, but knew that if she achieved one thing today, it had to be to find some answers.
When her stomach grumbled loudly in protest again, Jemima eased out of bed.
Whatever the reason behind Peter’s stubborn determination to pursue her, Jemima had seen the raw emotion on his face in Mr Simpson’s office. It had been a clear and honest reflection of the depth of his anxiety.
So where did that leave them now?
She wasn’t sure, but the insistent rumbling of her stomach would surely wake him if she lay in bed any longer. She quietly eased the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed, relieved that she wasn’t assaulted by the dizziness that had plagued her the day before.
Thankfully, Eliza had left a dress over the back of one of the chairs, along with the necessary accessories. Within moments Jemima, feeling significantly stronger, dressed and tugged her hair up into an untidy knot before donning some exquisite satin slippers.
She moved to the door and stood with one hand on the latch for a moment. Her gaze turned to Peter still fast asleep on the floor. He looked so relaxed, so at ease with his world. If it weren’t for the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the deep grooves bracketing his mouth, she would have thought he hadn’t a care in the world. Despite his stubbled jaw, there was a vulnerability about him while he slept that reminded her of a little boy.
She had missed him so much while they had been apart, and had considered him a part of her past she could never recapture. To see him again now, so close, was like manna from heaven. Unable to resist, she slowly tiptoed across the room and carefully knelt on the floor beside him. She winced as her stomach rumbled loudly in the silence of the room and paused, waiting to see if he had heard it too. Relieved when he continued to sleep, Jemima leaned over him and brushed her lips carefully over his in a feather-light kiss. She had no idea if this moment was going to be the last she had with him, and couldn’t resist feeling his lips against hers once more, even if he didn’t know about it.
When he mumbled under his breath and turned over, she eased back and moved quietly to the door. Taking one last lingering look at Peter, she left the room.
She had no idea where she was going, but the delicious aroma of food wafting up from somewhere was enough to spur her on. One end of the corridor was brighter than the other, so she followed the sunshine, eventually finding herself on a large landing at the top of a flight of long, sweeping stairs leading down to a cavernous entrance hall.
“Good morning,” Sebastian chirruped from behind her, still struggling with the shock of seeing her alive, and looking equally as beautiful as her sister. She looked so unlike the unkempt ghost-like creature that had glided out of the storage room that he struggled to believe it was actually the same person. Despite his love for his wife, he could fully understand why Peter was so smitten with her.
She was gorgeous.
Jemima jumped, emitting a low squeak as she turned and found herself face to face with a tall, black-haired man who had a calm air of authority about him.
“I’m Sebastian, by the way.” He smiled gently, sensing her disquiet and doing his best to put her at ease.
“I’m sorry,” Jemima replied after several awkward moments of silence.
“Hello ‘Sorry’,” Sebastian smiled, flashing an even row of white teeth at her. “Well, ‘Sorry’, I am not sure about you, but I am starving and if the smells coming from the breakfast room are any indication, I do believe Cook has excelled herself this morning. Shall we?” With that, he held his elbow out for her in a gentlemanly fashion, clearly waiting to escort her down to eat.
With a soft smile of thanks, Jemima took his arm and allowed him to gently guide her down the stairs toward the lavishly furnished room that appeared to be the breakfast room.
As she entered, Edward, Dominic and Sir Dunnicliffe, who were already seated around the table, got to their feet, murmuring greetings as they waited for her to sit.
Dominic took the opportunity to quickly introduce her to Sir Dunnicliffe, once Sebastian had eased her into a chair.
Jemima jumped as a slightly dishevelled Peter appeared at her elbow, clearly newly awoken, but apparently determined not to allow her to stray too far from him. Taking a seat beside her, he winked at her and murmured a gentle ‘good morning’, sitting back to watch as the footman swung into action.
Within moments, Jemima was staring down at a huge, heavily laden plate of the most sumptuous food she had ever seen in her life, with a cup of tea at her elbow, and a rack of toast and pot of strawberry jam before her.
She looked askance at Dominic, only for him to smile secretively back at her, before returning to his own meal.
Shaking her head ruefully at the vast array of pie, bacon, eggs, meets and bread before her, Jemima began to eat, well aware that Sir Dunnicliffe was also watching her. Assured that she was at last eating, Peter accepted his own meal and hungrily tucked in, trying not to openly stare at the stunning vision beside him.
Completely oblivious, Jemima ate slowly, her attention on the man opposite. He was dressed as urbanely as Dominic and Sebastian, but despite his debonair appearance, there was something about him that was different; dangerous and almost sinister.
As she chewed, a small knot of uncertainty began to grow deep within her. Her logical mind warned her to remain calm; that he really didn’t pose any risk to her whatsoever. But the events of the past few months had taught her not to be too trusting of anyone, regardless of how harmless they looked or what they promised.
Despite the presence of several very large and brawny men beside her, her fear grew.
Munching on a richly buttered piece of toast, Jemima lifted her eyes and took the opportunity of Sir Dunnicliffe’s attention being diverted by his conversation with Dominic to study him closely. There was something so familiar about him that Jemima was certain she had met him, or at least seen him, somewhere before, only she couldn’t quite place where. She felt it had been recently.
She scoured her still hazy memory for any trace of the man opposite. She had certainly never met him as he was now. He looked so urbane, as though he had just come in from the streets of Mayfair.
She froze and swallowed the toast harshly, taking a large gulp of tea to stop the racking coughs that threatened. Blinking ferociously, she studied the man opposite more closely, removing in her mind’s eye his neatly starched cravat and pristine white shirt, and replacing his emerald silk waistcoat with the garb of a gaoler.
Dropping her fork, she pushed away from the table, fear locked in her throat. Staring in horror at Sir Dunnicliffe, she knew with absolute certainty that this was the man who had been standing in Mr Simpson’s office, and who had remained with her in the corridor of the gaol while she awaited execution.
“You!” Jemima gasped, launching from her seat in order to get away from him and the memories his presence at the table brought her. Her breakfast, so tasty only moments earlier, suddenly sat like a lead weight in her stomach and made her feel queasy. She sucked in great gulps of air in a desperate attempt to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The now familiar urge to run was strong; only the presence of Peter now standing next to her, kept her still.
“Jemima?” Dominic shot Sebastian and Sir Dunnicliffe a questioning look, easing back from the table himself in case there was any trouble.
Peter was clearly prepared to run after her if she took off, and had turned in his seat warily, his eyes flicking between a clearly horrified Jemima, and an apologetic-looking Sir Dunnicliffe.
His gaze locked on the latter and he studied the intent way the man was staring back at Jemima, without any hint of surprise at her horror.
Immediately, the hackles on the back of Peter’s neck rose and he rose to his feet, leading Jemima over to the window, away from the table and whatever it was about Sir Dunnicliffe that had scared her.
“I’m sorry, Jemima, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sir Dunnicliffe offered, leaving the table and moving toward them. He ignored Peter’s warning look and stood directly in her line of vision as she stared blankly over the immaculately presented lawns outside, forcing her to look at him.
Instinctively Peter shifted to put himself between Jemima and the source of her distress, only for Jemima to put a hand on his chest, stopping him with a slow shake of her head.
“It’s all right, I just wasn’t expecting -” she whispered, momentarily unable to put words to the random thoughts that swirled through her mind.
“I can understand your shock,” Sir Dunnicliffe said softly.
Jemima looked quizzically at him. “Can you? Can you really?” She wasn’t so sure, but at least he wasn’t posing any immediate threat to her safety.
Did he work for Scraggan? What was going on?
Dominic took the words right out of her mouth.
“I think you had better explain what is going on,” he demanded. The gaze he turned on Sir Dunnicliffe was far from friendly, and held a hint of warning that, government official or not, if he didn’t come up with answers, and fast, he would be out of the house as quickly as he could blink.
“Jemima recognises me,” Sir Dunnicliffe explained. “Don’t you Jemima?”
After several moments of calm recollection, Jemima slowly nodded.
“From where?” Peter was still tense, not liking the sudden paleness of Jemima’s cheeks. Sitting around the table earlier, she had looked beautiful, with her once pale cheeks softly tinged with colour, and all trace of fear gone from her eyes as she had enjoyed what was probably her first proper meal since leaving Padstow.
“Gaol.” Jemima’s blunt word made everyone lunge backward from the table and stand, glaring menacingly at Sir Dunnicliffe, who had the grace to look abashed.
Holding up his hands defensively in an attempt to ward off their imminent attack, he glanced ruefully at Jemima.
“If you could call off your guard dogs for a moment, I think we need to adjourn to the room next door and I can bring everyone, including you, up to date.” His voice was tinged with mild amusement that fell flat against the level of tension, which was practically humming in the air.
Jemima nodded jerkily, allowing Peter to draw her away. She was frowning thoughtfully by the time she was seated in one of the large brocade chairs beside the fireplace.
Despite the roaring flames in the grate, she felt chilled to the bone. The raw memories of the past two days made her feel as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
“I think you had better explain,” Dominic ordered, his voice cold and faintly threatening.
“He was one of the gaolers,” Jemima replied with a shudder. She glanced up at Sir Dunnicliffe, who had remained standing.
He looked most officious with his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders broad and straight, staring at each man in turn before looking at Jemima.
“I think it would be best if I started from the beginning, then you will all understand what this is about, and what needs to happen next.” Sir Dunnicliffe knew he sounded pompous but was happy to adopt an ‘official’ stance in order to ensure they didn’t lynch him.
“Please do,” Peter snapped, settling back in the chair beside Jemima, one booted foot resting casually on one knee in a pose that was anything but restful.
“Firstly, please call me Hugo. Sir Dunnicliffe seems such a mouthful.” He bowed at Jemima and offered her a soft smile that lit his eyes and eased some of the dark menace from his countenance.
“You are quite right, I was in Mr Simpson’s office, and waited with you in the corridor on the morning you were supposed to be executed -” He heard Dominic’s snarl, but refused to move his eyes from Jemima’s. He knew she was wary of him; that his presence in the house had frightened her, most probably because he brought so many bad memories with him. He couldn’t blame her if she despised him. All he could do was hope that once he had imparted all the facts then she would feel more inclined to be amenable toward him.
If not, then he had a major problem on his hands.
He glanced around the room at the assembled men and mentally heaved a sigh. He may be able to call upon Jemima’s good nature to plead her forgiveness, but this lot of battle-hardened warriors before him would be far harder to appease, if it was at all possible.
“I am head of the Star Elite,” Hugo explained, glancing at Dominic and Peter. “The rag-tag group of ex-soldiers and friends you rounded up to help you hunt for the smugglers in Norfolk are still together, mostly.”
He watched Dominic shift forward in his seat, clearly intrigued by the latest news.
“Ashley Carrington?”
Hugo nodded.
“Simon Montague?”
Hugo nodded again.
“David Petersen, Rupert Samuels and Jonathan Arbinger?”
Hugo hesitated and shook his head slowly. “Not David Petersen, I’m afraid. He got married a few weeks ago and has decided to return to Yorkshire to run his family estates. He has been replaced by someone else, though, who is equally well trained. Except for Pie Masters and Archie Balfour, everyone else has changed too.”
Dominic and Peter exchanged a searching glance. “They are now called the Star Elite?”
Hugo nodded. “When you, quite rightly, returned home and left the men back in Norfolk to tie up loose ends, they went after the smuggler who got away. Determined not to be beaten, they have spent the time since locating him and gathering a wealth of information on his activities. We have unearthed a lot, I can tell you.”
“Over the course of the past few months the men have been specially trained in gunmanship, espionage and all sorts of special skills that have made them the elite of the War Office. They were given a name under which to work, and now consist of Rupert Samuels, Jonathan Arbinger, Pie Masters, Archie Balfour, Simon Ambrose, Stephen Montague, Harper ‘Harry’ Hamilton-Smythe and Jamie Montford. They are the Star Elite.”
Peter swore, shaking his head in wonder as the names of at least five men he went to school with, were mentioned.
“So they have been on Scraggan’s tail ever since?”
Hugo nodded cautiously. “Among others, but mostly we have been keeping an eye on Scraggan, as he is the ringleader; the head smuggler, if you will.” He turned to Jemima. “We always managed to only get so far, though, before we were blocked in one way or another. Until your father brought his valuable information to the War Office. That is what gave us a new lead to follow, which has proven richly rewarding.” He held up his hand when Peter tried to interrupt.
“Let me explain. We have men undercover. Although you know who the Star Elite are, it is important that you don’t know who is in Padstow as they are heavily disguised. They are able to feed us the information we need to find out about Scraggan’s activities before they happen, but there is a lot information missing. Because we had men already undercover when your father came to us, we heard that you and Eliza had left Padstow and Scraggan had sent his men after you.”
“So you knew that because of their father’s visit to the War Office, they were in significant danger? Why did you not give them protection?” Peter demanded, impatience lining his every word.
“Because they left before we could find them,” and he turned to Jemima, his eyes sad and full of sympathy. “I would like to take this moment to offer my sincere condolences to you on the loss of your father. He was an exceptionally brave man who gave his life for the welfare of his country. You should be very proud of him.”
Silence settled over the room for several moments. Jemima nodded her thanks, unable to speak past the huge lump in her throat.
“If it wasn’t for your father, and his valuable contact in the village, then we wouldn’t have had the leads we had. We have been able to capture several French spies on British soil as a direct result of your father’s bravery.”
Jemima gasped, feeling a thrill of pride at the knowledge that her father’s actions hadn’t been ignored after all. She blinked back tears, determined to hear the rest of Hugo’s explanation. Although she still didn’t trust him, some of her initial horror had started to fade, leaving curiosity in its wake.
“But there is a lot more work to do. We need a lot more information about Scraggan’s activities before we can arrest him and put him before a judge. He has been very careful not to be seen doing things himself. He has always sent his men out to do his work for him. But someone has been arranging meetings with the captains of the ships carrying the cargo, and someone has been setting up the network of people who smuggle the spies through the country. We know it is Scraggan, but we just need more information. He will certainly hang for his crimes; it is just a matter of when.” Hugo began to pace backward and forward before the fireplace, clearly lost in the intricacies of the case against Scraggan and his many criminal activities.
“We need to get into a position where the insurmountable evidence we put before a judge will ensure a swift trial, and give the judge no alternative but to pass the death sentence upon him. But to do that, we need to find direct evidence of his personal culpability in the smuggling activities going on in Padstow. We know that he has been involved ...” Hugo paused, wondering how to phrase it.
“But you need to catch him holding the weapon, so to speak, to be able to arrest him,” Jemima added into the silence, thinking of her own ordeal. She watched a startled respect enter Hugo’s eyes at her blunt and accurate analysis of the situation.
Nodding thoughtfully, Hugo stared at her. “Exactly. By gathering as much information as we can on his activities, and getting as much paperwork we can as proof, we can not only bring Scraggan down but we can prevent what happened in Norfolk from happening again. We don’t want anyone involved in this relocating and starting again. Everyone involved has to be brought to trial, and punished, for playing their part. Unfortunately, that means we have to have a direct link to Scraggan’s personal involvement in crimes. So far, we know which of his men were sent to kill, and which of his men led which smuggling gangs.”
“But you haven’t got anything on Scraggan himself,” Peter sighed, wondering what it would take to bring the man down.
Dominic quietly left the room, returning a few minutes later with a sheaf of papers that looked familiar to Jemima.
“On Jemima’s instructions, Edward gave Eliza these papers. Apparently, when the ladies left Padstow, they each carried some documents that were needed together to be of any use. I think you will find them interesting.” He held out the pale cream parchment, resuming his seat as Hugo carefully unfolded them and began to read.
“Good God!” Hugo stared in shock at Jemima. “You and Eliza were carrying these?”
Jemima nodded slowly, knowing the significance of the papers now in the government’s hands.
“No wonder Scraggan and Rogan have been so determined to capture you.” Hugo shook his head, studying the list of names, dates and places that filled so many gaps in their investigation, astounded.
Jemima took the opportunity of the momentary silence within the room to explain the contents of the papers she and Eliza had spent months protecting.
“They list the names of the ships, the dates and times of arrival, along with codes and contacts.” Jemima didn’t need to look at the papers to know what was in them. She had committed their contents to memory a long time ago. “One of the sheet has the codes, giving exact details of what each shipment entails, along with cargo lists and buyers. These are details of the French spies they have smuggled into the country; who the spies are meeting, where and when, etcetera. You now have all of the details of the exact cargo Scraggan has been handling, along with his contacts. It is information on his entire network up to the point we left Padstow.”
“Where in the hell did you get all of this?” Hugo demanded. As he stared down at the sheet of paper, he knew she was telling him the truth and he was holding nothing less than gold dust in his hands. Dates and ships he knew from the Star Elite’s own informants were clearly listed alongside ships he had heard of but never considered to be involved. The enormity of the information held on those three sheets of paper was not lost on him, and he now fully understood why Scraggan was so determined to kill Jemima and Eliza.
Jemima shifted uncomfortably on her seat, lost for words. She would have to have her fingernails pulled out before she told him that.
When silence met his question, Hugo turned to stare at her, clearly waiting for an answer.
With a huge sigh, Jemima glanced at Peter, before turning to Hugo with a shake of her head.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that.”
Hugo studied her carefully. “We can protect them.”
Jemima snorted inelegantly and arched a frosty brow back at him. “Like you did me?” She didn’t need to turn her head to know that Peter was watching her, but for the life of her couldn’t meet his gaze either. She could hold out against Hugo, a veritable stranger, but knew all Peter had to do was ask, and she would most probably tell him anything and everything!
“You are alive, aren’t you?” Hugo challenged, his tone argumentative.
“But look what you put her through. If you knew she wasn’t going to be hanged, why didn’t you just spare us all the bloody misery and tell us it was a sham?” Peter spat, his own anger rising at the unnecessary pain and suffering they had all been put through.
“Because we didn’t know whether Scraggan had men on the inside of the gaol providing him with information. We had to make it look as realistic as possible.”
“Did Mr Simpson know it was all a ruse?” Dominic asked, remembering the intent conversation he had interrupted when he had returned to Simpson’s office.
Hugo nodded. “Let me explain.” He sighed and took the seat directly opposite Jemima. He hadn’t let her off the hook just yet, and wasn’t going to until she had told him what he needed to know.
“I think you had better,” Peter’s voice held a note of warning.
“We had two men following Jemima and Eliza. One man was undercover at the inn where Eliza worked.” He ignored Edward’s gasp, and shot him a pointed look. “Yes, we knew when you left with her, and although we didn’t know where you were headed, we did have men on alert in Padstow in case you turned up unannounced so to speak.”
“She was nearly killed for God’s sake,” Edward spat, thinking of the numerous men who had challenged not only himself, but had almost taken the lives of his brothers and Peter.
“The Star Elite is a relatively small group of men. We do have a few others working for us, but the main group is not that big. It is what makes us so good at what we do, but it also does stretch us occasionally. We know your background, Edward, and believed that, if anyone could keep her alive, you could.”
“What about Jemima?” Peter asked, wondering if they had planned to just abandon her to her fate.
“We knew she was at more risk. Her father had informed us that she helped with the papers and knew as much as he did. So we pooled the few resources we didn’t have undercover and made our own arrangements to thwart Scraggan’s plans officially.”
Peter felt somewhat mollified as he understood that Hugo and his men really did have the ladies’ survival as one of their goals.
“We know she was set up when one of our men heard about her being arrested for murdering the mayor. It didn’t take much for us to make enough enquiries to surmise what had happened. We know she didn’t do anything, and Scraggan had set her up, along with the others in the group who were found nearby.”
“Who were they?” Jemima asked, thinking of the morose group of downtrodden men with whom she had shared the condemned cell.
“They had been working for Scraggan at some point, either collecting information or taking part in criminal activities.” At Jemima’s look of shock, Hugo sighed knowing he wouldn’t get away with only half an explanation.
“They had taken part in a few thefts that had resulted in people dying. Two of them had murdered associates of Scraggan several months back. We knew they were guilty but just couldn’t get to them. Apparently they had done something Scraggan wasn’t pleased about, and had been thrown out of the smuggling ring. They were sent to Derby, ostensibly to find you, but once there found themselves set up by Rogan, under Scraggan’s orders. Each one of the men you were arrested with was guilty of serious crimes, Jemima, and would have gone to the gallows anyway, which is why we made no attempt to save them.”
Although Jemima nodded slowly, she would never understand why anyone had to be put to death in such a gruesome fashion for any crimes they had committed.
“Rogan had quite a large amount of money with him, and was able to buy people to do a lot of the dirty work for him, gathering information etc., so the victim wouldn’t suspect he was close by. When you were in gaol, we couldn’t take the risk that Rogan had bought one of the gaolers to provide him with information about your activities.”
“He wanted confirmation she was in the condemned cell, and going to be hanged,” Peter added, shaking his head and reaching out to hold Jemima’s hand.
“So, although we knew Jemima wasn’t going to be hanged, we had to go through the motions, as it were. We couldn’t risk that anyone would tell Rogan it was all a lie. We do know that Scraggan is being informed that you were publicly hanged, and will consider he has won.”
Dominic frowned and sat forward in his chair, thinking over the events of the night carefully.
“So how did you know we were going to turn up?” He demanded, remembering Hugo’s watchful presence in the corner of Simpson’s office.
“We didn’t,” Hugo replied ruefully. “We had to think on our feet. As soon as Jemima was placed in the condemned cell, I brought Mr Simpson up to date about Scraggan and his threat to Jemima and her sister. He was fully aware that he would be in serious trouble if he allowed Jemima to be hanged. The court papers have been destroyed, and all entries into the records removed. There is no trace of Jemima having been tried and found guilty of anything now, I assure you,” Hugo added, hoping it would buy him some reward.
“On the morning of the executions, you were in the corridor beside me, waiting with me, and you never said a word,” Jemima accused, reluctantly allowing her memories of that dreadful morning to come forth. Gratefully, she clasped the hand Peter held out to her, accepting his reassuring presence beside her.
“We had to wait until the right moment,” Hugo replied, shuffling uncomfortably under the collective glare of the group. “As I have said, the men with you were all guilty of serious crimes that would have sent them to the gallows anyway. We couldn’t allow them to go free, and risk them returning to Scraggan because they had nowhere else to go.”
“You made me wait until last,” Jemima frowned, thinking of the way he made her go to the back of the group, thinking at the time that it was because she would draw the most attention.
“Because we had to wait until the men had been hanged. I had Jamie outside of the door under strict instructions not to let you out of the building. He had already spoken to the hangman who himself was under strict instructions not to hang any woman unless he was given a nod by Jamie.”
“But you hanged a woman,” Edward announced, thinking back to that gruesome morning with a shudder. “I watched her being dragged to the gallows.”
“That was another prisoner from Leicester gaol who had been tried and found guilty of murdering her four children. She was condemned, and due to be hanged the following week at Leicester. We just brought her execution forward.”
At Jemima’s look of horror, Hugo turned sympathetic eyes toward her. “I’m sorry, Jemima, I didn’t mean to upset you, but this woman had murdered children. Her husband and family had denounced all association to her. She really had nobody who was bothered when she was hanged, and there certainly wasn’t anyone prepared to attend the hanging to hang on her legs and ease her way.”
“She murdered children?” Jemima gasped, feeling her initial sympathy for the woman begin to wane.
At Hugo’s nod, she slowly shook her head, wondering at the cruelty of humanity.
“Then she deserved to die,” Peter muttered, pressing a kiss to the back of Jemima’s hand. Despite everything she had been through, she still had the capacity to feel compassion toward her fellow beings, and that touched him deeply. She truly was a remarkable woman.
“She was chosen because she was condemned but she also looked like Jemima,” Hugo added, thinking of the slightly smaller woman who replaced her.
“You gave me something to knock me out,” Jemima murmured, thinking of the strange smell moments before she blacked out.
Hugo nodded, a look of apology on his face. “We gave you ether to knock you out. Unfortunately, with only me in the corridor, you inhaled a bit too much, which is why you were out for so long, and so deeply. I was trying not to inhale the stuff myself, and left the wretched cloth out for too long. It worked on you, too well, but it also very nearly rendered me unconscious too!” he added, not minding in the least that everyone knew of his near disaster.
“As I have said, there were safety precautions in place to make sure you weren’t hanged. Another man was waiting in a side room, and was watching for you to slump to the floor. He dragged you into the side room, and out of sight, at the same time that Mr Simpson led the other woman, already wearing an executioner’s hood, out into the corridor. As instructed, the woman was handed to the hangman by Mr Simpson, and Jamie nodded his confirmation that the hangman could go ahead. It all went according to plan.”
“So how did you arrange the bodies to make sure that Jemima wasn’t quick-limed?” Edward asked, his own breakfast sitting heavily in his stomach at the macabre nature of the conversation. He was suddenly very glad Eliza wasn’t there to listen to it.
“Because we kept Jemima in the side room while the woman was hanged. Unlike the men, when the woman was dead, she was cut down and brought back into the gaol, ostensibly to keep her body away from prying eyes. She was left in the side room, while Jemima was taken outside.” He shot Edward a warning glare, cautioning him not to betray the fact that, for a short while, Jemima had had to lie beside the dead bodies of those who had been executed.
“It was a bit of a surprise when Edward wanted to take the body, but seemed a reasonable request and a quicker way of getting her out of there. I had to come here anyway,” he added, shooting a smile at Dominic.
“It does explain why you were several days late,” Dominic muttered, somewhat mollified that Hugo hadn’t been as useless as he had thought. “You have been busy.”
“Very,” Hugo replied, sitting back in his chair and relaxing for a moment. From the thoughtful frowns of the assembled group, they were still absorbing his explanation, but at least none of them appeared angry now.
For the time being at least, Hugo thought, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he studied Jemima for several moments.
“Thank you,” Jemima murmured meeting his gaze head-on.
“Why are you thanking him?” Peter demanded, still battling with the grief that refused to leave him. “We’ve been through hell because of the subterfuge.”
“I know,” Jemima replied softly, thinking of Peter’s distraught display of denial as she left Mr Simpson’s office. “But, having been in that gaol, I know there was simply no other way they could ensure I survived. Scraggan would have watched, or at least had someone watching,” she paused as Hugo nodded slowly. “By letting Scraggan believe I was dead, I now have the advantage.”
Hugo nodded in silent agreement.
Peter paused, reluctant to let go of his anger entirely. He wanted someone to blame for the sheer hell he had been through. He wanted someone to punch, someone to shout at. He felt almost cheated at being expected to simply accept that the devastation had been necessary, and move on. A small part of him didn’t think he would ever accept what had happened.
Still smarting, Peter tried to find some positives in the situation.
“So now Jemima is free of the threat of Scraggan, and can get on with her life.” He didn’t require Hugo’s approval and wasn’t asking for his agreement.
Hugo slowly shook his head, and shot Jemima a look of regret.
“We still need to know who her contacts are in Padstow,” and he turned searching eyes on Jemima, watching as her chin firmed defiantly.
With a mental sigh, and Peter’s curse ringing in his ears, he knew that things were going to get ugly.