Dawn at Emberwilde (17 page)

Isabel stood still. There could be no doubt that Constance had heard the argument between her parents as well. Did she share her mother's opinions or her father's? Unsure of whom to trust, and still not entirely sure what she had done wrong, Isabel remained quiet.

Her cousin continued. “You will grow accustomed to Mother's tone, I promise. She is only temporarily upset. She is a smart woman, with a keen sense for what a young lady requires. Do not look so shocked! This is a good thing. She is only trying to ensure that you have the best possible chance at happiness, you and Elizabeth.”

Isabel did not feel happier, but she smiled at her cousin's eager effort to console her.

Energy infused each step as Isabel walked toward the foundling home. She clutched Lizzie's hand in her own as the pair headed over the dusty, leaf-crusted path that ran along the Emberwilde Forest. Perhaps because of the sharp reprimand that she'd given Isabel, or perhaps because of the argument she'd had with her husband, Aunt Margaret had consented to their reading with the foundling children.

The enthusiasm in Lizzie's steps matched her own, for both were eager to be out from under their aunt's watchful eye.

“Do you have the books? All of them?” asked Lizzie as she bounced along beside Isabel.

Isabel tightened her hold on the small satchel in her hand. “I do.”

“Even the one about the girl and the boat?” Lizzie asked, squinting up at Isabel.

Isabel smiled. “Yes, even the one about the girl and the boat.”

Isabel had been pleasantly surprised at the selection of books in Emberwilde's library. There were two libraries in the large home, in fact—one for family use and one that served as Uncle Charles's private collection. Her uncle's library contained mostly books on history and foreign lands, but the family library had been designed for the children and boasted many books for younger readers.

After a short walk the sisters arrived at the school, and Mr. Bradford was ready to meet them. Isabel could only suppose that her aunt had sent word of their plans.

“Ladies!” he exclaimed, a smile of welcome on his face. He stepped from the home's front steps and into the late-morning sunshine and bowed. “I saw you approaching from the window. I am so glad you could join us.”

Both Isabel and Lizzie returned a curtsy. Isabel was glad to see him. His easy smile and manner had an uncanny way of putting her at ease.

“Good day, Mr. Bradford. I hope our visit does not interrupt your day's schedule, but Lizzie has selected a few stories for the younger girls, and we would like to read to them.”

“Any visit from the two of you could hardly be considered an interruption. In fact, your aunt sent word you were to visit us this morning, and so the younger girls have been assembled. It is quite a treat for them. They are in the garden, if you should like to visit them there.”

Isabel and Lizzie followed Mr. Bradford around the home and through a gate. A sparse yet pleasant garden unfolded, and in the distance under a substantial oak tree was clustered a group of young girls. There were about eight of them, and they were seated around her, dressed in somber, unadorned blue linen gowns.

Isabel studied their faces as well as she could as they approached. The children appeared healthy, but even more striking was how curious they seemed to be about Lizzie and herself.

Mr. Bradford addressed the group. “Ladies, Miss Creston and Miss Elizabeth have come to spend time with you this morning.”

The children's eyes brightened, and a wave of motion swept through the group as they wiggled in excitement.

“It is very kind of the Miss Crestons to come read to you this morning, and I trust you will be polite and attentive.” Mr. Bradford turned to Isabel. “Miss Creston, this is where I leave you. Miss Trendle will be here should you have need of her. Can I be of any further service?”

Isabel shook her head. “I think we are well situated, Mr. Bradford. Thank you for allowing us to spend time with your charges.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

He left the gathering, and Isabel turned her full attention to the girls. How they reminded her of the girls she had left behind at Fellsworth, and how they tugged at her heart. These children were just like Lizzie. No mother. No father. In fact, if not for Isabel, Lizzie could very well be in a home like this, with a bleak future and few options. That very thought charged her resolve to do what she could to help prepare these girls for the future. While a story might not seem significant, she knew that just showing interest in the children would do them a world of good. Perhaps the more they read, the more knowledge they would amass, and by doing so be better prepared to face their futures head-on.

Mr. Bradford had the forethought to bring a chair out for her, so she sat, and Lizzie joined the girls.

She could not help the smile that formed when she saw their eager faces. “Now, I think introductions are in order, don't you? I would like to know each of your names, and I would like to know how old you are.”

Jane.

Bessie.

Mary.

Tilly.

Each girl had a name, but more importantly, each girl had a unique story.

And Isabel was eager to learn each one.

Chapter Sixteen

L
ater that night, Colin set out to meet McKinney at the gatepost near the village square.

A heavy rain pelted the landscape, and low-hanging, shifting clouds blocked out the moonlight. Colin would have liked nothing more than to turn left at the end of the Benton Bridge and return to his quiet, humble room, but instead he turned to the right, passed the haberdasher's and baker's silent shops, and headed out of town. Normally, no one would venture out into such elements, but he hoped the reward would justify the discomfort.

The boxing match McKinney had mentioned was scheduled for that night in a nearby field, and it would draw men from miles around. No doubt this would be as good a place as any to hear rumors of smuggling if any existed, for men from all walks of life would be represented.

McKinney was waiting for him, leaning against the designated gatepost, a caped greatcoat over his shoulders and a wide-brimmed hat covering his head. “What took you so long? Bored to tears out here.”

Colin adjusted his own collar against the wind and stepped out from under the protection of the canopy of trees.

“Been busy. When did you say it started?”

“Oh, it's been going on for these two hours. But you know how they are—could go on all night. No doubt there's quite a crowd already. Folks coming from as far away as Maytown. Had to move
it from Foster's Field, though. All this rain flooded it, and heard tell it's ankle deep. Moved the bout to the barn at Kenter's Peak.”

Colin frowned as he shrugged his coat higher. “That barn's not very big. Not many will fit inside.”

“You know how people are, especially when there's a spectacle. They'll be packed to the rafters.” McKinney passed a bottle over to Colin. “Take a swig. It'll keep ya warm.”

Colin shook his head. He reminded himself that he was not going to this match as a spectator. He needed every sense sharp. Men of all sorts gathered at these events, and he was going as the magistrate.

“Suit yourself.” McKinney took another swig and tucked the bottle in the crook of his arm. “Any word from the excise officer?”

“Looks like we'll be proceeding on our own. Their workload is such that they cannot offer assistance at this time.”

McKinney fell into step next to Colin. “What does Ellison have to say about all this?”

“Ever since he showed me the caverns, he's been quiet about it. He's trying to handle it quietly so as to prevent further disruptions.”

“I said it before and I will say it again,” McKinney said with a shake of his head. “The man's in trouble. Financial trouble. He's got bigger problems than whatever's going on in that forest. Heard he owes a hefty sum to Thomas Payne and will be selling part of Emberwilde to cover it.”

Normally Colin would take information about Ellison from McKinney lightly. The McKinney family and the Ellison family had not been on good terms since McKinney's father was dismissed from the estate well over twenty years ago.

“Aye, you're correct. Ellison is in debt to Payne. And maybe he is going to sell some of the farming fields. But what would that have to do with smugglers?” Colin knew not to say too much on the matter, even to McKinney. He chose his words carefully. “Over
the past week or so I've been monitoring the woods, and there is evidence of activity, but we keep missing it.”

“Be patient. Keep your eyes open tonight. Town's not so big that anyone can keep a secret. And then, you'll have me to thank for it.” McKinney's big feet splashed water with each step. “Two men came into the inn earlier this week. Talked about a load to London and a bridge being out. But their carriage was not marked, nor would they say whom they were working for. They are as good as any place to start, and they will both be here tonight.”

The walk to Kenter's Peak was unpleasant. Rain fell in intermittent sheets, and sharp winds hurled frigid drops and whipped the long, wild meadow grasses at their feet.

He could hear the activity in the stable before he saw it. Shouts and cheers tumbled on the gusty winds. Yellow torch glow oozed through the open cracks in the barn's walls, making it appear as if the entire building was ablaze inside.

Despite the heavy rain, shadowy figures gathered outside, their forms black silhouettes against the structure.

As they approached, McKinney reached out to grab Colin's arm. “Keep your head down. No one here likes a lawman, no mistakin' about that.”

Colin nodded. Boxing matches were common in the villages around Northrop, but he had not attended any since becoming magistrate. In fact, it was up to him to discourage such gatherings, not attend them.

Colin and McKinney passed the shadowy men guarding the door without incident, but Colin had a quick glance at their faces. Normally, local men would oversee local events. These men were strangers.

As he passed through the propped barn door, hot air and the scent of wet hay and the stench of too many men in one room rushed him, as if the air itself was trying to escape the confines. Rain dropped
through the wide slats of the roof, adding to the room's already thick humidity. Large torches lined the perimeter, their flames dangerously close to the old wooden walls.

Once inside, McKinney laughed and rubbed his thick hands together. “Here we go.”

Colin glimpsed the men boxing. They were bare-chested and bare-fisted. Blood intermingled with sweat trickled down both men's faces and dripped down their chests. This would go on for as long as the men could last. It might be hours.

Colin and McKinney situated themselves in a far corner of the room—a bit too far away to watch the fighting, but a much better vantage point to see those in attendance without being seen themselves. Colin left his coat and hat on despite the heat.

The room was full. Men dressed in shades of gray, brown, and black crushed the boxing square, their shouts rising and falling with every blow.

Colin scanned the crowd. He was not sure what—or whom—he was looking for. He leaned toward McKinney. “See the men from the inn?”

After several moments of browsing the faces, McKinney turned his back toward the crowd and kept his voice low. “That's the man we want, the one with the carriage service. The man over there by Bradford . . .” McKinney had more to say, but Colin did not hear anything past
Bradford
.

It was the last name he had expected to hear at this event. He followed the direction of McKinney's gaze, and sure enough, Bradford stood against a back wall with a small group of men. His height and square jaw were unmistakable, and his straight, controlled posture set him apart from those around him. Bradford was silent as the men around him cheered.

Colin could recall a different side of Bradford—the Bradford
from before the days of the foundling home—the days that had given Colin his first impressions of the man's true nature. Sure, people could change and grow out of bad behavior. But an unattractive element to Bradford's character remained, a selfishness that had always put Colin on edge, even when they were boys.

McKinney shifted, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest. “Wonder what he's doing with that lot.”

“Hard to tell.” Colin did not recognize a single soul. “Do you know them?”

“I've seen them at the inn from time to time. Not so much to stay the night, mind ye, but to change the horses and eat. Don't know their names.”

As if on cue, Bradford turned. Through the smoke and the flickering light, he nodded a greeting at Colin.

Colin returned the nod and muttered under his breath to McKinney, “Let's go. I want to talk to Bradford.”

McKinney shrugged, and his heavy footsteps fell in next to Colin's. They wove their way through the thick crowd of rowdy men and boys.