“God’s teeth, Max!” Harlow said, glowering at his friend. “Are you responsible for the bet at White’s?”
“No, be easy. You know it was not me. Nonetheless, I believe we will determine who did that shortly.”
“What do you mean?” DeLacey demanded. “What bet? Did it involve my sister?” The man’s face darkened with anger. “How dare anyone place my sister’s name in the betting books!”
“I believe I know who it was, but let us see,” Max said coolly.
Harlow appreciated Max’s coolness under fire. They were like that with each other. When he got upset, Max calmed him. When Max flew up into the boughs, he calmed his friend.
“Your father sent us food. Shall we eat now before this begins? I think this would be a good spot,” Harlow suggested mildly.
A few hours later, the men were in place with their pistols primed and their knives ready. The Dragoons would be their first line of defence, but they planned to have the widow and her associate in custody, regardless of who apprehended her. Harlow now knew that DeLacey shared a second motivation to make sure she paid. His sister.
Darkness surrounded them, and for more than an hour, no one moved. Harlow checked his brass pocket-watch, closing it and making the loudest sound they had heard in hours. Barely beyond King’s Cave, a lantern edged out on the water, a clear decoy set in place to lead Lieutenant Pelham’s cutter onto the jagged coastal rocks. The lantern was most likely on a small boat being floated or manoeuvred by long ropes. They had seen the small black dinghy hidden under brushwood on the coast. It was the chief means used by free traders to access the cargo once they wrecked a boat. The black colour helped conceal them.
Pelham’s cutter edged into the opening, straying closer to the rocks. Be careful. Harlow was worried; anything could go wrong. He pulled out his spyglass and watched, barely making out a cutter purposely camouflaged in black, flanking Pelham’s larboard side.
A noise on the beach drew his attention. A man dressed in black stood off to the side, barely visible beside the dark boulder he leaned on. Harlow looked carefully and saw him withdraw a silver pistol. Using an agreed-upon signal, he lit a match and made a quick flash, barely seen by an unsuspecting eye. The man appeared preoccupied with Pelham’s ship and as far as Harlow could tell, did not notice. He could see villagers and smugglers edging toward the shore, staying close to the cliff’s edge until the British ship lay crippled on the rocks.
As the black cutter drew closer, attempting to box Pelham’s ship, forcing it to wreck, five guns fired from the British cutter, making direct hits on the smuggler’s boat and crippling her masts. Flames erupted from several areas on the boat, and judging from the chaos that ensued, the smugglers’ ship was crippled and on fire.
Dragoons swarmed the beach, fighting those that resisted arrest. They had not planned to arrest the townspeople, but they wanted the leaders.
Harlow looked down and realized the man in black was slowly edging away. He is trying to escape. Standing up, Harlow looked down to the side, spotting the man just below his own hiding place. The man was climbing the rock in an attempt to flee for safety. Harlow tucked his pistol into his belt and leaped from the rocks screening their vantage point, landing on top of the man. Before Harlow could secure bindings, the man slipped an arm free and pulled out a short knife and cut through Harlow’s shirt, lacerating his shoulder. The assailant then had time to climb a rocky outcrop and somersault in front Harlow, with a small flintlock pistol drawn.
“You had better make that shot count, because you will not get a second chance…”
The man glanced behind Harlow. In that instant, Harlow seized his chance and wrestled the man to the ground. The pistol discharged into the air. Max appeared next to him and kicked the gun away.
“We did not see the widow, but he will talk,” Max remarked.
“He will do more than that,” Harlow growled. DeLacey came into view just as Harlow ripped the coarse black moustache from the man’s face.
“What are you doing? The Prince Regent…” DeLacey stopped mid-sentence.
“The Prince will recognize the widow.” Harlow finished the sentence for him.
As one, Max and DeLacey exhaled loudly in disbelief.
“She was both of them,” DeLacey murmured. “How did you know?”
“I recognized the feel of a woman’s chest. Never have I known a man to have breasts.” He half-laughed at his own remark, but he was serious. His anger with this woman for what she had tried to do to Lilian was ungovernable.
“Excellent work, gentlemen,” Captain Newman boomed as he approached the little group.
None too gently, Harlow bound the widow’s wrists and handed her into the Captain’s care.
“This was one of the smoothest operations I have ever been a part of, gentlemen. We have several individuals we feel had a hand in leading this smuggling ring, and we plan to take them in for questioning. We did not see the widow…” he said, stopping mid-sentence. “He is her.” Newman looked confused as he stared at the bedraggled prisoner, now tied up in front of them.
“Does anyone have a handkerchief?” Harlow asked.
“I do.” DeLacey handed him a fine silk handkerchief. Harlow forced the widow's mouth open and stuffed the cloth into it.
“No one wants to hear any of her nastiness.”
“I have this in hand now, Harlow. Thank you both. You can make your reports. Mayhap you would be more comfortable back at the inn.” DeLacey winked and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Let my father know I will see him tomorrow.”
“Very good, Cressey.” Harlow brushed the sand off his clothing and gathering their belongings, the two men rode back to Elysium Manor.
“Now that Cressey…DeLacey…is not here, tell me who you think placed that bet in the Betting Book at White’s,” Harlow said to his friend. He was not as
