Christopher, Drake, and Toby walked Louisa and Ellen to their chosen spot. A stone bench had been positioned against the east façade of the church to allow parishioners to sit and contemplate the graves of their loved ones. As the spot was protected by the buttresses flanking the church’s great east window, it was effectively out of sight of anyone other than their own men waiting in the woods bordering the churchyard.
After the ladies settled on the bench, Drake delivered a pithily worded recommendation that they remain in place until he and the others reappeared with the mystery lady. “We’ll march her along the lane on the way to the wagons, so you’ll see us and can join us then.”
Bright-eyed, Ellen and Louisa looked up at him and said nothing at all.
Christopher inwardly shook his head, while Drake didn’t bother to veil his skepticism. But time was running short. With a wave, Drake directed the last of their company into place in the woods along the southern boundary of the churchyard, then he, Christopher, and Toby walked on to take their own positions in the patch of woodland that crept close to the unwalled western edge of the churchyard, not far from the lychgate.
With Drake, Christopher reached the small clearing in which Hardcastle had always met the mystery lady; he found a suitably concealed spot around the perimeter to the south of the mouth of the narrow footpath from the lychgate, while Drake moved silently to cover the north.
Toby, meanwhile, vanished deeper into the woods. He was one of those Drake trusted to be able to move without sound in woodland and had been assigned to keep watch midway between the clearing and where they thought the Goffard Hall coachman would pull up. In effect, Toby was their lookout.
Christopher sank into his chosen spot. Within seconds, all other sounds of human activity faded as their men did likewise, and all settled to wait.
Seated beside Ellen, Louisa sighed. “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait?”
Ellen consulted the timepiece she’d pinned to her bodice. “It’s ten minutes to midnight,” she whispered.
Louisa leaned forward and peered around the buttress to the north.
Ellen peered as well, but from that spot, they could see only a short stretch of the lane leading to the church and along the church wall a little way, but not as far as the lychgate.
“When is Aaron—Hardcastle—due to come along?” Louisa asked.
“Not until just before midnight.”
“I haven’t heard any bells. Does he have a watch?”
“Granger is with Aaron, and he does. He’ll send Aaron into the lane, as if he’s come from the rear of the inn, at the right time.”
“Oh. Good.”
Louisa lapsed into silence.
Then the hoot of an owl reached them, low and repeated once.
Louisa sat up. “That’s Toby’s signal. She must have passed him.” Louisa wriggled on the bench, then subsided. “I wonder whether it’s Mrs. Kirkpatrick or the younger girl.”
“We’ll soon know,” Ellen murmured back.
Alert and expectant, they sat with their eyes trained on the section of lane they could see.
A few minutes later, Aaron appeared, walking along the lane toward the church. Ellen studied the heavy figure with its rolling gait, then nodded decisively. “He’s keeping his head down, but he’s making that look natural. As long as she doesn’t look closely at his face, he’ll do.”
Aaron was carrying the package of supposedly counterfeit notes between his large hands. They watched him walk steadily along the lane until he passed beyond their sight.
Louisa muttered a curse, then whispered, “I hate not being able to see what’s going on. Do you think we can risk sneaking around this buttress to the next one along, so we can peer along the front of the church?”
“No—we have to stay here.” Ellen studied Louisa and shook her head. “If you can see her, she’ll be able to see you. And chances are, as she’s standing in the woods looking out and you will be lit by the moon, she’s more likely to see you while you won’t be able to see her. And then what will Drake say?”
“Damn!” Louisa grumbled and subsided once more.
Christopher watched Aaron, in his guise as Hardcastle, lumber beneath the lychgate and emerge onto the lawn, carrying the packaged notes toward the woods and the clearing where a cloaked and veiled lady now waited.
Aaron had done well; if Christopher hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the figure stumping forward was, indeed, the publican.
The lady had arrived about five minutes before the hour. She stood silent, upright, and unmoving in the center of the small clearing. Although Christopher had met both Mrs. Kirkpatrick and Tilly Fontenay, in the shadows and with the cloak about her, he couldn’t tell which of the two women the mystery lady was.
Aaron approached the clearing in Hardcastle’s heavy-footed, stumping walk, the package held before him.
Christopher tensed; the lady had been watching Aaron’s approach—now was the moment, as he drew near, when she might see or sense their deception and bolt.
But Aaron kept his head tipped down as he halted several feet before the cloaked woman and held out the package.
Moving confidently—almost dismissively—she reached out and lifted the notes from Aaron’s hands.
Christopher almost sighed with relief. Now the counterfeit notes were in her possession, they had her.
She hefted the bundle and waited.
In a passable imitation of Hardcastle’s rumbling growl, Aaron said, “Twenty-six.”
She huffed but, cradling the notes in one arm, reached beneath the cloak and pulled out a wad of presumably real notes, which she held out to Aaron.
He took the notes, then paused—clearly wondering if, faced with that quantity of notes, Hardcastle would count them.
“Don’t bother,” the lady contemptuously advised.
The heavy veil muffled her voice; Christopher still couldn’t tell who she was.
“There’s twenty-six—two hundred and sixty pounds—as agreed.” Her tone grew haughtier, and she raised her chin. “I’m not stupid enough to shortchange you at this point.”
Aaron hesitated, but then nodded, thrust the notes into his pocket, and clinging to his role, turned and lumbered off.
Christopher waited, his gaze locked on the woman. Watching Aaron walk away, she remained as still as a statue until he’d disappeared from sight.
Then Christopher glimpsed the flash of a smile behind the veil, and the woman swept around to leave—and discovered Drake immediately in front of her.
She uttered a small shriek and stepped back, then whirled—and Christopher was there, waiting to prevent her from fleeing.
She looked around wildly, then recognized Christopher and all but spat, “Cynster!” Then she focused on Drake. Clutching the package to her chest, she demanded, “Who the devil are you?”
Imperturbably, Drake replied, “Winchelsea. I’m a representative of the Crown.”
He reached out. The woman tried to step back, clutching her package even more tightly, but with Christopher there, she had nowhere to go. “No! This is mine!”
“Indeed.” Drake hadn’t been reaching for the package; instead, he locked his long fingers about the woman’s wrists. “I’m so glad you’ve confirmed that.” With a wrench, he tugged the woman’s hands apart, forcing her to drop the package. She shrieked in rage and tried to knock the package toward her with her foot, but Christopher, dodging her boot, swooped and picked up the bundle.