He found his sister at the dim mirror, washing the blood from her head.

"Look at me!” she exclaimed in chagrin. “How am I to explain this bruise tomorrow?"

"Say you bumped into a door,” Jonathon replied, going to take a closer peek at it. “Does it hurt much?"

"It is tender,” she said. “But I do not mind that. Of more importance, we must get word to Cousin John at once that Hartly is investigating him."

"You mean tonight?"

"No, first thing in the morning. You must be up at first light and ride to Cove House. Tell Cousin John what happened in the tunnel. He will know what to do. I daresay it will amount to no more than discontinuing his operations until Hartly has left."

This was a task much to Jonathon's liking. It had the desired air of intrigue without the actual danger of being shot or beaten up.

"I'll do it. And I shall keep an eye to the keyhole tonight to see when Hartly returns as well. I should not be surprised if he stops off for a word with Ponsonby. I doubt that an inspector would be sent down without a few helpers. Mott is likely another of them. He acts pretty havey-cavey for a valet. I have seen him poking about hayricks and ditches, looking for brandy. Hartly has Ponsonby posing as a drunkard and Mott as a fool to give them a harmless air."

"You could be right. But then that leaves us with another question. What was Ponsonby doing in Stanby's room? Is it possible they are all working together?"

"Stanby working on the side of the law?” Jonathon scoffed. “Not likely. We have no notion what is going on, Moira. We have got to find out, for Cousin John's sake. I believe I shall get out the ladder again and have a go at Hartly's room while he is out."

"Oh, no, Jon. You are forgetting his valet. Mott will not retire until his master returns. He will be in the next room."

"So he will. I quite forgot."

Moira liked the idea of spying on Hartly and was loath to give it up. “But we might do it tomorrow, when they are both out,” she said. “Mott does not spend his entire day in his room. We shall stick close to the inn. My wound will provide a good excuse. When they are both out, we shall figure out a way to get into Hartly's room."

This plan pleased Jonathon. He went off to bed, mentally figuring out means of access to a locked room, for of course he could not use the ladder in broad daylight. He knew the female servants. Sally and Sukey carried the keys when they were making up the guests’ rooms. Sally was a friendly sort of chit. He might con her into lending him her keys.

Jonathon and Moira were both sound asleep at three o'clock when Hartly returned to his room. His “valet” was by no means so conscientious as he led folks to believe. He, too, was sawing logs. Hartly could discuss his doings only silently with himself.

He poured a glass of claret and proceeded to do this. It would be impossible to give Stanby a tour of the tunnel and caves if there were Gentlemen about. He had to find some way of bringing the smuggling operations to a temporary halt. Bullion might be useful there. A hint that there was a senior Revenue officer down from London looking into the lack of arrests at Blaxstead might work. He counted on Stanby's greed to do the rest. Lady Crieff might be troublesome there. Hartly was quite sure she had fingered Stanby as her victim, and there was no saying his pockets were deep enough to be fleeced by them both.

A soft smile lifted his lips. He was not overly concerned about Lady Crieff now that he knew her “jewels” were composed of paste. He had only to drop a hint, and the hoyden would no doubt take her collection to some other out-of-the-way spot and start over again.

His smile dwindled to a frown as he considered her connection to the Marchbanks. They could not know what the hussy was up to. They seemed to have a genuine fondness for the chit. As a last resort, her attempted fraud might be used to keep Marchbank in line, if he proved troublesome.

But still his frown remained, growing deeper as other thoughts slipped from his mind and the image of Lady Crieff took hold. She was so young to be headed down the road to ruin. Even without a dowry, she might make a good match. A lady's face had proved an effectual fortune before now. With the Marchbanks to lend her countenance, there was no reason she could not marry respectably. It would be a kindness to hint her in that direction. Yet the notion of that enchanting creature shackled to some country squire did not entirely please him either.

He finished his wine and went to bed.

Chapter Twelve

The small plaster over Lady Crieff's left eye was not disfiguring, but it was noticeable enough to cause talk when she appeared in the Great Room the next morning. Mr. Hartly, in particular, stared at it in alarm. It couldn't be! Lady Crieff had no reason to be in the tunnel last night. It could only be a coincidence. Yet one of the men had been noticeably small, the other tall, like David. Good lord, had he inadvertently beaten a lady?

Major Stanby was the first to offer his sympathy. He had come down to breakfast early and was leaving the room as Lady Crieff and Sir David entered.

"My dear Lady Crieff! What happened? I trust you were not seriously hurt!"

"A mere bump, Major. I left the door of my clothespress ajar and walked into it last night. One is not accustomed to such cubbyholes of rooms."

"I hope you called in a doctor. A bump on the head can be serious,” he said, all concern.

"I would not let a country sawbones near me,” she said scornfully. “I patched myself up, with David's help."

"I am happy to hear it is not serious. Still, it is a shame to have even a millimeter of that exquisite face covered,” he said, gazing at her with his gooseberry eyes until she wanted to scream.

She simpered. “Too kind."

"You must take it easy today. A quiet read by the grate. I shall be happy to bear you company this afternoon. I shall dart out this moment and see what magazines are available in the shops to amuse you."

She thanked him and continued toward her table. Ponsonby was the next one to offer sympathy.

"Milady! What ill has befallen you? I tremble at the sight of that plaster-and on your face, too. Why could you not have bumped your elbow? A bruise there could easily be hidden by a judicious arrangement of the shawl."

"Why, Mr. Ponsonby, you give me the idea you are interested only in a lady's appearance,” she said coolly.

"Until I have had the pleasure of plumbing your soul, madam, I can take my pleasure only in admiring your exquisite beauty."

"Even for looking it is always preferable to be sober, is it not?” she said, shaking an admonitory finger. “I am very angry with you, sir."

He scowled at Jonathon. “You told her!” Then he turned back to Moira. “It is true I was bottle-bitten last night, but I place the blame in your dish, madam. The pain of seeing you dancing with other gentlemen…"

"Strange it should lead you to go climbing ladders."

"No, no, it led me straight to the bottle, to drown my woes."

"You are easily led astray,” she said, and brushed past him to take her seat at the table.

Ponsonby just smiled and went tailing off after Stanby

Hartly sat on alone, brooding over his coffee. Was it Lady Crieff he had assaulted last night in the tunnel? Of equal importance, had she recognized him? It had been extremely dark. He had not recognized her, so it was not likely she had recognized him. To ignore her plaster when the others were making such a fuss over it would appear odd, yet the hypocrisy of lamenting his own ill deed left a bad taste in his mouth.

After she had been seated, he rose and went to her table.

"Lady Crieff, David,” he said with a bow. “I am sorry to see you have injured yourself, milady. I hope it is not serious?"

"A mere scratch,” she replied, then added, “but it is very painful,” for she wanted him to know he had hurt her. “Won't you join us, Mr. Hartly? I see you are finished breakfast, but you can take your coffee with us."

"Are you well enough to go for a drive?” he asked, sitting down, but not bothering to bring his cup.

"The major suggests I take it easy today, and I feel he is right, for my head does ache dreadfully. He has offered to keep me company by the grate."

Hartly disliked that mention of Stanby, but he was more worried to hear she was still suffering from her blow. “Perhaps you ought to call in a doctor."

"If it persists, I shall. Meanwhile I have taken a headache powder and shall just stick about the inn."

"Then I shall know where to find you when I have finished my correspondence. I have a few letters to write home regarding my estate."

"You are staying in this morning, then?” Jonathon asked.

Hartly noticed the quick look the pair exchanged, and he wondered at it. He soon deduced that David was hinting for a ride in his curricle. He decided to oblige him, to atone for last night.

"My letter writing will not take long. Would you like to have a spin in my curricle later, around eleven?"

"I cannot leave Lady Crieff alone,” he said, with the utmost reluctance, “but I should love to do it another time."

"Tomorrow, then."

Hartly took his leave and went abovestairs. His main concern was that he was the cause of Lady Crieff's headache. It was not until he was at his desk that he began wondering why Sir David had refused the ride when it was plain as a pikestaff that he wanted to go. The major had offered to accompany Lady Crieff on the settee in front of the grate. There would be servants and the Bullions about. Surely she did not require young David to dance attendance all day.

"You are staying in this morning, then?” David had asked, with a sharp look about him. It almost suggested they wanted him out of his room. They would know that Mott always took a morning constitutional. Did they plan to sneak into his room? Was that it? What did they hope to find? He had brought nothing incriminating with him, but it soon occurred to him that this was an excellent way to make Marchbank think he was a special Revenue agent from London. He would already suspect it if the Crieffs reported his visit to the cave.