Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] Read Online Free Page B

try again.”
    As Antony helped carry cargo from the longboat to the cave where it would be stored till the ponies collected it for transport, he thought about Wellington’s warning against involving himself in criminal activities. If revenuers surprised them, they would have nowhere but the caves to hide. Michael had assured him that folks in south Cornwall were friendly to the free traders, but he was risking a lot on Michael’s word, and he had little reason to trust the man—no more, in fact, than Michael had to trust him. The man had taken him on faith—that, and reference to a mutual acquaintance in France who would (if he knew what was good for him) vouch for Antony’s “good” character. As yet Antony had heard nothing about an assassination plot, but he knew the locals would continue to test him for some time.
    The only person in Cornwall who knew him for a government man was the agent for Lloyd’s of London in St. Austell. Antony had paid Mr. Francis Oakley a visit, liked the cut of his jib, and told him he meant to do a little investigating of the coastal gangs for His Majesty’s government. He had confided only so much to Mr. Oakley. The Fox Cub had learned long since to trust no one but himself with all the facts.
    While he hauled kegs, he was constantly aware of the wrecked carriage at the west end of the beach. The moon had moved west of the headland, and the wreck lay in shadow. Unless someone decided to stroll to that end of the beach for some reason that Antony could not presently imagine, it would draw no one else’s interest tonight.
    Daylight was another matter. He did not know the victims. He had seen no crest on the door, and doubted that he would have recognized it if he had seen one. He had found no coachman either, he realized. Perhaps the man had jumped clear and gone for help. In any case, he would be wiser not to return by daylight, lest his villainous compatriots believe he was after their booty. But neither could he reconcile it with his conscience to leave that poor woman and her husband to rot on the beach if the coachman had not survived. Somehow, he must learn if anyone had, and if not, get word to the authorities about the accident.
    Tucked between two boulders, with a third below them on the slope, Charley and Letty were as safe as they could make themselves. Huddled inside Charley’s thick cloak with Letty’s smaller one over them and Jeremiah snuggled between them, they soon grew tired of watching the activity below them on the beach, and fell asleep.
    When Charley awoke, it was because Letty had moved away from her and was anxiously calling Jeremiah.
    “Keep your voice down,” Charley whispered. “Someone might hear you.”
    “The smugglers are gone,” Letty said, “but so is Jeremiah. I’ve got to find him! What if he fell over the edge?”
    “If he didn’t go over with the carriage, you may be sure he did not fall later,” Charley said, hoping she was right. “He is very agile, you know, so he has probably only gone exploring. He will be back soon. Maybe he will find some food.”
    Letty giggled. “Are you hungry, too? I did not like to say anything, but I am starving. There were apples in Aunt Davina’s basket, too.” The silence that followed was awkward, but for once in her life Charley could think of nothing to say. At last, in a small voice, Letty said, “I’m awfully sorry, Cousin Charley. I-I know that most likely they are dead. At least, don’t you think they are?”
    “Yes,” Charley said. The alternative—that her parents could be lying in dreadful agony at the base of the cliff, while she sat doing nothing to help them—was too horrible to contemplate.
    “Well, I am sure they must be, and perhaps it is only that they are not my own parents, but should I not feel like crying, even so? Because I know I keep saying things I ought not to say—like about the apples—and … and …”
    Charley reached for Letty’s hand and gave it a squeeze,