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she was sure the coast was clear, she took up her position to watch for the arrival of the lugger from France.
    She always waited at the same spot, atop an outcropping of rock with one straggling tree to lend concealment. She lay flat on her stomach, looking down on a small bay with a shingled beach where the barrels would be hauled in. The ocean glittered with a dull light under the moonless sky. Gentle waves whispered on the shingle, leaving a rill of white lace as they receded.
    Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with the hope that tonight she would learn who was receiving the “paper” cargo. That was what Sir Hugh wanted to know. That was why he had sent his “best man”, the Wolf, down to Easton. And Amy wanted very badly to teach the Wolf a lesson.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Amy watched as the barrels were dropped with a splash into the water and the Gentlemen waded out with their grappling hooks to retrieve them. As the last barrel was hauled ashore, two men from the French lugger lowered themselves into a small rowing boat and rowed ashore. Cocker chose a barrel and got out his hammer and chisel to breach it.
    While this was going forth, the Frenchmen talked to each other in their native tongue. Knowing the Gentlemen couldn’t understand them, they were careless of what they said. Amy lay down on the rock with her head directly above them and listened, hoping to hear the name Alphonse. The taller was boasting to the shorter about some woman he was going to visit as soon as they reached home. The other man told him that Jeanne was only after his gold.
    They argued a moment, then the shorter one said to Cocker in broken English, “Where tonight is Thatchley?” Amy came to attention. Thatchley was the name Bransom used, when he got himself recruited into Cocker’s gang of Gentlemen.
    “ Allez . Gone, ne pas here.” Cocker was the linguist of his gang. He had picked up merci , bonjour , au revoir and a few such common speeches.
    The Frenchman nodded, and said to his partner, “The fools haven’t found his body yet.”
    “Good. That’ll teach ‘em to sic a spy on us.”
    “Pshaw. This lot don’t know what he was up to. They’re just the haulers.”
    “Very likely. That was a clever trap Alphonse and his friend arranged for the spy, eh?”
    Amy held her breath, not daring to breathe. Now she was going to hear what they had done to Bransom. Alas, they were distracted by Cocker. He held a tin cup to the spout and tried the brandy. He passed the cup around in a hospitable fashion and complimented the French smugglers on its quality. “ Tray bone , ” he said in an execrable accent. Then he drew out his purse and counted out the payment in gold coin. Amy heard the coins clink enticingly into the Frenchman’s outstretched palm. Au revoirs were exchanged, and the Frenchmen rowed back to their lugger.
    Larry West led the donkey train forward and the Gentlemen began the laborious chore of arranging the barrels over their strong backs to be hauled away for concealment until it could be safely delivered to local inns and hotels, and stately homes. Brandy was easily available, despite its being banned in England.
    Before going home, Amy made a quick survey of the surrounding territory to ensure the Revenueman was not about. She ran like a hare through the darkness, with bushes snatching at her coat tails and the wind cold on her face. Cook, who was Mary’s aunt and a part of the scheme, always kept the back door open for Amy, with a pot of tea waiting. Smuggling was not considered a crime on the coast but a way of life. It was all that kept body and soul together in many cases.
    Amy changed out of her disguise into the dressing gown that Cook had waiting downstairs for her. While she took her tea, she assured Cook that all had gone well. Cook said, as she always did on these occasions, “I do think one of the grooms or footmen ought to be doing this if Jed can’t.”
    Amy said, as she always did, “It is quite