Captain Jack's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

to do? The boat’s gone, and there’s nought to be seen on the sands.”
    A burly man nudged his horse to the cliff and looked down. He swore. “Never mind that now. We saw that boat. Half of you—down onto the sand and go south. The rest keep to the cliffs. We’re bound to come up with them, one way or t’other.”
    “But south’s Sergeant Osborne’s region, Sergeant.”
    The burly man cuffed the speaker. “I know that, fool boy! But Osborne’s out to Sheringham way, so’s it’s up to us to police this ’ere stretch. On you go, and let’s see what we can find.”
    To Kit’s delight, she saw them split, then both groups head south. Satisfied, she returned to the small band trudging doggedly northward, still on the sands.
    “You’re safe. They’ve gone south.”
    The men downed their burdens and sat on the sands.
    “Thanks be we only had one boatload.” The speaker glanced toward Kit and explained: “Normally we have a lot more.”
    The large man, who seemed to be their spokesman, looked up at her. “This quarry you spoke of, lad. Where be it?”
    Kit stared. It had never occurred to her that they wouldn’t know Snettisham quarries. She and her cousins had spent hours playing there. It was a perfect hiding place for anything. But what if she took them there?
    Delia pranced sideways; Kit gentled her. “I’ll give you directions. You won’t want me to know exactly where you’ve stowed your goods.” Using the mare’s nervousness as an excuse, Kit backed her up. At least one man had a pistol.
    “Hang about, lad.” The large man stepped forward. Delia took exception and danced back. He stopped. “You’ve got nothing to fear from us, matey. You saved us back there, no mistake. Smugglers’ honor says we offer you a cut of the booty.”
    Kit blinked. Smugglers’ honor? She laughed lightly and drew Delia around. “Consider it a free service. I don’t want any booty.” She set her heels to the sleek black sides and Delia surged forward.
    “Wait!” The panicky note in the man’s voice made Kit rein in and turn. He stumbled through the sand toward her, stopping when he was close enough to talk. For a moment, he stared at her, then looked to his companions. In the dim light, Kit saw their emphatic nods. The spokesman turned back to her.
    “It’s like this, lad. We don’ have a leader. We got into the business thinking we could manage well enough, but you saw how ’tis.” His head jerked southward. “You thought fast, back there. I don’ suppose you’d like to take us on? We got good contacts an’ all. But we’re not good on the organization, like.”
    Disbelief and consternation warred in Kit’s brain. Take them on? “You mean…you want me to act as your leader?”
    “For a slice o’ the profits, o’course.”
    Delia shifted. Kit glanced up and saw the others hoist their burdens and draw nearer. She didn’t need to fear a pistol while they were so laden. “I’m sure you’ll manage well enough on your own. The Revenue just got lucky.”
    But the big man was shaking his head. “Lad, just look at us. None of us knows where these quarries of yours be. We don’ even know what’s the best road home. Like as not, as soon as we’re back on the cliffs, we’ll run slap bang into the Revenue. And then it’ll all be for nought.”
    The moon sailed free and Kit saw their faces, turned up to her in childlike trust. She sighed. What had she got herself into now? “What do you run?”
    They perked up at this sign of interest. “Show ’im, Joe.” The big man waved the smallest one forward. The man shuffled over the sand, one wary eye on Delia. He smiled up at Kit as he drew near—an all but toothless grin—then stopped beside the mare and peeled back the oilskin enclosing the packet he bore, a rectangle about three feet long and flatish. Grubby hands brushed back layers of coarse cloth.
    Moonlight glimmered on what was revealed. Kit’s eyes grew round. Lace! They were smuggling