Hope's Betrayal Read Online Free PDF

bristled.
"You know my name, but I don’t know yours."
    "Forgive my
manners. I am Lady Ryevale and this is my house. You are a guest at the behest
of my son, Captain Huntley. I believe you've met?"
    "Ah."
    "Indeed. So
I wouldn’t be too churlish about the accommodation."
    "Oh, I
wasn’t, not at all, what I meant was…"
    "Perhaps
you were about to express your thanks? My son has broken quite a few rules,
bringing you here."
    "Yes, of
course. I greatly appreciate his kindness."
    Lady Ryevale
smiled but there was sadness in her eyes. "And you repay him by signalling
and breaking his trust?"
    Hope blanched
and hung her head. "I'm sorry."
    "Well, at
least you have the good grace not to deny it…unusual for a thief."
    Injustice rose
in Hope's craw. "I'm no thief!"
    "But you're
a smuggler. You were caught red-handed."
    "It's not
at all the same thing. Free traders don’t steal. The goods are bought and paid
for."
    "Yes, and
sold on without paying tax to His Majesty. All monies go into your pocket and
His Majesty’s revenue goes unpaid. Theft, by another name."
    "And what
does the government use the tax on tea, or soap, or tobacco for? To feed
starving people? To put a roof over homeless heads? No! The government taxes
people's comforts to pay for war!"
    "Even so,
you cannot take the law into your own hands."
    "And what
of the people who buy from free traders? Are they lawbreakers also?" Hope
had the wind in her sails now.
    "Well,
yes."
    "Because
plenty of people rely on free trade to make their business pay. If no one
bought our goods we'd have no reason to stir from our beds on dark and stormy
nights. If folk didn’t buy contraband, then we'd have no reason to
smuggle."
    "There! You
admit it, you are a smuggler."
    "Free
trader." Hope grew still, and changed tack. "That's a very beautiful
gown, Lady Ryevale. A particularly fine lace by the look of it. May I see it
more closely?"
    Lady Ryevale
looked suspicious but held out her sleeve nonetheless. Her gown was of an
expensive watered-silk, trimmed with frothy lace. Hope rubbed the lace between
finger and thumb, then spread it to see the pattern. She studied it carefully;
the repeating pattern of roses struck her as familiar.
    "Such fine
craftsmanship," she muttered, "and an unusual shade of cream."
    "Beautiful,
isn’t it?"
    Hope folded her
arms across her chest and grinned. "It's French. I'd recognise that design
anywhere. I remember it because I wore yards of it wound around my belly, so I
looked seven months gone. Waddled unchallenged, right past one of your son's
officers at Southampton docks."
    Lady Ryevale’s
mouth worked up and down. “That’s outrageous! I don’t believe you! My gowns
come from Madame Xavier in London—I have no truck with smuggled goods.”
    “Yes, you do,
and don’t even realise it. Don’t you see, your modiste buys her supplies at the
best price she can…and somewhere along the chain. that means buying from free
traders.”
    Lady Ryevale sat
back on her haunches, seemingly gathering her thoughts. “My poor girl, I do
believe you’ve been brainwashed. Who tells you such things?”
    “Tis the
evidence of my own eyes. All I know is that there are plenty folk in my village
who would starve if it weren’t for the work the free traders send their way.”
    “Yes, because
they should be making an honest living...fishing, and farming the land.”
    “They do that as
well, Ladyship, but when the harvest fails or a fishing skiff sinks in a
storm…there is hardship aplenty. And since the land enclosures, things is ten
times worse.”
    “But the
consequences if caught…”Lady Ryevale grew still. “What does your mother say?
What kind of woman allows her daughter to take such risks?”
    “My mother is
dead.”
    “I’m so terribly
sorry. So your father…he takes care of you?”
    Hope raised her
head high. “Grief is a sickness to my father, oftentimes he is too ill to fish.
Tis my brother and me, that keep bread on the table.”
    “But