Page 54 of Bargaining with the Devil

’Twasn’t quite how he’d meant to make contact with Blackmore again, training a pistol on him—without a stitch of clothing on, in bed with his wife’s sister—but life rarely went to fucking plan.

A few days earlier and he’d have worried a little on Lucy’s account, for they were sure to face a grilling, however tactfully Blackmore went about it. Except something indefinable about her had changed in the time since they’d crossed to Heston, something in the clarity of her gaze and in her posture. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think it had to do with him specifically. ’Twas more that she’d reached deep into herself and found the embers she’d kept banked these past few years. And if they weren’t a roaring fire just yet, they were glowing steadily. He’d just been the instrument for that, not the one doing the heavy work. ’Twas herself doing that.

More light was in her eyes now, more resolve in her bearing. ’Twasn’t all behind her yet, but she’d taken the first steps out, mayhap—the hardest ones: acknowledging the past.

Now she sat alongside her sister, each of them in a chair, Lucy’s brown hair contrasting with her sister’s black. The sisters had some low, animated conversation upon reunion and a bit more whispering now. The little one, Rachel, was sleeping snugged on Mrs. Blackmore’s shoulder.

Blackmore had taken up a position near the fireplace after poking at it till it threw more warmth out into the room. ’Twas a cozy room, far more so than Lucy’s arrangement in the crofter’s cottage, and comfortably cluttered in contrast to Lucy’s austere setup. Brought it into sharp relief, in a way, that she’d prefer a comparably barren arrangement for herself over this.

He debated where to position himself and finally did what he wanted, which was to stand behind Lucy where he could rest a hand on her chair’s ear.

He waited on Blackmore’s questions. Blackmore hadn’t been his superior, exactly, but he’d usually been the one giving direction on the operations they’d worked together. And ’twas Blackmore’s sister-in-law bandaged up and in her shift in bed with him. They hadn’t seen one another since the Compton case resolved.

“You told me the short version of why you’ve come,” Blackmore said by way of opening discussion.

That tone said they’d also be discussing later why he’d been in bed with Lucy, but ’twasn’t what Blackmore wanted right now. “The longer version is this: Jeremiah Compton had a brother, Stephen Lymington, who has taken over some of Compton’s business interests in Britain.”

“I recall the name.” Blackmore tapped his fingers against the mantel’s scarred wood. “A portion of Compton’s shipping interests turned over to his brother—I read that in the final notes.”

“Aye. And we knew then that Lymington was an unsavory character on a personal level.” He couldn’t see Lucy’s face but her hands in her lap were clasped so tight her knuckles had gone white. He inched one hand along the top rail until his fingers brushed her neck. She leaned back against them.

“But,” he continued, “we concluded, rightly, that he had nothing to do with the French matter, with Guillaume Dubois in particular or treason in general.”

“And the Foreign Office, having done its due diligence, bore no further culpability having to do with Lymington.” Blackmore’s tone was dry.

“He’s entirely Customs’ problem, sure, so far as the Office has concerned itself. They were happy to share a limited amount of information with Customs given he took over some of his brother’s international interests and some of those had to do with smuggling. They loaned me out as well with instructions to deliver information seeing as I was familiar with the Compton case and a colleague of yours on the Continent. ’Twas considered of secondary use too that I’m known already to both Mrs. Blackmore and Miss Muir and could take an active hand in protecting them.”

Blackmore nodded. “And what is our role meant to be in this as far as Customs sees it?”

“Surely not undercover work?” Mrs. Blackmore interjected. “There would be no point to it, would there? They already know who the two of you are. It’s not as though you could infiltrate them in some way.”

“They know who all of us are,” Lucy said quietly, turning her head towards Mrs. Blackmore.

Mrs. Blackmore’s shoulders went rigid although she kept her hand moving gently on the baby’s dark curls. Mayhap with how quick it came about—them returning from Glasgow and Blackmore’s discovery—she’d not had time till that moment to consider that she was also at risk now. Their daughter too.

“’Tis pure bad coincidence that Lymington’s active in this area. Or rather, men who network with him. We think he learned of Miss Muir’s name. Yours too”—he nodded his head towards Blackmore—“from local men. ’Tis your job, with my help, to try rooting them out. I’ve done a bit of investigating as I could when I was still a bit unknown here, but they’ll have deduced my reasons for being here now after I knifed Lymington. Together we’re to keep Miss Muir and Mrs. Blackmore safe while Customs moves on it from their end. ’Tis a revenue cutter captain they believe Lymington is bribing to turn a blind eye to his larger schemes, so they’re hoping to root him out as well. They have a few men working on that, separate, tracing records of the cutters that serve the Solway. Hard to say if Lymington and the locals are aware that Customs knows one of their own is on the take.”

Blackmore tapped his fingers against the mantel again. “Are we meant to take direction from Customs or coordinate?”

“We’ve latitude to run our part of things as we see fit so long as Lymington’s activities cease. ’Tis my job to see he’s ended if our hand is forced.”

Blackmore nodded. “Anything further?”

“Lymington already made his move against Miss Muir. ’Twas only his first move, that. Might be good for Mrs. Blackmore and Miss Muir to relocate for a time, back up to Glasgow, mayhap.” He squeezed Lucy’s shoulder as he said the last.

She twisted her neck back enough to look sideways at him. “No. I will not be forced from my home.” Her face was a bit ashen, but living flames lit her eyes.

Mrs. Blackmore laid a hand on Lucy’s forearm. “Perhaps at least to the main cottage, just until⁠—”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “I trust Quinn to ensure my safety in the meantime.”

He’d been keeping her safe, sure, but he’d been doing quite a bit more than that. And in the end, he’d not kept her very safe on Heston Isle, had he? Not from Lymington and not from himself.

Mrs. Blackmore looked down at her daughter and then over again at her sister. “What happened with Lymington? And where?”

Lucy drew a deep breath. “We were on Heston Isle. I was walking alone along the shoreline, looking for shellfish to roast while Quinn got a fire going.”

So she was going to skip right over what landed them on Heston to begin with. He’d follow her lead on that for now, although ’twould all come out in the end.