Silken Secrets Read Online Free

eggs.”
    Uncle never had anything but toast and tea for breakfast. Often only tea. “Have you had some good news?” Mary Anne asked hopefully. “Did the government give you your pension?”
    For twenty years Lord Edwin had been angling to get himself on the list of king’s pensioners. Whitehall was proving remarkably stubborn about rewarding him for his five months of sitting at that demmed desk, with only one window in his office.
    “Nothing of the sort. It is all Bertie’s doings, keeping it from me. Ah, there she is. Gammon and eggs, Plummer.”
    “There’s no gammon, Lord Edwin.”
    “No gammon? What kind of a house is this? You’re twenty-four now, Mary Anne. Time you took hold of the reins and brought this place to order. Bring me some eggs, then—half a dozen eggs—and fry them in bacon fat. Don’t tell me we have no bacon fat.”
    “We have plenty of that, and precious little else,” Mrs. Plummer said, and strode from the room.
    While Uncle was waiting for his breakfast to arrive, Mary Anne told him about the grounded boat in the bay. He went to the window to view it but expressed no intention of staying home to watch it being hauled away. “Mrs. Plummer said the brandy had already been unloaded,” Mary Anne mentioned.
    “Brandy?” he asked, with a sharp look. Then he remembered to be ignorant on the subject. “All gone, eh? Too bad.”
    When he had eaten and Mary Anne had gone upstairs for her bonnet, Lord Edwin went in search of Fitch. He found him in the attic, floating beetles in the puddles. “I told you to keep an eye on the hay wain!” he exclaimed.
    “Best not to stick too close to it. It might look suspicious,” Fitch replied. “Codey’s been and gone. I took him out to the boat myself. He’s spending the day spying on Vulch’s place, trying to catch the Frenchies.”
    “Ho, he underestimates his man if he thinks Vulch is stupid enough to let them get caught. They’re long gone back to France. I’ve found an excellent excuse to go to Folkestone to make my inquiries.”
    “Who’ll drive the carriage for you?”
    “Damme, I’ll have to borrow Jem from Mr. Christian. Scoot over and get him, Fitch. I’m taking Mary Anne for a birthday treat. I’ll go to two or three draper shops and see where I can get the best price for the silk. You wrap up the shawl while I’m gone. I’ll give it to her tonight and say I bought it in Folkestone.”
    “You’ll have to keep her out of the way when you make your inquiries, then.”
    “A good point, Fitch. I’ll tell her to choose some ribbons—that’ll keep her busy.” He rattled the coins in his pocket and pulled them out. A pitifully thin purse, but a lunch and ribbons could be eked out of it. In a week’s time he’d have a thousand pounds, or possibly guineas.
    “Carry on,” he said, and returned below stairs to wait for Jem.
    The drive along the coast to Folkestone was pretty in May, with all the greenery freshly washed by the storm the night before. The sea was an iridescent gold today, and the vessels on it rode as peacefully as toy boats. The ships’ sails billowed, but they didn’t bulge. On days like this Lord Edwin often wished he were a sailor, but he didn’t speak the language. He never could tell what the admirals were talking about. Luffing and bows and spits—it was worse than Latin.
    At Folkestone they took a spin along the leas at the top of the sea cliff before driving down to the picturesque old fishing town with its irregular streets. “Ah, here is a drapery shop,” Lord Edwin exclaimed, and held the door for Mary Anne to enter. She had no idea what her present was to be. She suspected a length of material for a gown was beyond her uncle’s purse, but doubted he had brought her all the way to Folkestone for ribbons, which was what he suggested she look at.
    He was obviously planning to surprise her. She noticed across the shop that he asked for the manager and was shown into an office. Her curiosity