The Indebted Earl by Erica Vetsch (best new books to read .TXT) 📗

Sophie returned to her room to find her shoes and hurried downstairs. Miles had not exaggerated. Half a dozen men stood in the front hall, and through the open door, many more clustered.

“Sir, I have a warrant to search the Gateshead estate for violations of the Orders in Council concerning trade with France and her allies. We have reason to believe you have been engaged in the illegal importation of goods from France and have been avoiding paying the excise tax on goods imported from Belgium.” The well-dressed man in front of the pack held up a paper complete with a wax seal and red tape binding. “If you resist, we will be forced to restrain you.”

“I have no desire to resist. I was planning to speak with you today about this. I haven’t been involved in smuggling, but I believe there has been smuggling activity connected to this estate.” Charles’s ability to speak calmly reassured Sophie that he had everything under control.

Smuggling. That might account for some of the oddities she had noticed. But it was preposterous to think Charles had anything to do with it. He hadn’t been at Gateshead a month.

“We have this communication, delivered to us last night.” The Revenue officer unfolded a piece of paper. “It is a letter written to you, acknowledging your part in the illegal activities, receiving money, providing transportation, both signaling and meeting ships carrying illegal goods.”

Charles tried to snatch the paper, but the officer was quicker. “Sir, that is evidence. You are not allowed to have it.”

“I found that letter stuck in a book in my office. It’s not addressed to me. How did you get it? It was in my possession last night.”

“So you admit that it is yours. The note is addressed to ‘Rothwell,’ sir. You are Rothwell, are you not? We’ve received intelligence over the past few days that directs us to a certain building on the property, and I believe we should start there.” With a self-important nod, the officer turned on his heel. “If you will come with me, sir.”

“Charles, what is this?” Sophie hurried after him. “What’s happening?”

“We’re going to get to the bottom of a crime that’s been taking place at Gateshead for a long time.” His face was grim. “I suspect someone is trying to blame me for breaking the law, but it won’t work. The idea is preposterous.”

His strides were long, and she had to trot to keep up.

The crowd moved with them, and Sophie recognized many of the faces from the assembly last night. How could they have offered friendship and hospitality one day and now looked to blame an innocent man?

“Sir,” she addressed the back of the man in charge. “You are on a hiding to nothing. There are no stolen goods here.”

They approached a stone building attached to the south end of the stables. A well-worn path led to the door.

This was ridiculous. Her husband was no smuggler. There was something sinister going on. Someone had taken a letter from Charles and was using it to have him charged with crimes. Well, they were in for an unpleasant surprise if they thought there were stolen goods on this property.

Sophie positioned herself where she could see both inside as soon as the door was opened and the faces of the crowd when they got the news the building was empty. Then she would blister this Revenue man for listening to rumors.

The oak door had a large padlock hanging from the hasp. “Where’s the key?” the officer asked.

“I have no idea. I’ve never been inside this place before.” Charles stood between two burly men who were no doubt tasked with preventing his escape.

“I’ll break it.” Mr. Fields, whom Sophie had met last night, stepped forward. He was the father of the young man who had danced with Penny first, and he carried a heavy hammer. He’d come prepared? This smelled more and more like a trap.

With one mighty blow, he smashed both the hasp and the lock, and opened the door.

Sophie peered into the gloom, expecting cobwebs and dust.

Which there were in abundance.

But there was also a pyramid of crates, each labeled with contents illegal to possess in England.

“Your Lordship.” The Revenue officer scowled. “You’re under arrest for smuggling goods into the country in violation of the Orders in Council governing the possession of French wares, specifically cognac, champagne, and other spirits.”

Charles stood in the doorway of the stone barn, staring at a mountain of cases of French liquor. The hypocrisy and thoroughness of the job someone was making to pin this crime on him were staggering.

“The contraband is clearly on your property, and”—the Revenue man held up the letter once more—“with the information delivered to our offices in Lyme Regis during the night, the evidence is clear. You’ve received payment for stolen goods, you’ve provided a boat to bring in the goods, and through the use of stealth and signaling, you have sought to evade anyone from the Revenue Office apprehending you.”

This was a nightmare. He was innocent, the charges were trumped up, and the real villains were going free.

One of the officer’s men produced darbies and clapped them on Charles’s wrists. “Come along, sir, if you please.”

That letter. How had the Revenue man gotten it? And with such speed? Charles’s head whirled. They had arrived at Gateshead just past first light with a warrant in hand. Someone had ridden during the night to the closest Revenue Office and gotten the authorities out of bed.

His eyes sought Sophie’s as he was pulled roughly out of the barn.

“Charles? What should I do?” she asked, her eyes wide and her face pale.

“Get me a solicitor.” He tugged back on the manacles to force them to stop. “Where are you taking me?”

“Lyme Regis jail, sir. To wait for the magistrate.”

The letter was at the crux of their claims. It had been in his pocket when he’d arrived at the assembly room last night. He