Free Endure My Heart by Joan Smith

intelligent thing to do would be to discontinue deliveries for a while, but if we stopped taking shipment, others would soon take up the slack. I had just been at some pains to arrange a good price in London providing we delivered regularly. Interrupting the supply so early in the game was a poor business tactic. It was autumn too, with the winter, the best season, coming on. I might as well confess the whole while I am about it.
    On top of all these rational reasons, there was a quite irrational one as well. The game had been becoming almost dull. Crites was too easy to fool. I welcomed taking on a more challenging foe. I would not be brought to a standstill by Colonel Sir Stamford Wicklow, with his greasy grin and double-dealing. I would continue to accept every load I could get my hands on, and devise a way of doing it without his knowledge. I had the advantage of having pierced his disguise early in the game. This might be turned to good account as he seemed intent on flirting with anything that wore a skirt. I would try his own trick, and see what I could discover by making up to the opposite sex.
    But first I must make arrangements for storing the next shipment—that was more important. I remembered Jemmie telling me Lord Aiken’s place had been used once in an emergency. I must discover whether Crites had ever caught on to this ploy. The weekend was always a good time for making contact with Jem. I led the church choir, and he was one of my singers—a very good tenor voice he had. We had a small musical group comprised of flute, violin and cello all sitting up in the gallery (everyone of them smugglers). Andrew would have liked to rout them out and play the organ instead, but his presence was necessary below. This Sunday there would be the added contact of my handing out the calico as well, in the church porch. Sunday was time enough to talk to Jem, but on Saturday I would go into the drapery shop and give Mr. Williams’ nose a tweak.
    After considering my tactics for a while, I decided the best ruse was to pretend to be smitten with him, like all the other girls. Bachelors were in such short supply around Salford that all the girls and even half the ladies were running mad forMr. Williams. Still, as he was posing as a draper, he could not seriously expect any real romance with me. I must be at some pains to conceal that I possessed a brain, and rather regretted having boasted of my imaginary love of Shakespeare.
    It was unlikely my visit would reveal a single fact of any importance; a clever investigator would not let fall his plans, but still I looked forward to it as a game. I was curious to get a sharper look at him, to try to find a flaw in his accent or manners, now that I was on to him. I suppose it was no more than a wish to weigh up the enemy.
    Saturday was always a busy day in the shops of Salford. On this Saturday, you had to fight to get a foot into Owens’. Around noon hour the crowd thinned out, and I went in to see what luck Sir Stamford was having with the wenches. Those saucy, ill-bred Turner twins were making faces at him in a disgustingly forward manner. They were his only two customers. One of them held a tiny bag that could not possibly contain more than a yard of ribbon. He looked up when I entered, then excused himself to the twins. This first move confirmed in my mind he was Wicklow. Mr. Owens or anyone of his class would not have automatically excused himself so prettily.
    “G’day, Miss Anderson,” he said, with a good imitation of the provincial accent. “A lovely day, isn’t it? What can I do for ye?”
    “I came to inquire if the calico has been delivered. I expected to see it at the rectory some days ago.” I knew full well it sat on the table in the church porch, but I had directed him to deliver it to myself.
    “I had it taken over to the church,” he answered. “I understand that’s where it’s measured up and handed out.”
    “Yes, it is, but I did particularly ask you