Page 28 of Lyon of Scotland
“Your dilemma, sir, is that cache of Scotch whisky that you expect to arrive in London. Transporting whisky from Scotland is illegal, as you surely know.”
He felt a cold chill at Dove’s implication. “That cargo is completely legal.”
“Smuggling is a serious offense. When your cargo arrives in the Port of London, it will be confiscated. I have alerted the Thames police to watch for it. You could end up in prison or even hanged, as any Scot knows very well.”
“The taxes have been paid.”
“I want proof of that.”
“I owe you no proof. The whisky is a gift and the cargo is not smuggled.”
“It is if you sell it.”
“I have no intention of selling it.”
“No? You were quite drunk last night and offered me a price. I accepted.”
Dare frowned. He would never sell the stuff, though he remembered that Dove had asked about the whisky, and might have offered a price. For some reason, Frederic Dove seemed determined to take down Dare and Hannah Gordon too. But why?
Then it came back to him. Last night, while pouring drams of a harsh grain whisky, Dove had talked about his father and blamed the Scots for his death. If Dove despised Scots and held a poisonous resentment for them, perhaps he wanted to make Gordon and Lord Strathburn, Scots newly arrived in London, a target of his wrath.
If so, the wisest action, Dare thought, was to take Hannah away from here quickly. But he did not want wisdom; he wanted to take the man’s head off. But in his current wobbly state, that was perhaps not the best plan. Realizing that Dove intended to hurt Hannah made him seethe, and he rounded on the man, though his head spun.
“I would never take money from you,” he snarled. “I told you that whisky is a gift to the king from the Scottish government.”
“So you claimed…until you tried to sell me your illicit cargo.” Dove folded his arms and leaned a hip on the desk. “I want no involvement in a crime.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon leaned forward and smacked her fan across her cousin’s shoulder with athwap. “Freddie! You said nothing of this. You promised to bring me good Highland whisky for my clients. Now you would cheat Lord Lyon and accuse him of a crime?”
“All part of the arrangements, Bessie.”
“Scheme,” Dare corrected.
“Purchase,” Dove grunted.
“I am inclined to agree with Lord Lyon,” the woman said. “Scheme.”
“Nonetheless, the cargo will be confiscated when it arrives,” Dove said with a smug smile. “Scottish whisky-runners will find no welcome in English harbors.”
Transporting whisky out of Scotland was no crime if taxes were paid, Dare knew; he also knew the kegs intended for the king were safe on a steamship that would soon arrive in London.Once the cargo reached the notoriously busy Port of London, he would claim it personally. Then he and Sir Walter Scott would convey it to Carlton House and present it to the king in a brief audience.
But if Dove grabbed the cargo and leveled smuggling charges, that would be serious trouble. The kerfuffle would not just jeopardize Dare and the Highland distiller, but involve the Scottish government as well. King George, easily annoyed, loved Highland whisky but was not overly fond of the Scots. If he took offense, the historically fraught relationship between England and Scotland could suffer. That whisky could not fall into Dove’s keeping.
A chill went through him at the thought of Dove’s blackmail attempt; it could succeed. But Dare suspected there was more. Why wrap Hannah into this?
“What is it you want?” he growled.
“Do what I ask, and I could overlook the blunder of attempting to sell illegal goods to a member of the law profession.”
“I did nothing of the kind. Mrs. Dove-Lyon can attest to that, or find another witness.” He saw the lady shrug beneath the dark sheen of her veil. “Go on.”
“I want the money owed me,” Dove snapped. “I want that whisky shipment. Let your government send more—the king is not pacing the floor for it. And I want the Gordon girl away from here. Away from my son. Else she goes to prison, and so do you.”
Trying to control his rising temper, feeling a new wave of dizziness, Dare leaned heavily on the chair. He began to reply, but the woman stepped forward.
“Lord Lyon, do sit down. You are not recovered from whatever you were given.” She turned a sweep of black skirts. “What were you thinking, Freddie? Now we are both owed money, you are accusing an important gentleman who couldbring the authorities down on us—and I must find that sorry girl a husband. You have made a cake of this!”
“Calm down, Bessie.” Dove lowered his voice. Dare listened, tipping his head, just able to hear him. “We will each have our money and I will have that whisky too. And the Scottish girl will go north and away from Charles. Trust me.”
