Stanford drew himself up, his corpulent stomach a protruding mound beneath his coat. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you?”
Beside him, Winty stared like a frightened rabbit, his face gone as pale as the moon hanging above us. “M-Miss Cross . . .”
“You know these people?” A sneer grew on Stanford’s face as he looked me up and down.
“I know her,” was Winty’s unsteady answer.
“And I know you, Mr. Rutherfurd, and all I can say is shame on you. Shame on you both.” I shifted my attention to the other man. “What would your wife say, Mr. Stanford?”
“Who in the hell are you two?” the man demanded. “I won’t ask what you want. The answer is obvious: blackmail.”
I smiled. “There you are wrong, Mr. Stanford. Mr. Andrews and I have no interest in blackmailing either of you. We brought you both here tonight on a hunch that has proved correct. And now we have some questions we’d like answered.”
“Well . . .” The man released a mirthless laugh that shook the loose skin bulging from his collar. “I’ve no intention of answering them. You, miss, should be home with your family, where a young lady belongs. And you, sir . . .” He trailed off, his gaze narrowing and his lips drooping at the corners. “I know you . . .”
“Do you indeed?” Derrick tilted his head as if in polite interest. “I’m sorry to say that if we’ve met I don’t remember. However, I do seem to be learning quite a bit about you tonight. About both of you. Mr. Rutherfurd, I’ve heard a lot about you from Miss Cross.”
Winty stuttered something unintelligible and I began to fear the shock of our little ruse might threaten his health.
“You’re the Andrews heir,” Stanford said slowly. “Of the Providence Sun. I’ve seen your picture. . . .”
Derrick gave a little bow. “At your service, sir.”
At that moment Winty apparently found his tongue. “Miss Cross, what is this all about?”
“Don’t be stupid, Rutherfurd. Despite what they say they’re here to blackmail us.” Stanford regarded Derrick and me with a resigned air. “How much?”
“Honestly, Mr. Stanford, that is not our intent. Not that I condone illegal activities, mind you, and Mr. Rutherfurd, I’m astonished at you.” I paused to show them my best imitation of one of Nanny’s chastising pouts. “But you can distill illegal rum until the cows come home for all I care.”
It was Winty’s and Stanford’s turn to exchange surprised looks. I then garnered an admiring if begrudging one from Stanford.
“What we want to know . . . what we demand to know,” I said, “is where you both were on the night before last. When the smugglers on Rose Island tried to kill us.”
“What?” Winty’s exclamation came out as a strangled gasp. The type-written notes fluttered from Stanford’s hand to land in the dirt at his feet. “I was nowhere near Rose Island the other night. I swear it.”
“But men in your employ were,” Derrick said.
Stanford scrambled to retrieve the missives before the wind took them, then straightened with an indignant snort. “What proof do you have—”
“They spoke your name, Mr. Stanford.” I raised my chin at him, daring him to contradict what Derrick and I had heard with our own ears. “And just so you’re aware, I’ve left a signed statement in my desk at the Newport Observer detailing everything that happened that night. If anything should happen to Derrick or me, rest assured that statement will be found.”
I could feel Derrick frowning at me, though I didn’t dare glance his way. I’d left no such statement and he knew it. But I resolved to do so at the very first opportunity.
“Now, then,” I went on, “we’d very much like an answer. Or perhaps you’d care to take this to the police station. My very good friend Detective Whyte would be happy to take over the task of questioning you.”
“She’s telling the truth about that,” Winty said to Stanford out of the side of his mouth. “She and that detective are friends.” He turned his attention to me. “Miss Cross, as God is my witness, all I did was agree to drop a marker in the water at the edge of Rose Island, designating where a delivery was to be dropped off, and then retrieved by another vessel. That is the extent of my involvement.”
“Yes, I saw you, Mr. Rutherfurd, and let me say that you are not cut out for a life of subterfuge.”
“No, I don’t suppose I am. But Stanford here agreed to pay off a couple of debts for me . . .” Winty stared at the ground.