A Kiss in the Dark by Joan Smith

head.
    “Wounded, not conquered.” He struggled to his feet. “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do. Bested by a pair of Frenchies. Or at least the one who caught me was, to judge by his curses. Took me by surprise, or I would have drawn his cork and darkened his daylights.”
    “I think it was two Frenchies,” she said. Or had one of them been Dauntry? “I don’t think they were smugglers, Beau. They were looking for something they called ‘elle.’ ”
    “An ell of smuggled silk,” Beau deduced.
    “No, not that sort of ell. They were speaking French. It could mean she or it.”
    “A woman!” Beau exclaimed.
    “No, they thought this elle might be under a carpet.”
    “Oh, then it wasn’t the lady upstairs they were looking for.”
    “What lady?”
    “I heard light footfalls on the stairs as I went down the corridor. I couldn’t see much in the moonlight, but I think I saw a white gown, and light hair. And I know I smelled violet perfume.”
    “You dreamed it. I saw no lady.”
    “Of course you didn’t. She was hiding—under a carpet for all I know. We’ve got to help her, Sid.”
    “You’ve been reading those gothic novels in the library.”
    Beau rubbed his head. “You’re right, I was having a look at The Mysterious Warning this afternoon. Perhaps I dreamed her after I was coshed on the head. But I mean to return—after we escape, I mean—and search the house from top to bottom.”
    “I shall come with you to search for elle. Meanwhile, we must get out of here and follow them, try to overhear what else they say.”
    “We’d best do it quietly. Follow me.” He headed to the door. “Oh, it’s locked.”
    “We shall have to go out by the window.” As she spoke, she moved quietly toward the window. The leaded panes that looked so charming from the outside were not made to open. They were firmly held in place by wooden frames with no locks or bolts. Cressida was aware of a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “We are locked in,” she said in a dying voice.
    Visions of being discovered the next day, starving and parched from thirst, flashed before her eyes.
    “I’ll bust the window,” Beau said bravely. “But first we’d best listen and make sure they’re gone.”
    Beau put his ear to the door; Cressida looked out the window, which gave an angled view of the rock plateau in front of the cottage and the shining sea below. As she watched, two men came into view around the corner of the cottage. One was in shadow—he might have been Dauntry. But it was at the other that she gazed, a soft smile lifting her lips. Handsome! She felt he was the one who had kissed her and called her naughty. He had a French look about him. All the charm of the French, and the Gallic grace in his shrugging shoulders and gesturing hands. It was difficult to determine his complexion in the wan moonlight, but his hair looked black and his skin swarthy. He was not quite as tall as the other man, and slighter in build, but with broad shoulders.
    He tossed up his hands, patted the other man on the shoulder, and walked away, laughing insouciantly. She watched as he clambered like a goat up the rock cliff and disappeared. The other one remained behind, looking uneasily at the cottage. Surely he was not going to go and leave them locked up all night in this horrid house! There might be rats. She peered around the dim corners of the room for signs of vermin. Then, to her great dismay, the second man turned and went down the staircase, away from the cottage.
    ‘They’ve left,” she said to Beau. “Give them five minutes to get beyond earshot, then break a window with a chair, or whatever you can find.” They groped about in the darkness for a moment. “Here, this will do for a start,” she said when she found a poker by the fireplace.
    As she was handing Beau the poker, there was a light rattle at the door. Cressida assumed the man had reconsidered his dastardly first idea of leaving them locked in the