Darkness prevailed, save for the glow of a three-quarter moon directly overhead, the air cold, moist, and very still. The lingering scent of an early-evening rainfall and damp earth roused her senses as Madeleine silently walked behind Thomas into the backyard toward the cluster of bushes that would lead them to the path beside the lake. During the last few days their suspicions about Richard Sharon had been building. Madeleine believed him to be the smuggler, more out of intuition than anything else, and that she trusted. She worked from intuition frequently, and hers had yet to fail her. She did, however, understand rationally that facts were far more important in the end, and now they had facts anew and were acting upon them. For the third consecutive night of what could turn out to be many frigid hours in dark silence, they were sneaking onto the baron’s estate to observe what they could clandestinely because Thomas had received urgent word from Sir Riley that another shipment of opium had been stolen from the docks at Portsmouth only five days ago.
