She was very frightened indeed. "Will you please ask Dutch Coachman to take us to Dover? I must—I must leave at once."
"Yes, of course." He moved to stand before her, and said with a rueful smile, "But I wish you will believe that I am not—
we
are not wreckers."
She put out her hand, and he took it eagerly and held it in both his own. "I know you are not," she said. "And I know what you did, to try and protect me. Oh, my dear—my
very
dear!"
He bent his head and pressed a kiss on her fingers. "How did you find me out? Was I not convincing? I tried to be, but—Lord! I pray I never again have to essay such a part. 'Twas"—his voice trembled—"the very devil!"
"It was the most gallant tribute any lady could wish." She reached up to caress his thick hair tenderly. "You played your part to perfection, my love. I—quite thought my heart would break. No—let me finish! Tummet said something that set me to thinking, and gradually I pieced it all together. I should never have been such a stupid as to believe that a gentleman as fine, as honourable as you, could have been so—" The light in his eyes was weakening her resolve and she turned quickly away, biting her lip, then said threadily, "I…
must
leave, Gordon!"
He stifled a sigh. "Yes. I'll send word down to Dutch. But I shall walk you back to the cottage."
Smiling through sudden tears, she asked, "Do you not want to know why I am leaving you?"
"Because of Farrier, of course. And rightly so. Indeed, I would have insisted you go away."
"I am Greville Armitage's daughter."
"Yes, love. Was it because of your brother that you concealed that particular fact?"
She blinked and her eyes fell. "Dearest one, I dared not—"
"Small wonder you did not dare!" Sir Brian came in, his face grim. "You were perfectly correct, madam, in thinking that I would not allow the sister of a disgraced murdering drunkard to so much as set foot on—"
Chandler interrupted sharply, "Sir, whatever Armitage may have done, Ruth is not to be—"
"Blamed? Must I not blame her for yet
another
lie? 'Fore God, she's proficient at it! She has neatly forged another link for your friend Farrier's chain about us. Rest assured his superiors will call it a conspiracy! No! Do not defend her to me, sir! Are you too besotted with the woman to see what peril she poses for—" He reeled suddenly, and leaned against the desk, a hand to his chest.
Chandler was at his side in an instant, one arm about his shoulders. "Father! Sit down here. All this nonsense has been too much for you. Ruth, will you please ring for—"
But glancing up he saw that Ruth had gone.
The cottage shuddered to a howling gust of wind and the curtains billowed inward. Tightening the strap around the portmanteau, Grace wailed, "But, Mrs. A., we cannot journey tonight. Hark to that! Is a
gale
, no less!"
" 'Ullo? 'Ullo? Anybody 'ome?"
The eyes of the two women met. Ruth muttered. "Tummet!"
His hair dishevelled and his coat unbuttoned, Jacob galloped into the room. "I found him, Aunty. I found him for you!"
"Bless you, my darling. Now help Miss Grace. She has already packed your clothes, but you must gather whatever else you wish to take."
The small face was a study in dismay. "Packed? Oh, Aunty, we're not goin'
away
?"
"Yes, I'm afraid we are, dear." She patted his shoulder and hurried to the door. "Be quick, if you please. We've to leave at once. I'll tell you about it later. Go now!"
With lagging feet and tragic face, he crossed to the other bedchamber, and Ruth ran down the stairs.
Enoch Tummet stood in the hall, hat in hand and curiosity on his rugged countenance. "I see yer valises 'ere, marm. 'Opping the twig, is you?"
Assuming that "hopping the twig" meant going away, she nodded and said urgently, "Mr. Tummet, is your master really a friend to Mr. Chandler? Or, if Mr. August Falcon is not, might Lieutenant Morris be?"
"They both is, marm. Though me guv wouldn't never admit as 'e was a friend to no one. What's to do?"
"Have you ever heard of a man called Burton Farrier?" She had no need to wait for a reply, his shocked expression was enough. "He was here," she said. "He has brought some most terrible charges 'gainst Sir Brian and his son. I am afraid—"
He interrupted briskly, "Say no more, Mrs. A! Me guv was afeared o' this very thing. I'm orf. You tell Mr. Gordon as me
real
guv—Cap'n Gideon Rossiter, that is—will be dahn 'ere 'fore the roach can run!"
She thanked him, struggled to close the front door against the blast that swept in when he opened it, and went up to the twins' bedchamber again.
Jacob was solemnly forcing a wooden ship into his valise. He looked up at her, sad-eyed. "Mr. Gordon carved it for me. Herc'les chewed it a bit, but… Oh, Aunty!
Must
we go? I like him. Lots."
Hugging him, Ruth said in an unsteady voice, "I'm afraid we have no choice, dearest. Where's Thorpe?"
He looked around blankly. "He was here…"
Once more someone was pounding on the front door. Her heart convulsed. Dutch Coachman? Already? When she opened the door however, a lackey stood there, clutching a flapping cloak about his finery. He handed her a folded paper, then hurried off again not waiting for an answer. Unfolding the note, she read:
My only love—
I know you will be worrying for my father. He is resting now, and I pray he is merely over-excited, but I cannot leave him for a while.
Meanwhile, I have told Dutch to take you all to the Ship in Dover, where you must pass the night. Tomorrow, go to the Rossiter's house on Snow Hill. I've handed Dutch a letter for Gideon, and funds to provide for you. When we are clear of this nonsense I shall come for you.
Pay no attention to Farrier's rantings. He cannot harm us. I mean to make sure that nothing ever comes between us again.
God bless you, my darling. I adore you.
Chandler
It was some minutes before Ruth was sufficiently composed to go back upstairs.
When she went into the boys' room there was still no sign of Thorpe. Nor was Jacob to be found.
With one hand on the mantel, Chandler stared into the empty hearth and listened to the rain beating in wind-driven flurries against the windows. The thought of Ruth travelling through this chaotic night was worrying. If he could only go with her. If Keasden came in time and pronounced his father in no danger, he
would
go! That fool of a groom should be back from Dover by now, surely? He glanced at the clock. Almost nine. If Farrier meant to—
The door opened. Starret said, "Your pardon, Mr. Gordon."
"Is the groom back?"
"He couldn't get through, sir. There are trees across the lane. He says the doctor's coach wouldn't be able to get by."
"Damnation! Then tell Swinton to take some men and clear the way. Keasden must come out and see Sir Brian, and it is essential that Mrs. Allington reach Dover tonight."
Starret bowed and went off again.
Chandler drove his fist against the mantel. Ruth
must
not be here if that wart Farrier came slithering back. The precious lady had known enough of trouble. And speaking of trouble, he had best get up to the top of the old lighthouse and make very sure there were no logs or any trace of a recent fire.
He ran up the stairs to his father's bedchamber. Ludley, the elderly valet who had served Sir Brian for forty years, put a cautioning hand to his lips and tiptoed across the room to meet him.
"He's asleep, sir. His colour's much better now. I think he was just over-wrought. You know how he gets, Mr. Gordon. Is Dr. Keasden coming?"
"Soon, I hope. There are trees down, but our fellows are clearing the road now."
Bending over the bed, Chandler was relieved to find his father's distinguished features calm and composed, the breathing regular. He nodded to the valet and went to his own suite to get his cloak. Fortunately, Stoneygate was not there to register a protest as he certainly would have done. Chandler smiled, faintly as he swung the cloak about his shoulders and pulled the oilskin cover over his tricorne. If dear old Stoney dreamed that his destination was the top of the lighthouse, he'd properly go into the boughs. Lord knows, it was foolhardy to enter the crumbling old tower tonight, but he dare not wait till morning. That accursed Farrier might have troopers out here at any minute, and it was quite possible Durwood or the whistling man—or both—had indeed been responsible for the shipwreck.
He settled the hat onto his head as he ran down the stairs, and was almost to the lower hall when he heard the crash. The entire house seemed to shake. He thought, 'That was more than a tree!'
Starret was already opening the front door. Joining him, and staggered by the inrush of wind and rain, Chandler said, "What the devil was that?"
"It seemed to come from the stables, sir!"
Chandler ran, but erratically. The night was black as pitch, the rain coming down like a solid wall, and when the wind got behind it he had all he could do to stand up straight. He thought, 'God help any ships out there tonight,' and then a horse galloped straight at him. Only by flinging himself desperately to the side did he avoid being trampled. The panicked animal thundered past. Wet and muddied, Chandler fought his way to his feet and ran on.
He reached the stables and chaos. The gale had torn off part of the loft roof and the rest had collapsed, trapping horses and three grooms who had been trying to calm the frightened beasts. Two more grooms and a stableboy were tearing at the great pile of rubble with their bare hands. A lantern, swinging on a beam that was still standing, lent a bizarre and shifting light to the scene. With screaming neighs of terror, its eyes rolling, a horse, buried from the shoulders down, was lunging frenziedly to break free.
Chandler could find no sign of Oakworth. He slapped one of the rescuers on the back and his shouted enquiry was met by the information that Oakworth was under the wreckage.
"Have you heard him?"
"Yessir! They're hurt, all on 'em. But they're alive yet. The horses is fair crazed, though. One's killed."
Chandler sent the stableboy scrambling to the house with an order that every available man should come at once. And he knew there wouldn't be many. The gardeners and most of the menservants had gone to help clear the lane.
Joining the effort, he tore desperately at tiles and splintered beams. A great roof timber was bared, and he found a sturdy post that they used as a lever. It took their combined efforts, but at last the timber was rolled aside. The trapped horse plunged out and went limping off at an uneven canter. The rescuers toiled on, but no reinforcements arrived. The rain poured down on them in an unrelenting deluge, punctuated by the howling wind, the crashes of falling tree limbs, and an occasional deeper sound that told of an entire tree toppled.
They freed two more horses, and then a groom. Chandler lost track of time. He was soaked to the skin, his back ached, and his hands felt raw. On top of all else, his feet were icy cold. He blinked downward. Water was swirling around his ankles. He took down the lantern and walked a short distance up the hill, peering into the ravening darkness. By the flickering lamplight he saw white ripples, and with a gasp realized that the stream was over its banks, the usually gentle waters surging down the slope. If the main branch of the river also overflowed there would soon be a torrent of mud coming this way, and the buried men would drown before they could get them out.
He raced back to join his grooms. Another interminable period of desperate effort ended in the uncovering of Oakworth, conscious and tearfully grateful. Chandler was helping to lift him out when Starret tapped him on the shoulder. "I'll take care of him, sir." The butler handed Chandler a small package. "One of the farmhands brought this for you. Says a gentleman gave it to him and it is of vital urgency."
Chandler shoved the package in his coat pocket. "Take his arm. Gently, man! I think it's broke. Up you come, poor fellow."
The head groom was a dead weight in their arms, but he gasped that they must get the lad out, for he'd a smashed leg and was in a bad way. " 'Fraid… your mare, sir."
Chandler flinched. "Carefree? Is she killed?"
"She ain't trying to get up… like the other two."
They all reeled to a mighty gust and Chandler shouted, "Carry him over to the tack room. Not so much water there! We've to get the others out before the flood beats us!"
They strove on, battling wind and rain as well as the tangled debris while the water crept ever higher around them. But at last the other grooms and the stableboy were found and dug out, mercifully all living. Miss Nymph was freed, and hobbled off favouring one front leg. A bay was dead, but to Chandler's relief Carefree had held her head above the flood. She rallied when he called her name, and began to kick and thrash about, and when they were able to free her they had to leap for their lives to avoid her frantic bolt.
The injured were carried off to the main house. Chandler hesitated, torn between going on to the lighthouse, or attempting to divert the stream so as to protect the chapel. They might, he thought, be able to haul some of the fallen trees to act as a breakwater.
He became aware that his hand was throbbing. A large splinter had driven deep into the side of his palm. He wrenched it out, swore, and groped for his handkerchief to stop the bleeding. His fingers closed around an unfamiliar shape and he took out the package Starret had brought.
Stoneygate loomed up, carrying a lantern and looking half drowned. "Sir," he bellowed. "Atkinson just rode in from the Home Farm. A tree's down on the bam, and they can't get the cows out. Water's rising fast over there. And a chimney fell through the ceiling of Mr. Quentin's bedchamber. Caused a lot of damage and left a big hole and the rain's pouring in!"
"Is my father all right?"
"Yes. We haven't told him about this, or the farm, sir."
Chandler howled, "Don't! Take as many men to the farm as are able to go. I'll need Swinton and two others to stay and help with that broken chimney." He had wrapped the handkerchief about his hand. "Tie this for me, will you?" Stoneygate obliged, and Chandler asked, "Has Dutch taken Mrs. Allington and her party to Dover?"