“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, there’s two persons to see you. That is, not wishful of disturbing you, only to know are you quite recovered. I put ‘em in his lordship’s library. What will I tell ‘em, miss?”
“Who are they? Did they not give their names?”
“It’s Captain Day and Mr Cardin, miss. I know ‘em both.”
“I will come down at once."
She slipped out of the room and was halfway down the grand staircase when Julia called to her from the top.
“Tavy! What is it? Are you all right? I saw you leave and thought maybe you do not feel quite the thing. But why are you going downstairs?”
“I am perfectly well, Ju. I have visitors.”
“Visitors? How extraordinary! Who is it? May I come with you to meet them?”
Octavia considered. The footman had referred to them as “persons.” Clearly in his view they were not gentlemen. However, she could see no harm coming from Julia meeting them.
“If you wish,” she agreed. “It is Captain Day, who rescued Sir Tristram and me this morning, and Lieutenant Cardin, the Customs officer I have told you about.”
“The one who is in love with you? I cannot wait to meet him! Come!”
To Octavia’s relief, her callers were not at daggers drawn. Indeed they seemed on remarkably good terms, considering their positions on opposite sides of the law. She put it down to their mutual, if vague, connection with the Edgcumbes. The lieutenant, younger and less sure of himself, was somewhat confused at being introduced to so elegant a young lady as Miss Langston, but there was nothing to blush for in his manners.
They both made enquiries about her health and were pleased to hear she had suffered no ill effects from her ducking. The lieutenant confirmed their appointment on the morrow, looked disappointed on learning that Sir Tristram would go with her, and took his leave with the lowest of low bows to Julia. Red Jack lingered a moment longer, to press into her hand a folded paper which he asked her to deliver to Mrs Pengarth.
“I shan’t be coming up to Cotehele for a while,” he explained.
“How did you know we are to return there?” asked Octavia.
“Oh, his lordship mentioned it,” said Red Jack evasively. “I must be on my way, miss. Good-bye, Miss Langston, a pleasure to have made your acquaintance.”
He left Octavia wondering just how close was his relationship to the Edgcumbes.
The next morning it was Julia’s turn to press a folded paper into Octavia’s hand.
“Take it to the post in Plymouth,” she entreated. “I must find out for certain whether James has forgotten me.”
“I ought not.” She looked at the letter uncertainly.
“You have not given your word to thwart our love?”
“No, but I am sure my aunt does not expect that I should encourage it. Oh, don’t cry, Ju! That was horrid of me. Of course I shall post it for you. It is miserable for you not to know how he feels.”
Julia blinked back tears. “It is much worse than knowing he does not love me. At least, I think so now. Perhaps I will change my mind if that comes to pass.” She tried to smile. “I shall see you this evening then, at Cotehele. Thank you, Tavy.”
A stylish barouche carried Lady Langston, her daughter, and her abigail down the avenue to Cremyll quay. With them went Miss Matilda Crosby, Lady Emma Edgcumbe’s companion. For some years now Lady Emma had not felt the need of a chaperone, and the small, wispy grey woman, a poor relation, was in no wise suited to become her friend. She suited Lady Langston perfectly, being always willing to fetch and carry, sort tangled silks, or carry on a conversation without requiring more response than an occasional “tut tut,” or “really?”
Five young gentlemen went down to the quay to wave farewell to Julia. They had all angled unsuccessfully for invitations to Cotehele, and looked with envy on Sir Tristram. Not only had he received the coveted invitation, but he had also sufficient confidence in his expectations to spend the day with Miss Langston’s little cousin!
Octavia overheard one or two remarks hopeful of his suffering a severe set-down when he rejoined the Incomparable.
Her own departure, some hours later, was far from mortifying in comparison. Sir Magnus, Mr Findlay, and Rupert Marlowe, spectacular in blue and orange, all rode down to Cremyll to take their leave. Nonetheless, she stepped aboard the small sailing barge with the light-heartedness of a child waking to the first day of the holidays.
The crossing was swift, a stiff breeze chopping the water into wavelets which sparkled in the sun. They landed at Phoenix Wharf again. Octavia took Sir Tristram’s arm and they were walking towards the Customs House when Ada pulled at her sleeve.
“Look, miss!” She pointed along the quay. “Isn’t that Mr Wynn?”
“Surely not!” Octavia turned to look. Some hundred feet off, a tall, thin man was talking to a seaman. His hat was in his hand, and that reddish bush of hair was unmistakable. “Heavens above, you are right, Ada! Whatever shall I do?”
She was given no time to decide. Mr Wynn jammed his hat on his head, swung round, and started towards them at a rapid pace.
Dithering, she put her hand on Ada’s arm as he approached. The gesture caught his eye and he glanced at the maid. A puzzled frown crossed his high forehead: he thought he knew her but could not identify her. His gaze moved on to Octavia.
Always oblivious of clothes, he had not the slightest difficulty in recognising her face.
“Miss Gray! What a happy chance!”
“Good afternoon, Mr Wynn.” Her mind spinning with conjecture, Octavia could think of nothing to say but, “Sir Tristram, you remember Mr James Wynn?”
The gentlemen bowed to each other, the baronet looking as stunned as Octavia felt.
“Your servant, sir,” said Mr Wynn. “I am looking for passage to Cotehele. Perhaps you can advise me?”
Sir Tristram glanced at Octavia, his eyebrows raised. If he expected her to send Mr Wynn to the rightabout, he looked in vain. She had promised Julia not to interfere. As for Mr Wynn, he showed not the least sign of awkwardness. It did not seem to dawn on him that there could be any objection to his arrival at Cotehele, nor that Julia might not welcome him after his long silence.
“Perhaps you would like to join us,” Sir Tristram offered politely. “We sail for Cotehele this evening.”
Octavia turned to him in exasperation. Why was he deliberately sabotaging his own chances? Was he so overwhelmingly certain of eventual success?’
At that moment, Lieutenant Cardin hurried up. He had expected to see Sir Tristram but was clearly displeased to find that yet another rival for Miss Gray’s attention had appeared. Mr Wynn flung a look of scorn at his uniform, symbol of the oppressing class, and ignored him.
“Thank you, sir,” he said to the baronet. “I shall gladly take advantage of your kind offer. Miss Gray, allow me to escort you about the town in the meantime. I have never visited Plymouth before and should like to see any monuments to the days when the Parliamentarians so bravely held it against the power of Charles I.”
“I have shopping to do, Mr Wynn,” said Octavia crossly. “Perhaps you can persuade Sir Tristram and the lieutenant to show you the sights.”
Mr Cardin looked at her with hurt in his dark blue spaniel eyes. Sir Tristram grinned.
“We are a troublesome bunch,” he said cheerfully, “but I must regretfully inform you that you will not find it so easy to dispose of us. Lead on, Miss Gray, and let milliner and mantua maker beware!”
Octavia wished she had never expressed a desire to shop. If the state of the tide had allowed, she would have insisted on returning to Cotehele at once. With the few guineas left to her, she made her trifling purchases last as long as possible. The Customs officer and the politician were plainly ripe for a quarrel, but the public bustle of the busy shopping streets kept them from each others’ throats.
At last she could pretend no longer that she intended to buy one of the sprigged muslins displayed by an obliging draper.
“I fear it is not quite what I was looking for,” she said apologetically, and led her procession out of the shop.
“Allow me to buy you an ice!” suggested Mr Cardin eagerly. “There is a new confectioner just opened around the corner."
“Miss Gray will prefer tea and cakes,” said James Wynn in a cold voice. “That coffee shop appears respectable enough.”
Sir Tristram merely steered her gently towards a nearby inn. “Since we shall be on the water at the usual hour of dining,” he said, “I took the liberty yesterday of ordering a neat dinner at this excellent hostelry. Doubtless it will stretch to include Mr Wynn. Allow me, Miss Gray.” He held a chair for her as the landlord hurried up, beaming.
“One extra, Sir Tristram? Of course, sir, not the slightest difficulty. I’ll bring the soup this instant."
Mr Wynn and the lieutenant were seated perforce, and to judge by their appetites must have been well satisfied not to have to subsist on ices or tea and cakes.
On the walk back to the wharf, their mutual antagonism at last found voice. Deep in argument, they soon outpaced Sir Tristram, Octavia, and Ada. Phrases floated back:
". . . lackey of the Hanoverian repression . . ."
". . . dangerous revolutionary ideas . . ."
". . . starving widows and children . . .”
“By the time Mr Cardin is an admiral,” observed Sir Tristram, “James Wynn will be a minister of the Crown.”
“How can you laugh!” cried Octavia. “Why ever did you invite him to go with us? What will my aunt say when he appears? You will have no one but yourself to blame if Julia runs off with him.”
“I find them amusing. He would have found some other way to reach Cotehele. He shall hide in the chapel by the river and your aunt need not know. And you cannot suppose that I wish to be married to someone who would prefer to run off with another man. Does that answer all your questions? Come, do not look so distressed! I do not mean to tamely hand over Miss Langston to my rival, I assure you. If I am lucky, she will find that he does not live up to the picture her imagination has painted during his absence. In any case, I fancy the world would not counsel me to despair. Are you so certain she will prefer him?”
“I cannot imagine why she should, except that they say love is blind. Surely she will not be so foolish as to choose him!”
“You are a fervent supporter of my cause, Miss Gray.”
“I am very fond of Julia; how could James Wynn possibly make her as happy as you could?” Octavia’s throat felt strangely tight. She walked faster, trying to catch up with the others.
They found them on the quay. They had apparently discovered common ground somewhere for they were chatting with every appearance of amicability. Octavia heard Julia’s name mentioned, and guessed that once the lieutenant had discovered that the object of Mr Wynn’s affections was not herself, he had dropped the quarrel. Even James Wynn must find it impossible to carry on a dispute with so friendly and open a young man.
Mr Cardin begged for permission to visit Octavia at Cotehele. She felt it unwise to encourage him, but Julia was going to have two lovers in hot pursuit and she felt entitled to have an admirer of her own. The glow in his eyes made her glad to have given him pleasure, though sorry to have given cause for hope when, much as she liked him, she had no intention of marrying him, if it were to come to that.
The barge was ready to leave. As she stepped aboard, Octavia wondered why she was so sure she did not want to be Mr Cardin’s wife. She had no doubt that he would be a kind and loving husband, and though the disadvantages attached to his profession were daunting, the alternative of returning to her parents’ house in London was anything but inviting.
She shook herself mentally. What a fool she was to build such speculations on so few meetings! He had not even offered for her. And if she wished to marry only to escape returning to her parents, why had she so firmly discouraged Sir Magnus? She had liked him equally, and he had a vast fortune to make up for the disadvantages of his age and Toryism!
“You are very silent, Miss Gray. Are you sorry to leave Mount Edgcumbe?” asked Sir Tristram.
She looked up, startled, to see that they had already tacked away from the harbour and were approaching St. Nicholas’s Island.
“Mount Edgcumbe? The place, yes. It is very beautiful, the setting, the way the park is laid out, the gardens. It must take longer than a single week to tire of it. But I find I enjoy a fashionable crowd no better than the constant coming and going at home. I look forward to the peace of Cotehele.”
“I do not expect much peace there!” lamented the baronet, glancing at their fellow passenger, who sat with his nose buried in a political treatise. “Mr Wynn, you do not care for scenery?”
There was no response.
“He has not heard you,” Octavia said, laughing. “He told me once that when he is concentrating nothing can distract him. I have seen him at my father’s table, with his dinner before him, so lost in thought that everyone else had eaten and left before he came to himself.”
“Surely you exaggerate! A man who . . . Wait a moment. What is going on?”
The barge had slowed nearly to a stop, and their captain was leaning over the side, talking to someone who must be standing in a smaller vessel, since only his head was visible.
Sir Tristram jumped up and hurried aft. She heard his exclamation, “What the devil?” and then he called to her, “Miss Gray, come here, if you please, and quickly!”
James Wynn did not stir as she hastened to join them.
“It’s Jack Day,” Sir Tristram said as she approached. “It seems the
Seamew
has been taken filled to the scuppers with contraband, and he has been shot. His men have got him away, but he is badly hurt.”
She looked down and saw the giant lying inert and bleeding in the bottom of his gig. The one-eyed man leaned over him, wrapping one of his wounds in a dirty rag, while the hook-handed ex-navy seaman, Dan Small, held the rail of their barge.
"‘Tis the young lady as fell in the water,” he said in surprise. “We c’n trust the cap’n to her.”
“Of course you can,” Octavia assured him. “We shall take him to Cotehele to Mrs Pengarth. It will be easy to hide him there."