Authors: Vanessa Gray
Helen at last jerked her attention back to the present. “You mean the earl is not wishful to marry again? Yet I have heard him say that it was his duty.”
“I am sure we do not need to teach the earl his duty, my dear. But this is what I am saying — his duty will lead him to demand more in a wife than you can bring to him. And I should not,” remarked Lady Waverly with a fine disregard for truth, “wish to see you unhappy. So often our dreams outstrip our possibilities — didn’t a poet say that once? I am sure you would know,” she added with a touch of venom, “you are such a bookish person.”
“My father always felt that a well-informed mind was the best dowry a bride could bring,” said Helen defensively.
“And so it is,” agreed Lady Waverly recklessly. “I vow I should consider my son perfectly addled were he to bring home a bride who was stupid. But my advice to you, my dear, is, forget all this ambition of yours. You might find what you are looking for much closer home.”
And that, thought Lady Waverly, will successfully remove that persistent Mr. Talbot from Julia’s side and attach him to Helen’s. She had remarked that Mr. Talbot was, while perfectly correct in his behavior, too noticing of Julia. Lady Waverly, although she had at first been tempted to enter the Pendarvis lists on her own behalf, had decided that country life was not for her. Her sole motive, contrary to Egmont’s suspicions, was to marry Julia to the earl. At once. So that Louisa herself could return to what she considered her own proper milieu, the few London blocks south of Grosvenor Square.
Helen said demurely, “Thank you for your interest, Lady Waverly. It is so good of you to tell me what is in your mind, and I hope it is never said of me with truth that I failed to heed good advice.”
As a first speech to one’s prospective mother-in-law, thought Helen, it was not bad. Imagine Lady Waverly actually thrusting her son Ned into Helen’s competent hands! Why else had Ned rushed posthaste from London? It was a veritable revelation to Helen! Her thoughts moved busily into the new paths outlined by her interpretations of Lady Waverly’s observations.
*
By the time the laggards arrived on the beach below the clifftop, there was already much industry in progress. Faustina, on her knees in the damp sand, careless of her dress, was directing the construction of a model replica of the residence of the earls of Devon. Tiverton Castle’s strong and simple lines, conceived in the turbulent days of the twelfth century, were easy enough for a novice in the art of sand-castle building. Althea’s crows of delight were strange in Hugh’s ears. Uneasily, he wondered whether he had ever heard the child laugh so heartily.
It was a pretty picture, with Julia enthusiastically working nearby on what she claimed was Boadicea’s grave bar-row, but which looked to her critical brother like nothing more than a shapeless mass of sand. “Besides,” he pointed out, “nobody really knows where the queen was buried.”
“Oh, Sir Edward” — Mary laughed — “don’t spoil it No one can prove she wasn’t buried in a grave barrow, either!”
It was a timeless afternoon. The sea heaved gently, of a dark blue not so dark as Hugh’s eyes. The salt breeze swept ashore in little gusts, and Faustina, knowing the weather signs, thought it might well be a stormy evening. If the sky darkened, would Ned’s riding officers be out again?
“A gloomy thought?” said Hugh softly. She had not heard him approach, and his voice startled her. “No,” she said, “only that the wind seems to be coming up a bit. See how it dries the top sand?”
Althea announced suddenly, “My tower is not as strong as it should be. If it falls, then it is a sign.”
“A sign?” asked Hugh, startled.
“A sign,” she repeated firmly. “Mrs. Robbins says that the Lord gives us signs that tell us what to do. This sign will be to tell me that I am tired of building the castle.”
In spite of themselves, the adults watched Althea’s tower — Hugh with skepticism on the subject of omens; Julia with impatience because Mr. Talbot had asked her to stroll with him along the beach, and she felt obliged to wait for the others to be free too; and Faustina with exasperation. Why did Hugh have to come to interrupt them when they were having fun?
The tower fell, and as though released from a spell, Althea sprang to her feet. “I will run down the sand as far as I can see,” she announced. “But I will come back.”
With little puffs of sand marking her running steps, she ran swiftly down the sand. Faustina jumped to her feet, brushed the sand from the front of her skirt, and said vaguely, ‘I must follow her. She doesn’t know the beach.”
Faustina walked fast. She left Hugh behind, with his great friend Aubrey Talbot. The two of them would keep Julia company. Faustina herself wanted to be alone. Aubrey could keep Hugh from annoying Julia, she thought. Besides, Ned and Mary Bidwell were not far behind.
Her thoughts were spirited company, and she reached the headland before she realized it. There was, she was startled to discover, no sight of Althea, except for fast-disappearing footprints in the sand.
Faustina hurried to round the headland. Here a broad stretch of water spread out before her. The far coasts of the bay were of course not visible, but the near shore stretched out at hand. A curving crescent of shingle and sand, like the beach she had traveled to this point. Beyond was the long stone mole reaching out into the bay, and at the deep end, one larger rock a little beyond the tip of the mole.
And on this last rock, a very small figure indeed, stood Althea, her white muslin dress whipping in the wind.
The wind, Faustina realized, had risen a good deal in the last hour. The blowing sand at the replica of Tiverton Castle was only a hint. Here, where the wind had fuller sweep, it was brushing the water into whitecaps.
And the waves, Faustina noted with shock, were already washing
over
the stones stretching out into the bay.
Althea was trapped. The child, Faustina saw at once, knew she was in trouble. She stood, a frail figure, on the farthest rock, looking in puzzled fashion at the waves forming a barrier between her and the rock next inshore — a rock that had been almost dry when she had ventured out. Now the only dry spot was a small irregular oval on top of the stone. And a widening stretch of water, too wide to wade, between the two rocks.
Faustina called to her. The wind whipped her words from her lips, and she could not tell whether the child heard her or not. She ran toward the spot where the stones met the sand. When she called again, Althea lifted her white, scared face to stare inshore.
Her lips formed words, so much Faustina could guess, but no sound reached her. How could she have let the child get out of her sight? She was no better than Zelle! she thought angrily. But self-recrimination would have to wait.
Rucking up her skirts, Faustina carefully ventured out onto the rocks. Calling again to Althea, she cried, “I’m coming! Don’t move!” and trusted the child to obey. She herself had all she could do to keep her balance on the rocks, covered with slimy green sea growth.
Faustina could believe, very soon, that she had been slipping on wet rocks for days. Then she heard Althea’s piping voice: “Faustina!”
She looked up hastily. She had reached the last but one stone, and stood on the brink of the racing water separating her from the child. Already the water lapped at Althea’s small slippers, and Faustina remembered that the tide was coming in. At high tide…
There was no time to lose.
“Hold on, Althea!” she cried. ‘I’m coming to get you!”
“
Vite,
vite
!” cried Althea.
It was a measure of the child’s fear, thought Faustina remorsefully, that her words came out in the first language she had learned. I am to blame, she groaned inwardly.
Her skirt had slipped out of her hands when she flailed the air with her hands to regain her balance somewhere alone the mole. Now, heedless of anything but the need to get to Althea, she kited her skirts up and tucked the excess cloth into her sash. The last crossing, the one that had widened alarmingly while Althea watched, was still passable. She made one last jump and stood at last beside the child.
Althea clung to her wet skirts, throwing her arms around her.
“Now, Althea,” said Faustina soothingly, “don’t. We’ll both fall off the rocks. I must teach you to swim sometime, but not today. Come, help me”
She picked Althea up. “Don’t hold me so tight,” she said with a forced chuckle. “I won’t be able to breathe!”
Althea’s fingers locked, and Faustina had difficulty prying apart the frightened child’s hands. But in doing so, she turned slightly away from the wind.
And then she saw it. Something. In the water, swaying gently below the surface. About six feet long — the size, her frightened wits told her, of a man. Just under the water, moving with the motion of the waves.
“
Tu
as
peur
?” whispered Althea in a tight strangled voice.
“No, no, love,” said Faustina. “Now, you just hang on, and we’ll be back on shore in no time. You wait and see. Now, we’re going to jump. Be ready. Now!”
She spared a hope that Althea had not seen that something, whatever it was, before she concentrated on getting back to shore, through higher water splashing on the stones.
The journey seemed endless, but in fact she had traversed only a third of the way back to shore when she became conscious of a voice, calm and strong, coming to her.
“Don’t jump, Faustina. Wait a bit. See whether you can hand Althea to me. Give me Althea, and then TU help you.”
She did not know what happened next. But suddenly Althea was clinging to her father with the same desperation with which she had clung to Faustina. And Hugh was looking at his daughter’s rescuer with a strange look in his eyes. Suddenly that strange look dissolved into something Faustina recognized. A sharp curiosity, she diagnosed, and remembered that her skirt had been immodestly lifted as high as the middle of her calf.
“Stay there!” he ordered her. And, glad to stand and wait for a moment, feeling the icy water splash around her ankles, but knowing that Althea was safe, she stood docilely where he had left her.
In moments he was back. “I turned the child over to Julia and Talbot,” he explained. “Now, then, what is it? What has caused that horrified expression on your face?”
For answer, all she could do was point behind her.
“Well, we’ll have to see what it is, won’t we?” he said in a reassuringly matter-of-fact way. “Come on, show me.
He put his arm around her waist and urged her back toward the end of the mole. With his strong arm around her, swinging her across the water barriers, it was much easier traveling.
“We won’t have time,” she hiccupped. “The tide’s coming in!”
“Not for another hour or two,” he said soothingly. “Only half tide now. You forget I was raised around here, too.”
They got to the last stone, and she pointed down into the water. There the thing swayed as though held to the bottom beneath it.
“A body!” she cried. “What shall we do?”
“Don’t look,” he said, pulling her head against his shoulder. They stood there for a moment, while she felt delayed shuddering go through her. She had not dared to think about it, not while she still held Althea. It was a relief just to let someone else hold the responsibility for a moment. Even though, she thought abruptly, it was Hugh. She drew away from him.
“Better?”
She nodded. He dropped to his knees beside her and reached out into the water.
“Too far,” he panted. “I can’t reach it. But I can see it better.”
With a chuckle, he stood again beside her.
“You can laugh?”
“Now,” he interrupted her, “don’t lash out at me again.”
He looked down at her with mixed emotions. How had he ever thought she was arrogant? Just now, she was devoid of pride, and vastly appealing. He smiled at her. “Not a body. Only smugglers’ brandy kegs. Roped together and anchored to the bottom. Now, my dear, let’s go back to shore!”
“Contraband?” echoed Faustina. “You mean smugglers left this here?”
“Of course.”
“But why?”
“Usually the goods are unloaded directly from the boats that cross the channel, but sometimes, if it is particularly dangerous—”
“Storms?” she interrupted.
“Possibly. Or more likely, the riding officers are abroad. Then it is too dangerous for any contact from men on shore with the men on the boats.”
He knelt again on the rock. “Can you spread your skirts a bit wider, please? Try to look as though you were drying them.”
Astonished, she did as he asked. Hugh was effectively screened from curious eyes on shore. He reached as far as he could, but the kegs bobbed tantalizingly out of reach. With a grunt, he gave it up.
“Best leave them there anyway,” he decided. “For the authorities.”
“You didn’t explain to me how they got there.”
“You’re not in a swoon over the possibilities of smugglers watching us from the rocks on shore?” he asked quizzically.
“Pooh! What would they do to us?” she said stoutly, but it cost her an effort not to glance fearfully over her shoulder. Besides, she thought, Hugh would protect her.
Confusion reigned in her thoughts. She scarcely heard Hugh saying, “I must send for your cousin.”
She didn’t ask why. Nor did she feel any surprise when she saw that Ned was already on the way, picking his steps across the long finger of rock. ‘
She was over her fright and shock at the thought of discovering the body of a drowned man — a foolish fear when she saw only the kegs bobbing in the surf. Nor did she wonder about the presence of smugglers in the bay. There had always been smugglers, she had heard, and in fact a nurse she had had used to frighten her with tales of the men of the darkness, bundling untaxed goods on the backs of horses to pack them inland — so Nanny had told her — a long line of horses against the rising moon, and woe to anyone who sees them!
It was not quite like that, she knew as she grew older. And the dark of the moon was an ideal night for the “mooncussers.” She had never feared them, not since she was in the nursery.
Faustina stood with her hands clenched at her side, while Hugh stood, very near her, watching Ned approach. She looked at neither land nor sea. She had unaccustomed turmoil in her own thoughts to deal with. It was most regrettable. And for the moment she could not explain how it was that she could remember with such vividness every breath she had taken while the earl’s arms held her tightly, so tightly that she could even now remember the beat of his heart, quite close. Too close. And the worst thing about it was that she had almost enjoyed it.
Always honest, she amended her thought: she really had enjoyed those moments.
She was saved from further reflection by the arrival of her cousin. The last water gap was widening almost as they watched. Ned had to make a leap of some agility to land beside them on the stone.
“Althea?” asked Hugh.
“Fine. She wasn’t hurt.”
Faustina roused herself to agree. “She was more frightened than anything else. It’s alarming when you see your way back cut off.”
“As you see now,” said Hugh succinctly. “Ned, I want to show you something…”
“Julia held the child safely. I’ll have to say that for her. She kept her head.”
Slowly both Faustina and Hugh realized that Ned was laboring under strong emotion. “What was there to keep her head about?” she asked carefully. Ned was apt to take the long way around, as she well knew, but if she kept him to the point…
“Why, when Julia slipped,” Ned said in surprise. “Didn’t you see it?”
“No!” the two answered in chorus.
“She slipped on the last rock, just as she was stepping onto the sand. Mary was so brave!”
“Mary?” said Hugh crisply. “Ned, what on earth happened? Just tell it.”
Faustina added with cousinly candor, “No need to get lyrical.”
Ned appeared not to hear. “Julia slipped on the rock,” he said with oppressive patience. “As she stepped onto the sand. With the child in her arms. And knocked Mary down. And since you don’t wish to hear any more about it, we had better get back to the shore. We’ll need to get Mary — Miss Bidwell, I mean — up to the clifftop some way.”
“We’ll manage it,” said Hugh-“Another few minutes will not signify. Here, Ned. Look at this.”
“So,” whispered Ned after a moment. His eyes widened, and he whistled sharply. “The trap failed because they knew about it.”
“Trap?” said Faustina sharply. “Ned, you know about this?”
“Of course,” he said absently. “That’s what I came down for, you know.”
“I don’t know!” Faustina said testily. “There is foo much mystery here to suit me. I must say, you both know far too much about smugglers and their activities to be quite respectable!”
Hugh flashed her a grim smile. “Reality hurts when you come up against it?”
She bit her lower lip in vexation. He was again the Hugh she expected — sharp, acid-tongued, arrogant. Could he have been the same man who had held her so comfortingly, so soothingly? She turned away. “This rock will be covered at high tide,” she informed them, “by a good two inches of water. Not that that signifies,” she added tartly, “not when there is a mystery at hand.”
“Come off it,” advised her cousin bluntly. “I imagine you had better know, Faustina. I suppose you can keep your mouth shut.”
She favored him with an icy stare, assisted by the realization that the soles of her new slippers were soaked through and her feet were uncomfortably chilly. “If I have to,” she told him.
“There’s nothing else for it,” suggested Hugh.
Agreeing reluctantly, Ned said, his eyes intent upon the bobbing kegs, “The riding officers of this shire are under my direction. And we set a trap, on information received — no matter how — to catch a certain smuggling ship that was due into the bay last night. But someone must have got wind of the trap, for nothing landed. Not a man on land stirred.”
“But what of this… this contraband here? How did it get here?”
“Sometimes, when there is danger of capture — like last night — they will lash their kegs together with ropes, fasten an anchor to the whole thing, and toss the lot overboard. Then, as the opportunity arises, the men from shore can retrieve the booty. Without ever contacting the boat itself — except for some secret signals that we don’t know yet.”
Hugh interrupted sharply. “The anchor is dragging!”
“The tide is rising,” pointed out Faustina reasonably. “The water is higher, and the anchor cable is too short.”
Hugh said thoughtfully, “What will you do, then? Set another trap?”
Ned glanced sharply at him. “The anchor must have slipped. As far as we know, those in the shore part of the operation must not know it yet. Perhaps we can trap them.”
“Unless we are being watched at this moment,” Hugh pointed out.
“Oh, what difference does it make!” cried Faustina, her patience, never strong, now wearing very thin. “My feet are wet, and that’s not a dead body, after all. It’s only a couple of kegs of brandy, and who cares whether it gets to shore or not? A great stir over a trifle!”
“Well, that’s pretty shabby!” said Ned. ‘I’m taking you into my confidence on this—”
“And I wish you hadn’t. All I know is that my feet are soaked through, and well all catch our death if we don’t get some dry clothing on. And you stand here and prate about traps!”
But Ned had not finished. Rightly assessing Faustina’s outburst as superficial, he said with heavy significance, “Unless this discovery of yours is sufficient warning.”
Her curiosity caught again, Faustina forgot her wet feet. “Warning? How would that be, Ned?”
“If the leader knew the trap was set, and he evaded it, then it is possible that he will cease his activities. He perhaps will feel it is too dangerous to continue.”
“How will he know that?”
“Perhaps,” said Ned ponderously, “he already knows.”
“Faustina became aware that Ned was not idly chattering. He had a purpose in mind. She looked at him with mingled respect and exasperation. “Why are you telling us this?” she demanded, and then, guessing wildly, she added, “Unless you think the leader is here? You mean you suspect
Pendarvis
?
You must have windmills in your head.”
Hugh said, wryly amused, “Now, Miss Kennett. He is bound to suspect everyone here in Devon.”
“Now, Ned, I don’t believe it! I can’t believe that you would lay a trap for an old friend of the standing of Pendarvis!”
“What do you know about it?” exploded Ned.
“I know this—”
Hugh made a gesture as though to stop Faustina’s angry words, but then he thought better of it. It was a novel experience to see Faustina defending him with the same hot intensity with which she attacked, and he was careful not to let any sign of enjoyment touch his expression.
“Oh! This is all silly!” she finished. ‘I’m going back to shore. I suppose it is useless to hope that I will receive any assistance from either of you!”
“It’s the yacht,” said Ned heavily. “We have a line on the smugglers’ vessel. A private yacht. We know how it is done, where the goods are picked up, where the yacht is kept — at least, come of the time. And when we find out who owns the yacht, we will know who the leader is.”
“Why the trouble,” said Faustina, “for a keg of brandy?”
“Never mind, Faustina,” said Ned.
“Then you were talking to Hugh,” she said. “I think—”
They were not destined to hear what she thought. A hail from the shore was insistent. Aubrey Talbot cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Don’t you know you’ll be swamped?”
“Well, I’m not leaving this evidence here,” declared Ned.
“I suppose you’re going to swim out after it?”
Ned favored Faustina with an impatient glance. “Pendarvis, will you…?”
“Stay with the booty?” quizzed Hugh. “I wouldn’t dare. It’s not going to get away, after all. And even if you do drag it ashore, what will it prove?”
Ned moved uneasily. “I don’t want to leave it here.”
“You think,” rallied Hugh, “that there is a mark on the kegs that will tell you whose yacht it came from? I had not thought you so naive.”
Faustina turned from contemplating the wide water channel between this large rock and the next toward shore. There was a challenge in Hugh’s tone that struck her. She looked at Ned, and he was gazing at Hugh levelly.
“Besides,” continued Hugh, ‘I thought you were after fishing boats. Now, it seems, you have in mind a gentleman’s yacht. I wonder whether you are not being led a merry chase by these smugglers?”
He let the suspicion hang in the air a moment, and then gave his hand to Faustina. “Let me cross first, and I’ll help you over. I had not realized you were so cold. Forgive me.”
Ned stuck doggedly to his premise. “It is a yacht, by all description. And if its owner is involved in this ugly business in any way, I will find it out.”
Faustina clung to Hugh’s hand. “Worried?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s ugly. And I don’t like it.”
But Hugh was thinking aloud. “I shouldn’t think a yacht could carry enough contraband to make it worthwhile. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
He thought better of informing her that the smugglers were in fact intending to land a cargo of great importance — in plain words, a spy for Napoleon. That was Ned’s own information, and Hugh had been told in confidence. A yacht would, of course, he able to carry one man and perhaps a keg or two to mislead the riding officers.
Faustina’s fingers tightened on his. “Your father’s yacht?”
“The
Gray
Goose
was sold,” he said quickly. “Vincent sent word to me that my father had let it go. I never heard who bought it.”
She looked sympathetically at him. There was a note in his voice that she could understand — a longing for days past, and perhaps a sense of loss that could not be repaid. Her face softened. —
“Worried?” he repeated, his voice once again the harsh-edged tone that she was accustomed to hearing from him. “Why do
you
worry? My problems are my own.”
She pulled her hand away from him as though his fingers scorched. But she would not let him know how much his bewildering change of mood hurt her. She said only, “As you have told me before.”
There were no more words spoken until they reached the shore.
Ned did follow Hugh’s advice to the extent of coming to shore just behind them. He moved aside with his man Linden, to confer at length out of hearing of the rest of them.
And in fact the scene on the beach was almost enough to drive all thoughts of the smugglers from Faustina’s mind.
The picnic party had gathered on the shore at the foot of the mole. Back beyond the headland lay the cliff path they had descended. Now it seemed very far away.
“Faustina, you’re soaked!” cried Julia.
Althea had subsided into whimpering little sobs. “Now, dear,” said Julia, “you were so brave out there on the rock! You don’t want to spoil all that, do you? We must still think you’re brave if you stop crying.”