Too Hot For A Rake (21 page)

Le Clair’s hand touched hers, a sign of gratitude at the little bit of comfort her shawl afforded him. “Re…René,” he breathed.

She was moved to tears at his touch. “There, there, René,” she said, feeling helpless all the same. “Close your eyes and rest, sir. I’m going to leave you for a bit, to search for food, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

She inched her way to a standing position, her eyes having become better accustomed to the dark. When she tested her foot on the ground, she could not set her heel down without wincing in pain, but she could use her toes and the ball of her foot to keep from falling. She turned to the wall and gathered a bit of water in her hand to ease her thirst. It was akin to swallowing one small teaspoon at a time, yet it tasted like rare wine.

Thus fortified, she began to explore her surroundings. She felt her way back to the larger part of the cellar and inched along the wall opposite the steps. One hand touched a crevasse and she drew it back in fright. Yet there was…something. Something curious, she thought, willing herself to return her hand and feel about. She ran her hand up and down first. And realized it was a set of shelves, some rotted and eaten away, yet the first one she touched was intact. Built long ago by the Goths, no doubt.

With great caution she reached back until her hand hit the wall of the shelf and touched something round, not smooth but full of grit. Helena grasped it and drew it toward her. It was the size of one of Cook’s jam jars.

Did the Goths know how to make jam? Might it still be good to eat? Suppose it’s turned poisonous after all these years? How would I know if it is? I wouldn’t, would I? What a gruesome thought. No matter. We either die of poison or starve to death.

She felt the top of the jar. A metal ring held it firmly against a rubber seal, which made her again wonder at the similarity to Cook’s jars. She reached under her wet gown and tugged the rest of her petticoat loose. There was enough left to fashion a sling around her neck into which she placed the jar. She slid up the wall and made her way back to Captain Le Clair.

She sat down next to him and tore yet another strip from her fast-disappearing petticoat. She used the wet cloth to wipe centuries of grime off the jar.
Clever, those Goths. They knew how to make glass, too.

Helena tried to pull the metal ring in order to open it, but it refused to budge.

The weakened man raised his head. “What is that noise?”

“I found a glass jar. From its weight, there may be food in it, but I don’t have enough strength to open it.”

“Food?”

Helena heard his stomach grumble. “I don’t even know if it’s safe to eat, Captain.”

“If it isn’t safe, it would smell rancid. Can you…break the jar?”

“Let me try.” She placed the sling around the jar, held it by the bottom and rapped the top against the wall. They both heard the crack.

“May I smell it?” Le Clair asked, inching his way into a sitting position. Without a word, she placed the jar in his outstretched hands. He removed the fabric and said, “The bottom of the jar is in one piece. No splinters of glass. Good sign.”

It seemed to Helena that his voice grew stronger with anticipation. She hoped he would not be disappointed. “Does it smell rancid?”

“No. It smells sweet. I should like to try it, with your permission, Lady Fairchild.”

“I give you leave to forgo all formality, René. My name is Helena. Go ahead and taste it, but be careful. You haven’t eaten anything in days. Put just a drop on the tip of your finger.”

He did as she suggested. “It’s…it’s jam. Sweet, sweet jam. Raspberry, I think. Would you like some, Lady Helena?”

She smiled at his gallantry, certain he’d been starved. “No. I had breakfast not long ago. Go ahead, Captain, but just a little. You’ll have to wait a bit to see to its effects on you before you eat any more.”

“A wise idea. I’ll give you the jar for safekeeping.”

He did so, but not before Helena heard the faint sound of slurping. The starving man was licking his fingers. “That’s wise, sir. Why not lie down again and rest? Help will come just as soon as they discover I am missing, I promise you.”

Thursday, the Fourteenth of May, 1818

Waverley reached the castle just as the sun came up. “Rub my horse down well, Jess,” he said to the stable boy. The orphan he had purchased from the poulterer turned out to have a way with horses. “I’ve ridden him too hard, Jess.” He threw the lad his reins and strode toward the kitchen, the closest entry to the castle. The smell of fresh-baked bread and God only knew what other goodies wafted into his nostrils, reminding him he was famished. He had not stopped to dine in his haste to return home to Helena, preferring instead to buy bread and cheese he could eat on the way.

“Morning, Cook,” he said cheerfully. “What’s that I smell?”

Cook’s bleak red eyes stared at him in surprise. “Is it really you, milord? Thank God you’ve come home at last.”

“What’s wrong? Is it my grandmother…?”

“No, milord. The dear dowager is well. It’s…it’s…” She began to sob into her apron.

“For pity’s sake, ma’am! Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”

Trudy appeared in the doorway carrying an armful of wood. “It’s Lady Helena, milord. She’s gone missing.”

His heart sank. “What do you mean? When was this? Did she leave no message? Tell me what you know, lass,” he urged.

“Emma said her la’ship came down here on Monday. She et some scones wi’ her chocolate. Told Emma she was agoin’ to inspect the cellar. No one’s seen her since, milord.”

“She’s been missing for three whole days? Has no attempt been made to find her direction?” He grabbed a hot scone, burning his hand. “Bloody hell!”

Cook took a handful of butter, smeared it on his hand, and wrapped it with a cloth. “Here is some water for you to drink, milord. I’ll wrap some scones for you to take.”

“Just one, thank you, and I’ll be off.” Waverley raced back to the stables, where the lad was still attending to the horse he had ridden. “Where’s Casper?”

“He went to Sennen Cove to fetch Amy, your lordship.”

“Put the brush down, Jess, and show me what steel you’re made of. Saddle up a fresh horse for me at once.” He ate his scone while he waited. When Jess brought forward a fine bay, the marquis mounted and said, “Now run up to my chambers as fast as you can. Tell my secretary to meet me at the front door.”

He raced round to the front of the castle.

Rupert was waiting for him. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Lady Helena is missing. We’ve searched everywhere, but her ladyship is nowhere to be found, sir.”

“Yes, I know. As soon as Casper comes back, tell him to organize a search party for her.” He wheeled around and rode off in the direction of the cliffs at a punishing pace. His frantic mind began to envision all sorts of disasters befalling the woman he loved. The wind kicked up, sending a chill through his bones. He couldn’t focus his mind on anything but Helena. How would he go on living without the woman who had stolen his heart? Why couldn’t he breathe? Why did his hands tingle at the recollection of touching her? He urged his horse on. A seagull perched on the edge of the rock ledge that ran above him squawked as if to object to the noise of the horse’s hooves. The gull screeched and soared away.

When he reached the road above the sea, Waverley tied his horse to a tree and climbed down to the beach over the slippery moss-covered stones. The marquis turned his head at an unfamiliar sound. At first, there was no one in sight, but soon he made out a small figure running toward him and shouting at the top of his lungs. When he reached his master, the lad fell to his knees, his frail chest heaving, his breath coming in short bursts. “I run all the way,” Jess panted.

Waverley waited to give the lad time to catch his breath. “What is it, son?”

“I heered summat that’ll help us find milady.”

“Go on,” said the marquis, ignoring the lad’s effort to include himself in the search. “What did you hear?”

“That Trasker feller came to the stable to ’itch up ’orses to ’is carriage. ’Is ma was wif ’im. I hid cuz ’Arry allus cuffs me for no reason when ’e sees me.”

“What did you hear him say, Jess? Tell me quick, lad.”

“’E said summat ’bout lockin’ ’er la’ship somewheres where it ’ud soon be so far under water, nobody ’uld ever find ’er. An’ then ’is ma said ’e did good.”

Waverley frowned, searching his mind in an effort to unlock the meaning of Trasker’s cryptic words. “He cannot possibly mean she’s under the ruins of the old abbey,” he said aloud. He thought a moment, then shouted, “Of course he can! There’s an old cellar under there!” He asked, “Can you ride my horse, Jess?”

“There an’t a ’orse alive I can’t ride. Casper says I wuz borned in the saddle.”

Waverley smiled at the lad’s fearless pride, slid off his horse and boosted Jess into the saddle. “You must listen carefully, for I have a notion I know just where milady is. Here is what you must do. I’m counting on you and I know you won’t fail me.” In a few words, he told the boy and took himself off on a run.

The terrain along the coast was treacherous. It slowed his progress. By the time he reached Monster Point, the familiar crest he was seeking, he was cut, scraped and shaken to the core. It didn’t take him long to find the familiar opening underneath “the monster’s” chin. He removed his coat and his boots and placed them high up on the bridge of the monster’s nose. He recalled that the tide had never reached that high when he was a lad.

The boulder he and his mates thought of as “the monster” stood sentinel over the English Channel, its long mane facing the land. The monster’s forbidding face had stirred their imaginations, he recalled. At high tide, he and his daredevil friends took turns climbing up on the monster’s nose and diving into the sea.

He ducked under the neck of the jagged face that hung suspended over the sea. His luck held, for the tide was not yet high enough to hide the sliver of sand he needed for entry. He stepped gingerly across the sand to a gap in the wall, the only path that led to the old cellar under the abandoned abbey.

When he was a lad, free traders had used it to store smuggled goods until the excise men were no longer on their trail. That gave him and his boyhood friends the opportunity to break into their stores and drink themselves silly.

The sand slip held an inch of water, the sign of a rising tide. He waded in, running one hand along the wall for purchase. The cave was dark, forcing him to stop and wait until his eyes adjusted to it. He inched around the first bend of the cave and followed the ripple of the uneven rock wall. He was forced to endure the discomforts of frigid seawater. He barked his shins on rough stone and resisted the urge to howl in pain. He thrust one hand to the top of the wall, and discovered the ledge that ran around the back of the cave. He allowed himself an inner smile of victory, for he knew he’d found the beginnings of the old cellar walls, carved as it were, from the natural seawall.

Waverley hoisted himself up onto a ledge covered with slime, knelt there for a minute to let the water drain off his soggy trousers and shifted his feet. Using the wall as a guide, he moved along the granite until he felt the seam that told him he’d reached the ramp into the old cellar. He bent his knees and crept up the sloping rock to the ancient cellar entrance, slipping and sliding all the way.

Behind him, darkness descended, forcing him to rely on sheer instinct. Waverley found the door. It was just where he remembered, he thought in triumph. He pushed it, but it did not give. He threw his body weight against the door, felt the metal of the rusted latches snap, and heard the clink of iron when the door fell to the ground on the other side, its rusted hinges rasping as it landed.

Rancid water rushed at him. He brushed it away from his eyes with the back of his hand, took a deep breath, and proceeded into the darkness.

As he stepped inside, his nostrils wrinkled in protest against the fetid air. He fell to his knees and inched along until he found the stone stairs, worn thin with age, that led up to the old cellar. In spite of their condition, he knew they would still hold a man’s weight. Slowly he rose and began traversing the floor, his wet feet slipping on the mossy stones. He heard an odd sound and stopped to listen.

His ears detected a faint rustling in one of the far corners. Rats no doubt. He shuddered but continued on cautiously. He heard another sound. Another rodent? Or was that a groan? His heart slammed against his chest, but he forced himself to keep inching along walls slick with water, thick with lichen. He stumbled over broken staves from ancient barrels and shreds of old sailcloth. He froze when his foot touched something soft, a bundle perhaps.

Waverley nudged it again. This time the bundle moved. He bent to examine it. He touched it. Sailcloth. What was underneath? Bloody hell! He ran his hands over it until he found a hole large enough for one of his fingers. He hoped to God it wasn’t some strange sea monster ready to deprive him of his finger. He heard a whimper escape. He pulled the canvas up in one sweeping motion and saw the whites of not one but two pairs of frightened eyes staring up at him.

“Stay back! I have a gun,” Helena said in a quavering voice.

Waverley burst out laughing. “Not that old trick again, my adored raven. We both know you can’t shoot worth a bloody damn.” Relief at having found her alive flooded his whole being. “Are you all right, my darling?”

“Desmond? I thought we were going to die here. How did you find us?”

“Never mind that. You’re safe now. Who’s this beside you?”

“Allow me to introduce you to a fine gentleman, my lord. This is Captain René Le Clair of the shipwrecked
Le Coq d’Or.
He sailed from Cherbourg with a full cargo of French wines and brandies. But his crew and his passengers were all murdered by smugglers.” She turned to the captain, who was in a swoon. “Wake up, René. This is the Marquis of Waverley. He’s come to rescue us.” She turned her face to Waverley. “He speaks only French.”

“How did you get here, Le Clair?” Waverley asked in the man’s native tongue.

“Never mind that, for now,” Helena interrupted. “Captain Le Clair is gravely ill. You must take him out of here and see to his recovery. He wants those murdering smugglers found so he can testify against them, a thing he is determined to do before he returns to France.”

“I’ll take you both out of here. We’ll go up to the first cellar and…”

Helena touched his face with her hand. “Not possible, my darling,” she said gently. “Someone slammed the door at the top of the stairs shut and jammed the lock. The key I used to open the door is useless. How did you get in here? No matter. You’ll have to take the captain out the way you came in. You must hurry, love. He’s very weak.”

“All right, it won’t be easy, but with your help, we’ll manage.”

Helena shook her head. “I can’t help you, love. My ankle is swollen and I can’t walk on it.”

Waverley thought a moment. He took off his coat. “You’ll have to help me, my sweet.” Without waiting for her answer, he removed his shirt. “Sir?”

“
Oui?
” Le Clair’s voice trembled.

“I’m going to fashion a sling out of my shirt and tie you onto my back. Can you stand if milady helps you?”

“
Oui,
” the captain repeated in a trembling voice.

“Give me a moment, sir.” Waverley lifted Helena and held her tightly. “I love you, my precious raven,” he murmured into her ear. “Jess should be waiting outside with my horse. I can’t take the chance of bringing the captain into the castle. The Traskers have too many spies. I’ve a strong suspicion those two have had a hand in the dreadful business of murder and smuggling. Jess will take the captain to the Ship Inn with instructions from me to arrange for Doctor Fenwick to attend him. Then I’ll come back for you. Take heart, my love. I’ll be as quick as I can.” He kissed her hard, a kiss she returned with her heart and soul.

She followed his instructions and the captain was soon secured. “You’ll have to hold on to me, sir. I need both my hands to grasp the ledge.” He turned to Helena and added, “Be brave, precious raven.”

“Come back quickly,” she whispered, though she knew he was out of earshot. All the same, the words gave her courage. She sank down, once again trying to ignore her throbbing ankle, and closed her eyes to rest until Waverley returned for her.

The marquis eased himself into the frigid water. The tide had risen even higher during the few minutes he had been inside. Every muscle urged him to hurry, to go back for Helena without delay. But he forced himself to proceed slowly to protect the captain, dragging his feet through wet sand and stone while his pulse raced.

At last he could make out the walls of the cave leading outside and hurried in spite of his burden. When he crawled out into the light, he squeezed his eyes shut against the sun’s harsh glare.

He staggered out of the water, untied his shirt and eased the captain down onto the sand before he collapsed on his hands and knees and panted for breath. He heard someone riding down the ravine and could only hope that it was Jess, for he didn’t have the strength to fight off an enemy attack.

“’Ere now, sir. You all right?” the lad asked, holding the reins of the horse. “But where’s milady? An’ who’s this?”

“Where are the others?”

“Out searchin’ for milady, like you said, yer lordship.”

“Her ladyship is waiting for me to return for her. She’s twisted her ankle badly. This is Captain Le Clair, lad. He’s very weak and he doesn’t speak English. Steady the horse, Jess. I’ll lift the captain up behind you and tie him to you with my shirt. Ride hell for leather to the Ship Inn. Tell Tom or Mrs. Wells to feed and bed this man and call Doctor Fenwick to attend him at once. I’ll pay all charges. It’s important we save his life. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. But what about…?”

“I’m going back for your mistress. He lifted the captain up behind Jess and tied him securely. He slapped the horse’s rump and watched them ride off. Then he turned back to rescue Helena. He splashed back into icy tidewater up to his knees and forced his weary legs to move into the darkness of the cave.

Helena hugged herself to keep the cold from seeping further into her being. Her teeth chattered, but her mind was more at ease now that Waverley had come to the rescue. He would be back for her as soon as he carried the ailing captain to safety. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the damp wall and thought of the man she loved.