Hugo and the Maiden

by S. M. LaViolette

  Martha bustled around the small space far more efficiently than her father had.

  Hugo glanced around—where was Mr. Pringle? “Is your father here?”

  “No, he’s gone to sit with Gerry’s wife, Adele.”

  Even a whore like Hugo knew he shouldn’t be in the house alone with a young unmarried woman—not unless he wanted to destroy her reputation.

  “I should wait outside,” he said when she turned to place cups and plates on the table.

  Martha smiled. “Nobody will think the worse of me for giving you a cup of tea and a few biscuits after the day you’ve had.”

  “But—”

  “If it makes you feel better, I can open the front door.”

  As she left the room Hugo marveled at how quickly their roles had changed. Since when was he such a knight protector? But he knew the answer to that: he didn’t want to repay Mr. Pringle’s kindness with scandal.

  Nor do you want to be forced into marriage.

  The thought drove him to his feet just as Martha entered the kitchen.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’d rather have a pint,” he lied. “If you don’t mind being seen with me in all my dirt I’d like to go down to the Vicar as we’d planned.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Good, I’ll wait outside for you.” Hugo darted out the door before she could stop him.

  He was pacing and delivering a lecture to himself on the subject of proper behavior when Martha opened the cottage door.

  He stopped in mid-stride and looked up at her. She had tucked her lovely hair under an old straw hat and had tossed a crocheted blue shawl around her shoulders.

  She was the most beautiful thing Hugo had ever seen.

  “Hugo?”

  He jolted. “Hmm?”

  “I’m ready.”

  They set off.

  “What did you do today?” Hugo asked, not wanting to think about his own day.

  “I transcribed my father’s last sermon for him.”

  “You transcribed it?”

  “Yes, he keeps a record of them all, a leather-bound book just for that purpose, but his handwriting is dreadful, so I copy it into the book for him. It is also an opportunity to read his words over. Sometimes, on a Sunday there are things to distract me.”

  Hugo felt a twinge of guilt at her words; he’d never heard her father speak.

  There it was again—another bizarre feeling assaulting him: guilt. Hugo had always been the most guilt-free person in Britain and now he was—

  “Martha?”

  Hugo and Martha turned to find Mrs. Fergusson, Cailean’s aunt, rushing toward them.

  “What is it, Mrs. Fergusson?” Martha asked.

  The old woman’s expression was tense and pinched. “It’s Small Cailean.”

  “What about Small Cailean?” Hugo asked before Martha could speak.

  “He didn’t come back last night and he’s not back again tonight.”

  “Who saw him last?”

  “Er, my lad, Hamish.”

  Hamish Fergusson was one of Cailean’s principal tormentors; Hugo had already given the lad a stern talking-to about teasing his giant but gentle cousin.

  “Did your boy do something to him?” Hugo demanded, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

  “Oh, boys will be boys, you know. It’s nothing that—”

  “Where was he last seen?” Martha cut Hugo a worried glance.

  “He was off looking for Lily.”

  “What happened to Lily?” Hugo asked, dread pooling in his chest.

  “Well, the boys were just playin’ and—”

  “What did they do to her?”

  The old woman flinched at the cold menace in his tone.

  Martha laid a hand on his shoulder. “Hugo, perhaps you should—”

  “No, Martha—I want the truth.” He frowned at Mrs. Fergusson. “And I want it now.”

  “Hamish said they chased Lily into the Gloup,” Mrs. Fergusson blurted.

  “Bloody hell!”

  “But they didn’t mean—”

  Hugo turned away from her before he said something he’d regret. “I’ve not been into the caves because Cailean is terrified of them,” he admitted to Martha. “Do you think he would have braved his fear if Lily went in there?”

  “Cailean knows the entire island like the back of his hand, Hugo—the Gloup included.” She turned to the older woman. “What is the tide tonight?”

  “It’s almost low slack.”

  “That’s a bit of luck, Hugo. Low slack is the only time you can access the cave,” Martha explained.

  “So we can go now, then?” Hugo said, trying not to think of the boy and his damned rat scared or hurt someplace. Dammit! He should have known something was amiss when Cailean hadn’t shown up to visit him yesterday evening.

  “Have you looked elsewhere for him, Mrs. Fergusson?” Martha asked.

  “I’ve got Hamish and the boys lookin’ for him around Swilkie Point and—”

  “He’s hardly likely to answer the same people who drove him into hiding, is he?”

  Mrs. Fergusson recoiled from Hugo’s anger.

  “Who do you know who’s not out tonight?” Martha asked softly, giving Hugo a chiding look.

  Hugo knew she meant the fishing boats. Almost every fisherman on the island was out on the water taking advantage of some sort of fish run.

  “Jem Packard isn’t out—I saw the Louise on the beach.” Mrs. Fergusson stared worriedly at Hugo.

  Bloody right she should.

  “Hugo and I will fetch oil lamps and get over to the Gloup. You go ask Jem if he will take the Louise out and check some of Cailean’s favorite places.”

  “Aye,” Mrs. Fergusson nodded. “I’ll get Hamish to take me where they’ve already looked and we’ll look again. He’ll not be afraid if I call for him.”

  “Good,” Martha said. “You go on now. We’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve had a look.”

  Martha turned to him as Mrs. Fergusson hustled away. “The last time Cailean slept in the caves he got a proper scolding after the entire island was out looking for him. That is likely why he was too terrified to show them to you. Still, searching for Lily would have made him swallow his fear. And perhaps he was trapped down there by the tide.”

  “But two nights?”

  “Come, let’s get the lanterns.” She smiled up at him. “Don’t fret, Hugo. I know you love him and—”

  “I don’t love him,” Hugo quickly denied. “I mean, I like him, of course. I just think that, er, well.” He grimaced. “The man saved my life—did you know that? If he’d not found me that night I would have died. And I know he doesn’t like being in the dark when he’s alone—” He cut Martha an embarrassed glance. “He likes me to walk him home from Mr. Stogden’s when there’s no moon,” he explained. He shoved a hand through his hair. “He loves that bloody rat. I can see him risking his life for her.”

  “It is all right to worry, Hugo. That’s what we do with people we care about—worry about them.” Martha’s tone was one of gentle amusement.

  ◆◆◆

  Hugo filled two lamps while Martha left a brief note for her father. She didn’t think he’d be coming home until late since poor Adele had been almost hysterical about Gerry, but she didn’t want him to worry if he returned to find her gone.

  “Tell me about these caves,” Hugo asked as they started toward the Gloup.

  “The Gloup has been used for smuggling over the years,” she said. “For all I know it could be in use right now.”

  “Smuggling what? I wouldn’t have thought anyone here could afford the goods that are usually smuggled.”

  “And you’d be right. It’s mainly used to store spirits that are made here before they’re taken to the mainland. There are also items collected from, er, well—”

  “Wreckers store their booty in the caves,” he guessed.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Good Lord, wh
y would anyone carry things all the way down into a cave that you can only reach for an hour a day?”

  “You can reach it anytime by boat.”

  “Might it be dangerous for Cailean—for you—to go down there?”

  “None of the locals would hurt Cailean.”

  “Except his own cousin.”

  “They’re just boys, Hugo.”

  His expression was skeptical, but he didn’t argue.

  They came to the sloping rock pathway that led down into caves and had to go single file, each holding a lamp as they picked their way down.

  “The caves branch off in several places,” she said. “We’ll keep on the one heading north.”

  “Why that one?”

  “The others become quite small.” Her voice bounced off the hard rock that was now on three sides of them.

  “How long do we have before we need to leave?” Hugo held her lantern when she needed both hands to climb over a pile of rocks. Once she was down, he handed her both lights so he could do the same.

  “We can stay in the main cave forever without drowning. It only gets blocked off because part of the passageway fills with water.

  He took back his lamp and they continued. “I’m surprised enterprising young boys like Hamish aren’t down here making mischief.”

  “They know better than to trifle with the men who use these caves,” she said as they approached the tunnel opening.

  Hugo lifted his lamp and stared into the gloom ahead. “I’ll go first.”

  “Once you reach the section that is submerged daily the rocks will be slippery with seaweed, so you must be careful.”

  Hugo’s dark eyes glittered in the yellow light of the lantern. “Are you worried about me, Miss Martha Pringle?” he teased. “You know what worrying about somebody means, don’t you?” he asked, turning her own words back at her.

  “I’m not worried about you, Mr. Buckingham. But that’s my father’s favorite lamp you’re holding. I should hate for you to trip and break it.”

  He chuckled, the sound echoing eerily in the darkness ahead.

  The ground ahead was sharp and rocky, punctuated by areas that were smooth with pebbly sand.

  “Did you mark the time when we came down?” Hugo asked.

  “We have a bit less than an hour and it takes about ten or fifteen minutes to get to the main cave.”

  “We’ll be cutting it close.”

  “Yes, but we wouldn’t have any more time at the next low.”

  The air was so humid it was like breathing water.

  “I can’t believe anyone would come all the way down here just to distill some of that wretched corn liquor.”

  “Oh, you’ve had some of that, have you?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Martha chuckled at his obvious distaste. “You’ll need to toughen up if you’re to ever make an islander, Hugo Buckingham.”

  An uncomfortable pause followed her words, reminding her that he would be gone soon; he would never become an islander.

  “Tell me about where you live—your house in London,” she asked, hoping to get his mind off the task at hand.

  He hesitated so long she thought he might not answer—she had noticed that he was close-mouthed when it came to his personal matters, although he certainly didn’t mind asking other people questions.

  “I shared a house with some others.”

  “Do you have an office near the—where did you say you worked? The Exchange?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought a person required a great deal of—” Martha’s face became hot as she realized what she’d been about to ask. “Er, I didn’t mean to—”

  He chuckled. “Are you trying to discern whether I am a wealthy man, Miss Pringle?”

  “Of course not.”

  He stopped so suddenly that Martha bumped into him.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He crouched down and then turned, his expression grim as he moved so she could see what he was looking at: it was dried blood, and a great deal of it, splattered over the rocky floor of the tunnel.

  Martha raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh no! Do you—”

  But Hugo was already walking.

  Chapter 17

  There was a distracting buzzing in Hugo’s head. Or maybe it was outside of his head.

  Either way, it was maddening. A vision of quiet, gentle Cailean with his head split open flickered through his mind’s eye and the buzzing intensified.

  “Hugo. Hugo? Hugo!” Martha’s breathless voice came from behind him.

  “What?” he barked.

  “We don’t know it is Cailean’s blood.”

  “We don’t know it isn’t.”

  “We won’t be of help to anyone if we hurt ourselves before we can get there.” Her hand landed on his shoulder. “Please.” She was panting so Hugo stopped. “Thank you.”

  They stood for a moment while Martha caught her breath. “That blood could be any number of things, Hugo. I know for a fact that Bridget Simpson’s dog has been stealing hens. And then there’s—”

  “It’s all right, Martha. I’ve calmed down.” She gave him a doubtful smile, which Hugo returned. “Shall we carry on?” They walked in silence for a while.

  “You mentioned some other tunnels,” Hugo said a short time later. “Should we check those first or go straight to the main?”

  “If he came after Lily he might have gone into any of the passageways and not all the way to the still cave.”

  “And you say this still is no longer in use?” he asked, more to hear her voice rather than any real interest in island brewing.

  “Not after some long-ago customs agent or exciseman found it. They destroyed it, but the name stuck.”

  “The islanders didn’t replace it?”

  “No. The caves are used for smuggling, but nothing so permanent as brewing anymore.”

  Hugo couldn’t imagine spending any time down here no matter how good the money might be. The stench of seaweed, fish, and rot that clung to everything on the island was especially strong.

  “Right ahead is the first tunnel that branches off,” Martha said.

  The tunnel in question looked like more of a hole. They’d only gone about ten feet in when the passage narrowed dramatically.

  “This would be a devil of a place for a man as tall as Cailean,” Hugo muttered, already bent nearly double.

  “Why don’t you let me go first?”

  Hugo didn’t like that idea. At all. “I can go a bit farther.” Unfortunately, that was all he could go. He dropped to his haunches and turned to Martha, who was still upright. Hugo grinned up at her. “Why, you’re just a little thing.”

  “I am five foot one- and three-quarter inches.”

  “Ah.”

  She pursed her sinful lips and looked down her small, straight nose at him. “So, have you changed your mind about letting me go first?”

  “All right; but be careful. And go slowly—if you slip and sprain an ankle it would be difficult to—”

  “Why, Hugo—are you worried about me?” She was smiling—no grinning—down at him.

  “No, I’m worried about how sore my back would be having to carry you.”

  She laughed.

  “Go on with you,” he said gruffly.

  “Yes, Mr. Buckingham.”

  “How very obedient you are, Miss Pringle. I do like the sound of that.”

  She edged around him and proceeded into the darkness. “I wouldn’t become accustomed to it, Mr. Buckingham,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  The light from her lamp disappeared far too quickly. “Keep talking to me, Martha.”

  “Do you miss me already?” Her voice sounded hollow and bounced off the walls—an odd, soggy echo.

  “Do you like living on Stroma—or would you like to one day leave?”

  “I could make a case for either.” Her voice was far too faint for his liking.

  “Martha? How far—”

  “Oh,
Hugo. Oh, no!”

  “What is it? Martha? Martha!” Hugo snatched up the lamp and started after her, his knees bent as he all but crawled forward. “I’m coming. Just—”

  “I am not hurt. But I’ve found a dead otter.”

  Hugo sank to his haunches in relief, blood pounding in his ears. Thank. Bloody. Hell.

  “Hugo?”

  “What is it, darling?” The word slipped out, and the silence that followed was a good eight-months pregnant.

  “This isn’t Lily.”

  “Can you tell the difference between one otter and another?”

  “Can you tell between one dog and another? Or between two cats?”

  That was true; he’d know Tiger anywhere.

  “Oh, heavens,” she said, which was as close as Martha ever got to cursing. “It’s just dreadful—so many cuts and gashes. I can’t believe the poor creature made it this far.”

  “From a knife or another animal?”

  “Um, I don’t know. It could be either.”

  “Are there any animals that might have done this?”

  “Well, male otters can be quite vicious.” She paused. “I believe this is a boy otter.”

  Hugo heard her mortification at having to articulate such a thing and couldn’t help laughing.

  “You are not a nice man.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “Now get back here.”

  ◆◆◆

  By the time they crept out of the dead otter cave more than twenty minutes had passed.

  “We have to hurry, Hugo,” Martha said, frowning at the watch pinned to her bodice.

  “Is the next cave like that?”

  “Even narrower.”

  “I think we should get to the main cavern first and look at smaller ones on the way back if we have time. What do you think?”

  “We could split—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t even say it.”

  “Are you afraid to be alone?”

  “I’m not bloody keen on caves or dead animals or a tide about to rush in and drown us.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m delighted to amuse you, Miss Pringle. How much farther?”

  “No more than a few minutes.”

  Hugo stopped. Martha wasn’t expecting it and staggered. He caught her, one of his hands on her waist to steady her.

  Martha had never been this close to him; he was like a furnace. And so very, very … hard.