“I mean I’ll think about it, Ross, while you are away. At least I can easily promise you that you won’t come back and find me engaged to Richard, woo he ne’er so winningly.”
“Thank you, Chris.” Surprisingly, he picked up her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for everything.”
“I’d wait to thank me, if I were you, till this war is over and we are unhung—and unmarried, too, let us hope.”
“Amen to that. Chris, you’re a friend in a thousand.”
She managed a gallant pretense at a laugh. “My dear Ross, I do recommend that while you are away you study a little how to behave as a courting lover. Not much use our pretending to be engaged if you treat me like something between a younger brother and a valued old retainer.”
“Chris! I really believe you will do it!”
“I really believe I have gone stark, staring mad. But, no, I’ll decide nothing till you get back. Who knows, with a little bit of luck I may be safely jailed in Dover Castle by then and my problems all solved for me.”
“I don’t think it for a moment. You and Parkes will manage admirably between you, I am sure.”
“Dear Ross, I find your confidence in me more touching than I can say.”
Chapter Six
“Miss! Miss Christina!” Betty’s voice dredged Christina up out of a great depth of sleep.
“Yes?” She turned over reluctantly in bed, then sat up suddenly as the girl drew back the curtains and let in a great flood of daylight. “Goodness, what time is it?”
“Late, miss. I didn’t have the heart to wake you before. You was dead to the world. But there’s the deuce to pay downstairs and Mr. Parkes said I’d best call you.”
“Why? What’s the matter?” She was out of bed already, afraid she knew.
But Betty’s next words were reassuring. “Matter enough! There’s a whole troop of soldiers outside wanting to search the house. Proper dragoons they are, miss, you just wait till you see them. They make Mr. Ross and his Volunteers look like a parcel of liverymen. Not but what I wish Mr. Ross was here to deal with them. Old Master’s in a proper tearer, Parkes says, and don’t want to have them in the house. Which it stands to reason we’ll have to, sooner or later.”
“Of course. But”—her heart sank—“where is Mr. Ross?”
“Rode off to London at first light. Said he had to have his hair cut, of all things. If you ask me, the lieutenant’s not best pleased at finding him gone. Did you hear them last night, miss?”
“Last night? What do you mean?” She let Betty give her the servants’ version of last night’s events while she helped her dress and was at once shocked and relieved to see how patently Betty was on the smugglers’ side. If there had been any suspicious traces in the kitchen this morning, the dragoons were not likely to hear about them.
“But where are the soldiers now?”
“Out front, miss, drawn up ever so regular on the drive, waiting for Old Master to dress and receive ’em. And taking his time something shocking he is, according to his man.”
“I’d best go to him. They’ve not left the lieutenant outside, have they?”
“Oh no, miss, a handsome young man like him. He’s in the breakfast room, taking coffee with Mr. Richard.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Thank you, Betty. Tell Parkes I’ll be down as soon as I have seen my grandfather.” She crossed the hall and knocked softly on the door of her grandfather’s rooms, wishing, as she did so, more than ever that she had been able to see Ross this morning before he left.
“Good morning, miss.” She suspected Greg, her grandfather’s man, of disliking her, but he concealed it well. “Mr. Tretteign was just asking for you.”
“Good. Is he up then?”
“Yes, indeed, miss, with such an upheaval belowstairs.” He ushered her through the little antechamber into the luxurious sitting room. Her grandfather was sitting fully dressed in his big chair by the fire, drinking ginger tea.
“There you are at last, girl. Now, tell me what’s all this to-do belowstairs.” And then, on an even more irritable note, “You may go, Greg, no need to stand there with your great ears agape.”
“I only know what Betty’s told me.” She watched the door close behind the man. “Some affray last night with a gang of smugglers, I understand, and the lieutenant thinks a wounded man might be hiding here. God knows why.”
“No need to sound so prissy, girl. You know as well as I do where our brandy comes from—and our tea, for the matter of that. But that’s not the question. What I want to know is, do we let them search?”
“Of course we must, Grandfather. They’ll find nothing.” She hoped she was right. “The sooner we let them search, the sooner we’ll be rid of them.”
“That’s sense.” He pulled himself creakily to his feet. “I’ll have to see them. Richard’s no more use than a tailor’s dummy. Trust Ross to be away when he’s needed. Gone to London to get his hair cut, of all the mad starts!” But he did not sound displeased. “Making a lady’s man of himself, hey? And about time, too. Hasn’t got eyes to see the length of his nose, that boy. Well, no wonder. Give me your arm, girl. They’ll find nothing, you say?”
“Of course not, Grandfather. Parkes and I will see to them. You need not trouble yourself, beyond speaking to the lieutenant.”
“Parkes and you, what?” Now he gave her a very sharp look indeed. “Where’s that man of mine? I can’t get down stairs with only a chit like you to support me!”
Lieutenant Trevis, growing impatient with the delay and Richard’s small talk, emerged into the main hall in time to see old Mr. Tretteign make his laborious way downstairs, supported on one side by his tall granddaughter, on the other by the assiduous Greg. His old-fashioned tie wig, his brown suit made in the old style, with knee breeches and salmon-colored silk stockings, all contributed to a formidable effect. “Well, young man,” he paused on the second to bottom step, thus maintaining a slight advantage of height. Christina, standing beside him, also seemed formidable, a tall brown-skinned goddess in gray worsted. “You’ve got me up five hours early,” continued Mr. Tretteign. “What now?”
Lieutenant Trevis had had no intention of apologizing, but found himself doing so just the same as he explained about the man they had chased the night before, their quick search of the outbuildings and subsequent failure to find any trace of the wounded man elsewhere. “He must have had help,” he concluded. “With your permission, sir, we’d like to search the house now.”
“Or without it, what? I don’t know what you expect to find. We lock up tight down here on the marsh. Doors and windows. Ask the butler—it’s his job.” He raised his voice. “Parkes! Where are you, man?”
“I already have, sir,” said the lieutenant as Parkes emerged from the door to the servants’ quarters. “He tells me all was locked as usual last night. But, suppose an accomplice inside—”
“One of the servants? Bah—they know better. But search if you must, Lieutenant, quickly … and get it over with. Parkes, let them in through the stable yard.”
“Thank you, sir.” The lieutenant went to the front door to give his orders to the men outside. Christina let out a little, silent breath. All this time she had been holding Richard’s eyes with her own, defying him, silently, to mention finding the side door unlocked the night before.
He was looking extremely put out, she noticed, and his first words were reassuring. “I never heard of such an ill-managed business,” he said. “Smugglers indeed! If it were to get about town that the house I stayed in had been under suspicion—why, it might cost me my promotion. I suppose you must let them search, Grandfather?”
“Of course I must. It is to all our interests to prove we are not harboring their wounded man.”
“Wounded man! If you ask me, it’s all a pack of lies. They never even came to grips with the smugglers—if they were smugglers and not some innocent night fishermen—and made up the story of wounding one of them to impress their superiors. As for suggesting he might be shelte
ring here, at Tretteign Grange—why it’s unthinkable. And I can tell you I have given that young lieutenant a round warning that if word of this gets about I shall lodge a complaint where it will hurt him most.”
“With the Duke of York?” The old man’s voice was sardonic. “I did not know he was a friend of yours, Richard. Christina, while this imposition continues, I will drink a cup of bohea in the breakfast room.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
The dragoons were quick, courteous and formidably efficient. Christina, who had hurried upstairs to warn her aunt of the impending search, watched with uneasy respect as two of them took the measurements of the upper hall in order to make sure there were no secret rooms or passages.
The lieutenant was directing operations, but turned to Christina as she emerged from her aunt’s room. “You’re the American young lady, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Would you know if there were any priests’ holes or such?”
“I’ve certainly never heard of any, but of course I’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“Precisely. And you heard nothing last night? This is your room, is it not? You will forgive us, I know, for searching it?” One of his men had just emerged with a shake of his head.
“Yes.” She could not help being sorry for the young lieutenant, whose chain of reasoning was obvious: she was a stranger, recently arrived from America; she could not possibly be involved with the gang of smugglers. He thought he could trust her. For a moment, she was angry with herself. He ought to be able to trust her. But, it was no use: she was committed. “Of course you must search everywhere,” she went on. “But I am sure you’ll find nothing. I was awake for some time last night. I’m sure I should have heard anyone coming across the shingle. You know how noisy it is. And what difficult going. Could a wounded man …” She remembered Richard’s suggestion. “Are you quite sure someone was wounded?”
For the moment they were alone in the hall, while his men moved systematically from one bedroom to the next. His eyes met her with a frank appeal she found hard to bear. “That’s precisely my difficulty,” he said. “I was not near enough to see. But my men are positive—”
“Only of course they might be—as a kind of—what do you British call it—point of honor?”
“That’s about it. But, of course, we must search. You see, we had had a warning, from a Mrs. Emeret, who used to be housekeeper here. Before your time, I expect.”
“On the contrary.” Once again she could not help feeling sorry for him as he played into her hand. “I am afraid I was responsible for Mrs. Emeret’s dismissal. When I arrived, I found her taking the grossest advantage of my grandfather, who is not, as you will have seen, so young as he was. I am afraid I acted rather high-handedly toward her. It is no wonder she bears us all a grudge.”
“You think it merely that?”
“I’m sure of it. She left … very angry. And I have taken over her duties. There is not much goes on in this house that I am not aware of.” She hoped she would not have to lie to him more directly.
“That is just what I thought. So you would know—”
“Of course I would.” To her relief, his sergeant appeared at this point to report that they had found nothing upstairs.
“Have you seen the attics?” asked Christina helpfully.
“No, miss.” He sounded at once surprised and taken aback.
“No wonder if you missed the entrance,” she said kindly. “It is well concealed. I cannot imagine why.” And she led them down the hall to the huge oak press where she kept the clean linen. “I’m afraid you have to move this away,” she said. “It seems unlikely that it could have been done in the night, but I am sure you would rather …” She let the sentence hang, satisfied with having established herself so conclusively as on their side.
It took three men, and a good deal of sotto voce swearing, to get the huge cupboard moved aside to reveal the narrow door behind it. “Shall I ring for candles?” asked Christina. “I am afraid you are going to get terribly dirty. So far as I know, the attics have never been cleaned. They run the entire length of the house,” she added, “and have been used, I believe, to store everything that was no longer needed downstairs. They should make a quite fascinating historical study. I have kept meaning to go up and take an inventory, only … they are so dirty.”
It took the entire search party two hours to go through the attics, and when they finally emerged their once white trousers bore ample witness to the state of the attics. Downstairs they found Christina waiting for them. “That must have been thirsty work,” she said. “There is some of our home brewed in the kitchen for your men, Lieutenant, and I hope you will take a glass of something with me.” And then, as a complete afterthought, “You found nothing, of course?”
“Nothing but dust and spiders. Yes, we would be most grateful for some refreshment, Miss Tretteign. I had no idea it would take so long.”
“Not Tretteign”—she led him into the morning room—“Tretton. I belong to the American branch of the family. Madeira, Lieutenant, or would you like to try some of our own mead?” She was glad to see that there was no smuggled brandy in evidence. One could rely on Parkes.
“May I try the mead? I’ve heard of the Romney brew, but never tasted it. I’m a stranger in these parts,” he explained, “like you, Miss Tretton.” He had changed the pronunciation of her name. Once again, she had got her point across.
“And where are you from, Lieutenant … Trevis, is it?” She poured him a brimming glass of mead. “It’s strong, I warn you.”
“It can’t be too strong for me—not after those attics. But I’m obliged to you for telling me of them, just the same. It’s good to know there’s one member of the household I can trust. I was warned about the marshmen when I was posted here. They’ll all hang together—till they all hang together, if you understand me. I’m from the west country, Miss Tretton, from Cornwall. Now, there’s a county for you—all friends, all honest, all loyal …”
“You make it sound like an earthly paradise.”
“Compared with Sussex, it is. You can’t trust anyone here, Miss Tretton, not anyone. They’re all in league—gentry as well, half the time—drinking run brandy, writing to their friends in France, giving information, I’ve no doubt, about our state of defense, whether intentionally or otherwise. Why, it’s common knowledge there’s a traffic with France from Hastings. Smugglers know no law, Miss Tretton, and no loyalty.”
She was very much afraid he was right, and it was with considerable relief to her nagging conscience that she saw him rise to his feet. “It’s done me good to talk to you, Miss Tretton, thank you. Sometimes I wish …” He broke off. “We must be on our way back to headquarters. You’ll let me know if you see or hear of anything suspicious?”
“Of course.” Hateful to have to lie to this friendly young man.
“Oh—one other thing.” He turned back at the door. “Your cousin, Mr. Ross Tretteign. He rode off very suddenly this morning, from what I hear.”
She had expected this and managed a laugh. “Yes. He said he was going to get his hair cut.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“Of course not, since he has gone on my business.”
“Yours?”
“Yes. You’ll not speak of it, I’m sure, since I have reasons for not wanting it discussed in the family, but I have a small estate—left me by my father—and there was some legal business. Ross kindly consented to act for me.”
“Oh, I see. Miss Tretton, I am more grateful to you for your frankness than I can say. You’ll laugh at me, I know, but his sudden departure—and on such an obvious pretext—you know, it had put the wildest ideas into my head.”
She felt very far from laughter, but managed at least a smile. “Oh, poor Ross, did it seem so suspicious?”
They rode away at last. The next thing was to contrive a word alone with Parkes, but she had had time, while the search continued, to plan for this. “Aunt
Tretteign?” She joined her aunt and cousin in the morning room.
“Yes?” Fretfully. “Are they gone at last? I was never so shocked in my life as to have to turn out first thing in the morning for a parcel of filthy dragoons. A most ill-managed business on someone’s part.”
Christina laughed. “You’d be right to call them filthy after they made the tour of the attics, poor things. I really think we should spring-clean up there next year. Who knows what priceless heirlooms we might find?”
“Heirlooms perhaps,” put in Richard, “but not, I am sure, priceless. If they had been, our esteemed grandfather would no doubt have sold them long since to satisfy his passion for gambling on ‘change.”
“Poor Grandfather,” said Christina. “How he must have hated having to admit it.”
“‘Poor Grandfather’ indeed.” Mrs. Tretteign had been coming slowly to the boil. “How can you say that, Christina, after his behavior last night! But I suppose it’s all of a piece.”
“With my being a Yankee, you mean, and devoid of finer feelings?” Christina had grown tired of this favorite phrase of her aunt’s. “Frankly I think it’s just as well for me that I am.”
“But anyone with the slightest perception can see you are not, Cousin Christina.” This, with a languishing glance from Richard, made his intentions all too clear. Well, if she could prevent him, she would.
“You know me so well, after twenty-four hours acquaintance? Less, really. Your perceptions must be fine indeed, Cousin.” And then, turning back to Mrs. Tretteign, “But I came to consult you, Aunt. Can you see any objection to my taking rubbings of some of the brasses in the old chapel?”
“Rub brasses, child? Today of all days? What in the world will you think of next?”
“But the brasses are beautiful. If I were to succeed in taking their likenesses they would make admirable decorations for this room—and, if well mounted, might even help to keep out some of the worst draughts.”
“Well,” her aunt cast a dubious look around the room, “if you can make the place look a trifle less Gothic, and maybe hide some of the marks in the plaster, so much the better. But surely you will freeze to death out there in the chapel at this time of year.”
Watch the Wall, My Darling Page 9