“Promise me, my dearest, that if everything does not turn out as you hope in England, you will get word to me,” he pleaded in anguished tones. “Depend on it, Sir Richard will find a way to discover these smugglers and they can bring a message to Bonnet for me. And then, my only love, I’ll come to fetch you, though all the armed might of England should stand in my way!”
With such words to remember, it was no wonder that Madeleine’s spirits were at a low ebb when at last the fugitives boarded the smuggling vessel bound for the coast of Sussex. But she rallied courageously, never allowing her grief to prevent her from helping Corinna to endure the hardships which still confronted them. They were obliged to pass the long hours at sea confined in a small space among kegs of brandy and other contraband, in constant fear of discovery. Moreover, the vessel reeked of fish, for fishing was the ostensible business of these men. Increasingly, Corinna and the others came to rely upon Sir Richard’s calm judgment and unfailing optimism.
Once, and once only, when Corinna’s nerves were strained to breaking point, did she lash out at him in the old way.
“I won’t stay down here another moment in this airless, stinking hole!” she stormed. “I don’t care what you say, Richard, I am going up on deck!”
She started to scramble out from the corner where she and Madeleine were crouched together, but he seized her in a firm grasp.
“You will stay where you are, if I have to hold you down by force,” he said roughly. “No, don’t argue” — as she began a heated protest — “this is no time for the vapours. Disobey me and you put us all in peril.”
“For God’s sake, Corinna, do as he says!” ordered her brother impatiently. “Else we shall wish we’d never brought you along!”
This was enough to recall her to her promise. With a muttered apology, she subsided; and Sir Richard released her, patting her tangled curls in a consoling gesture.
“Courage, my dear. You’ve done splendidly so far, and we’re on the last lap.”
Almost in tears, she crept into the comfort of Madeleine’s arms.
Several more uncomfortable hours were to elapse before they were transferred with their few belongings to a small rowing boat with two sturdy men at the oars. Presently the bottom of the boat grated on pebbles and one of the men shipped his oars to step overboard into shallow water, bearing the baggage ashore.
“This be Cuckmere Haven,” the other man informed them.
The two girls were lying slumped in the boat, weary and dishevelled. Corinna found herself lifted like a child into Sir Richard’s arms as he stepped out of the boat. She let her head droop onto his shoulder and clasped her nerveless arms about him. She felt his embrace tighten as he bore her to the beach, where he set her gently down, steadying her for a few moments before reluctantly releasing her to return and parley with the men.
Laurence had likewise assisted Madeleine ashore, and the group stood waiting until Sir Richard came over to them as the men put out to sea.
“Well, here we are, on English soil at last,” he said cheerfully.
“Call these dashed pebbles soil?” scoffed Laurence. “Still, I’ll grant it’s better than being cooped up in a stuffy vessel. What’s to do now, Richard? You say your house is only a couple of miles off, but how are we to reach it? The females are deadbeat, in no case for walking.”
It was not yet dawn, but a lightening of the sky heralded its approach and enabled them dimly to distinguish surrounding objects. To their right loomed the shadow of a huge cliff, while at a little distance across the beach on their other side they caught the pale gleam of the Cuckmere river.
“There’s a boat,” said Sir Richard suddenly. “See it, up-ended by the river? The smugglers told me there’s a farm about half a mile up river where we may be able to hire some kind of conveyance. Come, ladies, we’ll assist you.”
The river wound in large S bends through marshy meadows; when they had laboured on for half a mile, it bent towards a rough track which ran at right angles down to a lonely farmhouse. The first rosy fingers of dawn were creeping across the grey sky as they reached this point, where a mooring post was driven into the bank.
Sir Richard stepped out of the boat and made it fast to the post.
“This is it,” he said. “You stay here while I go and try my luck.”
He vanished along the track.
He was gone for some time, but at last they heard the welcome sound of wheels and heavy hoofs approaching, and Sir Richard came into view, driving a wagon pulled by a powerful farm horse.
“Had to knock ’em up,” he explained, as he halted the beast and jumped down. “Took some time to get it into their heads what I needed, but this was the best they could manage. I fear it’s not over clean for the ladies, but we haven’t far to go now.”
Weary though she was, Corinna managed a wry smile. She dreaded to think what kind of picture she must present, dirty, dishevelled and with her hair tumbling about her shoulders. A dirty wagon could not worry her now.
She glanced at her companions, who were in a similar state; then thought in surprise that she had never seen Richard appear to greater advantage, even when attired in the full glory of ball dress. His head was bare, his fair hair wind-tossed and damp with sea spray; his face, though a trifle unshaven, was tanned and glowing with exercise. He had long ago discarded the soiled smock, and now wore a shirt, admittedly also soiled, open at the neck and with sleeves rolled up to reveal brown, muscular arms. He had always looked the elegant gentleman; but now he was primeval male, the strong, resourceful protector.
She suddenly felt as though she had never really noticed him before.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In her younger days, when Sir Richard’s father had owned Chyngton Manor, Corinna had frequently stayed there with her family. She loved every inch of it. This was the first time, however, that she had been a guest there since Sir Richard had inherited the property.
She awoke to the scent of flowers coming in at her casement window. Stretching herself luxuriously, she realised after a few minutes of wonder that she was actually lying on a soft down mattress in a carved oak four-poster bed. She sighed with relief. This was one of the bedrooms in the Tudor wing of Chyngton Manor, where Richard had brought her safely after so many hazards.
They had arrived at dawn; what time was it now? She slipped out of bed to consult her watch, and saw that it was close on noon. Vaguely she recalled their arrival; the shocked surprise of the staff on seeing their master and his companions in such a state. She had been escorted upstairs, assisted to undress and bathe by a maid with deft, gentle hands, then tucked into bed. Thereafter, all was oblivion.
She crossed to the window and leaned from the casement. The warmth of the sun touched her face; below her was a green expanse of lawn and flower borders bright with blue and pink lupins, sweet williams with velvety petals, and roses of every hue. She revelled in the calm beauty of it, the peace.
Sir Richard came into view, strolling across the lawn. He halted opposite her window and, looking up, caught sight of her. He raised a hand in greeting, but she drew back quickly, conscious of the impropriety of being seen in her nightgown. Even as she did so, she thought that there was surely no need for her to be so missish after all the enforced intimacies of their flight from Paris. She shook her head; the fact remained that a return to normal circumstances at once restored the normal patterns of conduct.
Yet in some indefinable way she felt that her relationship with Richard had changed. They all met shortly afterwards around the dining table in the lovely oak-panelled parlour which had low chintz-covered window seats looking out on the garden, and a stone fireplace emblazoned with a Tudor rose and the Chyngton arms. He now looked very much the English country gentleman in fawn riding breeches, tasselled Hessians, an olive green coat of impeccable cut and snowy white linen; but there flashed into Corinna’s mind that picture of him as he had appeared by the first light of dawn, unkempt and dishevelled, yet challengingly mascul
ine. She felt unaccountably shy of him, the old, easy relationship for the moment banished.
They all looked more civilized now, and they were young enough for rest to have restored them to their normal healthy state. The ample meal provided by Sir Richard’s excellent housekeeper was being consumed with dispatch.
“I fear it was nothing short of a nightmare for you ladies,” remarked Sir Richard when their appetites had been somewhat sated. “You were splendid, too — pluck to the backbone!”
“I’m not so sure that I altogether deserve your praise,” replied Corinna with unusual diffidence. “But just to be safe home again has been enough to banish the horrors of that journey! That’s to say” — glancing at Madeleine — “it is for us, but possibly you may feel differently, Madeleine, since you’re in a foreign country, where everything is strange.”
“It will not seem strange once I have found my kin and accustomed myself,” said Madeleine staunchly. “And I would like to express my deep gratitude to both you gentlemen for permitting me to accompany you and for taking such good care of me throughout all our trials.”
In one breath, they both assured her that it had been a privilege to serve her.
“You are very good. There is yet one more service which I am obliged to ask of you,” she continued, “since I do not know this neighbourhood and cannot manage without assistance. I must find a lodging for a day or so, until I can seek out my aunt. Perhaps, Sir Richard, you may know of one of the villagers who would have a small room at a modest rent? I shall be infinitely grateful if you can recommend me to such a one.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that!” exclaimed Corinna. “My sister Lydia will be happy to accommodate you, I assure you, Madeleine.”
“Of course she will,” put in Laurence. “And I intend to escort you myself to Brighton to seek out your relatives, so that’s all settled.”
“You are very good, monsieur, but perhaps Mrs Beresford may not find it convenient to receive someone who is a stranger to her.”
“Lord, what a pother over nothing!” exclaimed Laurence with scant ceremony, for he had come to treat Madeleine almost as a sister. “Lydia will like nothing better than to take an interest in your concerns, I’ll wager, for she’s the nosiest female ever!”
“For shame, Laurie,” reproved Sir Richard, marring the effect with a broad grin.
“Well, ain’t she, now? She’s forever matchmaking, as you must have seen for yourself when we were in France. If she didn’t do her utmost to push Corinna off on L—”
He broke off abruptly as Sir Richard’s boot made contact with his shins.
“You’ll be able to find out from Lydia herself in a little while,” Sir Richard said, adroitly reverting to the original topic of conversation. “I sent a message over telling of our safe arrival and saying that we would present ourselves at Friston House later today.”
The Beresfords’ house was a pleasant, creeper-covered house of only moderate size that had been built about forty years since and had chanced to come on the market just before Lydia and John were married. Its grounds were small, but this was not seen as a disadvantage by John, whose profession made a large estate unsuitable at present. He was pleased to be near his brother, while Lydia found it agreeable to live among neighbours who were already acquainted with her husband’s family, instead of being obliged to settle down among total strangers.
When the carriage party arrived at the house, they found Laurence, who had ridden ahead. He was sitting out of doors with Lydia and John, on a terrace overlooking the flower garden. It was evident that he was well launched into an account of their adventures, for his sister and her husband were hanging on his every word.
Both jumped up at once when the others appeared, however, and Lydia ran to clasp Corinna in her arms.
“Oh, my poor, poor love, what you must have suffered! And we’ve been nigh frantic with anxiety over you! Laurie seems to think it all a great game, you must know, but I am certain you could not have done so!”
Madeleine had been hanging back diffidently during these greetings, but now Corinna drew her forward.
“You may recall my mentioning Mademoiselle Fougeray to you, Lyddy? Madeleine, this is my sister, and her husband, Lieutenant John Beresford.”
Madeleine made a curtsey. Lydia looked blank for a moment before recollecting who the girl was, then smiled warmly and held out her hand.
“How do you do? Are you also a fugitive from France, mademoiselle?”
“Pray call me Madeleine, madame. Yes, in one sense, I am” — she smiled wanly — “because I’ve forsaken my own country to seek relatives living in Brighton. I hope soon to be with them.”
“In the meantime,” put in Corinna, “I’m sure you would not object to Madeleine staying here for a few days? After all the travelling of the past week — and in such conditions! — it’s more than she could support to dash off at once for Brighton. Besides, I’ve no wish to lose her so soon. I don’t know how I should have gone on without her!”
“Nor I without you,” said Madeleine warmly. Then, turning with a slight blush to Lydia, of whom she felt a little shy: “But indeed I wouldn’t wish to put you to any inconvenience, madame. I dare say I may easily find a lodging nearby.”
“I shan’t hear of such a thing,” exclaimed Lydia hospitably. “And now that I think of it, you will be doing me a good turn by keeping Corinna company while I am absent for a few days. Of course, you don’t know about this, my love” — turning to her sister — “but John has been recalled and must set off for Portsmouth tomorrow.”
Corinna exclaimed in dismay and looked commiseratingly towards her brother-in-law. By now, they were all seated, and he was holding an animated conversation with the other two men.
“Oh, you need not think he minds,” said Lydia, “and why should he, indeed? He is bred to the sea and loves it. As for me” — she tilted her chin courageously — “I am a sailor’s wife, so must expect partings. I had intended to remain here until I had news of you, but now I shall accompany John to Portsmouth. I can stay with our friends the Dawsons until John and Lieutenant Dawson sail. And if Madeleine is here with you, you won’t mind my absence, I’m sure.”
“Of course you must go, Lyddy. And perhaps Mama may not object if I stay on with you a little while after you return. She has Irene and Anthea to keep her company, so will not miss me.”
Lydia’s face lit up. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve suggested that yourself, for it’s the very thing I was about to ask of you! I shall become accustomed in time to John’s absence because I must, but just at first—”
She broke off, biting her lip. Corinna patted her hand comfortingly.
“Talking of Mama,” Corinna said, in sudden contrition, “how much does she know of the delay in our arriving home? Poor love, she must be almost out of her senses with worry.”
“That’s what we wished to avoid, John and I, so we were guilty of a small deception. As soon as we arrived home, I wrote at once to say that we were all safely back, but that you and Laurie were quite worn down with travelling, so wouldn’t be returning home just yet.”
“Mama is as full of misgivings as an egg is of meat,” declared Laurence with an unfilial chuckle. “She always fancies the worst — no doing anything with her! John and Lyddy were wise to keep her in the dark. Only think what a Cheltenham tragedy she’d have made of it had she known we’d been left stranded in France!”
“The less you say on that head, the better,” Corinna reminded him tartly.
“D’ you expect I shall go about in sackcloth and ashes for the rest of my days, sis?” he retorted indignantly. “For Lud’s sake, pick a quarrel with Richard instead, can’t you? Come to think of it, it’s some time since you’ve come to cuffs with him — won’t do to neglect him, y’ know!”
To her annoyance, Corinna felt a blush rising. She dared not look at Sir Richard to see how he was taking this remark, even though at that moment he was engaged in conversation with Madeleine. Lyd
ia stared at her sister for a moment, sensing that something was wrong, but puzzled as to what it could possibly be. Perhaps, she reflected, the answer lay in some part of their adventures which had not been heard, but which Corinna found particularly embarrassing. With an instinct to protect her sister, she abruptly changed the subject.
“What do you suppose? The most extraordinary event! Mr Grenville has arrived at his house in Eastdean, and shows every sign of actually settling there, after all his neglect of the place! Workmen are busy restoring it to rights, and moreover, he has established some distant relative as his housekeeper. I hear that the lady is an elderly widow and eminently respectable, not at all like that creature with whom he took up when he was in Paris. She has been engaging staff from among the village people — it seems no servants are being brought down from London, except his personal valet.”
She realised belatedly that her choice of fresh subject could not be considered entirely happy, and threw a look of appeal towards her husband.
“It’s given the neighbourhood something to gossip over, at all events,” he said, smiling at her. “So in that way, the fellow’s performed a service. Speculation is rife as to where the blunt’s coming from, the favourite theory being that he’s come into an inheritance.”
Sir Richard looked thoughtful, but made no comment. He was recalling the conversation he had overheard in Perrin’s gaming rooms between Grenville and the unseen Frenchman. Had Grenville indeed inherited a fortune since returning to England? Or had he heard of something to his advantage in Paris, as the Frenchman had promised? It might be important to know.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lydia and John set off for Portsmouth on the following morning by post chaise. Sir Richard rode over from the Manor to say good-bye.
The Intrepid Miss Haydon Page 10