Eye of the Wind

by Jane Jackson

  This slowly thickened until, by the time she walked downstairs for breakfast, the entire sky was obscured with a milk-white veil. Through the landing window she glimpsed rooks, blown by the rising wind, wheeling low over the cut fields, before they landed to feed. In the garden, clouds of gnats hovered and spiralled beneath the trees. Scarlet pimpernel and daisies would be closing their petals. All sensed that the hot, dry weather was about to change.

  As she took her seat at the dining-room table, Lobb came in. ‘A letter for you, miss.’ His voice sounded hoarse and nasal, and his nose looked red and sore.

  ‘Thank you, Lobb.’ Taking it, she studied him. ‘You look as though you should be in bed.’

  ‘I’m all right, miss, thank you.’

  ‘Well, you certainly don’t sound all right.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t hear the postman.’

  ‘He hasn’t been yet, miss. This was found outside the back door, weighed down by a stone.’

  Melissa looked more closely at the letter. It was grubby and water-stained. Though the ink had run until the address was only just legible, the writing seemed vaguely familiar.

  ‘About the wines for this evening, miss. What would you like –’

  She glanced up. ‘Lobb, I appreciate your courtesy in asking, but as we are both aware, you know far better than I do what is in the cellar, and what would be most suitable to offer my uncles.’

  ‘May I inquire, miss, the impression you wish to make?’

  She thought. ‘I want them reassured. In fact, if it were possible to give an impression that everything is not just satisfactory but positively thriving, I should be very grateful.’

  ‘You leave it with me, miss.’ He paused, turning his head away, and covering his mouth as he gave a hacking cough. ‘Beg pardon, miss. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a couple of bottles that will please the most demanding palate.’

  ‘That would be splendid. And Lobb?’

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘When you return to the kitchen, ask Mrs Betts to give you a dose of cough mixture. You are to repeat the dose every two hours. That is not a request.’ She smiled, but her tone was firm. ‘It’s an order. You are far too valuable a member of this household for me to permit you to neglect yourself.’

  ‘Whatever you say, miss,’ he replied, wooden-faced. ‘What would you like for your breakfast?’

  ‘A dish of fruit, two poached eggs, toast, and coffee, please.’

  As the butler left, struggling hard to suppress another bout of coughing, Melissa realised with a slight sense of shock that she was far more at ease giving orders now than she had been even a week ago. She pressed her lips together on an impish smile. She had never imagined herself a tyrant. Sighing, she turned her attention to the letter and, opening it, recognised the writing as Robert’s.

  As her gaze skimmed the lines, one hand crept upward to mask her open-mouthed shock as she read. He was on parole and, because of over-crowding and illness in the prison, had been moved to a big house on the outskirts of Le Conquet, a small town in the Chanel de Fort between the mainland and the island of Ushant. But, before leaving the prison, he had overheard something that hinted at the presence of a traitor in the British Government. He was willing to break his parole and forfeit the bond money to ensure this information reached the right hands, but he dared not commit it to paper.

  ‘Melissa, you must ask one of the local fishermen who have contact with free-traders to come to my aid. You may promise them, on my behalf, a large reward in return for picking me up and returning me to Cornwall. But, I beg you, be careful whom you trust. I am permitted to go fishing in a small inlet north of the town. I shall be there between seven and nine o’clock on the last night of July.’

  Realisation struck Melissa like a lightning bolt. That was tomorrow night.

  ‘Do not fail me, Melissa. I may be moved again at any time, and will certainly be confined if it becomes known that I have tried to escape. But more important than that, more men will die who might have been saved.’

  Hearing the door open as Lobb returned with a tray, she quickly refolded the letter. Under the butler’s watchful eve she ate her breakfast, barely aware of what she was doing and tasting nothing as she wrestled with the thorny task Robert had set her. The men at the yard would know who among the local fishermen were involved in free-trading. But she could hardly just walk up to them and ask.

  When she had finished, she nodded to Lobb as he held open the door for her and, as always, asked him to convey her thanks to Mrs Betts.

  ‘With pleasure, miss. She asked me to ask if she might have a quick word, when you have a moment? I believe it concerns the menu for tonight.’

  ‘Of course. I’m just going up to change. Ask her to come to the study in 20 minutes.’

  ‘So I thought, if you was in agreement, miss –’ Mrs Betts’s plump face was flushed and rosy beneath her frilled cap and her forehead puckered with concentration as she counted on red-knuckled fingers ‘– julienne soup and salmon with lobster sauce. Then, for an entrée, boiled fowls with bechamel sauce, and braised ham with broad beans, with side dishes of glazed carrots and spinach in a cream sauce. Then for the third course, roast duck with peas, a lobster salad, cherry tart, and cheesecakes, for they is something Mrs Marcus is very partial to. Mrs Louisa do dearly love strawberry cream, so I’ll do a couple of they as well.’

  ‘Mrs Betts, you’re a marvel.’ Melissa smiled. ‘It sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Well, I dunno ’bout being no marvel, though ’tis kind of you to say so, miss. Mistress might be away, but that don’t mean things isn’t as they should be. We don’t none of us want no one thinking that just ’cos you’re here on your own standards is slipping.’

  ‘Indeed we don’t. No one could possibly think that.’ Familiar with Mrs Betts’s strangled syntax, Melissa was deeply touched by this display of loyalty. All the servants seemed determined to protect her from criticism, even from within the family.

  Mrs Betts winced, sucking in her breath through pursed lips.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, miss. ’Tis just my corns. Giving me gyp, they are. Always do when the weather’s on the change. Be raining by tomorrow night, you mark my words.’

  Melissa walked across to the stables wishing the change might have come sooner, then the dinner party could have been postponed and James would have returned to London without her having to meet him again.

  As she rode down through the woods, past the yard, and on to the collection area, she tried to contain her excitement at the prospect of seeing Gabriel again. But it wasn’t easy. Her heartbeat had quickened and her nervousness communicated itself to Samson, who jinked sideways, tossing his head. She could trust Gabriel to keep the secret. If he didn’t know which fisherman to ask, he would be able to find out with far less risk than if she were to try.

  Samson’s ears pricked and, lifting his head, he whinnied. The answering squeal from Duchess was closer than she expected, and, a moment later, John appeared at the far side of the clearing. The sturdy mare was dragging part of a huge beech trunk.

  ‘Good morning, John.’

  ‘Morning, miss. Feeling better, are you? Been gone some long time you have.’

  ‘I know.’ Her smile was rueful. ‘But I’m well again, thank you. I came to see how you’ve been getting on.’

  ‘Been going on fine, we have.’ His face clouded. ‘Well, I say that, but see, with me being on me own –’

  ‘It’s all right. I understand. You couldn’t possibly expect to haul the same number out as we did when there were two of us. Still, as soon as the hunters have gone, Hocking will bring Captain down for a couple of hours each day.’

  ‘Honest, miss? Mr Hocking’s coming down here?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  An impish grin crossed the boy’s face. ‘Told me I was making something out of nothing when I said it was hard work, he did. Now he’ll see for hisself how easy ’tis. I bet he won’t need no rocking come bedtime.’


  Melissa hid her smile and held her tongue. She had heard the groom chaffing John, telling the boy he didn’t know what hard work was. It sounded easy enough, leading a horse into and out of various parts of the wood. The reality was very different, as Hocking would soon discover.

  ‘How far have Billy and Gabriel got with the felling?’

  ‘Couldn’t tell you, miss.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m still pulling out trees they cut down last week. If you follow the track uplong you’ll find Zeb and Chirp. They’ll show you which way to go.’

  Thanking the boy, Melissa guided Samson along the newly widened path whose surface had been churned to thick, stodgy mud by Duchess’s hooves and the dragged logs. Clouds of gnats spiralled beneath the trees. There were no sunbeams slanting through the trees, no dappled shadows. Obscured by the milky-white veil of cloud the sun was a pearly ball. The sound of axes, the creak and rustle of branches being lopped, the eerie groan and shuddering crash of a tree falling all sounded uncannily near in the still air.

  She exchanged greetings with Zeb and Chirp, thanked them for their kind enquiries and assured them she was very well, and followed their pointing fingers further into the wood. When she reached Ned and Joe their genuine pleasure as they greeted her, their mumbled confessions to missing her, and frowning concern as to whether she should be out yet, helped extinguish the spark of impatience. Ashamed, she reminded herself how lucky she was to have the respect and goodwill of these men.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to see how they’re getting on uplong.’ Ned jerked his head toward the deeper part of the woods. ‘Best go on foot, miss. ’Tis pretty thick through there, and you’re like to get knocked off by low branches, or your skirt tore.’ He indicated Samson. ‘You tie ’un up over there. We’ll keep an eye to ’un.’

  Dismounting, she did as Ned suggested, and set off toward the rhythmic thuds that echoed on the damp, muggy air. Now she was so close to seeing Gabriel again, her mouth dried, making swallowing difficult, and her heartbeat was so loud it almost drowned the sound of the axes. Her habit kept getting snagged on thorns and twigs. Then, suddenly, there he was, only a few yards away. Stripped to the waist, muscles bunching and stretching as he swung the huge axe; his broad back was dewed with sweat, the stripes a darker pink against pale skin that still bore large patches of green-yellow bruising.

  She swallowed, about to call out and let them know she was there, when Gabriel abruptly turned toward her. The thud of the axes and their grunting breaths would have masked any sound she had made. Had he sensed her presence? Her heart leapt as she saw his pleasure, swiftly concealed as he let his axe fall. Murmuring a warning to Billy, who leapt like a startled faun as he spun round, Gabriel scooped up his shirt and pulled it on over his head while he waited, as etiquette demanded, for Melissa to speak first.

  ‘Good morning, Gabriel, Billy. I’m sorry to interrupt.’

  ‘No trouble, miss.’ Billy grinned. ‘Glad to stop for a minute, and that’s the truth. Feeling better, are you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’m quite recovered.’

  ‘Some nasty cold that is.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Mother had it. Some bad she was.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Melissa addressed Billy, but every cell in her body was aware of Gabriel’s gaze. ‘I hope she’s recovering?’

  ‘Coming on now.’ Billy nodded, clutching the axe against his bare chest. ’Tis just the old cough. She isn’t getting no sleep. Nor’s father, and that’s making ’un some itchy.’

  ‘I’ve got something that will help. I’ll send a bottle down. I didn’t have the cough myself, but Mrs Betts did. The mixture got rid of it within a couple of days.’

  ‘Be handsome, that would. Thank you kindly, miss. Much obliged, I’m sure.’ Billy bobbed a bow. As he turned away and reached for the beer keg, Melissa’s eyes met Gabriel’s and she bit her lip.

  ‘Good morning, miss.’ Only a trace of huskiness remained in his deep voice. As he came toward her, she saw that the bruising on his face had almost disappeared, the swelling around his eye had gone, and the cut above his eyebrow had healed though the scar was still livid. She was suddenly aware of how many days had passed, and how much she had missed him. He still wore a bandage about his throat, but had discarded those from his wrists. Her gaze lingered on the puckered flesh and new skin and she felt a deep, wrenching tug of compassion. Why had he been tortured?

  ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I think your skirt is caught …’ Gabriel leant forward and unhooked the material from a spike of blackthorn.

  Her breath caught as she felt the heat radiating from his body and smelled the sweet, musky scent of his sweat. ‘I must speak with you privately,’ she whispered. ‘It’s urgent.’

  Straightening, he took a respectful step backward, giving no sign he had heard her. ‘I didn’t want to bother you while you were ill, miss, but I think you should see how far we’ve gone with the felling.’

  ‘Th-thank you.’

  ‘Carry on, shall I, Gabe?’ Billy asked, glancing toward the wide, shallow indentation of creamy-white, close-grained heartwood exposed by the axes. ‘Tough old bugger, ’e is, begging your pardon, miss. Be another hour at least till he’s ready to fall.’

  Gabriel nodded. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Following Gabriel, Melissa waited until she heard the thud of Billy’s axe, then took Robert’s letter from her pocket. As they reached an enormous sycamore, a fallen giant still shrouded in soft green summer foliage, and he turned, she held it out to him.

  ‘This was left outside the back door, weighted down by a stone. It wasn’t you who brought it?’ When he shook his head, wiping his hands on his breeches before he took it, she gave a tentative smile. ‘I didn’t think so.’ She hesitated. ‘I didn’t know who else to ask.’

  He unfolded it and swiftly scanned the lines, realising immediately that if it was genuine, and she clearly believed it was, then the fewer people who knew about it the better. He looked up, saw the tension in her stance, and anxiety in the way she was rubbing and squeezing her hands. A friend was how she had described Lieutenant Robert Bracey, but her manner suggested a deeper connection. They had known one another for three years. Their families were acquainted.

  ‘I thought perhaps that working with the men you might have heard …’ She gestured helplessly. ‘It’s an open secret that the villagers are involved with the free trade. But it’s not something people talk about. If I were to walk into the yard and ask …’ She shook her head. ‘I was hoping you might know who I could approach?’

  Gabriel didn’t answer immediately. He read the letter again, his thoughts racing as he considered and discarded options and possibilities. If the information Bracey had obtained was genuine, and he clearly believed it was, then absolute secrecy was vital. That precluded telling any of the villagers. Smuggling spirits and avoiding the Customs boats went on all the time around the Cornish coast. It was risky, but the rewards made it worthwhile. Smuggling sensitive information was deadly dangerous, as he knew to his cost. He had escaped once. He would be insane to go back. What if he was caught? He folded the letter.

  ‘Burn this as soon as you can. Do not speak of it to another living soul. I will bring Lieutenant Bracey back.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Melissa’s face paled and Gabriel saw apprehension in her widening eyes. ‘You cannot go alone.’

  ‘I’ll take Billy. He’s –’

  ‘You can’t.’ She shook her head violently. ‘Tansey would never allow it, not unless you told him why. And once Tansey knew, so would the entire village within an hour. Besides, it’s a working day tomorrow. Tom will expect to see you at the yard before you go to the woods. I can probably think of a reason for your absence that will satisfy him, but it would be difficult to find something that would require both you and Billy, especially at such short notice. In any case, he’s too valuable where he is.’ Her gloved fingers fretted with the leather loop on the handle of her riding crop.

  Gabriel wip
ed a forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead and blew a frustrated sigh. ‘You’re right, unfortunately. I’d prefer to go alone, but I accept it isn’t possible. Even with a favourable wind the crossing will take at least 20 hours. I’ll need an extra hand to help with the boat. And in the event of any – problems.’

  Her quick glance told him she realised how grave such problems might be.

  He saw her chin lift and her features set in the expression of determination that had kindled first his admiration and then his love, for it did not entirely hide the fear underneath. As she opened her mouth tension gripped him, for he knew what she was going to say.

  ‘I’ll go with you.’

  ‘No.’ It was flat, definite.

  Her expression did not alter. She met his gaze calmly, and he wanted to shake her, to hold her close and protect her from the folly of her own courage. He looked away, balling his hands into fists as he fought the impulse.

  ‘You don’t have a choice.’ She spoke quietly, but with a determination that matched his.

  He turned on her, fear for her safety masquerading as anger. ‘Do you know how to sail?’

  She swallowed, steadfastly holding his gaze even as her face flushed a deep rose. ‘No, but I have often been on the water. And you know better than anyone how quickly I learn. Look,’ she pleaded, ‘the weather is changing. If we are to reach the rendezvous with time to spare, we must go tonight. You said yourself you can’t go alone. I’m truly grateful that you will go at all, and I understand about the risks.’

  ‘Risks?’ He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Melissa, this undertaking will be fraught with danger, which is why –’

  ‘Why I, and no one else, must go with you,’ she interrupted, flushing as she defied him. ‘You’ve read the letter: secrecy is vital. But I cannot – I will not – ask someone else to brave dangers I am not prepared to face myself. Now, what will we need? I can bring food but what are we to do about water?’