Caught in a Cornish Scandal

by Eleanor Webster

  ‘You told Jason to attack me?’ Sam said.

  ‘Not attack. Get rid of. A mistake, I know. I should have done it. If a job’s worth doing... But I was needed somewhere...else.’

  ‘Somewhere else?’ He went up to her, the ropes held limply in one hand, the rocks and shale rattling under his feet.

  An expression of horror and confused disbelief suffused his face and Millie knew that it was duplicated in her own.

  ‘Some...where...else,’ he repeated, pacing out the words. ‘My God, it was you...on the beach. You killed those men. Not Jason.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Millie saw Frances move, uncoiling from her rock.

  ‘Sam, you have surprised me,’ Mrs Ludlow said, with that odd laugh. ‘It is quite refreshing as I am so seldom surprised. You were there?’

  ‘I was there,’ he said and Millie knew from his tone that he was remembering the drowning men and the three who had made it to shore, only to be picked off like clay pigeons, staining the tidepools red with blood.

  ‘I had wondered how you survived. The smugglers picked you up. What humanity. I wouldn’t have thought they’d have bothered.’ She glanced again towards Jason. ‘Silly boy, he should have killed you properly. Or kept his wife happy until we were ready.’

  ‘You.’ Frances had walked several feet so that she was on a line with Millie, facing her mother-in-law. Something in the way Frances said that single word made Millie shiver.

  ‘Of course, I blame myself as well.’ Mrs Ludlow spoke to Sam, not even glancing at Frances. ‘I underestimated you when I chose her. I did not think you’d visit. You were drinking and hardly devoted to family.’

  ‘You...did...this...to...me. You...chose. You plotted...’ Frances now stood only a few feet from the other woman. Every part of her body seemed tight, her intensity in sharp contrast to Mrs Ludlow’s peculiar nonchalance.

  Mrs Ludlow shrugged. ‘Do not sound so surprised. Jason has very few original thoughts. Besides, as I said, Jason doesn’t choose, he careens.’

  ‘You are worse than him,’ Frances said.

  ‘I am what the world has made me.’

  ‘You planned this? You plotted with Jason to fake his own death?’ Sam asked.

  ‘But why?’ Millie whispered. ‘I understand that you wanted Jason to escape and you also wanted Noah. But why did you kill Jem and all those men?’

  ‘Dead men cannot talk. The Captain knew too much.’ Mrs Ludlow stopped, her eyes moving towards Millie with an expression close to animation. ‘Why, Miss Lansdowne, how vastly amusing. You were there, too. You were on that smuggling ship. Indeed, I believe you rescued dear Mr Garrett.’

  She smiled, her expression beatific. ‘I find it satisfying. I prefer my original plot, of course. I always wanted a villa in Italy and money. However, it is interesting that it was you, Miss Lansdowne, who changed the narrative. Have you noticed, Miss Lansdowne, that women always play a role, but we never get to write the script?’

  ‘I—’ Millie paused, meeting the other woman’s gaze. Mrs Ludlow stood in her wet clothes with her hair in tangles about her face and that oddly pleasant smile. She was mad, of course.

  ‘I have noticed it,’ Millie said.

  * * *

  Standing at the water’s edge, time paused and Millie knew that these moments would be indelibly carved into her mind for ever. She would always remember every word, the dim outline of the older woman silhouetted against the moon’s shimmer, the injured man sprawled across the pebbles, the seaweed scent, the lap of waves, the cold air and the rocks hunkered at the shore.

  Then, as if to compensate, time started again, moving with an excess of speed, a blur, like the countryside during a fast gallop.

  The beach, deserted moments before, became a veritable thoroughfare. With a burst of cracking branches, rustling foliage and shouts, Banks, Cartwell, Sir Anthony and two other gentlemen arrived, catapulting themselves onto the beach.

  Millie turned at the noise. For a moment, it felt that while her eyes were able to discern and identify the figures, she could not comprehend or make sense of their presence. It felt, she thought dispassionately, as though the narrative had been switched, flipping from Mrs Ludlow’s tragedy into comedic farce.

  Oddly, she did not feel the relief that she knew she should feel. Instead, she watched with an exhausted numbness. She remembered thinking that Sir Anthony looked greatly in need of either a strong cup of tea or smelling salts. Likely he’d prefer brandy. Indeed, the poor man looked close to collapse, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief while his gaze swivelled between the prostrate Jason and the elder Mrs Ludlow with a bewildered confusion.

  Cartwell talked a lot, a confused mumble of words centred around how he had summoned assistance at the very first opportunity. He stated several times that he was very sorry for ‘all the upset’ while he mopped his forehead. He had come better prepared than Sir Anthony and had a small flask of brandy.

  Banks appeared somewhat indifferent to the scene, examining his footwear with considerable concern and frowning at Sam, although whether this was in disapproval of his actions or the treatment of his clothes, Millie did not know.

  Meanwhile, the other gentlemen, local constables, were of a more practical mindset. One removed the flask from Cartwell and administered it to Frances. She complied, but with detachment, as though compliance was easier than refusal. Her face held a dazed confusion and Millie wondered if a similar look was duplicated in her own expression.

  Sir Anthony, Sam and the constables seemed to have a lot to say. She did not even try to follow the conversation, explanation and hand gestures. Then, one of the constables blew a rather piercing whistle. Instructions were shouted and the second constable bent over Jason, heaving him over his shoulder. Jason groaned. Millie was rather thankful as she had begun to wonder if the man was dead.

  And thus the expedition left the beach, Jason dangling over the burliest man’s shoulder while the other constable escorted Mrs Ludlow, trailed by Frances, Millie, Sam, Cartwell, Banks and Sir Anthony.

  Nobody seemed much interested in conversation, although Cartwell continued to mumble until Banks requested, politely enough, whether a moment’s silence might be possible.

  ‘Likely to mourn my jacket,’ Sam muttered to Millie.

  The wry words made her giggle, a rather high-pitched chortle which, even to her own ears, sounded somewhat hysterical. She hurriedly subdued her laughter, resulting in a slight hiccup.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked, softly. ‘You have not said anything.’

  ‘I think I am fine,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I...um...do not really know. It feels as though everything is disconnected and I need to wait until things connect again to know if I am fine. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Some,’ he said. ‘I do not know how to thank you enough for helping Frances, saying the right words.’

  ‘I was so worried and so thankful when she lowered the pistol.’

  They continued in silence. This was broken again by Banks, who shared that his investigation with Northrupt about Sam’s dawn horse ride had proved fruitful. Apparently, that gentleman had been told to say this by Mrs Ludlow, most likely to cover both Sam’s absence and her removal of a horse from the stables.

  Millie glanced at Mrs Ludlow and wondered if she was listening or if she had retreated into the madness of her mind. How had she thought that it might work, killing Millie and Sam? Indeed, the plot she had outlined seemed flimsier than the creations Millie and her sister created as children with playing cards and toothpicks. Or the tree house Tom had built which had resulted in a broken arm.

  But then, she’d likely only hoped for a short-term solution, long enough for Jason to escape and Frances to be declared incompetent.

  The group continued to walk up the path towards the clifftop. It was long and tiring, but almost an anti-climax. It seemed that such a
dramatic interlude should not be capped by this silent, exhausting walk.

  * * *

  At the inn, Sir Anthony announced that he and the constables would keep custody of the two prisoners and suggested that everyone go home, saying that Sam could come to his office tomorrow morning to make a statement. He would allow the ladies to wait for a day and follow up with statements later in the week.

  After this announcement, he provided his carriage for Millie and Frances, while Cartwell secured a conveyance for Sir Anthony, the captives and one of the constables. Sir Anthony told Cartwell that he would also be in his custody until greater insight had been gained about his part in the evening’s events. This resulted in several expostulations from Cartwell which were eventually silenced when Sir Anthony agreed to send a servant to request that Betsy look after the cows, pigs and chickens. The remainder of the party, Banks, Sam and the second of the constables took the smaller carriage to the inn in the village.

  Indeed, Millie thought, as she sat in Sir Anthony’s carriage, they had all switched conveyances in an odd game of musical chairs. How strange to be sitting on the crimson velvet cushions of Sir Anthony’s rather stuffy coach as though they had done nothing more dramatic than attend church choir practice. Not that she had ever participated in a choir of any sort, as she was quite lacking in musical talent. Her lips twitched again with humour that was likely closer to hysteria than genuine amusement.

  In the seat opposite, Frances sat with an unnatural stillness, her hands clasped tightly together and her teeth worrying nervously at her bottom lip.

  ‘You will be quite safe now,’ Millie said cautiously.

  ‘Yes, thank you. For a while I was numb. I could feel nothing. Now I can feel almost too much. I am worried about Noah. I want to see him. Part of me wants to run from this coach, as though I could cover the ground faster.’

  ‘It is a ponderous vehicle. However, if your feet feel anything like mine, I am certain the coach is moving faster than we could,’ she said lightly.

  ‘I just need to know he is safe. What if Mrs Ludlow did...did something...?’

  ‘Do not think of it,’ Millie said. ‘She was too busy with us. And, remember, her intent was never to hurt him. She wanted to be his guardian to access his trust fund. Besides, Marta and Flora are in charge and they would both put their lives on the line to keep a child safe.’

  ‘I know. I just need to see him.’

  ‘You will. As soon as we get home.’

  Despite Frances’s nod of acknowledgement, Millie could see her abstraction and feel the circling of her worried thoughts. ‘You were very brave to help us,’ she said, hoping that conversation might distract the other woman.

  ‘Was I? When I jumped, I did not even think. Was that really brave or just a crazed impulse?’

  ‘Brave,’ Millie said. ‘But how did you know we were at the beach?’

  It was odd, Millie thought, that she hadn’t thought to ask earlier. Of course, everything had been so bizarre that Frances’s sudden appearance was but another item in a long list of the miraculously bizarre.

  ‘I wanted to tell Sam about everything I knew about Jason being a wrecker. I wanted to convince him not to take any blame. At first, I was not brave enough, but then Flora let me take your gig.’

  ‘I’m glad I left it for you. Gracious, I forgot about Jeremiah. Our donkey. No doubt someone will bring him home. He has a somewhat unpleasant personality, so no one would want to keep him. Did you go first to Sir Anthony’s?’

  ‘Yes, the butler said they were going to London, but that Sir Anthony always stopped at the tavern.’

  Millie reached forward, clasping the other woman’s cold hands. ‘And you went?’

  ‘The place was deserted. There was no maid or cook. The cows needed to be milked. And Sir Anthony’s carriage was still there. I knew something was wrong.’

  ‘But how did you know to come to the beach?’

  Frances shrugged. ‘I thought that Sir Anthony had taken Sam down to the village. Then, at the fork, I heard voices and saw the bent branches.’

  ‘And you saved us all. Do not ever say you are not brave again,’ Millie said.

  ‘I hardly remember what I did.’ Frances paused, glancing downwards, her fingers pressing nervously against the cushioning. ‘And, Miss Lansdowne, thank you for stopping me from doing something terrible.’

  ‘I only helped. You made the choice.’

  ‘There is a fine line between sanity and madness.’

  ‘You stayed on the side of sanity.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Millie woke up the next morning to a thumping headache greatly aggravated by her mother’s strident tones. ‘Good heavens! What have you done to yourself? You are black and blue and dreadfully scratched.’

  Millie pulled herself upright. It seemed almost unbelievable that she was back in her bedchamber, staring up at the same cracked paint with the same yellow circle of damp centred over her bed. It was as though nothing had happened or changed. But then, of course, really nothing had changed for her.

  The wreckers had been stopped. Frances would heal and, eventually, escape her marriage. Sam knew he was not responsible for Jason’s death. Indeed, Jason was not dead. Mrs Ludlow would head to prison or the madhouse.

  Everything was neatly fixed and tidied, but ultimately unchanged in the Lansdowne household.

  In fact, everything felt worse. The thought of marrying Mr Edmunds felt especially worse. Last night had shaken her. Seeing the pistol pointing at Sam...enduring the certainty that her own life was going to end before it had begun.

  Now, she could not even pretend to herself that Sam did not evoke unwanted emotion. Indeed, meeting him had opened her eyes to feelings and emotions she had not known possible.

  Yet this awakening had only made everything the more difficult.

  Whatever bond they had was forged from danger and circumstance. He was just grateful to her. If he helped with Lord Harwood, she’d be grateful to him, too. However, their worlds did not overlap. He belonged in London, in fashionable London places and, when he did marry, he would have a witty, fashionable, beautiful wife, willing to embrace the aimless life of an English aristocrat.

  And her aspirations had always been that of independence...

  ‘Good gracious, you still look half-asleep and it will soon be afternoon.’ Her mother pulled the curtains back with a noisy rattle so that sunlight invaded the chamber.

  Millie groaned. ‘Must you be so loud?’

  How was it possible that her mother had only weeks ago found the strength to get out of bed, at all?

  ‘Yes, I must be loud,’ Mrs Lansdowne said. ‘I am in considerable distress. Goodness knows where you were last night. Likely fishing, hunting rabbits or visiting your village friends. And you, just getting over a cold...’

  ‘Never had a cold,’ Millie muttered.

  ‘It was gone eleven when I went to bed and you were still out. I do not know how I got a wink of sleep. I strongly suspect that Flora gave me a sleeping draught. Now I come up here and you look as though you have been in a boxing match. And what will Mr Edmunds say? I am certain he will come today. Of course, I could postpone. I could say that you are still afflicted or perhaps that I or Lil have caught a chill and you must nurse us. A tempting option, except he might well decide that our family is sickly. Likely he doesn’t want to lose another wife, having just lost one.’

  ‘Indeed, people might consider him careless.’

  ‘Millicent Lansdowne, this is no laughing matter—’

  Just then Flora knocked at the door, entering almost immediately, a piece of notepaper clasped in her hand and an expression of subdued excitement visible on her countenance.

  ‘A note from Mr Edmunds,’ she said.

  Mrs Lansdowne took it, reading quickly. ‘He is going to visit us this afternoon, if convenient.
Is the footman waiting for a response?’

  Flora nodded and Millie groaned, flopping back against her pillow, then wincing with the pain of this movement.

  ‘We cannot postpone again,’ Mrs Lansdowne said. ‘But what will we say about all these cuts and bruises?’

  ‘A nasty side effect of catching criminals?’

  ‘Criminals! I do not want to mention criminals. Indeed, it is very ill bred to converse about criminals. I will invite him to tea. That will give us sufficient time to think of something. Flora, tell the footman to wait a few more minutes.’

  Flora left.

  ‘Now, Millie...’ Mrs Lansdowne paused, pulling her eyebrows into a frown and seating herself on the chair beside the bed. ‘You must stop scrambling about the countryside all hours. You are no longer a child. I’ll let you rest for now and hopefully Mr Edmunds will propose today. Indeed, I do not know why you are not more excited. I thought you quite approved the idea?’

  ‘That was before...’ Millie paused, biting her lip.

  Before she had fallen head over heels with exactly the wrong sort of man.

  She pushed her hand through her hair. ‘Mr Edmunds has not even proposed.’

  ‘Which is why he wants to come for tea. Promise me you will not be foolish.’

  ‘Are you wanting a lifetime commitment to that?’

  * * *

  Sam did not visit. Millie knew he was likely busy making a statement or dealing with other legalities, but still wished she could see him. At the same time, she knew a strong irritation that she should feel this sentiment combined with the notion that she would likely find any visit awkward and painful.

  Nor was there time to visit Sally, although she told Flora she would do so as soon as tea with Mr Edmunds was finished. She did not want Sally to learn the details of last night through the inevitable rumour mill. Although the events of last night almost seemed impossible. With Frances still in bed, Millie almost wondered if she had dreamed the night previous. Being bound at gunpoint seemed such a far cry from a day listening to her mother’s concerns about tea, Mr Edmunds and the lack of flowers for any type of arrangement.