The Earl's Temptation

by Emma V. Leech

  The pretty town of Shaftesbury overlooked the Blackmore Vale, and in other circumstances Céleste would have been enchanted by the beautiful countryside. Today, however, she saw nothing and spoke to no one, avoiding people's eyes as she stepped down from the coach and headed into The Red Lion. It was an elegant building and obviously profiting nicely from being on a busy coaching route. As such it was predictably busy with harassed employees scurrying back and forth bearing loaded trays, the enticing scents making Céleste's stomach twist. Though she was indeed faint from hunger, not having eaten since the previous evening, she thought it unlikely she would be able to eat anything. There would be a short stop here of forty minutes for refreshments though before the next leg of the journey commenced and she knew she had to make the effort or face the ignominy of swooning in public.

  On searching around the packed eating parlour, however, she found to her dismay that there were no free tables. She jerked, startled by a soft touch of a hand over hers, and looked down to see a sweet-faced older lady looking up at her. With bright hazel eyes and cheeks that put her strongly in mind of overripe windfall apples, the woman had the kind of face that should belong to a fairy godmother.

  "Come and sit with us, dear. Mr Harrison doesn't mind, do you Mr Harrison?" This last was addressed to her husband, a stout bald fellow with an improbable moustache.

  Mr Harrison looked up from his steak pie, muttered something that sounded like agreement through the thick bristles of his upper lip and then reapplied himself with absolute concentration to his repast.

  The older lady shifted on the bench seat, moving her own plate along as she went and practically pulled Céleste to sit down beside her.

  "What a beautiful child," she sighed, looking at Céleste in wonder. "I said as soon as you walked in the door, didn't I, Mr Harrison? I said, what a beautiful young woman." She nodded to herself apparently needing no further comment from her husband which was just as well. "Oh, I'm Mrs Harrison, by the way and this is my husband, Mr Harrison, and isn't it a dreadful crush in here? Dear me, yes. Well now, we must get you something to eat, you look positively done in, you poor sweet thing."

  In something of a daze and under the sway of the force of nature which was Mrs Harrison, Céleste was provided with food and a cup of ale and listened to her new companion chatter away while she ate. Happily Mrs Harrison didn't seem to need her to take any part in the conversation at this point, holding up her end of it and Céleste's quite admirably too, and prattled good-naturedly about her eldest son and her three daughters, all married, dear, and her recent trip to stay with her youngest daughter in Wiltshire.

  It wasn't until she had finished eating that those bright hazel eyes were fixed on Céleste in a manner that made her believe Mrs Harrison wasn't as bacon-brained as she made out. She reached out and took hold of Céleste's hand in a motherly fashion.

  "Now then, child, where are you going to?"

  "To Plymouth, Madame," Céleste replied, feeling a little uneasy under the woman's knowing gaze.

  "You're going back to France?"

  Céleste nodded and avoided her eye.

  "You have family there I suppose?"

  "Oui, Madame," she said, looking at her plate in case the woman detected the lie.

  "Well now, it really isn't safe for you to be travelling all alone you must know this, my dear?"

  Céleste swallowed and looked up but found nothing but concern in the woman's eyes. She smiled and shrugged. "I know, but ... but ..." Her voice trembled and she fell silent.

  "Oh, my dear," the woman said, with such compassion in her voice that Céleste was very afraid she would begin to sob in the middle of a public place. "There, there, now child. Now where are you travelling to exactly?"

  "Roscoff," Céleste mumbled, sniffing.

  "Well then!" Mrs Harrison exclaimed, beaming at her. "You can get to Roscoff just as easily from Weymouth, and that is exactly where we are going. We live there you see, and so you must come along in our carriage with us. Mr Harrison won't mind, will you, Mr Harrison?" Not stopping for a reply from her husband who seemed disinclined to give one anyway, perhaps sensing there was little point, the woman beamed at her. "Well now that's all settled. Much nicer than rattling along in that nasty mail coach full of strange people. You come with us and we'll see you safely to Weymouth harbour."

  "Oh, Madame, you are all kindness," Céleste replied with tears in her eyes, touched beyond measure.

  Mrs Harrison began to sniff and blink rapidly at that and waved her hand. "Pho! Dear child, do stop or you shall have us both acting like a couple of watering pots."

  And so with everything arranged quite nicely between them, Céleste was born off with Mr and Mrs Harrison, bound for Weymouth.

  Chapter 31

  "Wherein our hero tears the world apart."

  Alex spent the rest of the day in a blur of activity. He began searching the coaching inns which were the principal departing point for the mail coach, and interrogating anyone he could get his hands on. Starting at the one closest to Mayfair he began at The White Horse on Fetter Lane to no avail, next The Saracen's Head Inn and after La Belle Sauvage back to Ludgate Hill where he had begun his morning with such high hopes. By the time he arrived at a very seedy place by the name of Blossoms Inn, in Cheapside, he was in such a pitch of temper and frustration that he very nearly murdered the manager of the fine establishment, when he suggested the girl might do right in trying to escape him. On reflection he realised he had reacted so because he felt there was no little truth in the man's words.

  Exhausted and filthy from riding hell for leather between each inn, it was with relief that he realised his next destination was also in Cheapside. It was growing dark by the time he arrived at The Swan with Two Necks on Lad Lane. Between Wood Street and Milk Street, it was a huge and bustling place at all hours of the day and night.

  Glossy black and maroon mail coaches, emblazoned with the Royal coat of arms in gold on their doors, lined up inside the central cobbled court yard. The yard was surrounded by tall, galleried buildings on all sides, offering overnight rooms for passengers, and horses were being led back and forth, brought up from stables underground. The place was alive with ostlers wiping down the glistening coats of twitching, sweating horses as a newly arrived coach was unloaded, and walking others around as they waited to be hitched to their carriages. Alex made his way through the throng, scattering people on all sides as they scurried to be out of the way of the towering, grim faced nobleman. Halting a weary and grime covered coach man bearing a whip he asked directions to the coach office and was directed to the left hand side of the yard, before they were both obliged to move hurriedly back as a team was sprung and a fully laden coach lurched forward heading for the tall archway behind them that led out onto the street. Turning as directed Alex discovered a large board stood outside the doors with all the destinations offered and he scanned them, wondering if it would jog any memory of some place that Céleste might head to, to no avail.

  Searching out whoever had been on duty last night he was presented with a Mr Preston. A neat and precise man in his mid-fifties, Mr Preston informed him immediately and decisively that, yes, there had been a young woman, swathed in a dark velvet cloak and travelling alone, who boarded the midnight mail coach. She'd paid for the full journey to Plymouth. Alex was further informed that the coach would make stops every three hours for no more than a few minutes but that it would have arrived at The Red Lion in Shaftsbury in Dorset at around four pm, where the passengers would have had a brief stop for a meal before continuing onto Plymouth.

  Plymouth! Dear God she was going back to France. If she left the country she could feasibly disappear without a trace. His heart grew cold at the thought but he grasped the man's hand. Thanking him for his help, he offered generous recompense for his time and asked that he might treat the matter with discretion.

  "Oh, no my Lord," the man said with a kindly smile. "Tis a pleasure to help you. Believe me, I have a daughter my
self and know what a worry they are. I hope you catch up with her safely."

  Suitably chastened and feeling ever more the villain, Alex set off in pursuit of the midnight mail.

  ***

  It was almost eleven at night by the time Mr and Mrs Harrison set her down outside a neat-looking boarding house close to the harbour at Weymouth. Apparently run by a very dear friend of Mrs Harrison, she assured Céleste she would be quite safe and Mrs Travers would wake her early to catch the packet boat.

  Céleste bid a weary and tearful goodbye to the sweet lady who insisted on giving her their address and begging that Céleste should write and inform her that she had indeed reached her family safely. For Mrs Harrison was convinced she would not sleep a wink again until she was certain of such a fact.

  Mrs Travers appeared to be a tall, sparse woman with an assessing gaze and Céleste wondered at the possibility of her being Mrs Harrison's dear friend. She seemed less sanguine about Céleste arriving on her doorstep without even an abigail to accompany her, but she was kind enough albeit in a brusk manner. Céleste was shown to a small room with whitewashed walls, a thin, hard-looking bed and, she was reliably informed, a lovely view over the harbour.

  Provided with hot water and a curt goodnight, she was left to attend to her needs and turned in the little space feeling suddenly more alone than she ever had in her life before. She scolded herself soundly and began to give herself a talking to. After all, when Marie had died she had been in far worse straights. Completely alone, not a penny to her name. Now at least she had funds, and when she returned to Roscoff she would find Mimi and they would start a business of some kind. Perhaps a little boarding house like this one?

  She huddled into the narrow bed, trying to tell herself it was an exciting adventure. That she would have no one to tell her what to do, how to live her life ... but soon enough her thoughts returned to Alex. She remembered the feel of his hands and mouth on her, the reverent way in which he had kissed her and shown her the path to pleasure. But of course that was just his skill as a lover. It was clearly why he had gained such a reputation among the ladies, gossip of such a type was ever in abundant supply and she'd had no illusions about the kind of man he was. But she hadn't been prepared for it to feel so very special, so very intimate, such a deep and close connection, for her at least. The idea that he had likely made many women feel much the same thing was more than her poor, wearied heart could bear, and after a day of trying to be brave she finally succumbed to tears, and she cried herself into an exhausted sleep.

  ***

  The next morning dawned fair and bright, and Céleste stood beside the harbour, watching the bustling activity of fishermen and sailors, the unloading of merchant ships and the back and forth of small boats as they went about their day. Overhead the raucous cries of gulls, wheeling high above and harrying the fishermen as they brought their catch to shore, pierced her aching brain. She had slept deeply but not well and was overtaken now with the kind of bone deep fatigue that accompanies those afflicted by the harshest sorrow.

  Instructed to wait for the packet boat which would begin boarding at nine o'clock sharp she discovered she had time on her hands. With over an hour to kill she searched out and found herself a sheltered spot, out of the way of the busy thoroughfare where she was likely to be set flying by a rolling barrel or an overloaded cart. From here too, she was out of the wind which snatched at her skirts and tugged at her bonnet. She was heartily glad of her foresight in wearing her simplest, blue striped sarsnet gown made high at the neck and with long, tight sleeves, rather than her usual pretty muslins, and also for the addition of her winter cloak and gloves. For despite the fact it was a glorious spring day the early morning breeze here was sharp indeed and she shivered, huddling into the thick folds of her cloak with relief.

  From here she could watch the comings and goings of the harbour, and tried her best to keep her mind occupied and away from Alex and his possible thoughts or whereabouts, with little success. Her attention, however, was taken by a small flotilla of little boats returning from further up the channel.

  A great East Indiaman was sitting out on the horizon, while the smaller boats scurried around it like servants at a King's feet. Céleste had often seen such sights in Roscoff. The big ships would attract the local fishermen, eager to trade with the sailors who offered small amounts of contraband, tax free, to add to their meagre wages. Of course this inevitably returned her thoughts back to her own contrebandier. Though she knew well his business interests were on a much grander scale than these little fishermen, who were simply hoping to scrape a living. She watched with a benign air as two men, perhaps father and son, returned to shore, hauling their boat onto the soft golden sands and offloading two small kegs, of what she suspected was French brandy. Smiling she turned her head and felt her heart skip when the flash of a red jacket in the distance brought her eyes firmly on the slow, but inexorable approach of three Revenue officers.

  "Merde!" she exclaimed, returning her attention to the men, bearing a keg apiece as they made their way back up the beach. Suddenly frantic on their behalf she got to her feet and began to run towards them. They had just reached the edge of the beach and were stepping onto the walkway when she reached them, quite breathless and flushed in her anxiety to save them. They looked upon her in some surprise, clearly unused to being accosted by unaccompanied young ladies on the beach.

  "The Revenue!" she squeaked at them. Their dilemma quickly became apparent to them and both men blanched. "Oh, put them down! Put them down!" she snapped, waving at the barrels. Perhaps too surprised to disobey they did as she asked, setting the barrels side by side, whereupon she sat on them and cast the voluminous folds of her cloak about to cover the small barrels. At this point she leaned back and moaned fanning herself. "Oh!" she cried in as convincing a manner as she could contrive, adding in an undertone to the startled men. "I've fainted, you fools, aidez moi!"

  To her relief they caught on and the older man patted her hand as the other offered her a sip from a hip flask which she accepted gratefully even though she was shamming it.

  She cracked open an eye to see the Revenue men cast a curious glance their way before continuing upon their path without a backwards glance.

  "Oh, mon Dieu," she said, letting go of a breath. "That was close."

  She looked up to see the two men staring at her, clearly torn between bewilderment and gratitude.

  "Well, Madame, I don't know rightly how we should thank you," said the older man, scratching his head and looking at her in wonder. "That you should take it upon yourself to save two such as ourselves, well ... well I'm beyond words, that I am."

  A short stocky man with a grizzled grey beard and blue eyes set under extraordinarily bushy eyebrows in a deeply tanned face, he looked genuinely flummoxed and Céleste couldn't help but laugh.

  "It was my pleasure," she said. "I have a ... a dear friend who is occupied in a similar trade you see and ..." she shrugged but it seemed to be all that was required as the man beamed at her.

  "Oh!" he said, his broad smile showing a row of uneven teeth. "Well in that case we're as good as kin. Now see, this is my son in law, Davy, and I'm Jack Webster. But everyone calls me Jacky." He held out a gnarled hand which Céleste shook with amusement. "But here, not that it's my business, but what's a little slip of a girl like you doing down here alone? It won't do you know, indeed it won't."

  "Some shady folks down by the harbour," the son in law, Davy, intoned with a voice of deep foreboding. She had to look rather farther up for Davy, craning her neck as he was as long and thin as a fishing rod and about as substantial.

  "Oh, well," she said, shrugging and recalling her own wretched circumstance with an unhappy start. In the excitement of rescuing them she had momentarily forgotten her flight and had felt eager to relay the whole tale to Alex, for how very entertained he would be!

  How very stupid she was.

  Seeing the emotions and the obvious misery that settled upon her
face, Jacky's face darkened with understanding.

  "Ah, like that is it? Where you going to, lass?"

  "Roscoff," she said, looking at her shoes. "I am going 'ome."

  "Waiting for the packet boat I suppose?" he added.

  Céleste nodded and sniffed.

  She looked up to see the two men share a glance and Jacky seemed to come to a decision. "Now look here," he said, his voice soft and concerned. "Why don't you come back with us. Davy's missus, my Meg, she lives with me and the wife. They'll look after you, and then, on the next tide we're Roscoff bound. Have to stop overnight at Jersey mind so won't be as quick as the packet, but you'll be safe and it will save you a penny or two."

  "Oh," she said, blinking away tears. "You really are very kind, but ... but I couldn't impose ..."

  "Impose!" Jacky barked in astonishment, before giving a heavy frown, his blue eyes momentarily disappearing under his thick grey eyebrows. "You just saved us from the Revenue and at the very least a hefty fine. It's the least we can do."

  His face took on a look of understanding and he shooed his son in law away for a moment, crouching down to put his face on a level with hers. "Now, look, Miss ..."

  "Lavelle," Céleste said, feeling awkward. "Célestine Lavelle."

  "Well now, Miss Lavelle, I don't know what trouble you're in and I don't need you to tell me. But I know trouble when I see it." He hesitated before speaking again, but she could tell his words were heartfelt. "Davy's wife, my Meg, she got herself tied up with a gentlemen who really wasn't any good for her. A wrong'un he was and no mistake. Tried to lead her astray he did and ..." He shook his head and gave her hand a light pat. "I was lucky everything turned out as it should and that Davy is a good and kind-hearted fellow is all, but I'd like to repay the fates for that kindness and you for yours, if you'll allow it?"

  "Oui, Monsieur Jacky," Céleste said with gratitude. "I will, and I thank you with all my 'eart."