Imperfect Pretence

by Imperfect Pretence (retail) (epub)

  After the splendid dinner cooked by Mrs Hays, the visitors took their leave. As they did so, Max said, ‘Shall we go to the lighthouse tomorrow, if the mist does not foil our plans again?’ Constance glanced towards Melinda in order to discover her opinion. It had not escaped her notice that whilst she had been walking with the duke, her friend had been in close conversation with his secretary. It was no great surprise, therefore, when Melinda nodded in agreement.

  Constance woke early the following morning, with a feeling of excitement that she told herself firmly was solely due to the fact that the coming visit would be an interesting one. Of course, she told herself, it could not have anything to do with the fact that her escort had called her pretty! She knelt on the window seat in her room, watched the sun rise in the midst of a red glow, and remembered the old saying, ‘Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’ There might be sailors in sore need of a guiding light before the next day came.

  Constance and Melinda walked to Beacon Tower as before, accompanied by Miss Fellowes with her sketchbook and, of course, Gussy. They were met on their arrival by Max, superbly dressed as always, today in a dark-blue coat with a light-blue waistcoat and buff breeches. Abdas was at his elbow.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, bowing as he ushered them into the house. ‘Would you care for a glass of wine, or shall we set off immediately?’

  The ladies opted for the latter course, and were soon being handed into an immaculate open carriage. Constance, sensing the power in the duke’s arm as he assisted her with his hand under her elbow, asked, ‘Do you ever drive yourself, Your Grace?’

  ‘Occasionally. I prefer to ride, I must admit.’

  ‘Do you drive, Mr Okoro?’ Miss Fellowes asked.

  The African inclined his head. ‘It is a pleasure I have acquired since’ – he paused briefly – ‘since coming to this country,’ he concluded smoothly.

  ‘Are there any horses in Africa?’ Melinda asked him.

  ‘Now, that I cannot tell you, Miss Grayleigh,’ Abdas replied. ‘All I can say is that I have never seen any there, although I have seen lions and elephants.’

  The ladies were enthralled at this revelation, and begged him to tell them more. Max sat back easily in his seat, and listened as the African wove a spell with his honeyed tones. Miss Grayleigh was well on the way to being utterly entranced with him. At any rate, no one would be able to say that she had fallen for his fortune. Doubtless, he thought cynically, her parents would be much better disposed when they discovered that he was a ship owner with some handsome investments and a neat estate, rather than a secretary to a great man.

  He stole a glance at Miss Church and saw that she was watching him curiously. She, too, was in for a surprise. She thought him a titled man with lands and riches. How would she feel about him when he was revealed to be a mere ‘mister’, comfortably off rather than wealthy, and with no property to his name? The fact that she despised the aristocrat that he had pretended to be gave him some hope.

  About her radical sympathies, though, he was conscious of some disquiet. Miss Church’s opinions were no different from those held by many intellectuals. If she was amongst those whose politics caused them to desire a revolution in England such as was currently taking place in France, however, then at all costs he must make sure that she knew nothing of Alistair’s exploits.

  Although she had been surprised at his activities in Diss, she had said nothing to indicate that she did not believe him to be the duke. Nor had she exhibited any suspicious behaviour so far. Unfortunately, his mind kept going back to the moment when he had asked Alistair what he should do should he suspect anyone of endangering the mission. His cousin’s instructions had been quite clear. ‘Kill them,’ he had said.

  Max knew that Alistair had a ruthless streak which meant that he would be more than capable of cold-bloodedly carrying out such a grim task. He himself had killed before, in the heat of the moment, in defence of his own life or that of someone else. He looked at Constance Church and knew that he could never do it. What was more, because of the way that he had come to feel about her, he would do all in his power to protect her.

  He caught himself up sharply. Why was he thinking of hopes and feelings? How did they fit into his encounters with Miss Church? Whatever relationship existed between them would disappear once Alistair arrived to take his rightful place. He looked away from the woman sitting opposite him and gazed at the sea. Would to God he were out there now with his ship under him and this whole masquerade behind him. For all that it had been undertaken for honourable reasons, he felt like the grossest deceiver.

  Constance’s thoughts were much as he had imagined. At first completely absorbed by Abdas’s stories, she had soon started to wonder at the haughty nobleman who allowed his employee to take centre stage whilst he himself played the part of an onlooker. Had there ever been a duke who behaved in such a way?

  The lighthouse was the other side of Cromer from West Runton, built on a piece of land called Foulness. From its eminence, the party were able to look down on the town, which looked very small, with its few dwellings chiefly clustered around the lofty parish church. ‘My uncle tells me that although the lighthouse tower has been here for over a hundred years, the man who built it could not afford to have the fire lit,’ said Constance.

  ‘That would not appear to be very sensible,’ her friend murmured.

  ‘Don’t believe it, Miss Grayleigh,’ Max said. ‘A day mark in itself provides a valuable beacon, giving a point of identification – something not readily come by at sea. Shall we go in, ladies?’

  The lighthouse was tended by two young women who greeted them with curtsies, and not a little curiosity, especially when confronted with Abdas Okoro. They were very happy to allow the visitors to look round, and adjured them strictly not to interfere with the light. ‘Them up at London’d have our hides if we allowed any harm to come to it,’ said one of them.

  Having promised to leave it alone, the party ascended the spiral staircase, Max going first, and Abdas bringing up the rear, with the ladies in between for safety’s sake. Gussy took one look at the spiral staircase and flopped down outside the door to await his mistress’s return. Miss Fellowes, too, declined to climb the tower. ‘It is some time since I made a sketch from this perspective,’ she declared, preparing to sit on a rug that was being spread out by a groom.

  Max was the first to enter the chamber where the light was held. When he looked at what was before him, he could not help exclaiming in awestruck tones, ‘By God, Abdas, just look at this!’

  ‘By God, indeed,’ the African replied, obviously similarly impressed as he came into view. ‘Wonder upon wonders.’

  ‘What is this wonder?’ Melinda asked.

  ‘It is the light, ma’am,’ Max replied, gesturing towards the mechanism before them. ‘Up until now, lighthouses have depended on coal-fired lights to keep them lit. Here, you see oil lamps and reflectors on a revolving frame.’

  ‘I can see the benefit of oil lamps over coal, but why should the frame revolve?’ Constance asked.

  ‘The idea is still in its infancy,’ Max responded. ‘It is only the second such installed by Trinity House, to which this lighthouse now belongs. The effect of the frame revolving is that the light flashes.’

  Constance frowned. ‘Forgive me; I still cannot see the advantage.’

  This time it was Abdas who answered her. ‘The frame can be constructed so that the timing of the flash varies,’ he explained. ‘When new lighthouses are built, the timing could be different for each one.’

  Constance’s brow cleared. ‘I see! So a list could be made of all the different lighthouses and their light patterns! A mariner would then be able to discover where he was by the pattern of the flashing light.’

  ‘Exactly so!’ Max declared. ‘We will make a sailor of you yet, Miss Church. Believe me, when you have been at sea after a storm with your mast gone and only the pole star to guide you, anything that might give such a c
lear indication as to where you are would be a real boon.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ she replied. She was remembering how Max had spoken in a languid tone about the need to find something to do on board ship. Such a circumstance was beginning to sound unlikely in the extreme.

  The view from the lighthouse covered a large expanse of sea. They stood admiring it, commenting idly on its blueness on such a fine day, the sparkle of the sun on the water, and the white, fluffy clouds. ‘There’s a boat out there,’ said Melinda, pointing. The others turned to look.

  ‘Where? I cannot make it out,’ said Constance, screwing up her eyes to try and see it.

  ‘Perhaps I can help,’ said Max, producing a brass folding tele-scope from inside his coat. ‘Allow me to locate it first.’ Within a very short time, he had found the boat in question, and offered the telescope to Constance, who struggled at first to find anything at all.

  ‘At one moment, I think I almost have it, then it’s gone,’ she confessed, laughing,

  ‘And the lighthouse isn’t even moving,’ Melinda reminded her. ‘What on earth must it be like at sea, with the whole vessel rocking beneath one’s feet?’

  ‘It’s an acquired skill,’ Max said. ‘Remember that everything is magnified, so a tiny movement of the instrument itself makes a big difference to what is seen at the other end. Other reference points help, too. Do you see that cloud near the horizon – the one with a curly edge at the bottom, a little like a ‘w’ ? The vessel is just below and to the right of it.’

  ‘It will probably have sailed all the way to America by the time I’ve found it,’ Constance grumbled.

  Max laughed. ‘Something of that size? I doubt it’s more than a fishing smack. Here, let me help you.’ He found the vessel again, and by dint of holding it steady for her with his left hand and guiding her with his right, he enabled her to locate it.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ she exclaimed with triumph, turning her head to look at him and then blushing furiously as she realized how close he was. Why, she was practically in his arms! ‘I shall never find it again now that I have looked away, of course,’ she went on, making a recovery. ‘Melinda, would you like to have a look?’

  As Constance held the telescope out to her friend, she noticed that there were some letters engraved on it. ‘To M.P. with fondest love, M.P.’ How odd, she thought to herself. The donor has the same initials as the recipient.

  Profiting from the instructions given to her friend, Melinda managed to locate the boat with Abdas’s help. Unlike Constance, she appeared to be utterly unembarrassed at the proximity of the duke’s secretary. ‘Amazing how something so distant can appear to be so close,’ she remarked, as she returned Max’s telescope.

  ‘Not so very distant,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Abdas?’ he added, holding the instrument out to the other man, who, like Max, found the vessel with ridiculous ease.

  After they had looked their fill and the gentlemen had once more admired the advanced mechanism of the light, they descended the stairs and went back outside, passing the two curtsying attendants, whose shy smiles broadened as they received the coins that the duke put into their hands.

  They sat on blankets, eating their picnic, chatting idly, and looking out to sea, whilst Gussy, reunited with his mistress, lay in blissful relaxation at her feet. Most of the conversation was supplied by Abdas and Melinda. Max and Constance, although not silent, seemed to be more preoccupied, whilst Miss Fellowes only snatched a few moments to eat, before returning to her sketch.

  After they had enjoyed their food, they were not sorry to return, for the sun had gone in and what had been a breeze was becoming more substantial altogether.

  ‘Wind’s getting up,’ Mr Fellowes remarked, as the gentlemen dropped the ladies off at home. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if we were to have a storm tonight. You’ll hear it up at Beacon Tower, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘No doubt,’ the duke answered.

  ‘Heaven help any poor souls who are out at sea in it,’ said Miss Fellowes.

  ‘Amen,’ responded Abdas and Melinda, who spoke at the same time, then shared a long exchange of looks.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mr Fellowes’s prediction proved to be correct. During the evening, the wind increased, accompanied by driving rain, and by the time Melinda and Constance retired, it was bidding fair to become as bad a storm as either of them could remember. ‘I fancy that we can hear the sea, even though I know that we cannot,’ said Melinda with a shudder, as they sat looking out into the night from Constance’s bedroom window. ‘Just fancy Abdas – I mean, Mr Okoro – and the duke out in a storm in such weather!’

  ‘No doubt the duke would be snugly tucked up in a hammock whilst the mariners aboard the same ship were fighting to preserve his life,’ said Constance.

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Melinda asked her.

  Constance sat for a moment deep in thought. There was a time when she would have answered this question unhesitatingly in the affirmative. ‘I don’t know what I think about him any more,’ she said frankly. ‘What of you?’

  ‘What of me?’ Melinda wrinkled her brow.

  ‘What do you think of Abdas – I mean, Mr Okoro?’ Constance asked teasingly.

  After a long pause, Melinda said, ‘I’ve never met anyone like him before.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you have,’ Constance replied.

  Melinda stared at her. ‘I don’t mean the colour of his skin,’ she said, adding indignantly, ‘I don’t see him as some kind of … of novelty, like something at a fair.’

  ‘I never thought that you did,’ Constance assured her.

  Melinda was silent for a moment, something about her expression indicating that she was picturing the African in her mind. ‘If you really want to know, I think that he is absolutely beautiful. His colour is part of that, although it’s something that I hardly notice now, any more than I notice the colour of your hair. It is his character that draws me, Connie. For all that he has suffered – and he has lost so much, more than you could imagine – he is not bitter. He is loyal and brave, and full of joie de vivre. His mind is so quick and intelligent, so interested in everything – even in me, and I have been nowhere and done nothing in comparison. It’s true,’ she went on, when Constance would have protested. ‘He listens to my opinions. He has a fine mind.’

  ‘Combined, of course, with a manly physique,’ murmured Constance provocatively.

  ‘Needless to say, you are utterly unaware of the duke’s physical attributes,’ Melinda retorted, proving that she could give as good as she got. The consequence was a modest pillow fight.

  The following morning dawned bright and clear, the wind appearing to have blown itself out in the night. Mr Fellowes took himself off down to the seashore to discover whether the hazardous conditions had caused any tragedy to occur. He came back with an exciting tale to tell. ‘Apparently a ship got into difficulties about two miles out from the shore,’ he said. ‘As often happens at such times, a group of men gathered together in order to try and give assistance. They launched a boat and rowed out amid punishing waves, determined to rescue as many as they could.’

  ‘Such brave lads!’ exclaimed his sister.

  ‘Gallantry is often thought of as a characteristic of the nobility,’ Constance agreed, ‘But surely none could be so gallant as those who risk their lives for others.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say so,’ said her uncle, grinning. ‘For your dandy-brute duke was one of them.’

  ‘He was?’ Constance exclaimed. A week ago she would have been more surprised.

  Her uncle nodded. ‘They had to make three journeys altogether. The first time, they got so far, only to be beaten back by the force of the waves. The second time, they reached the vessel and rescued a number of folk, including the captain’s wife and baby son. On their return, Haslingfield and Okoro were waiting—’

  ‘Mr Okoro too!’ Melinda interrupted.

  Mr Fellowes nodded. ‘They were both waiting
and took the places of the most exhausted men. The boat went out to the stricken vessel once more, took off another group and brought them safely back to shore.’

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’ Melinda asked. Constance knew that she was thinking of Abdas.

  ‘Amazingly, almost everyone was saved,’ said Mr Fellowes. ‘Three men had lost their lives earlier when the ship first got into difficulties. After the boat had taken its second load of survivors, the remaining crew, including the captain, managed to launch the ship’s rowing boat, and make for the shore.’ He chuckled. ‘They did have some help.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ his sister asked.

  ‘Apparently, Haslingfield gave instructions for the boat to be brought alongside the ship. With Okoro directing operations, they stood by whilst the duke was helped aboard.’

  Constance’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘He actually went aboard the sinking ship?’

  ‘I had it from one of the men in the rowing boat,’ her uncle answered. ‘Then, under his leadership, they launched the ship’s boat and rowed for the shore.’

  ‘And no one was hurt, you say,’ Constance pursued. If Melinda had been thinking of Abdas earlier, she was now thinking of the duke.

  ‘They are a little concerned for the young child, having been exposed to the elements for such a period of time. Other than that, there was nothing more than cuts and bruises. They were taken to the Red Lion to get dry clothes and food.’

  ‘From where had the vessel come?’ Miss Fellowes asked.

  ‘It was a Swedish craft, apparently. The captain speaks English and the wife has a smattering; the rest don’t understand a word. A mercy he was rescued, really, otherwise heaven knows how they would have communicated.’