Virginia And The Wolf

by Lynne Connolly

  Ignoring Butler’s cries of anguish, they tied him up. By the time they’d finished, Butler was unconscious. Virginia’s tears did nothing but obscure her vision.

  They propped Butler against the wall. He slumped down as far as he could, then woke, screaming, and passed out again.

  As the men lashed ropes around Virginia’s and Francis’s wrists, Crace spoke to them. “Now stay there until we get back. Clear? After that we can deal with you. This”—he dangled his coin at the end of its chain—“keeps me from killing you, but that’s all the favors you get. After that we’ll see. I don’t believe you, you see. Sam Satterley isn’t dead, as far as I know, but you got that token from somewhere, and I’m going to find out where.”

  Calling on all her training, Virginia kept her expression clear.

  Crace glanced out of the cave opening. “I might just let the sea take care of you.”

  He nodded to the man holding the clothes. The man dropped them on the wet floor of the cave, out of their reach. Virginia tried not to shiver but failed. The air was sharp, and she was all but naked. The ropes chafed her wrists when she tried to move them.

  “Just when my bruises were going,” Francis murmured, “I get more.” In complete contrast to his expression, he sounded amused, resigned, even.

  Crace shot him a questioning look. The man might appear craggy, and his clothes wouldn’t pass muster at court, but he was their master for the foreseeable future, and intelligence shone in his dark eyes. He was not a man they could win over.

  Though that would not stop her trying. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

  “Which part?” he demanded, and then the damned man smiled.

  “All of it,” she snapped. “What can we do?”

  “Wait for us until we return,” he answered. “And enjoy the show.” He gestured to the opening of the cave. “You can see some of it from here. If it goes well, we’ll be back before the tide’s in. If not…” His wide shoulders rolled in a careless shrug.

  He strolled—strolled—to the entrance of the cave, followed by his men, one with the rifle slung over his shoulder, the other swaggering like a pirate. They crunched over the pebbles and shards of shells, and then silence, as they hit the sand of the beach. Beyond, the ship was moored far enough into the bay to catch the gentler swells, far enough away to catch the tide as it went out.

  Small boats rowed toward the shore, three of them at least. Men stood ready to collect what they offloaded. None of the scene was easy to see, but by concentrating she could make out most of it. And the men scurrying from boat to shore, and pushing the empty ones off.

  An efficient operation.

  “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” she asked, fighting back more tears.

  “They don’t have to. The sea will do that.” Francis jerked his chin, indicating the walls of the cave. “You see that line about eight feet up? That’s where the tide will reach when it comes in.”

  The floor under them was wet, the walls were wet, but only up to that line.

  Virginia swallowed. “So they’ll leave us to drown?”

  “They’ll threaten us with it.” He cursed. “Damn!” He jerked at the rope. “I have a knife in my coat. They took the other one.” He glared at the offending object, perched on top of the pile of clothes ten feet away from them.

  “They’ll take the contraband and make it safe before they come back for us. If we’re dead, then they’ll untie us and let nature take its course.” He gave the rope a vicious tug. “It’s easier than killing us. If anyone finds us, it will appear to be an accident.”

  Virginia choked back her shock. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Turning his head, he watched her, but she couldn’t see his expression in the dark of the cave. They’d taken the lamp with them. “I knew we were vulnerable. I should have insisted we move to the inn in Newton Abbott.”

  Heedless of the state of the green slime-streaked cave walls, Virginia leaned back, the cold freezing her bones. Just when she thought she couldn’t get any colder, she did. The rope grazed the walls, but they were softened by the constant buffeting of the sea and she could not find a sharp edge. The rope was pulled tight, and she feared for her hands.

  Standing up, something caught her shift and pulled a tear. She stopped moving. “The hook!”

  His fraught gaze met hers. “Yes. The hook.”

  If she lifted her arms, she could snag the rope on the hook. It wasn’t too sharp, but it was enough. Her arms hurt, ached, but she didn’t give up. This was the only chance she had.

  She pulled and teased and tugged until water swirled around her ankles and she couldn’t feel her feet anymore. Still she worked. Three feet away from her, at the location of the next hook, Francis did the same, but with more power and less subtlety. Where Virginia worked carefully, he pulled. The rope was strong, and the sea was coming in faster, up to their knees. Their clothes floated around them, pushing and teasing.

  The boats had gone, but the ship was still there. They were past speaking now. If Virginia tried, her teeth chattered.

  Her pockets floated past.

  Leaning forward, straining so the rope bit into her wrists, she grabbed the string with her teeth. She reared back, slamming against the wall. She would have shouted her triumph, except she’d have lost the string.

  “What is it?”

  His attention went from her to the pockets. He froze for a fraction of a second, then his gaze went to her face and he nodded. “Swing it,” he said.

  She shook her head, setting up a motion that swung the pockets toward him. He caught them, but she didn’t let go until he’d pressed the pouch against his chest and secured the handle of her small fruit knife in his teeth. He was tall enough to bend over.

  Virginia held very still as he stretched down and brought the blade to her bonds. The knife was not a particularly special one, nor was it very sharp, but it was enough. Eventually.

  Water surged over them, each wave splashing up, filling her mouth and eyes with seawater. At least he couldn’t see her despairing tears.

  Butler woke up, moved, and screamed.

  “No, no, don’t,” she begged, but she had no idea if he heard her.

  Then she pulled, and her left hand came free, her right soon after.

  She needed both hands to hold the knife. She took it from his mouth, first wrapping one hand around the hilt.

  Holding the knife like a child might, forcing her body under control, she leaned over, letting the waves surge up, snatching breaths between each surge of cold water. Her shift clung to her body, and her teeth chattered, but she kept at her task, the knife slipping and skidding over the tight knots.

  Blood threaded up to the surface, pulled into the waves, but not much, not like when he’d fallen from his carriage.

  “Yes!” His sharp cry hit the roof of the cave and bounced back at them. He swept her up and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, cold and slimy; the best kiss she’d ever had.

  Then he took the knife to Butler and efficiently cut him free.

  Butler groaned, and then gave a wordless shout. He was conscious now.

  “Can you swim?” he shouted to her.

  Virginia shook her head. Most sailors couldn’t swim, so why should she? The waves were deeper now, bearing them up. She went under and spluttered. Butler muttered something, and Francis shook his head. “Come here,” he told her. “I had thought to swim out of the cave, but we’ll try this instead.”

  She waded across to him. He wrapped his free arm around her waist. “I will hold you both up until we can reach those.” He indicated further up the wall. Then she saw them, old rusty hooks, like the ones they’d been tied to. The steps they’d walked down were on the other side of the cave.

  He saw her glance. “We’ll be swept off them. There’s nothing to
hold on to, and the door is locked.”

  Only a latch, no handle. He was right. They couldn’t get out that way.

  It seemed impossible, but that was their only chance. She couldn’t stop her teeth chattering, and lassitude was descending on her, pushing her toward blissful sleep. Perhaps when she woke up everything would be fine. Perhaps—

  He nudged her hard with his chin. “Don’t sleep. Don’t ever sleep,” he growled.

  Butler wasn’t screaming any longer.

  With a squeal of hinges, the door above them opened, and the last voice they wanted to hear shouted Francis’s name.

  “Dear God, Wolverley! Over here, man!”

  Lord Dulverton had found them.

  Now they were dead for sure.

  Chapter 20

  Virginia opened her eyes. The events of the previous day flooded back, together with vague memories of her rescue, the smell of horses, the rocking of a carriage, and being carried and stowed into another rocking vehicle. After that she had a vague memory of being tucked between clean sheets.

  She was alone in a pleasant bedroom she did not know. Sunlight filtered through the shutters, and elaborate silk drapes in a pleasant shade of light green were carefully arranged around them. The furniture was modern and not too ostentatious, but elegant and pretty. Gazing up at the canopy, she smiled.

  She was alive. That was all that mattered this morning.

  In a dizzying sequence of events, Jamie had pulled them out of certain death and forced them to climb the stairs, back to the main body of the house. With exhaustion swamping her, unable to make sense of what was happening, Virginia had been dumped into a carriage and driven away.

  At that stage she had given up and sunk into a deep slumber. More like unconsciousness.

  The clock chimed the three-quarter hour, a delicate chime, but she was not sure what hour it was. Planting her hands on the feather mattress, she heaved herself up, wincing as her sore wrists made their presence known.

  A quarter to two? Surely not!

  Someone sitting by the window stood when she moved, and came over to the bed. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

  Virginia had last seen the owner of that voice in Staines at the beginning of the week. Winston.

  Pulling the sheet up in a protective gesture, Virginia called out. “To me! Help!”

  Winston stood back as the door flew open and Francis raced into the room. He took one look at the maid and Virginia and came to her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Winston was set to protect you, not to attack you.” He sat on the bed and took her hands. “She’s here to look after you.”

  “I’ll get a tray, my lord,” the maid said and hastily left the room.

  Francis kissed her hands, first one, then the other. “How are you feeling?”

  Virginia shifted. “A little sore, but better than I have any right to. Where are we? How did we get here? How is Butler? Who saved us?”

  “One question at a time.” Francis had shaved. He wore his usual garb, fine cloth breeches in dark blue and a cream waistcoat, in shirtsleeves with no coat. His neckcloth was looped around his neck in a familiar style that brought tears to Virginia’s eyes. She blinked them away.

  “Butler has a broken arm, and he is exhausted. He’s in bed, being well cared for. We’re at Waltham Hall, about ten miles from Combe Manor.”

  She frowned. “Jamie’s house?”

  Waltham was part of the estate Jamie had inherited from his father before he’d become Viscount Dulverton. It was a pleasant manor house, blessedly inland from the coast. She had visited with Ralph, once.

  Virginia never wanted to see the sea again. Or not for some time, anyway.

  “The same.”

  With a jolt she recalled that voice at the top of the stairs. She’d been sure they were finished. After making all that effort to get out of their bonds, only to meet the man who wanted her dead. Perhaps he’d arranged the whole thing.

  But Francis was relaxed and smiling. He wouldn’t be that way if they were still in danger, surely.

  “What happened? Why are we here?” Weren’t they in danger, here at Jamie’s house? “Doesn’t Jamie have connections with smugglers?”

  Francis shook his head. “None at all. He’s below in the drawing room, waiting for us. I promise we will talk. I insisted on staying with you last night, which has created somewhat of a fuss, but I’m past caring about that now. Just that I needed to know you’re well. When you’re ready, come downstairs and we’ll tell you everything. There’s a Bow Street Runner down there, as well.”

  “Why is he here in Devonshire? What does he want?”

  “He has business here.”

  “What business?”

  Leaning forward, he kissed her gently, drawing away when she would have pulled him closer. “Eat, dress, and come downstairs. I swear we’re safe, you’re safe with Winston, and everything will be explained.”

  “Winston?”

  “She is loyal to you. She was paid to look after you, not to spy on you. She has certain skills ladies’ maids don’t usually possess. Despite that, she lost you at Staines. She was knocked unconscious, and when she couldn’t find any trace of you, she caught a stagecoach back here, to report to Jamie.”

  “He paid her?”

  He nodded.

  Virginia tried insisting that he tell her, threatening to send him away immediately, even pouting, but he would not tell her any more than that.

  And the food came, and Virginia found that, after all, she was hungry.

  * * * *

  “My lady.”

  Winston, as neat and competent as always, came up after Virginia’s breakfast tray was taken away.

  Virginia resisted the urge to pull the covers up in an instinctively protective gesture. “Where have you been?”

  “After Staines, I looked for you, my lady, and found no trace. Nothing. So I reported back to his lordship. He cares for you, madam, as he would a sister. And he worried about you, so he set me to ensure your safety. I failed.” She hung her head. “I will understand if you wish to send me away, but please allow me to help you this one last time.”

  Assured by her maid, and more importantly Francis, that she was in no danger, Virginia consented.

  Winston could work fast when she needed to. Little more than an hour later, Virginia was arrayed in a borrowed gown of apple-green and white, the petticoat embroidered around the hem with spring flowers. Winston worked in near silence, but she provided the skilled touches Virginia was used to and found comforting.

  She fingered the embroidery before she put it on, admired the handiwork. With lace ruffles at her elbows, a fine shift, and a satin pair of stays, she felt more like herself than she had in days, although it felt longer than that.

  And in that time her life had changed forever.

  As the maid was dressing her hair, Virginia ventured the question that burned in her mind. “Why did you do it, Winston?”

  The maid carefully inserted a hairpin into the style she was creating. “I was paid to take care of you and report any unusual occurrences. I swear I never informed anyone of anything else.”

  Virginia was too confused to demand more information. Her world had spun around several times, until she was dizzy with it. So she relaxed into the silence, gathering her strength for whatever awaited her below.

  She was alive, and lucky. Her wrists were bruised and red where the rough hempen ropes had cut into them, and without asking, Winston tied wide ribbons around them to match the color of her gown. Virginia was no martyr, and she had no intention of wearing the evidence of her ordeal like stigmata.

  When she entered the library, Francis came to meet her and kissed her hands, the expression on his face telling her he would have kissed her lips if he could do it without embarrassing her.

  Two other people sat there
.

  If Virginia had thought she was beyond shocking, she was very much mistaken. Jamie stood protectively behind the chair of a woman she knew. “Miss Mountford?”

  Maria smiled sunnily. She was dressed plainer than Virginia had ever seen her, and she beamed with happiness. “We share a name, I believe, but not for much longer.”

  Virginia’s attention went from Maria to Jamie and back. Had he, then, snared the heiress? But more than that was displayed here. Both Maria and Jamie radiated joy. This was more than a dynastic arrangement. “You’re Lady Dulverton?”

  Maria rose and curtsyed, the precise dip she would give to one slightly senior in rank. Both women had been trained to the utmost degree. “Lady Dulverton.”

  From behind her, Francis took her elbow and gently steered her to a sofa by the unlit fire.

  The windows were open, letting the scent of late spring, roses, and freshly cut grass permeate the room. The room was elegant, the furniture light, with blue cushions and curtains. The kind of room Virginia would have liked to spend time in, a far cry from the simple, chunky style of the house they had been in just yesterday.

  Another world.

  “Did you have anything to do with our abduction at Staines?”

  Jamie met her gaze. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  She had no answer. Or she had many. But slowly, matters were becoming clear to her. Of course she would suspect Jamie after years of Ralph’s antipathy toward him. But she no longer saw things through her late husband’s eyes.

  Maria lifted her hand, and Jamie took it in a seamless motion that spoke of mutual harmony. He stood behind her chair, while Francis took his seat next to Virginia and stretched out his long legs.

  Maria spoke. “Jamie and I met when I was eighteen, on my come-out. Our connection was instant, but my parents denied us.” Her voice, soft and regretful, filled the air.

  “I wasn’t a rich enough prize for them,” Jamie said. “At the time, I did not know if I was to inherit the Dulverton estate. You could still have produced an heir for Ralph.”