by Carola Dunn
Oliver was unable to greet Ruth properly, but conversation flowed easily. He assured Letty that they should start the very next morning, and told them that he had left his chaise in Launceston and ridden over so as to arrive early.
“I shall stay tonight at the Scrimshaw Inn,” he explained, “and hire a vehicle there tomorrow. Lady... Miss Bailey, might I have a word with you?”
Auntie would not permit them to retire to a bedchamber, and Letty balked at being exiled above stairs, so they strolled together down to the harbour. In spite of his words, Oliver was silent at first, and Ruth wondered what it was he wanted to say.
He spread his coat on a low stone wall in the sun, and they sat down.
“Lady Ruth,” he opened, “I am sorry to have to tell you that your uncle and aunt are gone to Paris until February. Do not be uneasy, I have an alternative to propose. Pray read this.”
The letter, signed by both his mother and his sister, expressed an earnest wish that Lady Ruth and her sister should regard the Pardoe house as their refuge for as long as it should prove convenient. A postscript, signed by Rose, assured Ruth that it was her dearest wish to meet the heroine who had shared Oliver’s adventure.
Ruth looked up with tears in her eyes.
“You are not offended?” asked Oliver anxiously. “It is not fitting that the sisters of an earl should live in the City, but it will be only for a few weeks. I did not tell my family anything that might embarrass you, I promise. Do you feel able to tell me what persuaded you to leave Penderric? Your letter did not specify.”
“Mr Pardoe, I have been wishing to meet your family since you told me about them. It is amazingly kind of your mother to invite us. We have no conceivable claim on her hospitality, but what else can we do? I cannot return to the castle.”
“What happened, Ruth?”
“He... he attacked me with a knife.” She displayed her scarred palm. “And then I think he tried to drop a block of stone on me. Why is he doing this, Oliver?”
He took her injured hand in both his.
“I don’t know his reasons, but I feared something like this. I cannot tell you my suspicions now, they are not founded on any solid evidence. Come with me to London, leave all this behind you, at least for now.”
“Thank you,” she said, with the trusting look he remembered from the cave. “We will come.”
Chapter 8
Letty was in alt.
“Only think of all the parties, Ruth, and balls and ridottos and masquerades!” she cried. “You are not such a disagreeable sister after all, I vow. Let us leave at once!”
“Mr Pardoe has been on the road for days,” chided Ruth. “We will go when he is ready. I shall be sorry to say goodbye to Auntie and Mr Polgarth. They have been so very kind to us.”
“Indeed, Lady Laetitia, London is not going to run off if we keep it waiting,” pointed our Oliver. “I must go to Boscastle this afternoon, but as you are so anxious for it, we shall depart tomorrow.”
“We can perfectly well wait another day,” Ruth assured him. “You must be tired after travelling such a distance.”
“You must think me a poor, weak creature,” he teased. “If I am unable to stand up to a week or so in a well-sprung chaise, however shall I manage six hundred miles in a balloon?”
“It would be an excellent idea if you did not try,” she answered with asperity.
“I doubt if it will go farther than twenty miles,” put in Bob gloomily. He was having trouble with the envelope.
That afternoon Oliver rode over to Boscastle to repay Mr Trevelyan’s loan. The elderly justice and his wife were delighted to see him and asked after Lady Ruth.
“She is looking very well,” he told them. “She says that a few days of Auntie’s care and Martha's cooking have accomplished wonders. After our mutual experiences I have a high opinion of her strength and endurance, but in spite of young Letty, there is no hurry to reach London, and we shall go by easy stages. What news of the smugglers’ trial?”
“The old man laid evidence against the two we didn’t pick up, and we nabbed them,” said Mr Trevelyan. “Five of them were sentenced to transportation, and Jem Blount, as the leader, was to be held over till Assizes. When he found out it was a hanging matter, he changed his mind and told us all about Captain Cleeve. He was the only one who ever saw the captain, who was the mastermind, it seems. So Jem will be held a while longer, to see if this Cleeve is caught, and then he’ll be off to Botany Bay with the rest.”
“I’d be particularly happy to see Captain Cleeve caught.” said Oliver.
“I don’t think it likely, I’m afraid. He’s a wily bird, and not from this part of the country,” the magistrate explained. “He could be anywhere. His description has been circulated, of course, but his looks are very commonplace, by Jem’s description. He has certainly changed his name by now and is keeping his head down.”
Oliver had to agree that the chances seemed against his capture.
* * * *
He returned to Port Isaac for dinner, to find that the ladies had already packed their meagre belongings. The next morning, after a fond farewell from Auntie, they left the Scrimshaw Inn at an early hour. The landlord’s son handed the “Misses Bailey” into a rather decrepit barouche, winking conspiratorially and wishing them a hearty “Bong Voyge.”
Oliver apologised for their conveyance, and Letty assured him it was a grand step up from their gig. To Ruth’s relief, she seemed determined to enjoy herself and behaved charmingly.
The barouche’s leather apron might be cracked and stained, and its seat far from soft, but it was sturdily built. Their carter friend had given them his best horses, and they made good time. In Launceston they stopped for an early luncheon and transferred to Oliver’s chaise.
This was a comfortable vehicle, painted blue and yellow, upholstered in blue velvet, and excellently sprung. Letty would have been completely satisfied if only it had had a crest on the door. Familiar by now with Oliver’s largesse, the ostler at the Duke of Cornwall harnessed up four magnificent bays. John Coachman, who had awaited his master there, climbed up to the box, and they rattled out of the inn yard in fine style.
* * * *
Okehampton, Exeter, Yeovil, Salisbury. Ruth had been amused when her old nurse referred to Plymouth as “furrin parts,” but by the time they had been travelling for three days, she felt as bewildered as if they were indeed in a strange country.
In Salisbury they stopped to change horses at the King’s Arms, and lunched in its low-ceilinged, crooked-walled coffee room.
“It was already old when Charles II stayed here,” explained Oliver.
“Pooh, history!” snorted Letty.
Ruth noted a glint in Mr Pardoe’s eye and wondered what he was plotting.
An hour after leaving Salisbury, the carriage pulled up at an inn in a small village. The short day was already on the wane, but there were still a few hours of daylight left.
“Why are we stopping here?” asked Letty. “We’ll never get to London.”
“I want to show you something,” said Oliver mysteriously. “I think you’ll find it worth the delay. We’ll stay here tonight and be in London by tomorrow evening.”
Ruth was intrigued. “Whatever is it, out here in the middle of nowhere?” she demanded.
“A marvel of engineering,” he told her, grinning. “I’ll hire a pony-trap to take us there. It’s a mile or two farther.”
“I don’t want to go,” said Letty sulkily. “Fancy stopping just to see some odious machine.”
However, she was no more enthusiastic about staying alone at the inn, so in the end she joined Ruth and Oliver, to that gentleman’s disappointment.
The trap was driven by an ostler from the inn, where John Coachman was left to enjoy in peace a mug of porter and the attentions of a pretty chambermaid. Bouncing along a grassy track across the rolling turf of Salisbury Plain, they soon saw the object of the excursion, standing high against the sunset.
&nb
sp; “Stonehenge!” breathed Ruth. “There was a picture of it in one of Walter’s books. Oliver, how magnificent!”
“Pooh, history,” snorted Letty.
But even Letty was awed as they drew closer to the huge stone circles. They left the driver dozing on his perch and wandered through the arches.
“It’s enormous!” Letty gasped, sitting down on a flat slab in the centre. “However did they lift the top ones up there?”
“That’s the engineering marvel,” said Oliver. “Of course, we could do it today, though it would be a bit of a job, but how our ancestors did it several thousand years ago we don’t know.”
“The book said it was a temple,” Ruth observed. “At dawn on Midsummer’s Day the Druids used to sacrifice a maiden on that stone you’re sitting on, Letty.”
Letty jumped up with a shriek. “You are perfectly horrid!” she stormed. “I want to go back to the inn right now.” She ran off between the towering stones.
Ruth made a move to go after her, but Oliver took her hand.
“Don’t let her spoil it.” he begged. “I can see her climbing into the carriage. She’ll he all right. Let her wait a while.”
They strolled on, Oliver pointing out the line of stones that showed where the sun rose at Midsummer.
“They were great astronomers as well as engineers,” he said.
“But barbaric,” said Ruth with a shudder. “I keep expecting to see a Druid appear round the next corner waving a sacrificial knife. I am so pleased to have seen this, but it’s growing dark. Shall we go?”
* * * *
The next day was their longest on the road. It was an uneventful drive, and constant drizzle blocked their view of the countryside. Buoyed at first by the thought of their closeness to London, Letty soon grew fretful, and silenced the other two with her constant complaint of being bored.
It was dusk when they approached Wimbledon Common. Oliver, carefully drawing Letty’s attention, took a pistol from beneath the seat. She watched, wide-eyed.
“Highwaymen!” he explained in an ominous undertone. “They lurk on the common and rob unsuspecting travellers. We shall be prepared, as you see.”
“How thrilling! I’ll keep a watch for them.” She turned and squinted through the mud-spattered glass.
Oliver winked at Ruth and she, quite practised in the art by now, winked back. It seemed unlikely that any highwayman in his right mind would be lurking in the icy rain. At least so she hoped.
Letty kept a sharp lookout for several miles, but to her disappointment all she saw were leafless trees and an occasional brick-kiln glowing eerily. There was a momentary excitement when hooves were heard behind them. A pair of horsemen overtook them, but they cantered on toward London without accosting the carriage.
Night had fallen by the time they crossed Blackfriars Bridge and swung right up Ludgate Hill. Lit by gas lamps, the wet, deserted streets gleamed.
Oliver pointed out St Paul’s, and they peered up at the dark bulk of the dome, untouched by the bright city lights. Just as it seemed they must drive up the steps of the cathedral, the carriage turned left and entered a narrow alley. It widened after a few feet into a small, walled courtyard. The chaise came to a halt.
By the light of a single lamppost, they saw the coachman descend. He trudged wearily up to an imposing door and plied the knocker, then returned to let down the carriage-step.
“Here we are,’ said Oliver cheerfully. “Wait a moment, and I will bring umbrellas.” He jumped out and strode up to the door which was swinging open onto a well-lighted entrance hall. “Hello, Bartlett. I’ve brought the ladies with me,” Ruth heard him say.
She and Letty sat holding hands tightly.
By the time Oliver and a footman had returned with a pair of huge brollies and escorted them into the hall, Mrs and Miss Pardoe were there to greet them. While Oliver was debating whether to present his mother to Ruth, she being a titled lady, or Ruth to his mother, who was after all older and the hostess, that good woman enveloped her guests in a warm embrace.
“My dears,” she said, “I am very happy to see you at last, and I hope Oliver has taken good care of you. You must be fagged to death after all that travelling. Rose shall take you to your rooms, and you shall have your dinners on trays if you wish.”
Rose, a statuesque blonde of about Ruth’s age, and like her mother, not much below Oliver in height, bent to kiss their cheeks.
“You make me feel like a giantess,” she declared with candid friendliness. “Come up, and I’ll see you settled.”
Suddenly weary, Ruth took Letty’s hand and followed up the wide marble stairway. All her apprehensions about imposing on strangers had vanished. She felt as if she had come home.
Letty had seemed unappreciative of the warm welcome, but she was thoroughly impressed by the grandeur and luxury of their surroundings. Ruth hoped that she would be on her best behaviour. As Rose led them down a deeply carpeted hall, she whispered: “Ruth, I think her gown is silk. Is it not pretty? How I wish I had one like it!’’
Suddenly conscious of their shabby appearance, Ruth hushed her. They were both wearing dresses that they had sewed in Port Isaac from lengths of woollen cloth that Auntie had insisted she was far too old to use, having hoarded them for years. They had had no patterns, and though Ruth had a great deal of experience in making clothes, they did not fit well. Besides, the material had not been of the best quality. However, they were better than the patched and altered garments that they more often had worn.
Rose stopped at an open door. They saw a fire flickering in the grate, a bed with palest pink hangings, a maid setting a ewer of steaming water on a washstand.
“Lady Laetitia, this is your room,” said their guide. “My abigail, Cora, is there to assist you. Just say if there is anything you want, and I shall be back shortly to see that all is well. Lady Ruth, your room is the next. Mama thought you would like to be near your sister.”
“Thank you,” replied Ruth gratefully. “Mrs Pardoe is so kind, I am quite overwhelmed. Will you not call me Ruth?”
“If you wish. And I am Rose, of course.” They entered a chamber hung with blue. “I sent my maid to Lady Laetitia—”
“Letty.”
“—to Letty, because I wanted to help you myself. Oliver has told us so much about you. He says you rescued him from the smugglers?”
“I have already discovered that Mr Pardoe is a great tease. I am sure you have guessed that it was he who rescued me.”
“Tell me,” coaxed Rose.
It was the first time anyone had been interested in Ruth’s story, except, she remembered, for Walter and look how that had turned out. As Rose, in her slow-seeming but efficient way, settled her in a bed softer than she had dreamed existed, she described their escape from the caves.
“I can see that it really was a mutual effort,” decided Rose when she finished. “How brave you were! I cannot imagine being in such a situation.”
“I pray you never will be,” said Ruth with fervour. “It seems like a dream now. Or a nightmare, rather.”
Rose was unpacking Ruth’s one bandbox, and Ruth could tell that her new friend was politely restraining her horror.
“It is amazing how different country fashions are from our Town modes,” she murmured tactfully. “I daresay you will wish to have a few gowns made up.”
“I have no money,” Ruth told her bluntly. A lifetime of pinching and scraping had left her no room for embarrassment on the subject. “We shall have to be country mice until my uncle returns, I fear.”
“Oh, it is not that bad. You will not be offended, Ruth, if I give you some gowns? Papa gives me so much pin money that I am sadly extravagant and have more than I can ever wear. Besides, I am sure one gown of mine will make two for you.” An idea seemed to dawn on her. “But how silly of me!” she cried. “I have just remembered, Papa mentioned that Sir John had left some money in his care in case you should need it before he comes back into England. I will speak to him abou
t it at once.”
As she said this, Rose avoided Ruth’s eye. The thought that Rose perhaps intended to make over some of her allowance to the sisters crossed Ruth’s mind, but she was too tired to follow the idea through.
“Rose, you are a dear,” she mumbled drowsily, and was asleep before Miss Pardoe had reached the door.
Chapter 9
Ruth woke briefly at eight o’clock that evening when a maid brought her a tray of delicacies and informed her that Lady Letty had gone down to dinner. She nibbled at a breast of pheasant and fell asleep again propped up on three or four pillows with the tray still on her lap. She was vaguely conscious, an hour or so later, of Rose’s removing the tray and several pillows and tucking her in cosily.
After that, she slept nearly the clock round. When she woke, her chamber was dark. She lay luxuriating in the soft warmth of her bed until she heard people moving about below. The pale light of dawn was visible through a crack in the window curtains, and remembering how late the sun rose in December, she rose hurriedly.
A banked fire of sea coal smouldered in the grate, so the room was not too cold, but the water in the ewer was chill. Ruth washed quickly and put on her best wool dress, which hung freshly cleaned and pressed on a hook on the wall. Then she noticed a bell-pull beside the bed. A memory from her childhood came to her: her mother, lying in bed, had been able to summon a servant at will.
Momentarily depressed, she wondered how long it would take her to learn to behave in the manner in which she should have been reared. Would Oliver regret having brought her to his family? He had seen her so briefly in her own home, and the smugglers’ cave had been no place for social niceties. He could not have realised how ignorant she was of proper behaviour. Resolutely she dismissed such thoughts, and greatly daring, pulled the bell, then waited heart in mouth.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called.
A maid entered and bobbed a curtsy.
“Yes, my lady?” she enquired.
“I... I'm very hungry,” stammered Ruth, and discovered that it was true, she was ravenous. May I have something to eat?”