by Carola Dunn
“Ruth, your sister was with you in December. I must insist that you take a maid.”
“We may send her home from Launceston,” suggested Oliver. “The stage runs regularly, and it is less then twenty miles from our destination so there can be no impropriety. I daresay it will not be difficult to hire a companion for the return journey.”
“I suppose that will be unexceptionable,” Sir John agreed dubiously. He straightened his shoulders in an evident effort to dismiss his fears and doubts. “Well, since that is settled, I will leave you both to make your preparations. I will send a maid over later, Ruth. I must get to the House at once.”
He kissed his niece’s cheek, and she was glad to see that he was once again his usual active, preoccupied self. In the end, the problems of the nation far outweighed his personal troubles, and thinking of her aunt, she knew why. It was a form of escape, just as Lord Theodore’s diplomatic career had been, if less obvious.
She bade her uncle farewell, thanking him for his concern, then turned to Oliver.
“I shall be able to watch Mr Polgarth’s departure!” she exclaimed gaily. “The captain chose just the right moment to get himself arrested.”
Oliver had to agree. He hoped that both the balloon flight and his sister’s rapidly approaching wedding would distract her from the dreadful revelations that awaited her in Cornwall. For a moment he wondered if it was right to conceal the worst from her. No, every day she passed in ignorance of the truth, or rather of Captain Cleeve’s allegations, was a day to be thankful for. He would break it to her gently before the confrontation, so that it would not be too shocking a surprise.
On Friday morning it was apparent that March had had enough of behaving like a lamb. Ruth, woken early, looked out at torrential rain; every now and then a gusty wind flung it clattering against the windowpane. Only urgent business could persuade anyone to travel in such a downpour. With a sigh, she supposed that her business was urgent, dressed quickly, and went downstairs.
Oliver was already eating, and wonder of wonders, Rose and her mother had dragged themselves from their beds to see the travellers off.
“Eat plenty,” urged Lady Pardoe, as Rose stifled a yawn. “It will fortify you against the weather, my dear. I hoped to persuade Oliver to put off your departure, but he says it is impossible.”
“Sorry to drag you out in a cloudburst, Ruth,” apologised Oliver cheerfully. Whatever awaited at their destination, he was looking forward to spending several days in her company, though he would gladly have dispensed with the maid. Sir John had sent a girl who had never been west of Hyde Park and was now sitting in the hall, moaning softly to herself about the horrors of going among “them savages.”
Oliver had hoped to complete the journey in three days, but it soon became obvious that it was out of the question. They started out on the Bristol road, making fairly good time. It was well kept, being one of the busiest routes in the kingdom, and the rain had not yet had time to undo the work of two weeks of sunshine.
They spent the first night in Hungerford and then turned south. It was still pouring without letup and the roads soon became a muddy quagmire. Two exhausting days brought them into Exeter on Sunday evening, with near sixty miles still to go.
Ruth had started out in fine spirits, but the weather and the company of the dismal maid oppressed her. As they drew nearer to Cornwall, she began to wonder what horrors Oliver and her uncle were concealing from her. Oliver’s efforts to cheer her up only made her more anxious and she started having nightmares about the unknown Captain Cleeve.
They left Exeter in drizzle. By the time they were well into Dartmoor there was blue sky ahead, and before too long the last clouds passed over and the sun set everything sparkling. The air was fresh and clear, there were lambs gamboling on unsteady legs, the world seemed newly created.
“Isn’t it extraordinary how the sun changes one’s outlook on life?” Ruth said to Oliver. “Only this morning I felt I had rather die than go any farther, and now I am ready for anything.”
Even the maid stopped grumbling. Very soon now she would be on a coach back to civilisation. A thousand guineas, she vowed, would not persuade her to leave London ever again.
Oliver and Ruth were glad to be rid of her. They left the chaise and the coachman at the Duke of Cornwall and hired a curricle to take them on to Boscastle.
Here, in the south, spring was firmly ensconced. The hedge-rows were full of flowers, and birds flew twittering from bush to bush, busily constructing their nests. Ruth knew all their names, learned at her mother’s knee and never forgotten, and she taught them to Oliver, pleased to find something she knew that he did not.
As they descended the hill into Boscastle, the sun was setting between the headlands. The channel was full of boats tacking seaward for the night’s fishing, and such an aura of peace hung over the village that it seemed incredible that they were so close to the smugglers’ sinister caves.
The Trevelyans welcomed them heartily. Ruth was taken upstairs to rest before dinner, and Oliver requested a private word with his host.
“I suppose Captain Cleeve has not recanted his accusations since you wrote, sir?” he asked hopefully, sipping at a glass of sherry.
“I fear not, Mr Pardoe. What a terrible business! I can scarcely credit it, but naturally I cannot ignore what he says. Is poor Lady Ruth greatly distressed?”
“That is what I wanted to speak to you about. Her uncle and I decided it was best not to reveal the whole, so all she knows is that Cleeve is caught. I should like to tell her the rest before she sees anyone, to prepare her. In the meantime, I hope you will be so good as not to let drop any hint.”
“Of course, of course, my dear sir. No one shall breathe a word. The business is set for Thursday, as we were not sure when you would arrive. Besides, young Robert is to make his ascension on Wednesday, which I would not miss for the world. I fear you will have to forgo your flight.”
“Yes, for my sister’s wedding if not for the villainous captain. However, I intend to go up while the balloon is still tethered. That is another thing I have not yet told Lady Ruth, for fear of worrying her. Nor my family, I might add.”
“How I wish I might join you in the basket! I promised Mrs Trevelyan I’d not climb in even on the ground.” The old gentleman sighed. “I expect you will want to help Polgarth with the preparations tomorrow, Mr Pardoe?”
“If you will not think it rude of me to go off. I think he is counting on my help to set up the apparatus. I should like to take Lady Ruth, too, if she wishes to come. She is interested in scientific experiments, and she is fond of Bob’s Auntie. By the way, do you happen to know Auntie’s real name, sir?”
Mr Trevelyan looked all around, put his finger to his lips, and beckoned Oliver closer.
“I took my oath years ago never to reveal it,” he whispered. “I only disclose it to you because I have the utmost faith in your discretion. Auntie was christened Hanoveria, in compliment to the Royal Family. Then she was of an age in Forty-five to form a romantic attachment for the Young Pretender, so you see... And what is more, her second name is Hephzibah, and her surname, Mudd.”
“Poor Auntie!”
“She was the eldest daughter, so she was generally Miss Mudd, but even that got to be too much for her.”
The two supposed gentlemen snickered quietly over their sherry for a few minutes, then went to change for dinner.
After the meal, Oliver had a word with Ruth.
“We shall see Captain Cleeve on Thursday,” he told her. “Put it out of your mind until then. I am driving over to Port Isaac tomorrow. Should you like to come with me?”
“Oh, yes. I must pay my respects to Auntie.”
“Bob and I will be setting up the hydrogen apparatus. I hope you will not find it tedious.”
“You know I will not. May I help, or at least watch, if I promise to keep out of your way?”
“Certainly. At least until the furnaces are lit. I expect that Bob will alr
eady have built his hearths on the moor. It will be a matter of taking the pipes and tanks and materials out there and fitting everything together.”
“On Brown Willy, he said?”
“Yes. We will be very close to Penderric Castle, Ruth. I beg you will not go there alone.”
She shivered. “No, not alone.”
Oliver was satisfied. If she insisted on going to the castle, he might have to tell her the whole story to dissuade her. At least she would not think of going without his protection, so he could relax for the moment.
They reached Port Isaac early the next morning, and Auntie was ecstatic to see them.
“Miss Bolton!” she cried. “No, wait a minute; Miss Barstowe?”
“Miss Bailey,” said Ruth, hugging her, “but I am in no need of an alias at present.”
“Lady Ruth, how happy I am to see you again!”
“Ruth, please. Am I not an honorary niece? I shall never forget your kindness, Auntie.”
“Nonsense, my dear. And how is Jane? Lavinia? No, Louisa?”
“Letty is very well and enjoying the amusements of London. How is life in Port Isaac?”
“Very complicated, Ruth, very complicated. I daresay you remember Martha, our maid?”
“Of course. Is she giving you trouble?”
“Well, Martha’s husband was a sailor, you know, as they all are here. Three children they have. In December, just after you left, his boat put in to Padstow during a terrible storm, and he took up with a shopkeeper’s wife over there. The first poor Martha knew was when the Cormorant came into harbour without Bert.”
“Poor Martha. I expect she was very distressed?”
“For a day or two. Then who should turn up but the shopkeeper himself, with his four children. He thought that just because Bert had his wife there was no reason for him to go without, so he up and came to Martha.”
“And he is still here? Good heavens! So now Martha has seven children, I take it.”
“And an eighth on the way, my dear. Luckily the shopkeeper had a bit of money put by that he brought with him, and his eldest girl is old enough to take care of the young ones. But he’s learning a sailor’s trade, and he doesn’t take kindly to it, I fear. It’s a hard life, even though he has taken over Bert’s share in the Cormorant.”
“Martha is still working for you?”
“Yes. She took the whole affair very calmly after the first surprise and is quite settled now. Oh dear, I expect I should not have told such a shocking tale to an unmarried girl. Pray pretend I did not!”
“Auntie, I am no more a girl than you are. We single ladies must band together. And I have heard scandals vastly more shocking in London, which I would not repeat to you. The society ladies seem to take great delight in ripping reputations to shreds. I should not like to come under their claws.”
“Speaking of which, we have got a fine new cat since you were here. Bob thought he heard bats in the belfry... no, surely not! In that case they would need to get a cat for the church, or perhaps a falcon would be preferable. Only falcons fly by day and bats by night, so that would not answer. However, we do not need a falcon to catch rats in the attic. Our tabby does a fine job, but she will leave her prey on the stair, so do be careful if you should go up.”
“I will,” promised Ruth. “Speaking of which, are you going to watch the balloon ascension?”
“I should have liked to, if the winter had not left my old bones so rheumaticky. I do not go out much these days. I console myself with the thought that if God had meant us to fly, he would never have created horses. Or perhaps he would have given them wings, like Pegasus.”
Oliver and Bob, who had been discussing technical matters, overheard this last.
“A breed of winged horses would solve many of our problems,” said Oliver. “We could harness them to guide the balloon, instead of going where the wind blows.”
“There was once a flying horse,” Bob informed them, as always unusually loquacious when the subject was his favourite. “Seventeen-ninety-eight, I think. French fellow with an odd name went up on a platform on horseback. Didn’t fill the envelope enough. He hit a chimney and tore it, but he landed safely. They say the horse never moved a muscle.”
“It must have been blind, deaf, and paralytic,” declared Auntie. “If God had meant horses to fly, he would never have created birds.”
“I wonder what would happen if you filled a horse with hydrogen,” mused Ruth.
“Light its breath and you’d have a dragon,” Oliver replied promptly. “You could keep it in the kitchen to kindle the stove. It would not even get in the way, because it would float up near the ceiling.”
“You would have to haul it down with ropes every morning. I expect it is less work to light the stove oneself,” Ruth sighed. “What a pity. I quite thought that between us we had a great new invention.”
“It would be very handy to catch the bats,” suggested Auntie. “It could incinerate them instead of leaving them on the stair. Only perhaps dragons are not nocturnal, either.”
Having missed the earlier conversation, the gentlemen were thoroughly confused by this. Bob returned doggedly to ballooning.
“Oliver, it is near ten miles to the point where we have set up the furnace. I want to have everything ready to go first thing tomorrow, so we must have it all prepared by this evening. The furnaces will have to burn all night to produce enough gas.
“I suppose you have plenty of assistants to stoke the fires?”
“Yes, half the youths in Cornwall have volunteered. I shall have to stay out there to keep an eye on them, of course.”
“Oliver, do you wish to stay with Mr Polgarth?” asked Ruth. “I daresay we might find some other way for me to return to the Trevelyans tonight.”
“I’ve not the slightest desire to spend the night on Bodmin Moor, believe me! I am sure there are ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night lurking out there.”
“I saw a ghost last week,” said Auntie conversationally. “It told me to beware the Ides of March. Very trite, I thought. That was last Friday, and nothing happened, so I suppose it got its dates wrong again. They often do, you know.”
“We must go,” Bob persisted. “Auntie, I do not know when I shall see you again. When I reach Scotland I shall send a message. Martha will take care of you, and if there are any problems, send to Mr Trevelyan. And Auntie, pray do not again tell the vicar that he has bats in his belfry.”
“Of course I will not, dear boy. The man is not queer in his attic, is he? Perhaps he should get a dragon.”
They left her pondering the matter.
Chapter 20
Oliver drove Bob Polgarth and Ruth up the hill to the barn where Bob had prepared the balloon. Outside, a cart surrounded by country folk was waiting. With the willing assistance of a dozen sturdy lads, the balloon itself, the basket, miles of rigging, tanks, pipes, and sacks of carefully sorted iron filings were loaded.
The carter turned out to be Ruth’s friend from the Scrimshaw Inn. He recognised her at once, and hearing Mr Polgarth address her as Lady Ruth, he knew that his guess as to her identity had been correct. He bowed low to her, winking as he straightened.
“Hey now, my lady!” he said. “Ye’ve a better carriage and better company today, I zee. Not but what I been’t a-carrying o’ fish today. I be a-carrying hot air!” He laughed heartily at his own joke, then turned solemn, nodded at Oliver, and added significantly, “It’s an ill wind!”
He handed her up into the curricle in a most gentlemanlike manner, while she tried to puzzle out his last remark. He was almost as mystifying as Auntie.
The cart set out, with Bob perched anxiously atop his load, followed by the curricle, and accompanied by the greater part of the crowd. By the time they reached St Teath a few had dropped out, but most were still with them, to be joined by half the population of the hamlet.
Passing the Nag’s Head, they approached the church. Ruth wondered if Mr Vane was there, as had
been his custom on Tuesdays. She was sorry that they had parted on bad terms. He had been a true friend to her when she had needed one, and she felt she should not have cast him off so abruptly.
Alerted by the noise of the merry throng, the curate stepped out to the church porch. Ruth raised her hand and smiled in greeting and was glad to see him wave back, though his face remained grave.
Oliver noted the exchange.
“Who is that?” he asked, suspecting that he knew the answer.
“Walter Vane, the curate from Camelford.” Ruth blushed. “He was kind to me when I had few friends. It meant a great deal to me, and I cannot forget it.”
Oliver wondered suddenly just how fond of Walter she had been. It was months since he had thought of him as a rival. Had Ruth’s affection been strong enough to survive the long parting and might it be reanimated if they met again?
He realised that only from her aunt had he heard that her betrothal was ended. Turning to her for reassurance, he found her subdued and thoughtful.
Penderric Castle stood frowning on the horizon. The clear, sunny day could not make it look less than threatening, and when a passing cloud hid the sun’s face, it seemed positively sinister to Ruth. She found it hard to believe that she had spent twenty-five years within those gloomy walls. For sixteen of them she had never known true happiness, and the last year had been a sort of purgatory.
Godfrey was probably sitting at this minute in his empty library, counting his hoarded gold. Ruth supposed that she should see him, however briefly, since she was in the neighborhood. She would not go alone.
Laying her hand on Oliver’s arm, she smiled at him.
The castle was less than a mile away when the cavalcade turned north on the track to Brown Willy. The walkers from Port Isaac were growing weary, and Oliver offered to take several children up into the curricle. They clambered aboard, thrilled to be riding in a “ge’mun’s carridge,” and Ruth found herself squeezed against Oliver’s side in the crush. He felt so solid and dependable that her sombre thoughts vanished.