Moonstone Obsession

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  A wry smile lifted the corner of James’ mouth. “Well said, brother.”

  “What about our friends in London?”

  James patted his jacket pocket. “I have a despatch to go to London the moment the post office opens, but it will be at least seven days before I can know whether they can identify and neutralise the threat.”

  “Nine days is the Masquerade Ball.”

  James nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Hell man,” said Jackson, “that’s cutting it fine. What are you going to do if our friends don’t come through?”

  “That’s why I wanted to speak to you away from prying eyes.”

  James held his mount's reins in one hand and withdrew from his pocket two envelopes with the other. Glancing at them, he deftly slipped one back in his jacket pocket; the other he handed to Jackson.

  The envelope had his name on it and contained more than just a thick sheaf of paper—coins perhaps—and it was sealed with wax.

  “And this is...?” asked Jackson making note of it as he placed it in his own coat.

  “It’s what to do if all hell breaks loose.”

  Jackson nodded. “What do you plan to do?”

  “I’ll be refusing Abigail. But I don’t want her to be certain of it until the Ball in case our threat lurks closer to home. Much of London has left the city for their country estates and we don’t know who or where they are.

  “If Abigail’s threat is real and Rosewall’s name is mentioned, I will denounce myself. There will be enough credibility in it to throw off suspicion from him.”

  Jackson swore again bitterly under his breath.

  “My connections and wealth,” James continued, trying to assure him, “will afford me protection, but I’m relying on you, my friend, to ensure the entire Rosewall family leave England immediately and arrive safely in Pittsburgh. There’s a letter of credit for three thousand pounds plus ten guineas in gold in that envelope.

  “I’ll join you in America as soon as the whole mess is sorted.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “That’s my insurance you carry in your pocket. The documents have been signed and witnessed by my lawyers in London. My half of the shipping business will revert to Rosewall. The coal mine and my other business interests will be divided between you and Selina. She'll have all the rights and respect due to her as my widow.”

  Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a very comprehensive arrangement for a girl you only met two months ago. Does your intended know any of this?”

  James shook his head briefly.

  “If Abigail suspected she did, she wouldn’t hesitate in extending her threat. I won’t let that happen.”

  James was sure Jackson would curse again, but the American swallowed instead and gave a curt nod.

  “What of your mother?”

  “She’ll get Penventen Hall and whatever other hell is due her,” James answered bitterly.

  “Speaking of hell, what about Abigail?”

  “I’m going to have to play up in public to that Jezebel.”

  “And in private?”

  “The thought of dipping my wick in that pool ever again turns my stomach,” said James with a curl of his lip. “But she won't care if she thinks she has me in hand.

  “Besides, investigating the wreck of the Pandora gives us reason enough to be away from the house.”

  The two men directed their mounts from the beach and over an escarpment where, once again, they let the animals have their head to gallop inland until they reached a country lane about two miles from Padstow.

  There, they slowed the grey and chestnut stallions to ensure a steady pace back to the town where by then the post office would be open for James to organise a rider to take his message to London.

  * * *

  Selina, already seated and part-way through her morning coffee, watched Abigail walk into the breakfast room as though she owned it.

  In her mind, she already did, Selina supposed.

  “Ah!” pronounced Catherine upon spying her friend. “The little sparrow finally awakes! Too late to catch that tasty worm, he’s gone a riding with his manservant.”

  Selina looked down into her coffee and Edith emitted a most unladylike snort. Catherine gave them both a sly glance of amusement.

  Abigail didn’t miss a beat. “One doesn’t need to rise early when one’s nest has been nicely feathered the night long.”

  Edith burst out laughing, while Selina’s gut twisted. Yes, she knew Abigail’s statement was a lie—knew it remarkably well—but it didn’t stop the sharp pang of jealousy.

  When she looked up from her cup, she noticed Abigail’s triumphant expression cast in her direction.

  “Well ladies, since we’re all here and the men folk are out doing something or other, what say we decide what we’re wearing for the masquerade ball?” said Catherine.

  “I wonder what Roger will be wearing? We could match. Wouldn’t that be simply sweet?” asked Edith.

  The roll of Abigail’s eyes revealed what she thought of the idea.

  “Edith, darling, your lieutenant is hardly like to be invited to ball attended by the most important people in the country,” she snipped, as she helped herself to some pastries and a fresh cup of tea. “He’s simply the colonel’s errand boy. Really dear, you must learn to set your sights on something a little better.”

  In an instant, Edith looked as though she might cry.

  “Don’t listen to Abigail, Edith. She’s obviously tetchy from lack of sleep,” responded Catherine. “If the Colonel is attending, Roger's likely to be there in uniform.”

  “Oh, he’s so handsome in his uniform!” Edith enthused, brightening again.

  “He looks as though he’d be handsome out of his uniform too,” Catherine observed. “You'd better offer him some honey to make sure he remains sweet on you, otherwise I might be tempted to take a bite myself.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t!”

  Catherine gave a noncommittal shrug but turned to wink at Selina and Abigail.

  “Lady Catherine has a weakness for men in uniform,” agreed Abigail. “I could tell you the story of her and a particularly handsome cavalryman—and his friend—in St James Park, just this spring, in which she was nearly caught by—”

  “Enough of me, let’s not forget that Abigail is also very familiar with any number of uniforms. I believe she is very close to collecting the full set.”

  “Not quite,” countered Abigail, “I believe I might be down a sweet blond-headed lieutenant.”

  At that, Edith's bottom lip quivered. “You wouldn't...”

  Abigail simply arched an eyebrow in reply, and Edith promptly burst into tears and fled from the room.

  Catherine and Abigail laughed in her wake. Selina offered a wan smile to their amusement.

  Seeing Selina’s lukewarm expression, Catherine's smile faded and her expression became serious.

  “I promise to apologise to her later, Selina,” she offered genuinely, “but you have to admit little Edith is so easy to tease and she’ll need to hold her own if she’s to ever move successfully in social circles.”

  Selina nodded, accepting the truth of her statement.

  “She is young and a little credulous, I agree.”

  Catherine smiled “No harm done then?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “You’re a good egg, Miss Rosewall. More coffee?” she enquired.

  “Yes, thank you, I will.”

  Sensing the focus of attention shifted from her, Abigail interrupted. “We still haven’t discussed costumes for the masquerade.” Her eyes sparkled with unspoken malice. “I’ve decided to go as a bride.”

  Selina stiffened.

  “How very clever of you, darling,” agreed Catherine, fulsomely. “They say at these things you should go as someone completely different to who you really are. In your case, I can’t think of anything so completely opposite than a chaste, biddable virgin.”

  Selina hid a laug
h behind a cough and watched Abigail’s face burn with anger.

  “You evil cat...” she hissed, getting to her feet. “You—with the morals of an alley cat.”

  “So says the bitch on heat,” shrugged Catherine, sensing her victory. “Meow!”

  Abigail gave up and stalked from the room, muttering under her breath. Catherine held herself in check until her friend was gone before bursting into laughter so lusty she held her sides.

  “Have you and Lady Abigail been friends for long?” Selina asked innocently once Catherine had settled again.

  Catherine gave her a sideways glance and Selina found herself under the woman’s scrutiny. She wondered if she measured up and, if so, by what criteria she was judged.

  After a moment, Selina decided that she had passed inspection when Catherine answered her.

  “Oh yes. Friends. Perhaps not the way you mean,” she said, and continued with a naked frankness Selina found surprising. “Abigail and I understand one another. We’re friends when it suits our purpose and bitter enemies when our mutual interests collide.”

  Selina nodded, although she really didn’t comprehend at all. Why be friends with someone who would plunge a dagger in your back even as they smiled and kissed your cheek?

  Catherine smiled. “I'd imagine our different social stations wouldn't allow us to be friends, but may I offer you a piece of friendly advice?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Standing between Abigail and what she wants is a very dangerous place to be. And you have something she wants...”

  Goosebumps rose on the back of Selina’s neck.

  “I have no control over the affections of Lord Penventen,” she answered as evenly as she could.

  “Perhaps you do, perhaps you don’t. It makes very little difference to me.” Catherine shrugged. It seemed to be her favourite way of expressing herself. “But God knows there have been times when Abigail has seduced a favourite of mine right out from under my nose. A little turnabout would be fair play indeed.”

  Then Catherine paused, her head slightly atilt, as if listening.

  Selina heard nothing.

  “Come, let’s not sit in the house,” Catherine announced suddenly, getting to her feet, “let’s take a turn about the garden.”

  Selina followed Catherine through the French doors, across the lawn, and behind the stables to where the hedgerow maze stood. They entered and took several turns in silence before Catherine spoke again.

  “Abigail’s interest in James borders on obsession. He walked out of an expected marriage with her six years ago.”

  “Was it any surprise?” asked Selina. “He caught her with another lover.”

  “I see you’ve been told the story,” responded Catherine. “Very well.” She paused briefly, as if selecting her words.

  “I’ve known Abigail since girlhood and she’s always been precocious. She has wealth, privilege, beauty and intelligence too, if you count sheer animal cunning.

  “James was the very first man to leave her. She didn’t take too kindly to that. She stormed for weeks. And, when he returned, she was convinced it was out of unrequited longing for her.”

  Catherine smiled, but it was a cynical raising of the corners of her mouth only. “It also helped that he returned wealthier and more experienced than he left. Oh, of course he doesn’t love her. I don’t think he even likes her. It was ironic really. When he came back, he treated her with the same off-handedness she treats men with, especially those she's luring into her web.

  “Everyone but her could see he'd only taken up with her again under a sufferance of some kind. I mean, even when she started taking new lovers right under his nose, he acted like it meant nothing to him. That only made her more determined to keep him.”

  Selina was appalled and couldn't help that it showed. Catherine gave her a sympathetic look but continued walking.

  “Then you and your brother came on the scene and Abigail was furious and by that, I mean murderously so. It was the interest James was showing you.”

  Catherine reached out and drew her fingertips across the leaves of the hedge as she passed and spared Selina a weighted glance.

  “Abigail's a very dangerous enemy to have,” she warned, “especially with her connections. You do know she’s bedded the Prince of Wales, don’t you?”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  “No,” murmured Catherine, her tone almost self-reflective, as if Selina's reaction was unheard, unconsidered, and unnecessary. “I don’t see how you could know.”

  She pouted a little moue of disdain. “I don’t believe James has heard about that one either,” she continued.

  “That’s appalling!”

  Catherine let out a tiny snort of laughter. “Yes. Awful isn’t it?” she agreed. “No wonder the Frenchie peasants want to murder the aristos in their country.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” Selina whispered, reeling from the revelations.

  “I don’t know either,” Catherine admitted.

  They stopped and Catherine gave Selina a long considering gaze. “No offence intended, Selina, but we’re nothing to one another. We're just mutual house guests and you're not even in my social class. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again after this summer.

  “All the same, you seem to be a nice young woman who doesn’t deserve to get caught up in the machinations of bored, indolent, and spiteful aristocrats.”

  “Thank you for your candour, Lady Catherine,” Selina replied, stunned by such brutal honesty.

  Their walk recommenced and continued in silence until they had found the heart of the maze. In the centre of the square stood a garden of geraniums, their red flowers in full bloom. From the crimson rose a white Greek marble statue of two lovers intertwined.

  Selina studied it, recalling the hours she had spent in James’ arms. A breeze picked up, carrying with it a hint of salt from the estuary and the ocean beyond. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly chilled.

  “Well... I’m going to find my own way back to the house, Miss Rosewall,” announced Catherine, her voice taking on the slightly imperious tone that was her usual manner of speaking.

  “Thank you, again,” said Selina.

  Catherine dismissed her with a wave of the hand and began to walk back into the maze before stopping.

  “Oh, one more thing. If anyone learns I have told you any of this, I will deny it,” she said. “I do hope you understand.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The day passed pleasantly enough, although Lady Margaret demanded Selina's attention throughout.

  Selina became secretary, writing memos to the Lady’s household and instructions to shopkeepers in Newquay who could be expected to receive her patronage within the week. It wasn’t until afternoon tea that the older woman dispensed with her services.

  As was her custom, Selina walked down to Padstow to continue her artwork. She posted some letters of her own to Sarah and the children before settling in a favourite spot overlooking the harbour—the one she had discovered a few days earlier, a slight elevation not too far away from ebb and flow of people whom she delighted in capturing—paying special attention to the array of small ships and boats sheltered there.

  The grassy elevation marked the start of an informal path that took the intrepid walker along the length of the peninsula.

  For the fourth day running, one man caught Selina's eye. At first, for some reason, she thought he was the harbour master, then that he was one of the other of the local men who made their living in and around the sea, yet none of the people appeared to speak with him. It was as though they didn’t know him.

  If asked, Selina would have to confess that she didn’t know why he had caught her attention. The man wasn’t handsome, in fact his features were rather coarse and his mouth appeared set in a permanent grim line. Perhaps that was the thing she noticed about him—the man’s expression never varied.

  It might be that he was waiting for a boat to arr
ive. If so, it must be overdue. While his daily habit of walking along the waterfront appeared unhurried, the hands behind his back which rolled something though his fingers gently a few days ago, had today had increased their actions—a sure sign of agitation.

  Selina laid aside her watercolour and started to sketch what features of the man she could glean. Soon pages of her pad were filled with small two-inch drawings, full face, profile and silhouette.

  As the sun announced its intention to end the day with a showy display of pastels splashed across the blue-grey canvas of the afternoon sky, the mysterious man left his vigil around the North Quay Arm and disappeared into one of the side streets.

  Deciding the sunlight had dimmed too much to work and that the odd man was not going to make another appearance, Selina finished packing away her kit and looked up to find James approaching from the other end of the path.

  “So this is where you spend most of your day,” he said. “I couldn’t find you at the Hall.”

  “I don’t know how many days of fine weather we’ll get, so I like to take advantage of it,” said Selina in reply.

  James nodded to the sketches of the mysterious man at the quay.

  “A friend of yours, a secret beau?” he asked.

  Selina smiled.

  “He seems to have captured a lot of your attention,” James pressed, eyes twinkling.

  “I call him Fidget because his hands are never still,” she said, then, more thoughtfully, “It might sound odd, but I feel like I know this man, or at least that I ought to. He looks familiar; although I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.”

  James shook his head. “Not odd at all, you’re a painter who notices things.”

  Selina shared what she had noticed about the man, pleased that James hadn’t dismissed her observations as a flight of feminine fancy.

  After the telling, silence stretched on for a few moments between them as they listened to the sounds of the town coming to the end of its working day. The various noises were punctuated by a roar of laughter from the opening door of the tavern on the corner, The Red Lion, where some men had gathered to fit in a pint of ale before walking up the narrow winding streets to their cottages.