To members of the party glancing back from further along the shore, James and Abigail looked as though they were enjoying a tryst.
“Once Abigail gets her claws into a man, there’s no letting go,” Catherine observed wryly. “Perhaps her dream of a late summer wedding will come true after all.”
“A wedding?” squealed Edith. “How wonderful! James and Abigail make such a handsome couple, don’t they?”
“Weddings are a specialty of mine,” Reverend Kirk quipped. “We’re open all seasons.”
Selina started to feel ill and backed away the group.
Oh dear God, she thought, she was going to faint! The panic must have showed on her face because Jackson was immediately at her elbow.
He led her to a shaded rock where she sat.
“Is Miss Selina alright?” asked Colonel Pickering, now alert to Selina’s distress.
“I believe so, just a little too much sun,” Jackson called over his shoulder.
Jackson looked down at the pale young woman in front of him and dropped down on his haunches to meet her eyes.
“No matter what may happen, please know you have a friend in me.”
Selina gave a weak smile and nodded.
“Be strong,” he advised.
With a deep breath, Selina stood and was grateful to have Jackson’s arm to steady her back to the group which James and Abigail had now joined.
“Reverend?” asked Edith. “Edgar promised you would tell us stories of shipwrecks, smugglers and pirates—are all those tales true?”
“Well, like the discussion we’ve just had, there is some conjecture.”
The Reverend Kirk smiled knowing he had a willing audience. Hours spent writing and honing his sermons made him an accomplished speaker, and the opportunity to be a storyteller was irresistible.
“Let’s go back along the beach to the other side of the headland where the really tall cliffs start and I’ll tell you the story of Black Heart Pete, the most notorious brigand of Cornwall,” he began.
He span a flagrantly false but utterly engaging tale that kept everyone amused on the two mile walk across the headland to the rocks and cliffs on the ocean side called Gunver Head.
* * *
With Abigail in step with Catherine for a while, James took the opportunity to fall back with Jackson.
“Is Selina alright? I saw her…”
“And she saw you—and heard Catherine announce marriage plans.”
James winced and Jackson spoke out to support his friend.
“There’s no place we can get a scold’s bridle for that one over there? If I have to listen to her petty, spiteful nonsense much longer I’m going to put her over my knee and…”
James gave a short bitter laugh.
“You’d enjoy yourself far too much and she'd not learn a lesson.”
“Sure, I like them with spirit, but not vain and spoiled.”
They soon reached the headland and waiting for them was James' mother, a newly erected marquee, and a small squad of servants getting up tables and chairs.
The Ladies Margaret and Mary sat in the shade while Lady Christina supervised the staff.
The marquee provided respite from the heat of the midday sun while capturing a cool breeze from the ocean.
James had to admit that his mother had outdone herself again. The outdoor luncheon was a stroke of genius, though the memory of what Abigail had said while they were still some distance from the main party still bothered him.
“Not so fast, lover,” she’d begun. “You’ve been quite skilled in avoiding me over the past two days. I do hope you’ve been thinking about us.”
“Believe me, I’ve been giving you a great deal of thought,” James answered coldly.
“Good. I would hate to think that our arrangement had slipped your mind. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at the girl. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you had some real feelings for the chit.”
“It is no business of yours.”
“Oh, I beg to disagree! If the announcement of our engagement isn’t to be the cause of too much surprise, you should be seen spending at least a little bit of time in my company.”
“And deprive you of time with your other admirers? Not if I can possibly help it,” he responded.
Anger turned Abigail’s face scarlet. James gripped her hand to his side as she moved to slap his face.
“Never again,” he hissed.
“You have one week to effect a change of heart, James,” Abigail sneered in response, “because after that I’ll see to it there's more than your business at stake.”
Despite Abigail’s looming threat to him and Selina’s family, he felt he could almost relax and enjoy himself right now. Reverend Kirk had just wrapped up his tale of Black Heart Pete, and Edith, Catherine, and Abigail were putting on an impromptu acapella recital.
James sat next to his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She looked at him in surprise.
“James?”
“Thank you,” he said. “The lunch was a grand surprise. I don’t know when I last enjoyed being home so much.”
The older woman beamed.
“You’re my son and Lord Penventen. All I have ever wanted is the best for you,” she said, taking hold of his hand. Now if you would do one thing for me to make my summer complete, announce your engagement to Abigail…”
“Now don’t go spoiling things,” he admonished.
“But nothing would make me happier than if at the masquerade ball next week you would just make an announcement,” she wheedled.
He frowned, his good mood beginning to evaporate.
“Alright,” he agreed. “I promise I'll give you something to talk about at the ball.”
Missing the import of his words, James' mother looked triumphant.
* * *
It was mid-afternoon by the end of the luncheon. With efficiency to make a general proud, Lady Christina announced that the two waiting carts would take the party back to the house and return to collect the marquee and the furniture.
James and Jackson expressed an interest in joining Edgar and the Reverend in exploring some of the cliffs for the remainder of the afternoon.
Selina watched from the second cart as Christina and Abigail behaved as thick as thieves on the ride back to Penventen Hall. They were certainly excited by something and she had the depressing feeling that she knew what it was about.
Abigail had won.
Whatever hold she had over James was too much to overcome no matter how much he might love another instead.
Selina’s eyes flickered down Abigail’s maroon walking dress to her belly for any tell-tale sign that she was with child, but there was none. She couldn’t be that far along then—perhaps only a couple of months?
She glanced at Catherine. That woman noticed everything and wouldn’t think twice about saying something about it, but her attention now appeared completely focused on Colonel Pickering, who was in conversation with Comte Alexandre. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Walsh had Edith seemingly glued to his side.
Well, if the idea of the summer in Cornwall was to establish matrimonial matches, it would appear Lady Christina’s party was a complete success.
So, what should she do?
Selina fell back into her familiar habit of problem-solving honed by running her father's home.
Let’s examine the facts, she told herself.
She was in no worse place than she was a month or two months ago. She could ask Lady Margaret for a recommendation. No doubt the older woman would feel sorry for her, knowing how she felt about her grandson, and would help her find somewhere suitable.
She would have to tell James that she knew. A knife twisted in her gut. She would tell him that she attached no blame to him at all, and the time they had spent together, she would treasure always. She would tell him to be happy, for the sake of his child, who deserved the love of his parents and he, above all people, should know what life is like in an unhappy h
ome.
There. It was set. A course of action to take, a path to follow. She would make it work.
She had to make it work.
* * *
“We can’t spend too long down here, there’s a change of tide in an hour that will swamp the beach,” Reverend Kirk called out over the wind now coming up in squalling gusts.
The four men stood on a tiny strip of shingle surrounded by black rocks and dominated by the tall cliff that they had scrambled down.
James waved to indicate that he had heard the Reverend.
He knew these cliffs. Growing up here, James spent hours exploring every inch of coastline from the river mouth to the craggy cliff of Gunver Head.
The Pandora was wrecked here, of that he was certain. But guesswork wasn’t going to be enough.
Without evidence, all that remained was speculation that would bring them no closer to discovering the ship’s fate.
While the two amateur geologists examined the rock and the strata of the cliffs, James and Jackson climbed up and over the boulders to begin a different kind of exploration. The two men climbed part way up the cliff, finding hand and toe holds to work their way around a jutting promontory.
Before long, they were out of sight of the rest of their party.
“What are we looking for?” Jackson asked, muscles straining to support his weight against the pull of the wind.
“Caves and hollows. These cliffs are…”
The last of James' answer was ripped away by the wind.
Jackson followed as his friend inched his way around. They perched on an outcrop and rested for a moment in the lee of the wind.
James pointed to hollow in the cliffs about twenty feet away. “That looks promising.”
They made their way across slowly. Sea spray dashed by the waves and wind against the rocks made them slick and unstable.
However, what had looked like a cave from a distance turned out only to be a jutting shelf of two feet deep at most. Rendered more visible by the angle of the afternoon sun casting a deep shadow beneath it, the lip was about five feet off the sand at its lowest point, rising to around seven feet as it angled upwards over a length of perhaps three yards across the cliff face. At the upper end, it had provided mean purchase for a small shrub to take root in a crack in the rock above the high tide.
Jackson walked in its shadow to the far end of the shelf and stopped suddenly.
“That is interesting,” he said. James joined him and looked at the two iron spikes driven across each other into the rock at shoulder height. They were rusty, but not so corroded to suggest that they had been there a great length of time.
James looked up, nudged Jackson, and pointed. A large iron eye bolt with a long shank was screwed into the rock some feet above where the far end of the ledge expired. It appeared to have the same level of exposure to the salt environment as the crossed spikes.
As James observed that the spikes and eye bolt lay in vertical alignment about a foot out from the end of the ledge, Jackson strode back to the low end. With a scramble, he hauled himself onto the ledge and sidled along it. Stretching and leaning out from the upper end, he could easily reach the eye bolt.
Then he spoke. “I’ve found something.”
He reached into the shrub and withdrew a black rectangular object.
“Catch!”
James did so. The object that fell into his hands was a book.
By the time Jackson made his way back along the ledge to jump down and rejoin his friend, James had already opened the heavy cover and turned several sodden pages, but the ink of the hand-written entries was too smeared and diffused to read. It appeared to have spent some time exposed to the weather, probably even submerged in sea water for a time.
He peered at it, flipping page after page in hope of a word he could make out. Finally he came across an inscription not in ink, but in pencil.
“It’s the log of The Pandora.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dinner was an informal affair.
Colonel Pickering and Lieutenant Walsh had returned to Newquay Barracks; Edgar excused himself to catalogue his new collection of rocks; Comte Alexandre had letters to write; Lady Margaret, Lady Mary, and Edith retired early.
Just before eight, Selina remained in the drawing room as Abigail and Catherine played a hand of cards, and Lady Christina worked with her embroidery loop.
James and Jackson entered the house and came into the drawing room. Both men were grass stained and their boots were covered in sand and silt.
Lady Christina, who would normally have been appalled by such a dishevelled appearance and breach of etiquette, ignored her son’s filthy clothes and simply informed him that there was plenty to eat—after he had washed.
“Your beloved is practising for your marriage. He’s already rolling around in the dirt,” Catherine said to Abigail in a stage whisper loud enough for Selina to hear.
Abigail responded by kicking viciously under the table.
Selina couldn’t stand it. She excused herself, heartsick and miserable, and retreated to her room.
She slept fitfully as she waited for James to come to her as he had done every night since his arrival.
She finally fell asleep at one o’clock with the last grandfather clock chime for the night. Tears stained her cheeks.
***
The Reverend Ian Kirk was clearly “on duty” this Sunday morning.
He looked imposing in his black vestments as he delivered the Sunday sermon at St Petroc’s, a large 15th century stone church that sat on a rise overlooking Padstow.
With the exception of Alexandre, the guests at Penventen Hall were all in attendance. Selina found herself seated between Lady Margaret and Edith. She knew James sat somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t bear looking for him in case she found him next to Abigail.
After the service, she lingered, pretending to admire the stained glass window above the altar when in fact she was hoping to avoid James.
She knew her resolve would waiver if she looked at him and he couldn’t be strong enough to do the right thing for his child; then she would have to be strong enough for the both of them and walk away.
She joined the end of the queue to leave the church and could hear James ahead of her asking Reverend Kirk for an appointment to meet him in private this afternoon.
The Reverend readily agreed, suggesting that James and his friend arrive in time to join him and his wife for afternoon tea.
Selina steeled her courage again as she shook the rector’s hand and thanked him, not quite able to meet his eyes.
Outside, the congregation had started to disperse, with groups of family and friends clustered together on the path between the steps and the low stone wall which surrounded the church and grounds.
Catherine, Abigail, and Lady Christina had already started on the walk back to the house—a distance of a quarter of mile was certainly no hardship on a day as sunny as this one.
Selina noticed there was no sign of James, or Edgar, nor Jackson, who seemed much more James’ friend than a manservant. They must have gone on ahead too.
She picked her moment carefully.
From a corner of the church, she watched Edith and her grandmother pass the seat by the church gates to make their way up to the house, leaving Lady Margaret talking with a villager, whom Selina recognised as a local dressmaker.
She waited a few minutes more to be sure that no one else would disturb them before walking towards her with a purpose and determination.
“I’m sorry to disturb you Lady Margaret, but may I have a word?” There, Selina told herself, her voice hardly shook at all.
The villager smiled and took her leave of the two women.
“Be seated.”
Selina sank to the seat beside her.
“I hope to ask… that is, I was… I…” Selina stammered.
“Spit it out!” Lady Margaret demanded with a small degree of irritation.
Selina drew a deep br
eath.
“Have I been satisfactory as a lady’s companion?” she asked.
Lady Margaret saved the page of her prayer book with her marker ribbon and closed it with slow deliberation before looking at Selina with intense scrutiny.
“Why?”
“I have been considering my future after this summer and I thought if you had found my services satisfactory that I could impose upon you to…”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said no,” Lady Margaret snapped. “I will not write you a reference, I will not recommend you, and I will not put your name forward as lady’s companion or governess or for any other type of service!”
And she emphasised the rejection each time with an angry tap of her cane.
The heat of mortification rose through Selina’s cheeks. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes and disguised a small choke as a cough.
A whispered “May I ask why?” was all she could muster.
“Because you’re supposed to be marrying my grandson, that’s why,” Lady Margaret answered firmly.
“Excuse me?” Selina squeaked.
“Are you deaf? You are supposed to be marrying my grandson, so what is this nonsense about you going into employment?”
“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed…”
“You still love the boy don’t you?”
“Yes, I do but…”
“There’s no ‘buts’ about it unless there is something I don’t know about.”
Lady Margaret looked at her directly.
“Lady Abigail—”
“That trollop!”
Selina jumped.
“What has that little slattern done?” Lady Margaret fumed.
Selina wondered whether the older woman should be using such language in front of a church, but with a lick of her lips, she plunged in with her explanation.
“I believe she might be expecting a child. James’ child.”
The older woman pounced on the uncertainty.
“Believe? How did you come by this information? Begin at the beginning and leave nothing out.”
Selina left plenty out—James bringing her to the peak of desire, touching her intimately, her learning the hard muscled warmth of his body—not the topics of conversation suitable for her lover’s grandmother.
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