The boat had turned and at that moment Lucy saw the outline of land low rising in front of her.
“The Old Head of Kinsale,” William Cooper told her. “You will soon be home.”
“A home I have never visited.”
“Your father’s home. Master Charles was a fine young man. He was much missed on the estate after he left to join the army.”
“You knew him?” Lucy asked. “Tell me about him. He never spoke about Ireland or his family to me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mr. Cooper’s reminiscences passed the time but not quickly enough for Lucy. Almost at the end of her journey, she was in a fever of impatience and nervous about meeting her relatives. She also worried about what would happen to O’Rourke when they arrived. So she did not listen closely to Cooper’s stories.
It was a relief when they entered the harbour and the sailors got out the oars to row them up to the quay. At the top of the slippery steps, Lucy looked around her at the small town. The sun had come out and the waters were sparkling. Green wooded hills seemed to nestle the houses between them and the bay was filled with ships and boats of all sizes. They had passed a large building on the way in, which Cooper called the Charles Fort where a great battle had taken place over a hundred years before. Cooper led them through the narrow streets of the town until they came to a church dedicated to Saint Multose.
“My lady instructed me to bring you to the rectory Miss Ridgeway. Mrs. Warren, the vicar’s wife, will take care of you until you are sufficiently rested to continue your journey to the Abbey.”
Lucy felt dirty and untidy. This feeling only got worse when she met the white haired lady in the vicarage drawing room. Mrs. Warren was small, voluble and neat. She welcomed Lucy kindly and O’Rourke as well.
“Such a difficult journey for you both after your horrid experiences. Leave them with me, Mr. Cooper, and I will look after them while you inform her ladyship.”
Lucy was swept off to a spare bedroom and a maid arrived with hot water. She was able to wash herself thoroughly for the first time since she had left Saint-Malo. With the maid’s help she even managed to attend to her hair which, to her at least, had acquired the smell of fish. She had just finished braiding it and pinning it up on top of her head to dry when Mrs. Warren arrived, carrying an armful of clothes.
“These belonged to my daughter, but they no longer fit her, since she has several children now. She gave them to me to pass on to those who need them. Please accept one of them as a gift if it fits you. You can’t meet your grandmother for the first time in the clothes you are wearing.”
“You know my story then?” Lucy asked her.
The old lady smiled. “Part of it at least. Lady Mary and I are old friends and she told me you were coming to her but not that you would arrive here without any baggage of your own.”
“I lost it in France…”
“No need to tell me more now, or ever if you don’t want to. Get dressed. The Abbey isn’t far away and Sir Edgar keeps swift horses. Your grandmother will be here directly and will, no doubt, bear you off with her as soon as she can.”
Lucy looked through the things she had been given, which showed a few signs of wear but were clean and pressed. She gladly shed the black dress, giving it to the maid for the poor, secretly pitying the person who would wear it next. She removed the pocket that was still tied to her chemise and took out the locket with the miniatures of her parents.
This will prove to my grandmother who I am, she thought, if she should need such proof. She laid it on the table ready to carry with her.
It was lovely to be clean and to have fresh clothes next to her skin. The dress she chose had a high waist in the current mode although the type of trimming was no longer in fashion. The lovely soft cream, however, suited Lucy’s dark colouring and the material flowed as she walked. She had to lace the slippers high and pull them tight, because they were too large for her. She put Captain Dupré’s string of pearls around her neck. After all, he has the rest of my possessions on board the Matou, she thought. I can’t give these back and I don’t want to. He’s welcome to all those awful dresses, except for the amber one, of course. I wish I could get that one back. Then she laughed. She had arrived. She looked almost the way she wanted to look again. Crossing her fingers, she wished hard. If only my grandmother will like me and I like her. Mrs. Warren is nice and she’s my grandmother’s friend, so I will hope for the best.
With this thought in her mind, she went downstairs and into the drawing room. Mrs. Warren was pouring out tea from a silver pot. A transformed O’Rourke sat beside her and he rose at her entrance. She blinked, looking at the figure in a rusty black frock coat, a white shirt and a black cravat. He was almost unrecognisable. His hair had been slicked down and seemed to have been darkened. No doubt he had raided a chimney for soot. She smiled at him as he brought her a cup of tea.
“Mr. Anselm has been telling me your adventures, Miss Ridgeway,” Mrs. Warren said. “You will find your life here in County Cork tame by comparison.”
“I am glad my adventures are behind me, ma’am. A little tameness would be pleasant for a change.”
They all laughed. The conversation continued with Lucy describing the life she had lived in London and O’Rourke relating Mr. Anselm’s imaginary story. Lucy found herself liking Mrs. Warren more and more. She seemed both kind and sensible. Lucy kept hoping that her grandmother would be similar. Not very long afterwards, the noise of horses’ hooves and wheels on the gravel drive brought everyone out to greet the new arrivals.
A smart carriage drew up to the steps with a tall, stately lady holding the reins. A man servant sat beside her. He hopped down and handed his mistress out. Lady Mary was tall with piercing blue eyes, dressed all in black. Lucy’s heart sank as she lifted a lorgnette and stared at her through it, reminding her painfully of Lady Westmore. Lady Mary did not smile as she said in a rather hard voice,
“So you must be Lucy, my granddaughter. You do not favour your father.”
Lucy stood up straight and met her eyes, then she dropped a small curtsey. “I am held to be more like my mother, ma’am, although she was a great beauty and I am not.”
Lady Mary’s brows rose and then she turned to O’Rourke,
“And you are Mr. Anselm, a most unfortunate cleric, or so my agent tells me.”
O’Rourke stepped forward and bowed over her outstretched hand.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Now I can pass over my charge to you.”
“And glad to do so, no doubt.”
Lady Mary smiled at Mrs. Warren and said, “Thank you for your help, Elizabeth.”
“No trouble at all, Mary. Won’t you come into the house and have some tea?”
For a moment it looked as if Lady Mary would refuse and then she turned to her groom and ordered him to walk the horses while he was waiting.
Served with fresh tea, the lady seemed to thaw a little. She spoke first to O’Rourke, asking him questions about their journey, although her eyes rarely wandered from Lucy’s face. Lucy felt uncomfortable and, when she had to speak in her turn, she became tongue-tied. Under her grandmother’s scrutiny, she found it hard to remember the story of the false Mr. Anselm and almost tripped herself up but managed to stop in time. Although O’Rourke kept his face bland, at another small blunder he shook his head slightly at her.
This will never do, Lucy thought to herself. I must do something to change the subject before I betray him. She reached into her pocket and drew forth the locket.
“My guardian, Mrs. Beckwith, gave me this before I left London, ma’am. It contains miniatures of both my parents. I thought you might like to see it.”
Lucy handed the locket to her grandmother who snapped the little catch and opened it. Lady Mary looked down, her face rather white.
“Mary are you all right?” Mrs. Warren asked.
“Look at this, Elizabeth.” Lady Mary handed it to her.
“It’s the m
iniature you had taken of Charles as a young man. Didn’t it go missing from your drawing room?”
“It did, right after he had come home on leave for the last time. He must have taken it to give to that woman.”
That was too much! Lucy was on her feet, her eyes blazing, all caution forgotten.
“You are speaking about my mother! She always wore the locket when I was little. She was wonderful, kind and loving and beautiful. My father adored her. He never cared for me after she died because I am like her and he could not bear to be reminded of his loss. How dare you call her ‘that woman’!”
Lucy reached down and twitched the locket out of her grandmother’s hand. Mrs. Warren got to her feet and tried to put an arm around her shoulders.
“Dear, dear, calm down, I beg of you.”
Lucy stormed from the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. In the hallway she hesitated, not knowing what to do or where to go next. A step made her turn and O’Rourke caught her in his arms.
“Don’t weep, Alannah. I’m sure that your grandmother didn’t mean to hurt you. She blurted out the first words that came into her mind. From her point of view, your mother was the person who separated her from her favourite son. Give her a little time to adjust.”
O’Rourke drew out a kerchief and mopped Lucy’s tears. They were standing too near each other but O’Rourke stepped back as soon as the door opened and Mrs. Warren came out.
“Lucy, will you come back into the room, please? Your grandmother has something to say to you.”
“Don’t leave me.” Lucy took hold of O’Rourke’s hand and gave him a tug but he pulled back.
“Lucy, this is a family matter. I’m a stranger to Lady Mary. I should wait here.”
“No you must come. I won’t go without you.”
“Very well, but if Lady Mary orders me to leave, I’ll obey her.”
He received no such order. When they came into the room, Lady Mary was standing at the window looking out. She did not turn around, but she said in a stifled tone,
“Forgive me for speaking in haste. I never met your mother, Lucy, and I do not know what she was like. Your father wrote to me in very much the same language that you have just used. You sound like him too, as Elizabeth has just reminded me. I agree with her that it is the part of a daughter to defend her mother, so it is best we forget what was said.”
She turned slowly and frowned at the sight of Lucy’s red eyes. Her own face was white and Lucy thought she looked somewhat bleak. Lucy felt herself incapable of words so she just nodded.
“Very well then. Elizabeth, we must go. I have been here too long and the horses will become chilled if we leave them any longer. Lucy, fetch your bonnet and pelisse, please.”
“I have none,” Lucy looked at her defiantly but Mrs. Warren broke into the sudden silence.
“I will lend Lucy a cape and a bonnet. She will no doubt tell you the rest of her story later on.”
Lucy turned to O’Rourke.
“Mr. Anselm?”
Answering her unspoken question, O’Rourke said,
“Mrs. Warren has taken it on herself to allow me to stay here until the next stagecoach departs for Dublin. Apparently the vicar enjoys debating with brothers of the cloth though whether he will find my views interesting remains to be seen.”
He kissed her hand and bowed to her. She thought she detected a slight tremor as he touched her but she could not be sure because of her own trembling. She did not have time to dwell on it, however. A cloak was put around her shoulders. Mrs. Warren set a rather dowdy bonnet on her head and tied the strings. Lady Mary swept out of the door after thanking her friend for her hospitality. The steps of the carriage were let down. Lady Mary climbed inside and gestured for Lucy to sit beside her while the groom took up the reins.
“Thank you for coming for me, Grandmother,” Lucy said in a small voice.
“We will not speak of this until this evening,” Lady Mary replied with a nod at the servant’s back. “Time enough after you have met your uncle, Sir Edgar, your father’s eldest brother.”
Lucy did not know what to expect when the family gathered together that evening. Lucy was still wearing the gown of Mrs. Warren’s providing. She had washed her hands and face and redone her hair but she knew that she was not elegant enough for a formal dinner party. She entered the drawing room with a feeling of anxiety but she need not have been afraid.
Sir Edgar was rather a surprise, looking nothing at all like Lucy’s father. He was small and tubby. The most noticeable thing about him was a fine set of whiskers that seemed to cover most of the lower part of his face without actually meeting in the middle. He greeted Lucy kindly, remarking on her beauty and presenting her to his wife, Lady Ridgeway. This lady shot a quick glance at her husband before begging Lucy to call them ‘Aunt Agnes’ and ‘Uncle Edgar’.
“Tomorrow you will meet our children, your cousins,” she said with a smile, as if she was conveying a great favour.
“Tell me about them,” Lucy begged, happy to be given a subject of conversation which was not controversial.
“There are five, although Charlotte and Maria are married. They are to meet us in Dublin in January at the start of the season. Dear Tom is away at school but our other son, Peter, is not well enough to leave and is studying at home. He is eleven and Helena is nearly fourteen.”
Lucy exclaimed suitably and the conversation continued during dinner. Lucy was aware that Lady Mary was saying little but observing her closely. Lucy hoped that she did not eat with wrong knife or something equally stupid. Fortunately the family were dining alone although Lady Ridgeway told her this was unusual.
“We decided it was best for you to meet your relatives before you encounter our neighbours, then you will be more comfortable.”
And my grandmother can judge whether I am fit to be brought into their company, Lucy thought. I wish she would stop staring at me. Lucy tried to ignore her but it was difficult. The family were sitting at one end of a long dining table, with Sir Edgar at the head and his mother and wife on either side. Lucy was seated beside Lady Ridgeway and at first kept strictly to the rule about not talking across the table until her grandmother asked her a question.
“What do you think about Ireland?”
“I have seen very little of it, ma’am, but it seems like a beautiful country.”
“Too wet,” Sir Edgar growled. “One season out of three the crops rot in the fields.”
Lucy learned that her uncle was a keen agriculturist, hampered by the quality of the land he had inherited. A discussion on the subject carried them through the various courses of the dinner. It could not be said to have enlightened Lucy greatly since her head was swimming with all the unfamiliar terms. In one sense she was pleased when dinner ended, in another she was dreading the tête-à-tête to come. She followed her aunt and grandmother out of the room with apprehension.
Chapter Seventeen
Sir Edgar did not linger long over his port and soon joined the ladies in the drawing room. This was tastefully decorated with straw-coloured chairs and curtains of fine damask. Lucy recognised it as being in the first stare of fashion, having seen a similar décor in Lady Westmore’s salon. A log blazed in the fireplace which Lady Ridgeway informed her was in the style of Robert Adam. She said it with such pride that Lucy responded with suitable praise and drew her chair as close to the blaze as was polite. She was shivering from both cold and fright in her thin dress, becoming though it was.
“Well, my dear, are you going to tell us all about your adventures?” Sir Edgar asked.
“I’ll try, Uncle, but please stop me if I bore you,” Lucy replied, taking a firm hold of her inner doubts and beginning the narrative. It was not all true, of course. O’Rourke’s part in the affair was glossed over as was the real Mr. Anselm’s. O’Rourke had warned Lucy to be careful of what she said about Captain Dupré and their escape from the Matou. They may think you did not behave as you should and encouraged his advances, his voic
e rang in her ears. Say as little as possible about that part of the story. You landed on Jersey because the ship went off after other prey. Your ransom wasn’t as important to Dupré as plundering another rich ship. It also accounts for the fact that you did not bring your trunk. Everyone was in too much of a hurry to put it into the skiff because the other vessel was getting away. Lucy took his advice, even ending her story with a little piece of fiction.
“The only things I have left of my own are these pearls and the locket which were my mother’s,” she concluded looking defiantly into her grandmother’s eyes.
“You are so brave,” Lady Ridgeway said. “I’m sure I would not manage half so well in such difficult circumstances.”
Lucy glanced at Lady Mary who made no comment but Sir Edgar said,
“Very true, my dear, Lucy has done well. It’s quite a relief to welcome her here after such a hair-raising journey. Fortunately we did not know anything about it until just now, so we were saved the worry.”
“Thank you for setting me free, Uncle.”
“It is what Charles would have wanted me to do. Tell us a little about him. We know almost nothing about what happened to him from the time he left here until we learned of his death.”
Lucy did her best, but she had not seen her father often and he had been more interested in talking to Mrs. Beckwith than with her when he visited. She told them a few of the incidents she remembered, especially the day when she had danced with him around the salon. He had complimented her on her knowledge of the steps and said how much he enjoyed the exercise.
“One day he told me that I would soon have a baby brother to keep me company. It didn’t happen because my mother died and my brother did too. Papa went away and he didn’t live in the same house with me any more after that. Becky, Mrs. Beckwith that is, said that he never recovered from losing Mama,” she concluded.
A silence fell and then Lady Mary broke her silence,
“Tell me how your father died.”
Lucy looked at her. She saw a mistiness in the old lady’s eyes.
Miss Ridgeway's Privateer (Regency Belles & Beaux Book 3) Page 15