“Cheer up, mate.”
William lifted his eyes, scowling at whomever dared speak to him. He did not like being disturbed when drinking.
“Remember me, Captain?”
He pondered the man who stood before him displaying a toothy grin. People in Southern England tended to resemble their Danish and German neighbors. The man, with his blond hair and tall build, looked no different.
“Joshua!”
William had noticed him a few times since their first chat, but they had not spoken since then. William had always rushed off to Somerset Hall at every opportunity. He had been utterly foolish. Besotted.
The man gave a small laugh, his blue eyes twinkling. “I knew you would remember.”
“That doesn’t mean I want you anywhere near me. Go home. Talk to your family. I’m happy here.” William’s voice was hoarse, and he closed his eyes, willing the man to disappear. His head ached.
Talking was too great a chore right now. He didn’t care if he was rude.
“You have a funny way of showing pleasure.” Joshua’s eyes darted from the lit fire in the stone hearth to the militiamen standing at the bar to the other men sitting at tables like William. Nobody was near them, and he pushed a chair close to William. He sat down and placed his tankard on the table. “In truth, you haven’t been easy to find, Captain. Been spending a lot of time at the great house, I hear.”
“Somerset Hall?” William shuddered, the pain in his chest returning. “I won’t spend any more time there.”
“Had an argument with one of the inhabitants, Captain?”
William brushed a hand through his hair, the strands moistened from sweat. “In a manner of speaking.”
“There, there. Drink will cure that. Or at least dampen the pain.”
William straightened, raising his chin. “I do not indulge overly.”
“No, no. Of course not. Leave that to the Prince Regent. That’s what I always say.”
William smiled. The Prince Regent displayed great talent for indulgence.
Joshua turned more serious. “I did want to see you though, sir.”
“Then you’re the only person who does.” William glumly remembered how his sister had informed him that Sebastian had requested to push forward the wedding date on his last visit to Somerset Hall. So much for their night in the gatehouse.
“Well, I recalled how you said you wanted me to tell you if I saw any strange things.”
“Have you?” William looked up, slightly bored. He rather thought he should stop spending his time worrying about Sebastian’s safety.
“I’m not sure. I think so though. I was walking in Lyngate Cove the other day with my girl. You understand how it is. I don’t see her very often.”
“I remember.”
“Yes, so she does.” Joshua smiled. “See, you go off to the great house, putting on airs, but you’re just like us. You remembered about my girl.”
“What did you want to tell me?” William asked. Joshua finally pulled his eyes away from the candle’s flame to reply.
“Saw with my own eyes.” Joshua paused, and his cheeks reddened. “I was having the urge, you know.”
William nodded, unsure if Joshua referred to the urge to bed his chit or to a still more basic, less romanticized call of nature.
“And there’s this cave by Lyngate Cove . . .”
“I’ve heard the area has many caves.” Sir Ambrose had mentioned it himself at the dinner. What had he said? Sussex’s joys lie partly in its unsavory past. William had thought Sir Ambrose simply meant he admired how the county traditionally battled the French. Perhaps the history of smuggling intrigued him.
“So it does. Good for smugglers in the past. They kept their booty there.”
“How exciting.”
Joshua shrugged. “Everyone must make a living.”
“But that was the past.” He did not suppose Joshua would confess to smuggling to a senior officer.
“Yes. And a good thing too. Having smugglers nearby is no life for other people. No good life, at least,” Joshua said.
So he was not a smuggler.
“And the cave?” William prompted Joshua, leaning toward him.
The young man smiled and tapped his fingers on the round table. “Well, you see. That was the interesting part. The cave didn’t seem to know it was supposed to be in the past.”
“Did you see anyone?” William glanced around the room, ascertaining that nobody else followed their conversation.
“Not somebody. But I saw some things. Open wine bottles, crates of cargo . . .”
“What sort of cargo?”
Joshua lowered his eyes. “I didn’t look. I should have.”
“No, no, that’s not your job.” The last thing William wanted was for his commander to discover him recruiting a team of spies from the soldiers who defended the Martello tower.
“I can tell you one thing,” Joshua said.
“What?”
“The wine was French.”
William rolled his eyes. No doubt he and his girlfriend had enjoyed it very much. Still, it’s country of origin was interesting. French wine had become rare.
“Where is this cave, Joshua?”
“Just to the right of Lyngate Cove.” Joshua took a lengthy sip of ale. “Do you think the cave might be run by spies?”
“Perhaps. It could be used for all manner of ill-use, including as a haven for young men and women to court in private.”
Joshua had the decency to blush.
Perhaps something strange was going on. That did not mean it had anything to do with Sir Ambrose. He sighed, pondering Joshua’s information.
“Did you notice anything else unusual?”
“In the cave?” Joshua frowned.
“Or just in general? In the area? Men with French accents? Lights flashing at night?”
Joshua shook his head. “I wouldn’t spend time there at night.”
“Of course not. I imagine the place lacks the pleasures of the town.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the country. The Downs are beautiful at all hours. The stars shining above, the white chalk cliffs gleaming . . . I used to visit the valley at night. Or at least, I never minded if I didn’t make it home before nightfall.”
Well. Joshua did seem to be a loyal Sussex man.
“But the ghost is there.”
“The ghost?” William lurched up, eyeing his companion. The man did not seem the type to care about ghosts.
“I mean, of course I don’t believe in ghosts.” Joshua squirmed. William thought he could seem more convincing. “But many people have been frightened of it.”
“Indeed?”
Joshua leaned closer to William, his eyes glistening. “Apparently he wanders the lanes on a white horse. Like one of the grays the devil himself rode.”
“Is it the devil?” William asked mischievously. He felt much better now.
Joshua paled. “Do you think it could be, Captain Carlisle?”
William shook his head, relenting. He must not forget he was speaking to a vicar’s son. Devils were likely only too real a possibility for him. “I’ve enough to worry about in the present to concern myself with conjecture.”
Joshua seemed disappointed. “He’s said to ride in a dark cape about the Downs. They even say he has no head.”
“No head?”
Joshua shook his head. “None.”
“Oh.” William had heard of other headless ghosts. Perhaps every area had a local one. “So he cannot just be a local riding about the area, enjoying the sea breeze.”
“No, I wouldn’t think that,” Joshua said. “Not with no head.”
William stroked his chin. Whoever rode the horse seemed determined to scare people away. “Tell me, is there any pattern in the ghost’s rides?”
“Pattern?”
“Does he come at a certain time?”
“Well.” Joshua furrowed his brows. “He came last week on a Tuesday and Wednesday, and I suppose, yes,�
�� Joshua smiled, looking up at William, “I suppose he also came the previous week on those same days.”
“Now that is interesting.” William smiled, drumming his fingers on the rail of the armchair. He set his drink down on the table, losing interest in it as he pondered where the ghost might come from.
“What day is it today?”
Joshua eyed him strangely. “Tuesday.”
William shrugged. “I think we should make an excursion to Lyngate Cove. Are you up for it?”
Joshua looked worried. “I suppose . . .”
“It will be wonderful. You’ll see.” He leaned closer to Joshua. “The thing is: the ghost is not a real ghost.”
“I am not sure if meeting a man who pretends to be a headless ghost is preferable,” Joshua muttered.
William smiled. Energy rushed through him, and he found himself eager to move about outside.
He felt rather less energetic a few hours later as he strode across the Downs. His feet swept against the long grass. Wildflowers peeked out. It was all charming. He did not, however, see a ghost.
Joshua did not seem to mind, pointing out the flowers to William with glee. “I don’t think he will show until it’s dark.”
“You mean until it’s difficult to tell whether he has a head or not?”
Joshua reddened. “I suppose that’s right.”
“Obviously.” William scanned the horizon. A few boats bobbed up and down on the sea, but no signs indicated smugglers or spies. Perhaps it was still far too light. “Where is the cave you mentioned?”
“Down below.”
“Of course.” William gazed over the cliff. Waves crashed into the chalky rocks, and a thrill ran through him.
He followed Joshua down the ledge, resting his hand against the cliff. Joshua’s path curved along the crag. The cave Joshua used for his romantic interludes was perhaps less likely to be seen by others than he had imagined.
Joshua ducked into the dark cave, and William followed after. “When it’s high tide, you have to go into the upper portion of the cave.
William nodded, not wanting to be caught at high tide anywhere near the cavern.
“It’s really quite nice.” Joshua moved farther into the darkness, his deep voice echoing from inner chambers.
A stench filled the cave from years of whatever the sea tossed in it.
Disappointment filled William as he glanced around the cave. He had half hoped to find boxes of French paintings and sculptures. He doubted Sir Ambrose would store them in this damp cave, even if the upper level was protected from the water.
He wandered farther inside, the crashing of the waves diminishing. The sound of his breath echoed back to him, as if the very cave was breathing. He had never been in one this size before; Lancashire was not renowned for caves.
Man-made steps had been carved into the cave wall. Were these new? He sighed and climbed up them, not caring that his trousers became muddier. The chance to discover something new propelled him forward. He had spent so much time longing for Sebastian. He needed a distraction, however insufficient. He ducked his head as the ceiling closed in over him. “Are there many caves like this, Joshua?”
“Large ones?”
“Good hiding spots near this valley.”
“A few exist. One’s at the center of the cove, but the entrance is high up. Not the best romantic spot. I like to make things easy for the women.”
William cringed. “How courteous. Let’s do some exploring, Joshua.” William brushed off some mud from his trousers. Even if he did not find a clear trace of either Sir Ambrose or his men, perhaps they might discover a good hiding space from which to investigate him. William was most certainly interested in tracking the baronet.
He breathed deeply when they exited the cave, happy to be in sunshine again.
“Do you want to return now?” Joshua asked.
“Soon. You go on ahead. We can meet tonight.” William needed some time to himself before the party.
Joshua turned toward him, nodding.
William raised his hand to shield himself from the Sussex sun, which pounded down on them. He hadn’t needed to do that in the cave.
“At ten o’clock. I’ll be here then,” William said. That should give him sufficient time to make an appearance. He could not avoid his sister’s pre-wedding party.
“We can meet by those rocks, Captain.” Joshua pointed to a large cluster.
William smiled. “Exactly. Now don’t tell anyone.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Joshua said solemnly before heading off back toward Lyngate.
The young man disappeared. For the son of a vicar, the man possessed an adventuresome spirit.
Perhaps he could explore just one more cave before he returned to Lyngate to dress for the gathering. He scrambled down the hill, heading for the cave to his right. He clung to nearby bushes as he edged to it. Chunks of chalk fell as he climbed down the cliff.
He sighed with relief as he reached the beach, his boots brushing up against the pebbles. The light shone brighter here, reflecting on the water. He cursed when he saw his Hessians. He would certainly need to change when he returned. He came to a narrow tunnel and waited for his eyes to adjust to the diminished light. Perhaps this was not the cave Joshua had indicated after all. Well, he had no desire to give up so soon.
He stumbled forward, bending his back, avoiding touching his hands or head to the slimy texture of the cave walls. He cursed as the tunnel curved down. He really hoped Joshua had known what he was talking about.
As he descended, it occurred to him that he did not know anything about Joshua. For all he knew, he was one of the highwaymen he had first encountered.
He neared an opening in the cave and crept in. At last. He gazed at the ceiling first, relieved he no longer needed to bend his back. The ceiling stretched up forty feet. He scanned the cave itself, running his eyes across the long chamber. The cave walls remained wet, and mysterious black deposits dotted the walls. Puddles sprinkled the floor. A rather interesting looking chest, wooden with heavy metal beams, sat in one corner of the room. He stepped forward.
“Halt.” A deep voice interrupted him, cutting through the silence of the cave.
William grabbed hold of his pistol and swung around.
Chapter Twenty-one
Images of whom he might encounter flashed before William’s eyes as he turned. He imagined masked highwaymen and French spies. He imagined thieves and smugglers. He imagined headless ghosts. He did not imagine what he saw.
For it was only one person. A man clutching a knife. Thank goodness the man had a head.
Ginger freckles dotted the man’s face, and his auburn hair was pulled back into a queue, heightening the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Even in the dim light of the cave, his hair gleamed with deep red shadows. William stared at him. The man eyed him back, apparently fascinated with his appearance.
“Your eyes . . .” The stranger stepped back against the curved wall of the cave. “Your hair . . .”
“Are they familiar?” William expected the answer. He lowered his pistol.
The man nodded.
“We never met, Your Grace.” William added the latter phrase as an afterthought.
“No,” the man said. “You were in India.”
“And then you were supposed to be dead.” William stared around the cave, wondering if Joshua had been correct to speak of ghosts. The cave was so ethereal: the ceiling had a dome-like shape, and its position, in the middle of a chalky cliff, seemed in itself unbelievable.
“So I was. How is she?”
William clenched his jaw, disbelief turning to anger. “She mourned you.”
“Not anymore,” the duke, the real duke, said. “She wouldn’t answer my notes.”
“Your notes?” William’s heart thudded.
It all made sense. Dorothea’s lover, her admirer, had been Gregory Lewis, her supposedly late fiancé.
Gregory Lewis, who was very much alive.
“I never gave it to her,” William said, looking around. He wanted an armchair to collapse into right now.
“What?” Lewis’s eyes widened.
“Never.”
“But Etienne said he gave it to you himself.”
William’s chest tightened. He remembered the handsome stranger outside the townhouse, thrusting a note into his hand. He had argued with Dorothea earlier. He had wanted to believe bad things about her. He might never have gone to Sebastian had he not believed them. Sweat formed on the back of his neck and on his forehead. He wiped his brow. Suddenly the cave seemed claustrophobic. “I thought she had a lover. I thought the person who gave it to her was her lover.”
“Etienne?” The duke laughed, the sound echoing throughout the cave. “Most unlikely.”
“Then why didn’t you show yourself? She’s living at Somerset Hall.”
“I know.”
“You do?” William had hoped Lewis would have some excuse for not seeing his sister. Had he simply thrown her aside?
“I was living there too, at the gatehouse, until some people grew curious.”
“Oh.” William’s hand rose to his throat, fingering the crisp cloth. His skin tingled at the weight of the announcement.
Lewis crinkled his nose, reminding William of Penelope. The resemblance between the two was striking, allowing for no uncertainty of who stood before him. “And now you’ve discovered me. I thought I had found safety here.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why would you let everyone think you had died? My poor sister . . .” He stopped, remembering Dorothea’s red-rimmed eyes and her struggle to improve her situation in society’s eyes.
How she must have suffered. He had been just as horrible as everyone else. All for naught. He did not have Sebastian, and she had had no need to worry: her fiancé was before him, alive and well.
“I wanted to tell . . . Lord, I tried to tell. I even tried to enter her bedroom the other night. But she chased me away, calling for help before I had a chance to reveal myself.” Lewis smiled, his expression softening. “She’s a feisty woman.”
The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1) Page 22