A Shadow's Bliss

by Patricia Veryan

  On the box, Jonathan's thoughts followed a different course. Hibbard Green's pursuit of Jennifer was as relentless as it was crude. There could be no doubt but that he was a member of the sinister League of Jewelled Men, nor that his determination to acquire the Blue Rose Tin Mine was in some fashion connected with the activities of the League. Surely, in the furtherance of those interests it would have been logical for him to escort his chosen lady back to Castle Triad. That he had not done so was a blessing for Jennifer, but why he had not done so was a puzzle. Stable gossip had it that Lord Morris could barely tolerate Green, and that while his lady could always find a smile for the possessor of both rank and fortune, in the privacy of her own apartments she had once been heard to remark that Lord Hibbard Green had the charm, wit, and address of a maggot. Green also had the hide of an elephant, but his acquaintanceship with his host was too brief for him to regard Lord Morris as a friend. And if it was not affection for the Morrises that kept him at Breton Ridge, it followed there must be another reason, a very compelling reason, for him to cool his heels there while his lovely quarry rode away.

  August Falcon was convinced that Green stayed to meet someone; perhaps another member of the League of Jewelled Men, or even its mysterious leader, the deadly "Squire." By watching Green, he and Lieutenant Morris could, he hoped, learn the Squire's identity.

  The hole in that plan, of course, was that the members of the League knew the identities of the men who opposed them. If Green were a member of the League, then he would be aware that Falcon and Morris were his enemies and was unlikely to take any chances while they were present.

  He had pointed this out to Morris, who had admitted, "True, to an extent, dear boy. But I doubt if our Hibbard knows we've rumbled him. Fact is, we weren't sure at the start that he was a member of their slithery club."

  "Then—why did you follow him?"

  "Didn't. Old August did, because Green had visited the home of a lady we know to be involved with the League."

  "A—lady? Jupiter!"

  "No. Name's Buttershaw, actually. We'd been keeping an eye on her, and when Green kept trotting in, Rossiter set August to see what the fellow was up to. August followed Hibbard all the way to Cornwall, then lost him. Poor lad was probably biting those standing stones with frustration-dreadful temper has my future brother-in-law. He disguised himself and went about like a fugitive from a hermitage, trying to winkle out where he'd mislaid the dear peer. When he learned Hibbard was at Castle Triad, he sent word back to Rossiter. Since I have family here and might quite logically visit them, Ross sent me down. I collected August and tidied him up a bit, then brought him here, so that we could have a local—er, base, as it were. Last thing in the world we expected was that Green would pop up at my kinsman's home."

  "I see. Then when I told you about Green's figurine…"

  "It did the trick, dear boy. Proof positive. With luck, Green thinks it pure coincidence that I should be visiting my family while he's here. If so, he might feel perfectly safe to go on with—whatever he's about." Looking disturbed, Morris had muttered, 'To say truth, I'm a shade uneasy. Don't much relish the notion the League might be after Breton Ridge…"

  If the League of Jewelled Men had set their sights on the Morris estate, Jonathan thought they'd have their work cut out for them. One could scarce find a more proper and upright gentleman than Lord Kenneth, and if there were any skeletons in the Morris closets—

  His introspection ceased abruptly as Roselley came into view. There seemed an unusual number of people about. He slowed the team. Heads were turned to them. Some of the men he didn't recognise, but those he did know were changed: the look of hopelessness was gone. Several people shouted a greeting to "Miss Jennifer" as the carriage passed. Mrs. Blary, known for her slovenly ways, was industriously sweeping her doorstep, and the prevailing air of optimism was unmistakeable.

  They had passed Noah Holsworth's cottage and were splashing through the stream atop Devil's Ladder when Jonathan glanced eastward and muttered an astonished, "Be dashed!"

  A small army of men toiled at clearing and levelling the ground for what appeared to be a new road leading from the cliffs to the Blue Rose Mine. Looking westward, he stared in disbelief. The long clean stretch of beach had been transformed. Some quarter-mile out, a large partially completed dock rose from the sands, several men hammering busily on the platform. The incoming tide lapped around the pilings. More pilings stretched in a long line from the dock to the beach, supporting a walkway that was under construction. A two-masted schooner, sails reefed, lay at anchor about a mile offshore.

  The check string jerked imperatively. He opened the trap.

  Jennifer called, "Stop, if you please. I wish to get out."

  He secured the reins, climbed down to swing open the door, and handed both ladies down.

  Jennifer walked to the brink of the cliff, Tilly following.

  Standing at the heads of his leaders, Jonathan thought that Green's engineers had chosen well. Clearly, they meant to link a new mine road to another flight of steps going down to the beach.

  While he took in the practical aspects of the construction and wondered how it had all been done so fast, Jennifer saw only the destruction of the previously unspoiled coastline. Heartsick, she exclaimed. "But—Papa said he'd not allow it! Johnny, 'tis so ugly!"

  Tilly's annoyed glance darted to him, and he answered woodenly, "Yes, ma'am."

  The enigmatic response was of itself a warning. Jennifer gathered her wits and returned to the carriage.

  The horses leaned into their collars and soon they were winding up the rutted road to the castle.

  Jennifer could only be glad she had come home. Her apprehensions had been justified. Whatever his reasons for having agreed to the erection of that atrocity on the beach, poor Papa must be miserable now that he saw the result. Perhaps it was still not too late to prevail upon him to tear it down.

  "Tear it down?" Sir Vinson Britewell mopped a handkerchief at his heated countenance and scowled at his daughter. Sultry weather always tried his temper, and his irritation was increased because here she was, looking cool and pretty in her full-skirted morning gown of fawn muslin with lace trimming the snowy fichu and edging the frill of her dainty cap. She had no business to have come so soon and to look so very like her dear mama. He didn't want her. He wasn't prepared. He sat down at his desk and grumbled, "Of all the cockaleery notions! But I suppose, being a female, you cannot even guess at the cost of such a structure."

  "I apprehend it must be costly, Papa, but I also know that it is far from what you like. You have always loved our beautiful beaches, and you told me how vehemently opposed you were to the very idea of such an eyesore being—"

  All too aware that he had indeed made such a statement, he waved his handkerchief and interrupted irritably, "Must a remark made early in business negotiations be regarded as being chiselled in stone? Especially in the case of an extreme complex matter touching the lives of many. You must take me for a proper fool if you think I am above revising my opinions when it appears—er. wise to do so."

  "No, no, Papa! I was only surprised that—Well, when I left you were set 'gainst the scheme, and now I come home to find so much of the work has been done, and so swiftly. I could scarce believe my eyes when we drove through the village. Everything seemed changed and there were so many new faces."

  "Change is the path to the future. And they were happy faces, I'll warrant! The common folk have prayed for the mine to re-open. 'Twas to please them I gave way, and they find no fault with my actions, I can tell you!"

  He was whipping himself up, which meant he was worrying about the decisions he'd made. She leaned forward in her chair and said cajolingly, "I do not find fault, dear Papa, if 'tis what you really want, but—"

  "You cannot know how you relieve my mind. 'Faith, but a man is beset from every side! If you came rushing home from Breton Ridge only to take me to task for having reached a decision in a matter that is none of your affai
r, you had as well have stayed!"

  He was all but shouting at her. Shaken, she drew back. "I would have stayed, sir, but when you did not come and sent me no word, I was afraid you might be ill."

  "I most certainly did send word! I despatched a groom to Lady Kenneth with my apologies. Was that not to your liking?" He stood, his chair scraping noisily across the floorboards as he thrust it back, his voice loud and shrill as he demanded, "Or is it that his high and mightiness has taken offence because I did not run to kiss his hand? Sent you packing, did he?"

  "Of course not!" Coming to her feet also, Jennifer said anxiously, "Neither Lord Morris nor his lady was anything but courteous. I think they were perhaps a little surprised that you offered no word of explanation."

  "I fail to see why that should discompose you." Sir Vinson marched to the window and stood glaring outside, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. After a moment, he said in a calmer, but rather odd kind of voice, "But perhaps 'tis as well you should have come home now, for we have something to discuss." He turned and regarded her almost furtively, then walked to the fireplace. "The thing is…" He thrust both his hands deep into his pockets, cleared his throat, and stared at the rug.

  "Yes, Papa?"

  "The thing is—You ain't getting any younger. No, I don't say that out of unkindness. We—er, we none of us can help that, can we?" He laughed too heartily but did not look at her.

  She waited, saying nothing.

  "The thing is," he said for the third time, "you should be wed. Should have been wed long since. If anything should happen to me—" He coughed, and tugged at his cravat as though it strangled him.

  Dreading what was coming, she argued. "You are a fine healthy man, Papa. I think you will be here to take care of me for many years yet."

  "One never knows, child, what may lurk just around the corner." He looked stricken, suddenly, then went on, his words alternately halting then tumbling over one another, so that she found it difficult to follow them. "You should be in the care of a loving and—and comfortably circumstanced husband. I have told you so for years, but you paid no heed."

  "But—Papa, I—"

  "Be silent, miss! I have therefore—er, come to a decision, and—In short, I have—I have accepted an offer for your hand."

  It seemed to Jennifer as if that terrifying pronouncement echoed and re-echoed around the room. Her mouth was dry as dust, and her knees shook so that she sank into the chair again. She said in a thread of a voice, "I—cannot believe you would… would do so without discovering my feelings in the matter."

  He barked, "You know I have your welfare at heart. The gentleman I have approved for you is of—sufficient fortune that you will never know want, and—and he is—titled besides."

  She half-whispered, "Papa—in heaven's name—not—"

  "He is—Lord Hibbard Green."

  She closed her eyes for a moment. 'Johnny,' she thought in anguish. 'Oh, my Johnny!' The image of his clean-cut face came into her mind. She realised in a remote way that her father was stamping up and down the room informing her at length of how fortunate she was and how happy she would be in her new home. " 'Tis a great castle, you know," he said rapidly, "so it will be not so much of a—"

  Jennifer had stood. She said quietly, "No, Papa."

  He stopped in his pacing, and whipped around, his face a thundercloud. "What d'you mean—no?" he roared. "Do you dare defy me? God knows I've been patient these many years, but if you think I'll brook you setting up your will 'gainst mine, you're vastly mistaken, my girl!"

  Her nerves were tied in knots and she felt a little sick, but she said with determined calm, "I believe you love me, sir. You laughed when first Howland suggested Lord Green for my husband. You said you did not want him. Why you would now seek to bring such misery upon me, I cannot guess. But we live in a modern age, thank God, and you cannot force me. Of all the men I ever have met, Lord Hibbard Green is the most repugnant to me. I will not marry him, Papa. Sooner would I be dead."

  Sir Vinson had lost all his colour, but at this a sudden flush darkened his face. "How dare you question my judgment?" he raged. "I have every right to choose you a mate, and by God, I have chosen! You will marry Hibbard Green, you ungrateful chit! And count yourself fortunate that any man would have you!"

  Tears stung her eyes, but she winked them away and did not falter, though this man she had always loved and honoured stood before her like some demented stranger, his chin outthrust, his eyes blazing. Her voice sounded very far away in her own ears, but she managed to say, "You had the right to select my mate whilst I was under age, sir. I am five and twenty now, and my own mistress. I will leave your house, if you desire it, but you cannot by law compel me to—"

  "Little fool!" He took her by the shoulders and shook her fiercely. "Of course I can force you! What law would you call upon to help you defy your own father? Scholars write out our laws, and the poor are obliged to observe them, but do you think they're given more than lip service by people of our class? We live by our own law! And even if that were not so, to whom could you turn for aid? There are a hundred ways I—I might… compel…"

  Her beautiful face was so white, so stricken, and tears trembled on her lashes. Releasing her, he turned away, and cried wildly, "And if I did not choose to—to resort to such means, d'you think he would hesitate? One night alone with him and—and you'd have no choice but to—" His face convulsed suddenly, and he sank into a chair, his head bowed into his hands. "Oh… my dear God!" he moaned. "I cannot… I cannot!"

  With a smothered cry, Jennifer flew to kneel beside him and seize one of those clutching hands. "Papa!" she sobbed. "Dear, dear, Papa! I knew you could not speak to me so. I knew it! What has happened? Has Green managed to convince you I really care for him? If you knew—"

  The words were cut off as he snatched her to him and hugged her close. She was appalled to know that he was weeping, and she clung to him, patting his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

  Abruptly, he broke away and walked hurriedly to stand with his back to her, busied with his handkerchief. Jennifer dried her own tears, then went to the credenza and the decanter on the silver tray.

  "Here, sir," she said gently, offering him a glass of cognac.

  He glanced at her through reddened eyes, took the glass and muttered his thanks, then noted with a broken laugh that she had poured herself a glass also. "Rascal," he croaked.

  When he returned to his chair, she knelt on the floor at his knee, as she had done so often as a child. "Can you tell me what he said to you, dear sir?"

  He sighed deeply and leaned his head back for a moment. Then, he said, "You lay the blame at the wrong door, my dear. 'Tis not Hibbard Green drove me to—to that disgraceful display, but—but my heir."

  "Howland? But—surely, Papa, you can deny him?"

  He nodded, and said slowly, "Yes, child. I can deny him. And so can you, for I have done as much of bullying as I can bear. The decision now, must be your own…"

  "And you need not think as Mr. Fleming's going to whistle you away so you can laze about with a lot of wormy old books," said Oliver Crane irritably. "Wasted enough time, you has, gallivanting about pretending to be a coachman. I'm that short handed I need every man I can get. Even the shadow of a man!"

  After returning Jennifer and Tilly to the castle and driving the coach into the stableyard, Jonathan had gone at once to change clothes. He'd hoped to be assigned to Hem-ing Britewell, but when he'd returned his livery to the housekeeper, he had been told to report to the stables. It was clear that the head groom's animosity had not diminished during his absence, but Crane's complaint was to an extent justified; there were only half as many men to be seen as had been employed here last week, and twice as many horses.

  Ordered to care for the team men wash and polish the coach, Jonathan worked busily, but kept his ears open. Whenever Crane was out of earshot, the grumbles were many and bitter. Mr. Howland and the foreman in charge of erecting the dock had between them hired eve
ry able-bodied man in the area. Overnight, it seemed, the pendulum had swung from widespread unemployment to more jobs than there were men to fill them. The crews working on the dock were better paid than those building the new road from the mine and cutting the steps in the cliff face. On the lowest rung of the pay scale were the grooms and stablehands, whose hours were longest, with the result that tempers were short and resentment was high.

  With new shared grievances to occupy them, the stablehands appeared to have mellowed somewhat towards Jonathan; he was less frequently ridiculed, and by inserting a quiet word into their conversation now and then, was able to learn a good deal.

  The dock foreman had been brought in by Lord Green. He was a big Welshman named Bronwys; a dour, brooding individual with a sharp tongue and a fine knowledge of his craft. So far as Jonathan could learn, all the workers, with the exception of Bronwys, were from this area. There was no mention of any other "foreigner" who haled from farther away than Devonshire, and he was very sure that if a man had been hired who was so beyond the pale as to have been born outside the British Isles, it would have been a prime topic of conversation.

  So Falcon had been right; for whatever purpose the unsavoury lot at the mine had been brought in, it was not to build the dock. As far as he could tell, the presence of those men was still unsuspected, and he was mildly surprised that it had not occurred to anyone to have a look round the Blue Rose. He mentioned this to Isaac Blary, who had become quite friendly toward him in a guarded fashion, and was startled when the boy said that gates now closed off the entrance, and KEEP OUT notices were posted warning that the mine was unsafe. This was unsettling, but did not deter him. Somehow, and with the least possible delay, he meant to get inside.