by Conn, Claudy
She braced herself with her hands against the grassy walls, holding onto exposed roots and digging the sides of her feet into the dirt for support, complaining bitterly all the while. “You realize, of course, I shall return looking horribly dirty, so I do hope you appreciate what I am doing for you.”
“Baaa!” the lamb replied.
“Very well … there, there,” Myriah said, reaching the animal and patting its head. However, the poor thing’s neck was being strangled by the vines, so she set to freeing the creature. This took a series of tugs that set her off balance, and she slid down the remainder of the slope and landed up to her knees in the water.
“Good lord!” Myriah exclaimed. “’Tis but low tide, and just look how deep it is. I shall probably catch my death of cold, you horrid animal. I do wish you hadn’t tried to strangle yourself this morning,” she said, wading out of the water and climbing back up to the lamb.
’Twas no easy task freeing him. The vines were made of sturdy stuff, and pull as she might, many of them still held fast; however, a long grunt and a solid pull did at last free the lamb. The fact that it also sent Myriah simultaneously flying backwards (not without the sound of her scream reverberating through the marshes) seemed to spur the lamb up and over the walls of the dike. Myriah’s scream ended with a splash, and it was a moment before her head resurfaced.
She gasped for breath, noted the lamb had escaped to freedom without a backward glance, and told him he was an ungrateful creature as she climbed out of the dike.
Most individuals when fully clothed and in a similar situation would not stop along the way to sightsee. However, Myriah was a breed of a different beat. A formation caught her eye, and as she was already quite wet, she could see no harm and so sidetracked to satisfy her curiosity.
Perhaps it was the charm of finding lush, thick grapevines hanging like a screen over a mesh of driftwood that for some inexplicable reason seemed to have gathered in this spot, and only this one spot.
Perhaps it seemed intriguing that this formation appeared to be some seven or eight feet in width and could not be reached except by water, since a kind of stone platform created a ceiling over the hiding place.
At any rate, Myriah knew a strange palpitation of the heart as she approached and peered through. Spreading the vines, she was not surprised to find a galley boat, some forty feet in length and about seven feet in width.
* * *
“Myriah!” Kit shouted. “Myriah!” He had heard her scream and the scream followed by a splash, but when he reached the dike he did not see her. A sick, painful ache immediately formed in the center of his belly.
She swam to the water’s edge and called out thankfully, “Kit! Over here, Kit!”
He ran the distance and came to stand looming above her. “Oh my God, Myriah!” The sight of her completely drenched and struggling to emerge, hindered by her sopping gown, was such a relief that it sent him into a convulsion of wicked mirth. He doubled over with laughter, pointed at her, attempted to say something, but went off again unable to contain his glee.
As one could imagine, the lady found nothing in her present predicament worth such uproarious and unholy mirth, and she proceeded to advise him of this. “Fie on you, my lord! You wretch—how can you, when I stand here wet and cold and … confound it! I cannot climb out of this wet hole!” she declared.
Still chuckling, he made his way down the slope to her, gripped her arm, and pulled hard in order to overcome the weight of wet clothing. At length they reached the grassy top and collapsed on the ground. However, they made the mistake of finding each other’s eyes, and this sent them both off into a fit of mirth that lasted long enough to wind them for some time.
At last Lord Wimborne collected himself, rose, and pulled Myriah to her feet. He shrugged off his riding jacket and put it round her wet shoulders, saying lightly, “Come, love … we’d better get you to the house and into some dry clothes before you catch your death.”
She pulled on her boots, and they set off hastily for the warmth of a hearth fire.
She stopped him suddenly and looked intently up into his gray eyes, almost afraid of what he might say when he heard her out. “I wasn’t spying, Kit—honestly, I was not. I was trying to save one of hose horrid little lambs, who did not even have the decency to thank me for my effort. But then, I fell in, you see …”
“I see very well.” His lordship chuckled.
“Dreadful man!” She smiled, but then her face turned grim. “But … then, I saw.”
Kit frowned. “You saw what, Myriah?”
“I did not mean to … but the driftwood—the vines clustered just so. It caught my curiosity, and I thought as long as I was already wet I’d have a look. There is a galley hidden there. But you know that already, don’t you?”
“A galley?”
“Yes, ’tis hidden in what appears to be a man-made tunnel … no telling how far the tunnel goes.”
“There is nothing in that. Many of the fishermen keep their galleys stored in underground caverns. This is the marsh and often done. And ’tis nothing for you to think—or talk—about!” Kit said, his gray eyes veiled. “Now do come, Myriah … before I end up with two patients on my hands.” He put his arm about her shoulders and gently urged her forward.
She decided to let it go. He didn’t want to tell her outright, and she understood, but she wished there didn’t have to be any secrets between them.
Once cleaned and dry, her ivory silk (which was damaged beyond repair) traded for her one remaining blue gown, she spent the next hour on the hearthrug in Master William’s bedchamber.
She, Kit, and Billy enjoyed a hearty breakfast—Billy’s second such meal of the day—though it was done with much bantering and laughter at Myriah’s expense. The tale of her morning adventure was the principal topic and one that gave both gentlemen an enormous amount of fun.
Myriah sat with her long red hair towards the fire, drying sections of it that were still wet. She pulled a comic face and sniffed amiably. “’Tis all very well for you two to go on and on, but I am now minus a gown. I think you and your sheep are quite horrid!”
“Listen to the girl … as though she didn’t enjoy her dipping,” Billy said mockingly. “And it wasn’t our sheep you were saving but Farmer Todd’s.”
“Same thing—your land … he is a tenant … so, your sheep.”
“She has a prodigious way of connecting the two, but she has a bit of a point there, Billy. Very well, we shall concede … we most certainly owe you one gown!”
“Ha,” Billy protested. “I wouldn’t give her one groat. Didn’t ask her to fall into the canal, did I? Of all the clumsy …” He grinned widely at her because she was on her feet and threatening to choke him.
“Billy Wimborne, you just wait till you are well enough to take a beating. It shall give me immense pleasure to be the one to administer it—for you dearly need one.”
Something caught Myriah’s eye then, and she turned towards the open doorway to see one of Cook’s sons standing there fidgeting uncomfortably.
Kit got up from Billy’s bed and smiled reassuringly. “Yes, lad?”
“There be someone ’ere from Rye. He has a note for Miss ’ere … and he be wishful of giving it to ’er direct.”
“Who is this someone?” inquired Myriah frowning, fear suddenly clutching at her heart.
“Aw, he be jest some village boy. I tried telling him I’d bring the letter up to ye … but he won’t have it.”
“I see … very well, then, I’m coming.” She turned and excused herself.
She left her gentlemen eyeing one another as she followed the boy downstairs.
Myriah crossed the hall to a ragged young lad no more than ten who stood biting his bottom lip. She dove for a coin from her inner dress pocket and put it in his hands. “There … thank you for coming all this way,” she said, reaching for the note.
He hesitated. “Be ye Lady Myriah?”
Myriah glanced about quickly
and hastened to quiet the boy. “Ssh … yes, I am. Now may I have the note please, and tell me do … who put it in your hands?”
He handed it over and sniffed. “A fine gentlemen, and he paid me to wait for yer answer. I won’t get my half-crown lest I do.”
“Very well,” Myriah said, breaking open the seal and moving away to read the epistle.
Myriah,
I don’t know what game you are playing with the Wimbornes, nor do I care. You have done me an injustice that we must discuss. Meet me at a place of your choosing, but do not deny me this one boon—’tis the very least you owe me!
Roland
Myriah sighed. So … he already knows where I am, and soon Papa will know as well—and then …?
She returned to the boy. “Tell me … when you asked for me, did you ask for Lady Myriah?”
“No. The flash cove, he said … jest ask for a red-haired woman staying with the Wimbornes. Then he told me to give that lady the note if she admitted to be Lady Myriah. That’s what I did … jest like he told me—now I needs an answer so I can get the blunt.”
“You will have to wait a moment,” Myriah said, crossing the hall to the library. She found paper and quill and jotted down a quick reply, sealed it, and returned to place the letter in the boy’s dirty hand.
Myriah watched him leave and stood alone in the hallway a moment before she turned and started taking the stairs slowly up to the second floor. When she reached the landing, she found she could not return to Billy’s room and went to her own instead.
She dropped onto a chair near her balcony and stared out the glass doors. Well … it was all over. She would now have to admit to her identity—and if Kit declared himself after he knew her name she would always have a doubt. Was it for her money? Oh faith … she wanted him to want her now—now when he thought her a nobody.
A knock sounded lightly at her door, and she got up just as Kit filled the open doorway. “May I come in for a moment, Myriah?” he asked gently.
She gave him a mischievous look. “So odd … I don’t think I heard you ask that last night …”
He grinned boyishly, walked right in, and pulled up a chair facing her. “Something is wrong … do you feel you can tell me? Perhaps I can help.”
Yes, you big fool, she thought ruefully, yes, there is something wrong. I want you to love me … no, I think you do. I want you to declare it, here and now. Instead she answered him with a soft smile. “Wrong? Why, no.”
“Look, Myriah. I believe you are in some sort of trouble, and whatever you think I am involved in … doesn’t matter. I want to help you.”
She cut in quickly, “I am afraid there is nothing you can do.” She hoped that would be the end of it. How could she tell him when she so wanted him to first say he loved her?
He got up and paced a moment before returning to bend onto one knee and take her hand. “Tell me, sweetings, what is it. Just take a leap of faith and confide in me—let me be the judge of whether or not I can help.”
How can I, she thought, how can I tell you that I want you to declare your love and ask for my hand? You are a big oaf—that is what you are. You should be down on your knee asking for my—but no, you stand there instead looking so inviting that I want to dive into your arms and confess the whole. So she said, “I am unable to do that. We all have our secrets, don’t we … my lord?” At once she was angry with herself for her sarcasm.
“Yes,” he said, stiffening, “I had quite forgotten that.” He got to his feet and started out of the room, hesitating once at the door, but without looking back he left her to her solitude.
* * *
The pain of watching Kit leave ripped through Myriah like a whip that hit and snapped back in one motion.
His name lodged itself in her throat, though she was unable to call him back. How could she? What would she say? Her hand went out towards the sound of his retreating footsteps, her mind called out his name, and then when it was too late, he was gone.
She heard him take the stairs and listened for the front door to slam, which inevitably it did.
Myriah wanted to cry. Never before had she had the very thing she wanted and needed more than anything else in the world there, just before her grasp, and yet been totally unable to attain it. However, she had no time to speculate on this or to allow herself the comfort of tears, for a bellowing voice called her to order.
“Myriah, I say, Myriah!” Billy shouted from his room.
She got to her feet and crossed the room, calling in response, “Just a moment, Billy—I’m coming!” She arrived at his room, put her hands on her hips, and inquired impatiently, “Well, now that I’m here, what was all the shouting about?”
“Don’t be a shrew!” Billy admonished. “How else was I to get you here? Damnation, woman, you must learn to curb that nasty habit you have of unleashing your tongue. ’Tis too sharp—you are liable to scare off every buck in sight!”
She pulled a face, and her mood became frosty. “You did not call me here simply to impart that wondrous piece of advice.”
“Don’t cut at me with your tongue,” her tormentor chided. “A veritable vixen, ain’t you? Well … as it happens I called you in here to ask you what’s amiss.” When she began giving a noncommittal answer, he crooked a finger of his right hand. “’Tis no use trying to fob me off, for I don’t take to round tales. I’ve got all m’marbles, so don’t try pitching the gammon at me, Myriah! Now, out with it.”
She plucked at her blue skirt and then stared at him intently, “Oh, Billy—I do want to tell you, but I can’t—at least not everything …”
“Well, then, try telling me something, and we shall take it from there. Trusted you with m’life. I rather think you could do a bit of the same.”
“Oh, and I would, but … I don’t want your brother to know. You must promise me that anything I tell you will go no further.”
“As it happens, Myriah, I think you’re out there. Knowing fellow, Kit. He could be a help to you, but if that is how you want it, it isn’t for me to say nay. So give over, do. You have my word of honor on it.”
“Very well. I shall tell you this much only. The note I received today was from the gentleman my papa wishes me to marry.”
“Egad!” young Wimborne exclaimed, much struck with this piece of news. “However did the fellow find you?”
“I … well … oh, you might as well know. I sent Tabby with a note to my grandfather, whom I thought might be worried about me, and Ro—the gentleman in question saw Tabby and followed him.” She sighed. “I have been expecting this, because Tabby discovered he was being followed, and although he was able to ditch him, the blasted man took it into his head to sleuth about Rye … where he is now staying. I suppose he must have seen my Silkie, as he knows my stallion, when I went to fetch your brother for Dibbs.”
“Sounds a devilish brute—tracking you to ground like this. What does he want? I mean … you don’t want to marry him, so why the devil would he …” Dawning lit in Billy’s eyes. “Hang me, Myriah, ’tis money he wants … so must be money you have. Just who are you, Myriah?”
“The point being that he has demanded I meet with him.”
“Damn if I will let you.” Billy shook his head. “I’ll be out of this bed so fast and on you—see if I won’t. You aren’t meeting this havey-cavey fellow alone … no, you are not.”
“Oh, but, Billy, I must. There is no telling what he may do if I don’t meet with him. It isn’t for myself I am concerned, but he could make things uncomfortable for my father!”
“You can’t, Myriah—I shan’t let you.”
“I have a plan, but I need to stall him … I need time.”
“Myriah, the fellow sounds a rum-touch to me. Don’t like the dratted man. I won’t have any sister of mine meeting such a fellow alone. I am coming with you.”
“No, you will not! Silly puppy, do you want your wound opening up for all the excisemen to see?”
“Then take your groom with you,
for God’s sake,” Billy retorted irritably.
“Yes—yes, perhaps that would be wise.”
She was no fool, and she knew that Roland was desperate for this marriage. Everyone knew he was in debt and that only marriage to her would keep him from debtor’s prison. He might be capable of almost anything, but she had no choice—she had to meet with him. She took a turn about the room, looked up at the mantelshelf clock, and exclaimed, “Oh, gracious! There is just enough time to change into my riding habit.”
“Where do you meet this dog?” Billy asked darkly.
“Land Gate in Rye—’tis public enough to be safe,” she said, vanishing from his room and leaving him to his thoughts.
She hurried with her clothes, donning the dark blue velvet habit she had worn on the night she had fled and landed at Wimborne. Up went her long red hair, and she found the matching top hat in her portmanteau and plopped it on her head. A quick scan at her profile in the looking glass made her grimace. Not very neat, but it would have to do, she thought, as she rushed about looking for her kid gloves. She scooped them up and popped her head into Billy’s room. “There now—don’t fret it, pup. I shall be back within the hour.”
“See that you do—for if you are more than ten minutes overdue, my girl … I shall come for you myself,” Billy threatened grimly.
She laughed, well pleased with his concern, and rushed down the front stairs, out of the house, and to the stables.
Tabson eyed her and said, “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t even know what yet.”
“I know it is something I won’t be liking,” he said on a humph and began saddling up their horses.
* * *
Sir Roland Keyes gave his neck cloth a final pinch and surveyed himself in the long mirror. He was well satisfied with his appearance. He was, he thought, quite well built a buck by any standards. His auburn curls were styled a la Brutus around features that were undeniably attractive.