by Maureen Lang
Farther inside, where the roof descended, he’d discovered bone specimens coated with limestone, and told them there was another entrance from the back of the hill just large enough for a wild dog or a hyena to have once used. Peter had removed a few of the bones but some still remained. He pointed them out with his lantern, and Cosima saw how they stuck up through the mud bottom like bizarre headstones at an abandoned grave site.
“This is where our tour ends,” he said. “When I’m digging I don’t mind crawling through the mud, but you can just as easily see what I bring to the comfort of the cottage or fossil room back home.”
Cosima felt Reginald’s gaze on her. “Looks like we’re being sent home for our own good.”
Cosima was sure Christabelle’s boots were now coated in mud and the bottom of her dress no doubt matched, yet she was reluctant to leave. The cave was magnificent, even with its dampness and darkness. She’d read about exotic animals that lived in all the reaches of the earth, from mountaintops to the deepest oceans—at least, those observed by experts. And now here she was, in a place most people never visited, where only God Himself could see the creatures in such crevices.
“I’m glad I’ve seen this,” she whispered, and even though her voice was quiet it was easy to hear in the utter silence of their surroundings. “The Creator really is everywhere, isn’t He?”
Peter nodded. “My light isn’t bright enough, but the walls and the floors sometimes glimmer under the right circumstances. All these formations, from the floor or the ceiling, are like a garden, cultivated by God’s laws of nature, not man.”
“Meant for whose enjoyment?” Reginald asked, evidently not caught up in their reverence over their surroundings. “No one is supposed to see any of this; it doesn’t matter what it looks like.”
Cosima smiled. “Just more evidence of the details God offers for our benefit then, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Reginald started back toward the cave’s entrance.
Peter stayed where he was. “You’ll be all right finding your way back?”
“We can manage,” said Reginald easily.
“Maybe you can match your pace to Cosima’s then, Reg,” Peter said. Was it only her imagination, or was there a touch of reproach in his voice?
“Certainly,” said Reginald, and although Cosima couldn’t see his face, he sounded like he was smiling. As she neared him she saw it was true, and he bowed gallantly.
Outside the sun was bright, and Cosima took a moment for her eyes to adjust. As promised, Reginald stayed by her side the entire walk back to the cottage, even steadying her when she slid on a moss-covered rock.
“The moon shines bright on the water at night, Cosima,” said Reginald before they approached the cottages. “Perhaps I could persuade you to view it later.”
“Yes, Reginald, provided Lady Hamilton approves. A maid might accompany us if we’d like to take a walk.”
“She’ll approve,” he assured her. “We’ll be in plain sight—no need to bring a chaperone.”
“Very well.” But even as Cosima agreed, she glanced back at the cave, now smaller in the distance. How much more exciting would it be to meet Peter by the water?
She squelched that thought as quickly as it presented itself. Besides, perhaps time alone with Reginald would allow her to suggest he receive Peter’s counsel about his wedding plans.
Joining Berrie and her mother on the porch, Cosima permitted one more thought of Peter. She hoped he didn’t get so caught up in his digging that he forgot the rising tide.
21
“I was just wondering why you named Dana after an aunt you’d never met,” Talie said to her mother on the phone while Ben was napping. She’d carefully choreographed the conversation about choosing a name for the new baby, but this was what she’d been secretly getting at all along.
“Your father and I were having such a hard time agreeing on a name. It was actually his mother who suggested Ellen Dana. We both loved it—well, the Dana part anyway.”
Talie sat at her kitchen table, Cosima’s journal and the family Bible in front of her. She gripped the phone that almost slid out from between her shoulder and ear. “From the records page in the family Bible, Ellen Dana was Grandma Martha’s sister.”
“Is that right? For some reason I thought she was your father’s great-aunt. But I suppose your grandmother was thinking of her deceased sister, not an aunt.”
Talie glanced down at the records page again. “Ellen Dana Grayson, born 1910.”
“Hmm . . . she must have been Martha’s sister then, since I believe your grandmother was born around then too.”
“I wonder why Grandma never spoke of her. Or Dad.”
“Your father never knew her. And we barely saw your grandma Martha while she was still alive, you know, being so far away.”
Talie stared at the names in front of her. “So you don’t know anything about Ellen Grayson?”
“Nothing more than the name. Why?”
Talie pursed her lips, hesitating. “She died young. Aunt Virg really wasn’t sure why, whether it was pneumonia, polio, or something else.”
“Haven’t a clue, dear.”
“Thanks anyway. I just thought I’d ask.”
“I guess I’m about as history oriented as your father was, huh? But I’m glad you’re interested. I don’t think the past should be forgotten, after all.” She sighed. “I suppose my opinion has changed now that I’m closer to becoming part of the past myself.”
“Oh, Mom,” Talie said, but she had nothing to offer besides that gentle protest. Her mind was too full of other things. She wondered again if her father had read Cosima’s journal, at least the beginning, and buried it away because he had a reason to forget the past. The same reason she wanted to forget it.
She talked to her mother awhile longer, about her new place and other things, but her mind was elsewhere. There must be a way to find out more about Ellen Grayson.
Talie looked again at the entry. Ellen Grayson . . .
Engleside.
22
If good character is formed in the quiet only to show itself in the tempest, then I maintain that some of my parents’ lessons for the good of my character have not been wasted after all.
I was interrupted last evening before I could record the outcome of Peter’s visit to his cave. I suppose I should be embarrassed to record the dreadfully silly mechanics of my mind. But if I am anything in this journal, I am honest. Sometimes that includes allowing my foolish side to show. . . .
Cosima shaded her eyes from the setting sun. The sight might have been lovely, an orange-and-purple sky ablaze over a reflecting sea, but she could think of only one thing. Where was Peter?
Lord Peter. She silently corrected herself for being too familiar with his name. Yet where was he? Still in the cave? In the time it took her to change her shoes and gown, she’d expected to see Peter traipsing along the beach toward the cottages.
There was no sign of him.
She didn’t want to raise an alarm. Peter was familiar with the cave and the tide. Besides, if she voiced her worries, Beryl would take full advantage of her obvious concern and tease her, especially since no one else seemed the least bit troubled.
Lady Hamilton, Beryl, and Christabelle sat at the table, still enjoying the fresh air while they played a game of loo. Cosima had never played cards. Her father never approved of such things, especially where stakes were involved. But rather than money the ladies used small, polished stones, which, they told her, Peter had given them over the years.
Were they so caught up in a silly game that they completely forgot about Peter? Cosima glanced again at the water’s edge. There was no doubt about it; the line had definitely shifted and the water was much higher.
“I see the tide’s made quite a rise,” Cosima said, hoping her voice sounded as casual to them as it so falsely did to herself.
No one looked up from the cards, not even Lady Hamilton.
“The su
n is nearly touching the horizon.” Cosima hoped to gain at least a glance and take advantage of their attention after that. “’Tis a lovely sky, don’t you think?”
Beryl, who was losing if Cosima could judge from the meager pile of pebbles nearby, gave her a scowl. “Yes, lovely. It’s getting dark, Mother. I’ll call for a lamp.”
“We really ought to stop playing and find something Cosima would enjoy with us,” said Lady Hamilton.
“Yes, just as soon as I’ve won back some stones.” Beryl went to the cottage door to call for a maid.
Moments later a housemaid appeared with two lanterns, which she placed on small tables close enough to give the women ample light.
Swallowing once to banish any sign of nervousness, Cosima spoke up. “Did Lord Peter make it back from the cave? I wonder.”
No one seemed to hear. Each gaze appeared glued to the cards in her hands. Cosima began to suspect a reason her father had forbidden such games at home. It knocked sense right out of one’s head.
“What did you say, Cosima?” asked Lady Hamilton after a while.
“I wondered about Lord Peter’s return, with the higher tide.”
Lady Hamilton barely glanced toward the water’s edge. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
Cosima wanted to shake her head—or one of the women. How could they be so nonchalant? Peter could be trapped! Cave exploration might be exciting, but it was something no one should do alone, no matter how experienced.
“That’s another win,” said Christabelle with one of her familiar giggles.
Beryl pushed herself from the table. “I think I’ve had enough for one afternoon.”
Her mother gathered the cards. “I thought you wanted to win back your stones.”
The older daughter glared, not at her mother but at her younger sister. “I’ll try again tomorrow.” Beryl looped her arm through Cosima’s, who was relieved the game had finally ended. They both faced the colorful sky. “It is a lovely sunset.”
“Yes.” Cosima wondered how to phrase her next words without making her anxiety too obvious. “How high does the tide actually get, do you suppose? In the cave, I mean?”
“Oh, it’s risen about its highest now, I believe—” Beryl cut her words short and faced Cosima squarely, an intent look on her face.
Cosima returned the gaze, wondering at the complete lack of distress on Beryl’s face. Her brother could be in quite a predicament in that cave, at least until the tide receded, and all his loving family had done was play a game while it happened.
“Let’s walk a little, shall we, Cosima?” Beryl asked, in a voice more firm than friendly. “I’ve been sitting so long I’d like to use my legs a bit.”
“We’ll be called in for supper before long,” her mother cautioned.
How could she? How could Lady Hamilton be thinking of supper when the tide was as high as it was going to get and Peter wasn’t back? And why was Beryl willing only to take a walk, not call for help to see if there was a way they could get to Peter?
“We’ll stay on the grasses and not try the beach,” Beryl called over her shoulder.
“Beryl,” Cosima said as they left the last step of the porch behind them.
“Don’t say another word, m’dear.” Was that a foreshadow of a smile creeping to Beryl’s lips?
They walked around to the back of the cottage, out of range of both sight and sound of those left on the porch. Cosima followed, agitation growing beside her worries.
“Unless you want both my mother and sister to suspect you have feelings for Peter that should be reserved for your fiancé, you’d best follow me.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying, Beryl. What I do know is that the tide is high again, and no one seems to know for sure if Peter is still in the cave.”
“He’s perfectly fine, I assure you,” Beryl said. “Didn’t he tell you about the inland entrance?”
Cosima breathed a sigh of relief she could not withhold. “Someone might have mentioned that.”
Beryl laughed, but after a moment her pretty face grew serious. She pulled one of Cosima’s hands into hers. “You do see what’s happening, don’t you, Cosima? You came to England hoping to fall in love with Reginald, only it’s Peter you’re starting to love.”
“Oh no, Berrie, that’s not true! I was only concerned about your brother’s welfare, as I would be for anyone who might be in danger.”
Beryl shook her head at each of Cosima’s protests and folded her arms. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. Furthermore, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“What way?” Cosima bit her lip when her voice trembled. She shouldn’t encourage such a subject—certainly not—but the words had escaped before she could catch them.
“You might not recognize it, but I do. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so smitten, not even with Nan. I think Peter is ready to start trusting again.”
Thoughts and emotions surged in Cosima like the tide she’d just watched come in, rising and bubbling and impossible to stop. And yet she knew she must. There was too much both Peter and Beryl didn’t know.
“Berrie, you mustn’t talk this way. Reginald is the one who’s asked me to marry him, and he knows me far better than Peter. There are things you don’t know, things that might make a difference.”
“What kind of things? If you’re talking about your family history, then I suggest you put that right out of your mind. It means nothing.”
“What do you know of my family history?”
“About that unfortunate rift between your father and Dowager Merit, of course. Perhaps once you’re married to an Englishman, your father will have the opportunity to come face-to-face with his family here. Then they can repair whatever’s happened in the past.”
“Perhaps,” Cosima agreed, unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed that Beryl did not know the rest of Cosima’s family history. Should she tell Beryl the truth? At least then she would stop trying to pair Cosima with Peter. It was far too appealing to be thrown together with him, and Cosima could no longer allow it. “There’s something I must tell you.”
Just then, rounding the second cottage they’d rented, which housed Peter and Reginald and the male servants, came the slight shadow matching the shape of Reginald. “I came to fetch you for dinner before our walk later, Cosima,” he said as he approached, taking one of her hands in his.
Cosima, flustered over his interruption, followed nonetheless, noting that Beryl did the same. Once inside the cottage, Cosima found herself nearly giddy when Peter came in just moments after their arrival, bending somewhat to fit through the low doorway. His gaze scanned the small parlor, stopping at her. She allowed herself only a brief smile his way, knowing if she didn’t keep a tight rein on her behavior, Beryl wouldn’t be the only one who guessed her secret.
* * *
The spring moon was nearly full, casting sparkles of white light to dabble across the waves as Cosima and Reginald walked along the beach.
Cosima stepped cautiously on the shifting, pebbly sand, feeling her shoes fill with each step. Glancing back at the cottage, where light shone so cheerfully from each window, she wished she’d stayed with the others. But she smiled at Reginald. “’Tis a lovely moon,” she said quietly.
“Only you are lovelier.”
She looked away upon hearing his words, embarrassed. Reginald could be so charming, and yet there was something odd about his courtship. Even now, on a path as unsteady and insecure as sand, he didn’t offer a hand at her elbow, though no one would think him too bold if he did.
“How are you finding England?” Reginald’s voice sounded stiff.
“Wonderful,” she admitted. “A bit more industry than at home, which I suppose is good for the country, but aside from that it’s lovely.”
“And the Hamiltons?”
“They’re marvelous. I believe Berrie and I will be friends for life. I hope so, at any rate.”
He nodded. “Yes, Beryl is a fine youn
g woman.”
“I haven’t had many friends,” Cosima admitted. “Most people are afraid it might be catching.”
“What’s that?”
“The curse,” she said, nearly in a whisper.
He made a scoffing sound.
“Why are you bothered so little by it, Sir Reginald?”
He clasped his hands behind him. “Because it’s ridiculous. Such things as curses do not exist.”
“Perhaps not, yet there must be some explanation for Royboy and Percy, my cousins and my uncle.”
“It’s still something of an uncertainty as to whether or not your brother Percy was feebleminded. Even your father admitted your older brother was better off than Royboy. And the others . . . well, I have no explanation, of course, but there’s always you, Cosima. You’re of sound mind—quite bright I would say. It’s my guess you’ll have only healthy children. Your mother and your aunt . . . perhaps they never were as healthy as you. Certainly your aunt wasn’t, from the tale you told me during our travel here to England.”
Cosima didn’t want to argue about her aunt’s mental stability, even though she felt Reginald judged her too harshly. Aunt Rowena had been dealt a heavy blow, banished by her husband and forbidden to see half of her children, losing her home and facing nothing but a grim future without help in caring for the two needy sons she had left. Anyone might have snapped under such strain. But Cosima was convinced her aunt’s unstable mind had been only temporary, and had she lived longer, she surely would have adjusted to her life and accepted the offer of help Cosima’s father had extended.
“Still,” Cosima said at last, “there remains a good chance I shall produce children like my brothers. I know that you are willing to take the risk because of your hope to gain influence through the Escott family. I also know my parents are eager for us to marry. Yet I can’t help but be cautious for both your sake and mine. Perhaps you should seek counsel as to whether or not to take such a chance as marrying me.”