by M C Beaton
There was the boat, just as Patricia had promised, with Trewent Castle painted in scarlet letters on its side.
“How did you discover it?” cried Yvonne.
“Walking,” said Patricia with a laugh. “It is one of the advantages of not riding. One finds so many interesting places and things.”
Again, Yvonne was impressed by Patricia’s strength as the governess took the oars and began to row with steady strokes away from the shore.
Patricia then let Yvonne take the oars, and both ladies fell about laughing as Yvonne kept sending the boat around in circles.
Yvonne was so absorbed in trying to learn to row properly and Patricia was so intent in watching that she did not drop one of the oars over the side that they did not see or hear the approach of the other boat until it was almost upon them.
Yvonne let out a sudden scream of terror, and Patricia twisted about to see what had alarmed her.
A larger rowing boat than theirs was coming alongside. In it were six men brandishing wicked-looking knives. They wore masks that appeared to have been made out of old bits of material. The leader had a long black beard.
“Get in our boat,” growled the leader, “or we’ll slit your throats.”
“Don’t kill us,” pleaded Yvonne. “Dieu! We are but two defenseless women.”
“Do as they say,” said Patricia, her voice as calm and steady as ever.
Yvonne was hauled roughly into the other boat. She barked her shins on the gunwale and let out a whimper of pain.
“Stow it,” said one of the men roughly, “or we’ll throw you o’er the side.”
And then there was a cry from the men as Patricia suddenly dived neatly and swiftly over the side. Yvonne, despite her terror, watched in admiration as Patricia struck out strongly for the shore.
“Get help!” screamed Yvonne.
The men began to mutter to one another in a tongue Yvonne did not understand. They seemed to be debating what to do next. Yvonne strained her eyes, watching Patricia’s head as the governess swam farther and farther away. “Please let her make it,” prayed Yvonne.
The black-bearded leader said something and pointed along the coast and his men picked up the oars.
“What are you going to do with me?” pleaded Yvonne, but they rowed steadily, towing the Trewent Castle boat behind, and did not reply.
Soon they began to approach the shore about two miles south of the castle. Yvonne could see several caves, black holes in the white chalk of the cliffs.
“I have no money,” said Yvonne, trying again. “It is of no use holding me for ransom.”
Silence.
“Will no one speak to me?” demanded Yvonne, anger beginning to chase out fear.
In her mounting fury, she struck out at the oarsman nearest her. The leader said something. The crew shipped the oars. Yvonne’s hands were tied behind her back, and then they started to row again.
Yvonne wished she could swim. But even had she been able to and even had she tried to escape before her hands were tied, it would have proved almost impossible, since she was wedged between two of the oarsmen in the middle of the boat.
Nearer the shore they drew, until the tall shadow of the looming cliffs blotted out the sun. The men rowed swiftly, straight into the mouth of a large cave. The tide was low, and the boat grated onto a beach of shingle.
Yvonne was ordered out. Then hands seized her, and she was dragged to an old wooden post that had obviously been used for tying up boats.
She was tied to the post, and then, without a word, the men got back into their boat and began to row quickly away.
Yvonne screamed for help until she was hoarse. And then she noticed the grave peril in which she stood.
The tide had turned, and greedy little waves were beginning to lap at her feet.
She twisted around and tried to see if the post would be covered at high tide, but her arms were too tightly bound behind her to allow her to turn very much.
She tried to cry for help again, but her voice was reduced to a broken whisper with all her shouting.
And then she heard her name called in a high, clear voice.
Summoning up the last of her energies, Yvonne threw back her head and screamed.
With a surge of hope she heard an answering call and then the steady sound of oars.
Tears of relief poured down Yvonne’s face as a boat hove into view.
In it were Patricia, the viscount, four servants from the castle, and her own servant, Gustave.
The viscount was rowing and had taken off his coat. In his frilled cambric shirt and knee breeches, with his golden hair ruffled by the wind, he looked a romantic figure. But for once, Yvonne’s only thoughts were of gratitude.
He was the first to leap from the boat. As he untied her, Yvonne fell sobbing into his arms. He cradled her against his chest, murmuring to her that she was safe, and, feeling the warmth and strength of his body, Yvonne indeed felt safe and loved.
All too quickly, she was surrendered to Patricia’s care. And although Yvonne clung to Patricia, gasping broken thanks, she felt young and frightened and wished the viscount would put his arms around her again.
Then Yvonne discovered that Patricia’s gown was still wet. “Yes,” said the viscount, hearing her exclamation of distress. “Miss Cottingham refused to stay behind and change. She is the bravest and most courageous lady I have ever met.”
And, oh, how tenderly those beautiful blue eyes of his smiled on Patricia, and, oh, how low and mean Yvonne felt as a great surge of jealousy washed over her.
She sat beside Gustave in the boat and answered his rapid questions, feeling it almost odd to speak in her native tongue. For Yvonne had even begun to think in English.
Once back at the castle, the worthies of Trewent village, along with the captain of the local militia, were waiting to question both Yvonne and Patricia. Patricia flashed Yvonne a look of concern and said that she herself would answer all questions. It was imperative Lady de la Falaise be put to bed.
Yvonne smiled weakly. She was shivering with shock and reaction.
“I shall carry her up,” said the viscount. “No, I do not need any help. She is little more than a child.”
Patricia would have followed them, but the viscount said, “Answer the questions these gentlemen put to you, Miss Cottingham, as quickly as possible. I am concerned for your health. You must change out of your wet clothes.”
Then he picked Yvonne up in his arms. She gave a little sigh and leaned her head against his chest. He looked down at her flushed face and at those ridiculously long eyelashes fanned out over her cheeks. “Yvonne of the cliffs—that is what your name means.”
“I know,” said Yvonne, wishing he would go on carrying her forever. “How did you find me?”
“The redoubtable Miss Cottingham. She seems to have amassed a surprising knowledge of the coast in a very quick time. She had also watched where the men were taking you from the top of the cliffs. Once more, you owe her your life.”
“Yes,” agreed Yvonne, feeling very sinful and wicked because she could not manage to feel more grateful. “Do you have many brigands along this coast?”
“I believe a certain amount of smuggling goes on, but I have never heard of such a thing before. Why should a party of armed brigands attack two defenseless females? Did they say anything that might help us find out who they were?”
“No,” said Yvonne. “They were speaking in some language I could not understand.”
“Possibly Cornish. It is something like Breton.”
“It was very frightening. But now that I think about it, it was all like a bad play. Do you think some of the locals might have dressed up like brigands to give us a fright?”
“Not when their capture means hanging,” said the viscount grimly. “Everyone knows everyone else around here. My servants cannot think who they might be.”
He carried her into her sitting room and placed her gently on a chair. “Is your bedroom repaired?”
he said.
“Yes,” said Yvonne. “You know, I cannot think how that fire started. I did not have the oil lamp lit at all.”
“You must go to sleep,” he said, smoothing her ruffled hair with a gentle hand. He rang the bell for the housekeeper. “Mrs. Pardoe and her maids will put you to bed,” he said. “Sleep well, infant.”
“I am not an infant. I am a woman.”
“Of course you are.” The viscount laughed and deposited a careless kiss on the tip of her nose.
Mrs. Pardoe arrived just as he was leaving. She summoned two maids, and together they undressed Yvonne and bathed her and put her to bed.
After they had left, Yvonne fell asleep, but only for half an hour. She awoke and sat up.
Now Patricia would marry Lord Anselm. That was the first awful thought that flooded into Yvonne’s brain.
He would admire her the more after this last adventure. How could any woman be so brave? She had leaped from that boat without a backward glance. One of the men could easily have swum after her and knifed her.
Why hadn’t they?
Yvonne shook her head as if to clear it. All at once she felt she must talk to Gustave.
She dressed quickly and made her way out of the castle through the kitchen, explaining to the startled staff that she had lost her way.
Yvonne felt sure that had she gone out through the main door, the viscount or Patricia would have seen her and called her back.
She ran lightly in the direction of the stables.
Gustave was not in his room. Yvonne saw a stable boy crossing the yard and called to him.
The boy came up to her, grinning awkwardly and wiping his hands on a sackcloth apron. “Where is my servant, Gustave?” demanded Yvonne.
“Over there, my lady,” said the stable boy. He raised his arm and pointed in the direction of the tack room.
But Yvonne did not look in the direction of his pointing finger. She was staring at his arm. The boy was bare-armed, his shirtsleeves rolled back. The late sun shone on that youthful, tanned arm—a boy’s arm.
The bearded “captain” of the brigands had had just such a youthful-looking arm… too youthful an arm to go with that enormous black beard. Yvonne frowned.
“How old are you?” she asked.
The boy blushed and tugged his forelock. “Sixteen, my lady.”
“Sixteen! You are very young,” said Yvonne from the lofty height of nearly eighteen years of age.
She hurried off in the direction of the tack room, leaving the stable boy staring after her.
Gustave was polishing horse brasses. He rose to his feet as Yvonne entered.
“Walk with me a little, Gustave,” said Yvonne. “I need to talk.”
With his usual slow and deliberate movements, Gustave carefully put the cleaning materials away while Yvonne waited impatiently. Then mistress and servant began to walk toward the gate in the castle walls. Soon they were out on the moors.
The sun was setting over the sea. A light breeze tugged at the muslin skirts of Yvonne’s gown and blew tendrils of black hair across her face.
“Now, Gustave,” she said, “there are many things troubling me. The leader of the brigands had a long, black, dusty beard, but he had arms like a young man or boy, smooth and tanned. The next thing is this. When Patricia so bravely leaped overboard to swim for help, not one of them really tried to stop her. They could have jumped after her or rowed after her and caught her by her gown with the boat hook. And how did she know where to find me? Did you search all the caves?”
“No,” said Gustave slowly. “But miss said she had been watching from the top of the cliffs and pretty much knew where they had taken you.”
“That is what Lord Anselm said. But do you not think that I did not constantly scan the cliffs looking for help? I did, and I saw no one.”
“What you are trying to say is that this governess deliberately arranged the whole thing,” said Gustave patiently. “But why?”
“So that Lord Anselm will fall in love with her. He is already much admiring of her because of her bravery at the fire. Ah, the fire! I tell you, Gustave, that fire was most odd. It could not have been burning very long and yet Patricia managed to get out of the castle and up that ladder. And my door was locked. And another thing. I swear she drugged me first.”
“But I have seen this lady, you forget!” exclaimed Gustave. “She is very English, prim and proper. Perhaps it is merely the strangeness of this foreign land playing tricks on your nerves, milady.”
“If only I could be sure…” Yvonne stopped walking. “I could find out where Lord Anselm has put her references. Then I could travel to see her previous employers. If I can find her out in just one lie, surely the rest follows.”
“Where will you find the money to travel anywhere?” asked Gustave.
“I have the last of the money left from the sale of the furniture. I already tried to give you some, but you refused.”
“I no longer have need of money,” said Gustave. “I am well paid here.”
“That is another thing,” said Yvonne. “If I go to find out about Patricia, you must remain here. No! I may only receive a stern reprimand, but it is more than likely that you would lose your job.”
“I think you are mistaken about this governess,” said Gustave. “Perhaps milady is a little jealous, hein? Do not do this. Think! Who suggested you should go rowing?”
Yvonne frowned. “Well, Patricia said she could row, and I asked her.…” Her voice trailed away.
“You see,” said Gustave with satisfaction. “She could not have arranged the whole thing.”
“But perhaps she is very clever,” said Yvonne stubbornly. “I always get restless just about that time of day. I always want to go out. Usually Patricia prefers to stay and sew, so I go riding with you. She must have known I would jump at the chance of going out in a boat.”
“Ladies do not usually show a marked enthusiasm for going out in boats,” Gustave pointed out.
“Ah, not in Lisbon. But these Englishwomen are like Amazons.”
“But you are not English. She could not know you would want to learn to row.”
“But she could have allowed for that,” cried Yvonne. “Suppose we had merely gone for a walk. Patricia could have led us down to the beach. These men could have been told to watch for us. They could just as easily have attacked us on the shore.”
Gustave looked at his mistress gravely. “His lordship is too old for you,” he said.
Yvonne flushed to the roots of her hair. “I am discussing my supposed capture. What do you mean?”
“You force me to point out, milady, that you wish his lordship for yourself, which is why you want to find the governess at fault. You told me yourself he was just the sort of man your father would have wished you to marry.”
“I am surprised at you, Gustave,” snapped Yvonne. “I was merely funning when I said that. My guardian has been most kind to us both. If Patricia is innocent, then she has nothing to fear from me.”
She turned and ran away, back to the castle.
Gustave watched her sadly until her slight figure was swallowed up in the black shadow of the castle walls.
Lord Anselm found sleep did not come easily that night. The events of the day had upset him. Yvonne would have been surprised to learn that Patricia’s apparent heroics had not sparked tender feelings in the viscount’s bosom. He was beginning to find such resourcefulness and bravery in a woman somewhat intimidating. The Patricia on the night of the fire had managed to appear calm and womanly throughout. The Patricia who had appeared dripping sea-water in the hall of the castle and rapping out orders had been someone to admire—but not cherish. She had delivered her orders like a man—yes, as a man used to command! Did he really want to marry a lady simply because she was brave? The viscount was at that dangerous stage of life when men suddenly make up their minds to marry and usually settle for the nearest and most available female, since the motive is not love but a desire for sons.
He was glad now that Yvonne had interrupted his proposal. He would wait and see.
He punched his pillow and tried to compose himself for sleep. Then he heard a light footfall on the stairs. He got out of bed, went to the door of his room, and gently opened it.
A bobbing circle of candlelight was descending the stairs. He could not make out who was holding the candle.
He picked up a silk dressing gown and wrapped it around his naked body. Then he went down the stairs, stopping every now and then to listen. He heard a creak as a door was opened. He knew that particular creak. The hinges of the library door needed oiling.