Sibylla and the Privateer

by Marina Oliver

  * * * *

  “I was told to give him exercise,” Pierre said angrily.

  “Maybe, but the master would not wish them to meet. The lady is to have the beach all day.”

  “Then how can I do my job?”

  “That is not my problem.”

  “You will get into trouble for this, I’ll warrant.”

  “I but follow orders.”

  “I also, but you are obstructing me.”

  Here Randolph interposed. “I have had sufficient exercise tramping these passages I thank you, and enough fresh air to last me awhile. I suggest you now escort me back to my so delightful cell, and both of you will have done your duty and can face your master without the fear he so obviously inspires in you.”

  They regarded him doubtfully, and he laughed. “I am ready to go in, my friend. Will you escort me, or must I take myself back?”

  He turned to re-enter the cave. Pierre, with an oath, followed him, while Robert laughed and resumed his woodcarving.

  Sibylla lay down again, but she was troubled. It was odd that Randolph should not attempt to speak with her when he had the chance. She was restless. The sun had moved and she was now in the shade. She rose and wandered about, peering behind the rocks that littered the base of the cliffs, scrambling as far as she could along those that lay in the water only to find the cliff fell sheer into the river on both sides of the beach. There was no possible exit except through the caves or by river. She did not know why she was searching except she felt uneasy, trapped, and helpless.

  She sighed and turned to wander back towards Robert. He had ignored her investigations, knowing she could not leave the beach, and still sat on his rock, absorbed in his carving. As she looked across at him, a figure appeared behind him. She opened her mouth to cry out a warning. He never heard it. The rock Randolph held crashed down on his head. She screamed as the Frenchman fell to the ground.

  “What have you done? My God, you have killed him!”

  She ran across the sand and dropped to her knees beside the fallen man. He was alarmingly still and she could feel no heart beat. Randolph watched her sardonically.

  “What, more care for your captors than your rescuer?” he queried.

  “You murderer,” she whispered. “What have you done to Pierre? Is he dead too?”

  He shrugged. “I know not. Probably not. I did not have the opportunity to hit him so hard, but he is well tied up and will trouble us no more than this one. Now, we must make our escape before your precious pirate returns. Come.”

  “No. I will not come with you! You have shown clearly how you despise me. I prefer to trust myself to Josselin, privateer, not pirate, that he may be, than to a despicable spy and murderer such as you!”

  He grasped her arm. “Don’t be a little fool! What help will he be to you? Has he promised to help you?” She was silent. “Has he promised to return you to England?” Still she did not answer, but he read the answer in her eyes. Josselin had never said what he intended to do with her.

  “Sibylla, I am sorry for getting you into this predicament, but I am doing my utmost to get you out of it. I promise I will not betray Gerard and I will take you back to England to your parents. There, what more can I offer? Forgive me, I beg of you, and come with me.”

  “I have no reason to trust you, or believe in your promises, after what you have done to me!”

  “No, I have behaved badly, I admit, but largely because I am eaten up with desire for you. Do you not realize the effect you have on a man? Has your pirate not made advances to you? He is no man if he has not!”

  “That does not induce me to trust you more,” she said bitterly. “I ceased to love you long ago, Randolph. Indeed, I wonder if it was ever love I felt or simply the delight in being found attractive by a handsome man?”

  “I could make you love me if you gave me the chance.”

  “I want nought further to do with you.”

  “Then you wish me to leave you here?”

  “That would be preferable to coming with you, far more.”

  “Then what of Gerard? Have you forgotten him?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, fear clutching with cold tentacles at her heart.

  “I promise to help him if you come with me, and if you are with me, you can help him too. If you choose to stay here, he will be taken and most like hanged, although he has information he must be made to divulge first. You understand what that means?”

  She stared at him angrily then her shoulders drooped as she realized her defeat. Randolph could escape, and if she did not go too, Gerard was doomed. If she went, she might be able to prevent the betrayal, but she had little hope of that. Still, she had to take the risk. It was the only way.

  “Very well,” she said. He smiled in triumph, an ugly smile, but she did not see it for she was looking at the ground, her eyes filled with tears.

  “I think I can find the way out of these caves, for there is a gentle slope upwards. We have but to follow that and we shall come to the entrance at the top of the cliffs. I have a lantern inside that Pierre used, so we can find our way. Come, hold my hand.”

  He turned to lead the way into the caves, and shuddering at his touch, she allowed him to pull her along after him. He picked up the lantern, and led the way unerringly towards the cave that had been the scene of his outburst the previous night. From there he took one of the passages and followed its twists and turns, ever sloping upwards, as he had said.

  Sibylla, numb with misery, did not realize he had stopped and bumped into him, causing him to exclaim with annoyance.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Confound it, I have mistook the passage. This one goes no further. We must go back.”

  They tried again, and again came to a blank wall. This time they could not find their way back to the original cave. Sibylla began to be frightened they were lost in a vast labyrinth. Randolph grew more and more angry, and when she stumbled on some loose earth, turned on her and cursed her roundly for being a drag on him.

  “I have hurt my ankle,” she gasped, as he jerked her to her feet. “Please, Randolph, I cannot stand on it!”

  He brought the lantern round, and inspected her foot. The ankle was already swelling.

  “You will have to manage the best you can,” he said brutally. “There are no bones broken. It is but a sprain, and if you were not so pampered, you would know better than to make such a fuss over a little injury. Here, take my arm.”

  She clung to him, but the pain was intense and their progress slow. Eventually they were encouraged by a gleam of daylight ahead. They made their way towards it, but stopped as they came to the light. It was a crack in the cliffs overlooking the little beach, but it was half way up the cliffs, and there was no way up or down.

  “I cannot go on,” she sobbed.

  “You must.”

  “No, I cannot.” When she bit her lips to suppress the cries of pain, he observed her, and realized she spoke the truth.

  “I think I recognized the wider space we passed a little way back, the place where several passages branched. I will leave you here, where you will have light, and I will search by myself. It will be quicker, and we are a good way up. The entrance cannot be far away.”

  “No, do not leave me!” she cried.

  “I must, or we have no chance. I can find my way back here, especially if you call out to guide me. These passages are many, but they do not cover a great deal of ground.”

  She accepted his reasoning, realizing she could make little further effort herself and time was running out.

  Someone might come to the caves soon, either Marie, or more servants, or Josselin himself. She knew that somehow Randolph would escape. Her only hope that he would take her too, and so allow her to make an effort to save Gerard, was to agree
to his suggestions.

  * * * *

  So he left her and they called at intervals to one another. Randolph’s voice grew fainter, but Sibylla continued calling every few minutes. Gradually the light outside faded, and she grew very frightened. She had to exercise the utmost control not to panic and to restrict her calls to every few minutes, for her voice was getting cracked and her throat was sore. It was only the knowledge she could not walk that prevented her from running in blind fear down the passages.

  After what seemed hours, she heard a faint noise and raised her head, which she had laid against the cool rock. She began to call Randolph’s name repeatedly, and sobbed with relief when a light appeared. She struggled to her feet and crying with pain and relief at being found, dragged herself forward, until strong arms encircled her, and warm lips kissed away the tears.

  “You are safe now, my little one.” She recognized Josselin’s voice in the tender whisper, and strangely felt no surprise, only relief he was there.

  There were others with him, but Josselin picked her up and ordered them to lead the way out. In a remarkably short time Sibylla felt the cool night air on her cheeks, and saw the stars twinkling unconcernedly in the sky.

  Josselin set her down gently on the grass, and knelt to inspect her ankle.

  “Water,” he ordered, and tore off his cravat. As one of the other men brought a water bottle, he soaked the cravat and laid it gently on Sibylla’s ankle. The relief was so immense she almost cried out, but instead she gathered her wits, and began to ask questions.

  “Robert and Pierre? Did you find them? Randolph killed Robert, I am sure!”

  “Aye,” Josselin said, controlled fury in his voice, “and he will pay for it. Pierre is none the worse for it. Were you trying to fetch help?”

  “No,” she confessed. “Randolph forced me to go with him, but he left me when I hurt myself. He promised to fetch me out when he found the way. We had been wandering for hours.”

  “Instead he left you, like the coward he is!”

  “He will betray Gerard! You must catch him!”

  “Do not worry, we will do that. But who is Gerard, and what do you mean?”

  “My brother. He is in Jersey. He has been plotting for the restoration of Charles Stuart and Randolph discovered it. He is a spy in the government’s service.”

  “I see. That explains much, but the blackguard will not get far, I can assure you. My lands are extensive, and my tenants will report any stranger. He cannot avoid them. I will send messengers out at once to apprehend him.”

  He turned to the men with him and gave brisk instructions. All but one left, galloping off on the horses that had been tethered nearby.

  “Now,” Josselin said, turning back to Sibylla. “Can you ride, or will you come on my horse?”

  “I will manage, so long as it’s a quiet slug of a horse.” She gave a slight laugh now she was in safe hands and confident Randolph would not be allowed to get far. Josselin smiled at her and without waiting for her to try to rise, picked her up and carried her over to the sturdy pony the other man held ready. Sibylla found herself perched in the saddle and she grasped the reins.

  Josselin mounted his own horse and rode alongside her, leaning down to grasp the reins near the bit.

  “Just as a precaution,” he smiled at her, and they moved off, down steep-sided lanes that reminded Sibylla of Devon.

  Chapter Six

  After a ride of about two miles, Josselin turned into a large gateway. Looking through it, Sibylla saw a vast avenue of trees stretching out before her in the darkness. Twinkling lights appeared at the far end, but it took hours to reach them. When they did emerge from the trees they had to cross a wide space to where, at the top of a shallow flight of steps, doors stood open, and light streamed out in welcome.

  Josselin dismounted and moved to lift Sibylla from her pony. When he carried her up the steps, she had a confused impression of a black and white marble tiled floor and tapestry-covered walls, then a white stone staircase with curious carvings.

  “I will send supper to you in bed,” he said as he carried her up these stairs. “Tomorrow you shall tell me the whole story, and we will make arrangements for you.”

  She nodded and tried to express her thanks, but he told her not to talk. By that time they had reached the bedroom. Inside, Marie was bustling about. She exclaimed in dismay as she saw Sibylla.

  “My, how pale you are! Into bed with you at once!”

  “Wait, Marie,” Josselin ordered, as he set Sibylla down on the bed. “Mistress Hurst has hurt her ankle, and I need to see to it. Fetch me what is necessary please.”

  She did so, and he gently unloosed the cravat he had used to bind Sibylla’s foot. Then he carefully compared the ankle with her other one, and looked mischievously into her eyes.

  “We will soon have it as trim and delicate as the other, I vow,” he murmured.

  “I regret causing you so much trouble,” she said tartly, to disguise her confusion.

  “It is no trouble to attend so charming a casualty!”

  He laughed slightly, and set about bathing and bandaging, while Marie competently assisted him.

  “I will come to see how you do in the morning,” he said at last, straightening up. “Sleep well, Mistress Hurst.”

  With a smile and a bow he was gone. Marie helped Sibylla to undress and washed her face and hands. By that time her supper had arrived on a tray. Marie worked quietly about the room until Sibylla had finished, then she came and removed the tray.

  “I shall be in the next room, Mademoiselle. Here is a bell, ring if you require aught.”

  Sibylla smiled and thanked her, then, lying back in the luxuriously soft pillows, she drifted into sleep.

  * * * *

  It was late the following morning before Josselin came to her. He pronounced her ankle to be much improved, but warned her she must not walk on it for a time.

  “Now, tell me about the fellow, Randolph.”

  “Have you found him? Has he escaped?”

  “Rest easy. He was brought here early this morning. My men caught him during the night as he was tramping across the moors. None of my tenants had been willing to rent him a horse, and they all keep their animals too well secured for him to steal one. He left a clear trail behind him. Who is he? I have been questioning him in the cellars where he’s currently kept, but he seems incapable of doing more than bluster at me about the complaints his government will make to mine.”

  Sibylla began her story, telling how Randolph was a neighbor who had been a friend of Gerard’s during their schooldays, how recently he had met her and persuaded her to arrange meetings with him.

  “I see now he was but attempting to discover what knowledge I had of Gerard’s doings,” she commented bitterly. She looked up to see Josselin’s eyes glinting in amusement. “I suppose you think I was an impressionable fool. Well, mayhap I was, but I know better now!”

  “No,” he said, gently. “I was not laughing at you, but rather at the thought of what a confounded distraction you must have been to Master Randolph. How he ever managed to keep his mind on his spying business I cannot tell.”

  She glanced at him, suspicious he was laughing at her still, but his face was perfectly grave, though his eyes twinkled. Hurriedly she resumed her tale, and with only a few questions to elucidate matters, he listened in silence, though his face became grim.

  “We must send to warn your brother. Have you any idea where he is staying in Jersey?”

  “None,” she said, dispirited by the admission. “I did not know he was going, we all assumed he would join his ship at Plymouth. His comrades are likely to be there with him too. How shall I find him?”

  “Do not concern yourself. You need not go. Jersey is not so large a place after all, and I have some friendship with the
De Carterets. I will send to them, and they will seek out your brother, if they do not already know of his presence. I suspect they do, for they are hot for the King.”

  “Can you really do that? How wonderful!” Sibylla lay back and relaxed, sighing deeply. “I am so grateful. He will always be an exile now, though, and that will distress my father deeply.”

  “Be not too pessimistic. From all I hear, Richard Cromwell is not long for his proud position. Charles Stuart has more hope of restoration now than since Worcester battle.”

  “You think that? I know so little about it. Oh, that would be perfect! Gerard would be safe!”

  “Then I must see to writing the letter. Would you care to send a letter to be passed on to your brother?”

  When she nodded eagerly, he moved to ring the bell to summon a servant. He had scarcely resumed his seat on the edge of the bed when there was a knock on the door, and a girl came in. Sibylla was struck by her faintly insolent attitude as she walked into the room and across to them. She regarded the girl closely, to find the other surveying her with hostility.

  Josselin had raised his eyebrows slightly. “Julie? What do you here?”

  She flushed, but turned to him and answered quickly. “Marie was busy, so I offered to come for her.”

  “I am sure you did.” He seemed amused, and the girl appeared more confused, though she stared at him defiantly. “Well, since you are unaccountably adding to your duties, pray fetch writing materials for Mistress Hurst. Then make sure you relieve Marie of whatever she is doing. I need her here.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The girl swung round and walked slowly from the room, swinging her hips provocatively. Josselin, a faint smile on his face, turned back to Sibylla, who had watched the little scene in puzzlement. She noted the young servant’s dark flaunting beauty which her simple clothes did not hide.

  “Will you be feeling well enough to sup downstairs with me tonight?” Josselin asked. She nodded.