For just an instant, Farrier's smile disappeared.
Lord Vincent said, "I can waste no more time." He turned to his sister. "M'dear, an you are ready to leave, we should start at once."
With a notable lack of argumentation Lady Nadia stood.
Farrier raised a languid hand. "I must ask that you remain, my lord. I will but keep you long enough to make a brief enquiry."
"About what?" Lady Nadia spoke with regal hauteur, but her fingers plucked nervously at her fan.
"About nothing we care to hear," snapped Chandler. "Starret, show this upstart out!"
The butler bit his lip, but started forward obediently.
Farrier said, "Would you prefer I call in the troop I have posted at your gates?"
Sure that there was no troop, Chandler smiled. "By all means."
My lady's eyes grew wide with fright.
Again, Farrier's sly smile wavered, and his eyes darted a glare of intense dislike at Chandler. "I wonder why you should be so very hostile, sir?"
Uneasy, Lord Vincent said, "Perhaps we should hear what the fellow has to say. If 'tis indeed a matter of High Treason it would not do to hinder any investigation."
Farrier bowed. "Very wise, my lord."
With an imperative gesture Sir Brian silenced his son's attempt to comment. "What is it you wish to know? Be brief, if you please. I do not care for my guests to be inconvenienced."
His smile restored, Farrier said, "But of course, sir. 'Tis in the matter of this very serious outbreak of shipping losses."
Chandler suppressed a sigh of relief. He had feared this little wart was after Quentin again. He did not dare look at his father, knowing Sir Brian had shared his apprehensions and guessing that, although Farrier did not seem to be watching him, those cunning eyes missed nothing.
"My superiors," Farrier went on, "suspect there are wreckers at work along this coast. Many of the cargoes were lost to the sea, of course, but salvage attempts have revealed a surprising discrepancy between goods believed to have been washed up on shore, and those actually reclaimed."
"Your superiors must suspect there is a veritable army of wreckers at work," said Chandler ironically. "From what we've heard there have been ships gone down all around our shores from Dover to the Scots Border, and from the Mersey to Cornwall!"
De Brette shook his head. " 'Tis bad enough to think of such tragedies occurring due to wind and weather, but that human beings could be so heartless as to have engineered them… ! Dreadful! Many of those lost were women and children, I believe. Especially on the East Indiamen."
"Your compassion does you credit, my lord," purred Farrier. "May I assume you will not object to cooperating?"
De Brette looked startled. "Cooperating, you say? How?"
"Why, my lord, you are… here, after all."
Chandler's brows twitched into a dark frown. "What the deuce d'you mean by that remark?"
"Only that the Empress of Calcutta was—er, went down off your cove earlier in the year, I believe."
Taking a stride towards that gentle grin, Chandler grated, "Do you dare to imply—"
"But my dear sir." Farrier's hands waved gracefully. "I imply nothing. I merely attempt to discover if you, or your guests, have noted anything—er, untoward, shall we say. Or have found any trace of the goods that were, alas, never recovered."
Chandler roared, "Why you festering little wart!" and sprang at Farrier who, nothing if not fast on his feet, darted behind his chair.
"Stay back!" His voice shrill now, and his smile quite gone, Farrier declared, "There are sufficient counts 'gainst you already!"
"What counts?" demanded Sir Brian angrily.
"He's bluffing, sir," cried Chandler. "Do you not see that he only—"
"Be still! Answer me, Farrier! What counts?"
Farrier's right hand slid into his pocket. His smile shaken but restored, he replied, "Your youngest son is a known traitor—an enemy of this country. He—"
"My brother lives in France, confound you!" snarled Chandler. "And he is far less an enemy of England than are slippery toads of your ilk!"
"Then 'tis as I thought! You are in sympathy with his revolutionary beliefs!"
With a growl of rage Chandler again started forward.
"Stay back! I warn you!" Farrier snatched a small pistol from his pocket and aimed it steadily.
Lady Nadia screamed.
Lord Vincent sprang to her support.
Terrified, Ruth watched from the corner to which she had retreated.
Sir Brian's voice cracked through the tense room. "How dare you bring a weapon into my home! Put it up at once! Put it up, I say!"
"Not until you restrain your son!"
"Gordon," rasped Sir Brian, "I'll remind you there are ladies present! Let the creature be!"
Between his teeth Chandler said, "He should be put out like any other rubbish, sir. Only let me deal—"
"You heard me! Over here, if you please!"
Seething, Chandler went to his father's side.
De Brette said, "Your superiors will hear from me, Farrier! Such conduct is unforgivable! You have alarmed Lady de Brette! I wonder the dear soul did not swoon to see a deadly weapon brandished under her nose. Furthermore, your charges are absurd. Sir Brian is well known to have condemned his younger son's loyalty to the Stuart Cause. Gordon Chandler did all in his power to dissuade him. If that is all you can produce 'gainst them—"
"There is a great deal more, my lord. 'Tis far from my wish to have upset her ladyship, but the facts remain. Your neighbour, Mr. Poulsborough, states that you are extreme secretive about anyone venturing near your cove. One cannot but wonder what you seek to conceal. Furthermore, Mr. Gordon Chandler was only recently alleged to have been badly injured by poachers. Yet your former steward has told us that Mr. Chandler had clandestine meetings in the woods at night with several ugly-looking customers. It was, in fact, after the steward had become suspicious of these meetings and attempted to discover what was afoot, that he was dismissed on a charge of incompetence."
"That is a bare-faced lie!" raged Chandler. "Durwood was a larcenous, lazy—"
Sir Brian cut off that accusation with a gesture and interpolated, "What have you deduced from these spiteful allegations by an unpleasant neighbour and an untrustworthy steward? Who do you suppose the men in my woods to have been? And why would they have harmed my son was he in league with them in some sort of skullduggery?"
Farrier shrugged. "We will have the answers when they are safely under lock and key. There are many possible reasons. A falling out among—er, conspirators, mayhap."
"Do not wrap your accusations in clean linen," Chandler said harshly. "You mean—thieves! Perhaps you can also advise me of the details of our conspiracy. The invasion of a Jacobite force from France, led by my brother, perchance? A little Free Trading? Or are we your fictional wreckers?"
Farrier's eyes widened. "My dear sir, those are your words. Not mine. Mark this, however. On the night the Empress of Calcutta went aground off this coast, the new lighthouse to the north of here was dark. Someone, we believe, had tampered with the fire. Now I put it to you, Sir Brian, that if the same—er, someone had lit the logs atop your old tower, a ship's captain struggling through heavy seas, might well be lured—"
"I'll lure you!" Unable to contain himself any longer, Chandler fairly leapt forward.
Farrier's pistol swung up, but he was too late. With one swipe of his fist Chandler sent the pistol hurtling across the room. Farrier emitted a strangled squawk and clawed at the iron hands that were throttling him. Sir Brian swore and ran to restrain his son. De Brette made an attempt to assist. Before they could stop him, Chandler had shaken Farrier savagely, and flung him aside. "You all heard him," he panted. "With neither warrant nor proof, this fanatic invaded our home, alarmed our guests, spoke slander and libel 'gainst us, and aimed a deadly weapon at me! I'd be well justified to shoot him out of hand!"
Picking himself up from his knees, clutching
at his throat, and all but incoherent with wrath, Farrier wheezed, "Vicious… lunatic! You have attacked a government officer! A's-servant of the Crown! Did you think us so stupid as… to fancy it merest coincidence that she"—he pointed a trembling finger at Ruth—"should be under your roof? The sister of a man responsible for… for wrecking another great ship!"
Chandler heard his father's shocked gasp and, not daring to glance at him, said mockingly, "A man must be a dedicated wrecker indeed to be willing to go down with his ship!"
"How d'you know Armitage drowned?" shrilled Farrier. "His body was never recovered. He's likely alive somewhere, living off his ill-gotten gains. Do not count on doing the same, I warn you! We know you're all tarred with the same—" He broke off and made a staggering run for the door as Chandler wrenched free and sprang for him. "You'll pay for this outrage," he gulped chokingly, his voice fading down the hall. "You'll rue the day… !"
Sir Brian, who had been staring at Ruth in horror, followed him, but turned a grim look on Gordon and commanded, "Stay here! You've done enough damage!"
"Vincent," gasped Lady Nadia, "I wish to go back to Town. Now!"
Chandler said, "I regret that you were subjected to such a scene, ma'am, but you must not travel in this weather. That revolting bounty hunter has no shred of evidence 'gainst us, I promise you."
She turned on him in a blaze of rage. "Are you mad? Do you know how many men the horrid creature has sent to the scaffold?"
"I tell you he has no proof! De Brette, listen to that wind. You cannot venture the roads tonight!"
De Brette frowned. "I think 'twould be a greater hazard to remain in your company than to travel as far as Dover, at least. Were I in your shoes, Chandler, I'd make demned sure you've people ready to swear your lighthouse was indeed dark the night of the wreck!" He glanced at Ruth. "And that you stay clear of anyone with the slightest involvement in the filthy business."
"As I mean to do!" Lady Nadia hurried to the door. Glancing back, she said, "Our betrothal is at an end, Chandler! I was willing to endure a lot to become your bride, but I've no least desire to be a traitor's widow!" She tore some papers from her reticule and flung them onto the floor. "I've no more need of these. My brother will send the notice to the newspapers as soon as we reach Town. As for you"—she glanced with contempt at Ruth—"he is free—if you're fool enough to want him!"
With a flutter of skirts and a click of her high Spanish heels, she was gone, her brother nodding curtly as he walked out after her.
Chandler picked up the papers and put them on the desk. Turning to Ruth, he asked gently, "My dear, are you very frightened?"
She was very frightened indeed. "Will you please ask Dutch Coachman to take us to Dover? I must—I must leave at once."
"Yes, of course." He moved to stand before her, and said with a rueful smile, "But I wish you will believe that I am not—we are not wreckers."
She put out her hand, and he took it eagerly and held it in both his own. "I know you are not," she said. "And I know what you did, to try and protect me. Oh, my dear—my very dear!"
He bent his head and pressed a kiss on her fingers. "How did you find me out? Was I not convincing? I tried to be, but—Lord! I pray I never again have to essay such a part. 'Twas"—his voice trembled—"the very devil!"
"It was the most gallant tribute any lady could wish." She reached up to caress his thick hair tenderly. "You played your part to perfection, my love. I—quite thought my heart would break. No—let me finish! Tummet said something that set me to thinking, and gradually I pieced it all together. I should never have been such a stupid as to believe that a gentleman as fine, as honourable as you, could have been so—" The light in his eyes was weakening her resolve and she turned quickly away, biting her lip, then said threadily, "I… must leave, Gordon!"
He stifled a sigh. "Yes. I'll send word down to Dutch. But I shall walk you back to the cottage."
Smiling through sudden tears, she asked, "Do you not want to know why I am leaving you?"
"Because of Farrier, of course. And rightly so. Indeed, I would have insisted you go away."
"I am Greville Armitage's daughter."
"Yes, love. Was it because of your brother that you concealed that particular fact?"
She blinked and her eyes fell. "Dearest one, I dared not—"
"Small wonder you did not dare!" Sir Brian came in, his face grim. "You were perfectly correct, madam, in thinking that I would not allow the sister of a disgraced murdering drunkard to so much as set foot on—"
Chandler interrupted sharply, "Sir, whatever Armitage may have done, Ruth is not to be—"
"Blamed? Must I not blame her for yet another lie? 'Fore God, she's proficient at it! She has neatly forged another link for your friend Farrier's chain about us. Rest assured his superiors will call it a conspiracy! No! Do not defend her to me, sir! Are you too besotted with the woman to see what peril she poses for—" He reeled suddenly, and leaned against the desk, a hand to his chest.
Chandler was at his side in an instant, one arm about his shoulders. "Father! Sit down here. All this nonsense has been too much for you. Ruth, will you please ring for—"
But glancing up he saw that Ruth had gone.
The cottage shuddered to a howling gust of wind and the curtains billowed inward. Tightening the strap around the portmanteau, Grace wailed, "But, Mrs. A., we cannot journey tonight. Hark to that! Is a gale, no less!"
" 'Ullo? 'Ullo? Anybody 'ome?"
The eyes of the two women met. Ruth muttered. "Tummet!"
His hair dishevelled and his coat unbuttoned, Jacob galloped into the room. "I found him, Aunty. I found him for you!"
"Bless you, my darling. Now help Miss Grace. She has already packed your clothes, but you must gather whatever else you wish to take."
The small face was a study in dismay. "Packed? Oh, Aunty, we're not goin' away?"
"Yes, I'm afraid we are, dear." She patted his shoulder and hurried to the door. "Be quick, if you please. We've to leave at once. I'll tell you about it later. Go now!"
With lagging feet and tragic face, he crossed to the other bedchamber, and Ruth ran down the stairs.
Enoch Tummet stood in the hall, hat in hand and curiosity on his rugged countenance. "I see yer valises 'ere, marm. 'Opping the twig, is you?"
Assuming that "hopping the twig" meant going away, she nodded and said urgently, "Mr. Tummet, is your master really a friend to Mr. Chandler? Or, if Mr. August Falcon is not, might Lieutenant Morris be?"
"They both is, marm. Though me guv wouldn't never admit as 'e was a friend to no one. What's to do?"
"Have you ever heard of a man called Burton Farrier?" She had no need to wait for a reply, his shocked expression was enough. "He was here," she said. "He has brought some most terrible charges 'gainst Sir Brian and his son. I am afraid—"
He interrupted briskly, "Say no more, Mrs. A! Me guv was afeared o' this very thing. I'm orf. You tell Mr. Gordon as me real guv—Cap'n Gideon Rossiter, that is—will be dahn 'ere 'fore the roach can run!"
She thanked him, struggled to close the front door against the blast that swept in when he opened it, and went up to the twins' bedchamber again.
Jacob was solemnly forcing a wooden ship into his valise. He looked up at her, sad-eyed. "Mr. Gordon carved it for me. Herc'les chewed it a bit, but… Oh, Aunty! Must we go? I like him. Lots."
Hugging him, Ruth said in an unsteady voice, "I'm afraid we have no choice, dearest. Where's Thorpe?"
He looked around blankly. "He was here…"
Once more someone was pounding on the front door. Her heart convulsed. Dutch Coachman? Already? When she opened the door however, a lackey stood there, clutching a flapping cloak about his finery. He handed her a folded paper, then hurried off again not waiting for an answer. Unfolding the note, she read:
My only love—
I know you will be worrying for my father. He is resting now, and I pray he is merely over-excited, but I cannot leave him for a
while.
Meanwhile, I have told Dutch to take you all to the Ship in Dover, where you must pass the night. Tomorrow, go to the Rossiter's house on Snow Hill. I've handed Dutch a letter for Gideon, and funds to provide for you. When we are clear of this nonsense I shall come for you.
Pay no attention to Farrier's rantings. He cannot harm us. I mean to make sure that nothing ever comes between us again.
God bless you, my darling. I adore you.
Chandler
It was some minutes before Ruth was sufficiently composed to go back upstairs.
When she went into the boys' room there was still no sign of Thorpe. Nor was Jacob to be found.
With one hand on the mantel, Chandler stared into the empty hearth and listened to the rain beating in wind-driven flurries against the windows. The thought of Ruth travelling through this chaotic night was worrying. If he could only go with her. If Keasden came in time and pronounced his father in no danger, he would go! That fool of a groom should be back from Dover by now, surely? He glanced at the clock. Almost nine. If Farrier meant to—
The door opened. Starret said, "Your pardon, Mr. Gordon."
"Is the groom back?"
"He couldn't get through, sir. There are trees across the lane. He says the doctor's coach wouldn't be able to get by."
"Damnation! Then tell Swinton to take some men and clear the way. Keasden must come out and see Sir Brian, and it is essential that Mrs. Allington reach Dover tonight."
Starret bowed and went off again.
Chandler drove his fist against the mantel. Ruth must not be here if that wart Farrier came slithering back. The precious lady had known enough of trouble. And speaking of trouble, he had best get up to the top of the old lighthouse and make very sure there were no logs or any trace of a recent fire.
He ran up the stairs to his father's bedchamber. Ludley, the elderly valet who had served Sir Brian for forty years, put a cautioning hand to his lips and tiptoed across the room to meet him.
"He's asleep, sir. His colour's much better now. I think he was just over-wrought. You know how he gets, Mr. Gordon. Is Dr. Keasden coming?"
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