The only person in Cornwall who knew him for a government man was the agent for Lloyd’s of London in St. Austell. Antony had paid Mr. Francis Oakley a visit, liked the cut of his jib, and told him he meant to do a little investigating of the coastal gangs for His Majesty’s government. He had confided only so much to Mr. Oakley. The Fox Cub had learned long since to trust no one but himself with all the facts.
While he hauled kegs, he was constantly aware of the wrecked carriage at the west end of the beach. The moon had moved west of the headland, and the wreck lay in shadow. Unless someone decided to stroll to that end of the beach for some reason that Antony could not presently imagine, it would draw no one else’s interest tonight.
Daylight was another matter. He did not know the victims. He had seen no crest on the door, and doubted that he would have recognized it if he had seen one. He had found no coachman either, he realized. Perhaps the man had jumped clear and gone for help. In any case, he would be wiser not to return by daylight, lest his villainous compatriots believe he was after their booty. But neither could he reconcile it with his conscience to leave that poor woman and her husband to rot on the beach if the coachman had not survived. Somehow, he must learn if anyone had, and if not, get word to the authorities about the accident.
Tucked between two boulders, with a third below them on the slope, Charley and Letty were as safe as they could make themselves. Huddled inside Charley’s thick cloak with Letty’s smaller one over them and Jeremiah snuggled between them, they soon grew tired of watching the activity below them on the beach, and fell asleep.
When Charley awoke, it was because Letty had moved away from her and was anxiously calling Jeremiah.
“Keep your voice down,” Charley whispered. “Someone might hear you.”
“The smugglers are gone,” Letty said, “but so is Jeremiah. I’ve got to find him! What if he fell over the edge?”
“If he didn’t go over with the carriage, you may be sure he did not fall later,” Charley said, hoping she was right. “He is very agile, you know, so he has probably only gone exploring. He will be back soon. Maybe he will find some food.”
Letty giggled. “Are you hungry, too? I did not like to say anything, but I am starving. There were apples in Aunt Davina’s basket, too.” The silence that followed was awkward, but for once in her life Charley could think of nothing to say. At last, in a small voice, Letty said, “I’m awfully sorry, Cousin Charley. I-I know that most likely they are dead. At least, don’t you think they are?”
“Yes,” Charley said. The alternative—that her parents could be lying in dreadful agony at the base of the cliff, while she sat doing nothing to help them—was too horrible to contemplate.
“Well, I am sure they must be, and perhaps it is only that they are not my own parents, but should I not feel like crying, even so? Because I know I keep saying things I ought not to say—like about the apples—and … and …”
Charley reached for Letty’s hand and gave it a squeeze, saying, “I am very glad you are not weeping and wailing, darling, because that would only make matters much worse than they are.”
“Yes, but ought I not to feel like doing so? You are grown up, so I don’t expect you to fall into flat despair, even though they are your parents, but I don’t want to cry. I don’t feel anything at all—except cold and a little tired.”
“I think we have both had a lot to think about just to stay alive,” Charley said quietly. “Moreover, I have heard that it is not unusual to feel numb at first. It is a great shock, after all, and everything happened very fast, so perhaps our sensibilities have not quite caught up with the reality of it all.”
“I don’t seem to have much sensibility at the best of times,” Letty said thoughtfully. “Young Gideon has much more than I do. He cries if a bug gets squashed. I just think what a good thing it is to have one less bug to crawl on me.”
Charley chuckled and gave her a hug. “Young Gideon is only five.”
“Yes, I know, but I didn’t have much sensibility even then. Papa frequently says I’ve got more sense than sensibility. Mama said he had that from a book.”
“A fine book,” Charley said. “I have a copy at home. Do you like to read?”
They talked in this manner for some time, until Charley began to notice that the eastern sky was growing light. It would soon be dawn. She wondered if they would be able to reach the road. She wondered, too, if they would have to walk to Tuscombe Park, and if she could do so without first making her way down to the beach to be sure that what she knew in her heart was really so.
“Cousin Charley, listen! I think it’s Jeremiah!”
“Mon Dieu, can there really be someone down there?” The voice from above them was masculine and deep. It sounded much closer than twenty or thirty feet away.
Charley and Letty kept still, and when Jeremiah leapt to Letty’s shoulder and began to chatter excitedly, she grabbed him, shoved him under her cloak, and clapped a hand over his little mouth.
Chapter Two
“NOM D’UN NOM,” THE low, melodious voice went on, adding in heavily accented English, “first I am attacked by le petit singe in the night. Then I hear an angel’s voice floating in the dawn sans an angel’s body. Am I going mad, or what?”
Letty stifled a giggle.
“Alors, an angel with a sense of humor. Come, ma petite, where are you? Je suis un ami. I am a friend. I will not harm you.”
Charley could see Letty more clearly. Dawn was coming. They would have to make up their minds quickly whether to trust this Frenchman.
“I like his voice,” Letty whispered.
“’Tis a fine voice, mon ange,” the Frenchman said. “How did you get down there? Were you in the carriage that so unfortunately plunged from the road. Do you always whisper to monkeys?”
Letty gasped, but Charley sighed and said, “I told you sound travels more easily than one might think. I certainly hope,” she added, raising her voice so the Frenchman would hear clearly, “that you are not one of the villains who fired upon us.”
“Nom d’un nom d’un nom! Deux anges!”
“Yes, there are two of us,” Charley said crisply. “And we shall be very much obliged to you if you can get us out of here. I must warn you, however, that most of this slope appears to be covered with loose pebbles and gravel that want to shoot one right over the edge when one tries to walk.”
“One moment then. I must consult with Annabelle.”
“You have a companion?”
“A most excellent one. Annabelle is the prettiest little buttermilk mare one could ever hope to see, and the wisest.”
“We are very cold, so could you please be so kind as to confer quickly?”
“Mais un petit moment, ma petite.”
They heard a scrabbling sound, then silence. Letty said, “Do you think he is one of the smugglers, Cousin Charley?”
“At this point, darling, I do not much care who he is, so long as he can get us out of here and doesn’t murder us.”
“Papa said the citizens of Cornwall liked and protected the free traders when he was a boy. Do they still?”
“To an extent, I suppose. We hear many tales about whole gangs caught and sent for trial, only to have the jury or magistrate declare them innocent. Grandpapa was not so tolerant of their activities, however. He made it clear long ago that he would not allow such goings-on in St. Merryn’s Bay.”
“I am looking forward to seeing Grandpapa and Grandmama again,” Letty said. “I have seen them only twice, you know, and one of those times I was a baby. Still, it is sad that we shall take them such dreadful news.”
Charley did not want to think about that.
“That man mentioned the carriage,” Letty said in a small voice. “Do you think he saw it?”
From above, the Frenchman’s voice interrupted her. “If I throw a rope down, can you tie it round one of you, do you think?”
“Of course, we can,” Charley responded, “if you manage to throw
it far enough and if we don’t have to scramble around to find the end.”
“It is only about twenty-five feet long,” he said.
“My goodness,” Letty exclaimed, “how do you come to have such a long one with you?”
“That, ma petite, is my business,” he said. “And I advise you to keep your voice down. I think we are alone, but it is possible that others linger in the neighborhood. Can you perhaps wave something so that I can see exactly where you are?”
“Wait,” Letty said, “I have a better notion. Jeremiah can fetch the rope end.”
“Jeremiah?”
“My monkey. He led you to us, after all.”
“Will he obey instructions?”
“I think so, though it’s a pity you have not got a bag of nuts to rattle. Call him.”
To Charley’s surprise, Jeremiah scampered off at the first call. Moments later, at Letty’s command, he returned with the end of a twisted rope. Charley could just reach it to take it from him, but there was no slack when she did so.
“Can you let us have a bit more?”
“That is all there is, I’m afraid. Will it not reach?”
“Barely, but I think we can manage. Look here, Letty,” she added, “you are going up first. I think if I brace myself against our boulder, I can help you move uphill until we can tie the rope around your waist.”
“But Jeremiah might not carry it back again to you. He’ll always come to me.”
“Nevertheless, you will go first.”
Letty did not argue with that tone of voice, and soon was on her way up the slope. Charley sat back down to await events. When Letty called down that she was safe, Charley called Jeremiah, but it was not the monkey who brought her the rope.
She knew the man was coming by the sounds of his descent on the loose scree, but even so, she was not prepared when he loomed over her in the semi-darkness. He seemed larger than his voice had led her to expect, very large. But since she was slight of build and only an inch above five feet, and he was uphill, she knew he did not have to be a giant to tower over her.
It occurred to her briefly that he might have come for her to pitch her right over the edge, but her voice was steady when she said, “Why did you not send Jeremiah back?”
“La petite said the rope end barely reached you,” he said, his voice still low, his tone even. “She also said the footing here was particularly treacherous. I have tied the rope around my waist, so I cannot come closer, but I believe that if you stretch out one hand to me, while keeping the other on your boulder for balance, I can reach you. Annabelle will do the rest.”
“Annabelle?”
“Yes, Annabelle. Having no idea how large either of you was, and not being certain I could hold you if you lost your footing, I took the precaution of tying the rope to her saddle. It is specially designed to allow any number of things to be tied to it.”
“Which is how you came to have the rope,” Charley said, nearly certain now that her rescuer was one of the free traders. “Would I perhaps be more accurate in referring to that rope as a tub line?”
He chuckled, apparently undisturbed by her knowledge of smuggling equipment, and she found the sound infectious. It made her smile despite the horrid events of the night. He said calmly, “Give me your hand, mon ange.”
“What is your name?”
“They call me Jean Matois. Now will you give me your hand? Annabelle is bound to be growing deucedly impatient. Not to mention la petite, though she seems remarkably levelheaded.”
Reminded that Letty was alone on the road with only a buttermilk mare to protect her, Charley stood again, bracing herself against the boulder, and reached her hand out as far as she could. The stranger grabbed her wrist in a firm, warm grasp, and automatically she caught his wrist with her hand. He did not wear gloves.
Her feet slid, but the stranger steadied her, and she soon stood beside him with one of his muscular arms tight around her. He made a clicking sound with his tongue that seemed as if it could not possibly be audible more than a few feet away, but Charley was close enough to him to feel the warmth of his body enveloping her, and to feel the rope grow taut around his waist.
“Annabelle is very well trained,” he said, his voice still low but reassuring. “Do not be frightened.”
“I’m not frightened,” she said. “In fact, I’m pretty well numbed by all of this. I expect it will overwhelm me tomorrow.”
“Tragedy affects some people that way,” he murmured. “I only wanted to reassure you about Annabelle’s ability to help us up the slope.”
“Oh, I can tell that she knows what she is doing,” Charley said. “I have trained horses since I was a child, and in my experience they are generally more to be relied upon than men are. I do not deny that I’d have managed all this better if I were not encumbered with skirts, of course, but in any event I am most grateful to have your support now. I think my hands would have been too numb to hold onto the rope. I had all I could do to knot it around Letty.”
He was silent, helping her work her way around a jagged outcropping.
She said, “I’m glad I didn’t hit this when we were flung out. At least, I don’t think I can have done so, although I don’t know what I did hit. I only know that I came down flat on my back with Letty on top of me.”
“You were fortunate,” he said.
“We certainly were.” She hesitated. Their progress was reasonably steady now. His grip was firm, and she could easily picture the mare backing away, pace by pace. Finally, gathering resolution, she said, “You mentioned the carriage, Monsieur Matois. If you were not one of the highwaymen, is it possible that you … that you were …” She could not finish.
“I was on the beach,” he said gently. His arm tightened around her when he said the words, as if he expected some sort of impulsive reaction, but Charley was made of sterner stuff than that.
She drew a long breath, then said, “So you saw the carriage after it fell from the cliff. Were … Did anyone … ? That is to say …” Again, words failed her.
“They are dead,” he said in that same gentle tone. “A man and a woman in the carriage and a second man some distance away. I did not see the second man at first, but when I went back—”
“You left them?”
For the first time, he hesitated. They were nearing the top of the slope, and even in her anxiety over what he might say, Charley became aware that Letty was not peering down, encouraging their progress.
Finally, her companion said, “I had to leave them for a time. There were others coming, you see, and—”
“I do see,” she said, “or rather, Letty did. I know if you were on that beach, you are either a free trader or a riding officer, though I must say that, frankly, you don’t sound much like either one. You need not worry that I will give you away. Folks hereabouts are generally friendly toward the lads, but if you mean to be so kind as to see us home, I advise you to say nothing to my grandfather about your activities. He is a justice of the peace, and he takes his position seriously.”
“As well he should,” her companion said, helping her onto the roadbed at last and making another odd clicking sound with his tongue as he climbed up after her. Then he whistled two notes, and Charley heard the quick clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on the road. A moment later Letty and the mare emerged from the gloom.
The child was grinning from ear to ear. “Cousin Charley,” she exclaimed, “isn’t Annabelle clever? Jeremiah and I were just telling her some of the things you’ve taught your horses to do, and we’ve become good friends.”
“Charley?”
There was an odd note in her rescuer’s voice when he said her name, and she looked up at him in puzzlement. “Close friends and some members of my family call me so, monsieur. I am Charlotte Tarrant. Letty,” she added, “our rescuer is Monsieur Matois. This is my cousin, monsieur, Lady Letitia Deverill.”
“Letitia Ophelia Deverill,” that damsel interjected. “Everyone calls me Letty. Why did yo
u react like that to Charley’s name? Like you’d heard it before.”
Off to the east, Charley could see a golden-red thread widening on the horizon. She could see his face more clearly, too. He was not as large as she had thought him, but he was of greater than medium height, perhaps six feet tall. Although his shoulders were broad, encouraging one to think him very large, his figure was slender. The only memorable features of his face were light eyes set deep beneath a jutting brow and a square, stubborn-looking chin. His nose was straight but ordinary. He had a two-day growth of beard, and thick brown hair hung untidily over his forehead to his eyebrows. In back it touched the collar of the drab frieze coat he wore. His expression was wide-eyed, nearly simple-minded. Altogether an unremarkable specimen, she thought.
He did not answer Letty’s question, busying himself instead in coiling up his rope and fastening it to one of several rings stitched right onto his saddle. When Letty repeated the question in fluent French, he grinned at her. Charley found herself rapidly revising her first opinion of his looks. His eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he smiled frequently. A dimple danced high on his left cheek.
He said, “Charley is a strange name for a female, is it not, ma petite? Even in England. One merely remarked upon that fact. How much farther must we go to reach your home from here, mademoiselle?”
“About five miles inland from the next bay,” Charley said. “My grandfather owns most of the land this side of the River Fowey, from the bay to Bodmin Moor.”
“The Earl of St. Merryn is your grandfather then,” he said evenly.
“If you know of him, you must also know his reputation, monsieur.”
“I do,” he agreed. “A right stiff-rumped old reprobate, by what I’ve been told. Fires up like a Guy Fawkes rocket, they say, when anyone crosses his will. Never crossed paths with him myself, though.”
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