by Mary Nichols
She took the lantern Betsy had lit for her. ‘You and Betsy stay here and look after the other three. Lock the door behind us.’ She hurried from the house, followed by Jem and Jenkins.
‘My lady,’ Jenkins said. ‘You shouldn’ be going down to the beach at night, ’ specially this night.’
‘You mean because of the free-traders? They are not in sight yet. We have time.’
‘If they’re anchored off shore they will see our lights…’
‘Then we had better douse them.’
‘And break our necks falling down the cliff? I beg you, my lady, go back, leave this to Jem and me. They won’t think nothing of two men on the beach; they would take us for carriers.’
‘But we should be able to see the horse from the cliff top, surely? If it’s there—’ She stopped when the thought struck her that perhaps Julia had been thrown, had fallen down the cliff, horse and all. Would she have tried to go down that steep path with a horse, or would she have had the sense to go by the village where there was a slipway the fishing boats used?
‘But perhaps his lordship did take Ivor himself,’ Jem put in. ‘Just because he wanted to rest him, don’t mean he wouldn’t take him if he needed to get somewhere quick. Shouldn’t we discover that first?’
Charlotte sighed. She was being headstrong and foolish, not exactly good traits in a schoolmistress, and certainly not the best way to find Julia quickly. ‘You go on,’ she told them. ‘See if you can find her. I’ll go to the Manor to see if Lord Darton is there. He’ll have to be told.’
She left them and set off for the Manor, half-walking, half-running, praying that Stacey would be there and not angry. Oh, but he would be angry. He had expressly told her to keep the girls inside with all the doors and windows bolted and he would not have said that if he did not think there was some danger. And Julia was out in it, probably on the beach, which was worse. Very soon now it would be humming with activity, men from the boats, those dreadful men from the Manor and the revenue men, perhaps even some villagers. And there might be shots fired. Someone—Julia—might be hurt, even killed. That thought set her racing again. She dropped her lantern and though she picked it up again, it had gone out. She threw it down and raced on.
She turned in at the Manor gates and tore up the drive, so breathless she would not have been able to speak if she tried. It was in darkness, not a glimmer of light at the front. Chest heaving, she ran round to the back and in at the kitchen door where a startled Mrs Evans, sitting dozing by the fire, woke suddenly and screamed at the sight of her. ‘Oh, my lady, you did give me a turn,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Evans. Is the Viscount in? I must speak to him urgently.’
‘He’s not here, my lady. He’s been gone an hour or more, saw him go myself.’
‘Was he on horseback?’
‘No, my lady, walking.’
So they were down on the beach already. And Julia was down there. Unless Jem and Jenkins had found her. ‘If he comes in soon, will you ask him to come to The Crow’s Nest? Tell him it’s important.’
‘Yes, my lady. Is there anything I can do to help?’
But Charlotte did not hear her; she was already out of the door. She was in such haste, she hardly noticed the carriage with its four matched bays standing in the lane outside the gates, until its occupant put his head out of the door and hailed her. ‘Madam, is this the way to The Crow’s Nest?’
She stopped her headlong flight and turned towards him. He was getting out of the vehicle. He was an elderly man and not very tall, she could see that, and he was wearing a tail coat and breeches, but his features were unclear. Was he one of the smugglers or was he a revenue man? And why did he want to go to her house? ‘Why do you want to know that?’
‘I believe that is my business.’ He was standing in front of her now, his dark eyes surveying her from under beetle brows, as if he were not sure if he knew her.
‘It is also mine. The Crow’s Nest is my home.’
‘Then you must be Charlotte.’ He made no move to stand aside. ‘Elizabeth’s child. I might have known. She was always a hoyden and it seems you have inherited that trait. Being married to a respectable baronet has not tamed you.’
Anxious as she was, his words caught her attention. ‘What do you know of my mother, sir?’
‘I know she was a fool and married beneath her. I warned her at the time—’
‘Oh. Then you must be Lord Falconer.’
‘I am indeed.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you. Had a letter from the lawyer fellow, told me I was needed.’
‘Not now, you are not. Please stand aside, my lord. I am in great haste. I have to find Stacey.’
‘Who, may I ask, is Stacey?’
‘Viscount Darton. His daughter is staying with me and she has run off, probably taken his horse, and we’ve got to find her before the smugglers arrive.’
‘Smugglers?’ He took her by her shoulders and shook her. ‘What in damnation is going on here?’
She was a little calmer now, though not much. ‘If you take me in your carriage, I will guide you to the house and perhaps Julia will have come back on her own or Stacey will be there…’
‘You make very free with his given name,’ he commented, though he led the way back to his carriage.
‘Do I?’ she queried, suddenly realising that was how she thought of him, had been thinking of him along those lines for some time. ‘He is a second cousin of Cecil, but not a bit like him. He is…’ She stopped as he helped her into the carriage and climbed in beside her.
‘Go on.’
‘Tell the coachman to take the lane on the left about a hundred yards up the road. It’s a bit rough, but if he goes carefully, the carriage will come to no harm. Lord Darton’s carriage made it easily enough.’
He gave the coachman his instructions and then sat back. ‘Now, out with it? What have you been up to, and why, in all these years, have you never written to me?’
‘Why should I? You washed your hands of Mama. She said you told her you never wanted to see her again.’
‘So I did,’ he said grimly. ‘But she should have known I did not mean it and I would certainly want to make the acquaintance of her daughter, especially if she was in trouble. If it had not been for that lawyer fellow writing to me…’
‘Mr Hardacre?’
‘Yes. Said you had to leave the Manor on account of the new Lord Hobart…’
‘Yes. I could not stay. The man is intolerable and his friends are worse. Criminals too.’
‘Why did you not come to me?’
‘I could not. I had no money, not even enough for the coach fare. Cecil stole it. He is a gambler, you see.’
He was furious with her, though he knew he was being unjust. ‘I would have sent you money, had you asked.’
‘I didn’t know that. I did pen a letter to ask you for help, but then, before I could mail it, out of the blue Mr Hardacre wrote and told me Grenville had left a fund in trust for me and so then I did not need it. I took a lease on The Crow’s Nest and moved in with the girls and my pupils.’ She smiled wanly. ‘You see, now I have a school, only Julia has run off and we must find her before something terrible happens to her.’
‘You think she might have eloped?’
She gave a cracked laugh. ‘She is only thirteen. If she has eloped, it is with a great white stallion.’
‘I am coming to the conclusion you have a fever of the brain,’ he said, refusing to allow her obvious agitation to affect his normal calm. The carriage had come to a stop.
‘Can’t go any further, my lord,’ the driver called down. ‘Less’n we go over the edge of yon cliff.’
They were outside The Crow’s Nest. Without waiting for the carriage door to be opened for her, Charlotte jumped down and ran to the kitchen door. ‘Betsy, let me in,’ she called, thumping on it.
Bolts were withdrawn and the door flung open and Betsy stood in its frame. �
��Have you found her, my lady?’ The question made Charlotte’s heart sink into her boots; Julia had evidently not come back on her own.
‘No, nor the Viscount either. Have Jenkins and Jem returned?’
‘No, my lady, aren’t they with you?’ She peered past Charlotte to the man who stood behind her. ‘Who’s he?’
She smiled wanly. ‘My great-uncle, Lord Falconer,’ she said.
He put his hand into the small of her back and propelled her indoors past the startled servant. ‘A reviving cup of tea for her ladyship,’ he ordered. Then, to Charlotte, ‘Which way is the drawing room?’
‘I do not have one, only a little parlour,’ she answered with a weak smile. ‘And if you think I can sit and drink tea at a time like this then you are mistaken, my lord. I have a missing pupil and I cannot rest until she is found. Betsy will find refreshment for you.’ And she pulled her cloak about her and slipped past them all before they could stop her and set off for the cliff top.
He stopped only long enough to tell his coachman to look after his horses before following her. By heavens, he would ring a peal over her when this night’s work was done. And Stacey Darton too. He had met the Earl of Malcomby once, years ago, but never made the acquaintance of his son. He was a soldier, he recalled, and had a reputation for bravery in action, but if he was a cousin of that scapegrace, Hobart, and colluded with him in turning Charlotte from her home, he would live to regret it.
Was that why Charlotte seemed so afraid of the man’s anger? But if that were the case, why did she refer to him by his given name, as if they were close? And why was she so hard up? It was unbelievable that her husband had not provided for her, nor that she could be so foolish as to think she could run a school. Ladies should not indulge in business. He should never have lost touch with her mother and now he had to make amends.
He caught up with her as she stood at the top of the cliff, looking out over the sea. A ship lay at anchor a little way off and there were boats being lowered. ‘They’re here,’ she said. ‘They’ve come.’
‘Free-traders. You knew about them? You were expecting them?’
She did not answer, but hurtled down the steep path, so fast she could not stop herself. He scrambled after her.
Stacey was pleasantly surprised at how well his plans had gone so far, though he had not seen Augustus Spike since he left the Manor. He had seen the ship hove to and, with a spyglass which he had brought with him, recognised The Kentish Maid simply by the crude flag she was flying atop her mainmast. He had looked towards the lighthouse, hoping Gerard and his men were there, though there was nothing to be seen except the light shining out to sea. He turned from there to look at The Crow’s Nest, further along the cliff. The house was in darkness and all he could see was its stark outline against the moonless sky. He breathed a sigh of relief that Charlotte had obeyed him and shut herself in and was showing no light. There was no reason why the free-traders should interest themselves in that house.
He allowed himself to muse a moment on what might be going on there: Charlotte reading, the girls sewing, Betsy making supper and Miss Quinn tidying the girls’ clothes—a bit like Susan Handy, he thought, both fussed about a great deal and imagined themselves indispensable. And Julia, would she be behaving herself, coming to like Charlotte? Oh, he had a mountain to climb to persuade his daughter to accept a stepmother, but, if anyone could help him do it, Charlotte could.
He smiled and beckoned to Joe White, young Danny’s father. The man emerged from the shadows at the base of the cliffs. ‘My lord.’
‘You know what to do?’ he said.
The man grinned. ‘Yes, knock them up at the Manor, tell them the villagers hin’t turned up, and I couldn’t mek them come and what was I to do? I couldn’t shift a boatload all on me own.’
‘Good. Tell them the ship’s master has come ashore and is demanding to see them. He’ll not land the stuff unless they meet him. And he’s mighty angry there’s no tub carriers. When you are sure they are coming, you get on home and, for all anyone but your wife knows, you’ve been in your bed all night.’
‘Yes, my lord. And thank yer.’ He pocketed the two guineas he was given and hurried off. Stacey took the flasher from his pocket and gave the signal. It was answered by three flashes from the ship and then he saw the boats being lowered and grinned in satisfaction, though he hoped Gerard would not reveal himself until Sir Roland and Augustus Spike appeared on the scene. What he would do about Cecil if he came too, he had not quite made up his mind.
He whipped round when he heard loose stones falling down the cliff behind him and saw a figure hurtling down the steep path at such a rate she was in danger of tumbling head over heels. It was a woman, he could see that much; her voluminous cloak billowed out behind her, hampering her. Her hands were held out as if to save herself; her feet scrabbling for a foothold and often slipping. There was no doubt who she was. He ran to catch her just as her feet gave up the struggle to keep up with her body, and she fell the last few yards.
‘Charlotte! What in God’s name do you think you are about?’ It was said roughly, his fear for her safety doing battle with his annoyance that, after all, she had not obeyed him.
For the second time that night, she was too winded to speak. She stood in his encircling arms and laid her head on his shoulder, struggling to regain her breath. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she panted. ‘It’s Julia…’
‘What about Julia? Is she ill? Hurt?’ The boats were nearing the shore and he could see other people coming down the cliff path, three dark shapes picking their way carefully over the rough ground, and assumed it was Sir Roland, Augustus Spike and Cecil. He had to get her off the beach. Once the ringleaders arrived he had to signal to Gerard and then all hell would be let loose. And Gerard would not thank him for any delay that resulted in him losing his prize.
‘She’s disappeared.’
‘When? How?’ Smugglers were forgotten for the moment. This was far more important.
‘She crept out after she was supposed to be in bed. We think she has taken Ivor.’
‘Oh, my God! Couldn’t you have kept an eye on her? Three women and four children and you couldn’t keep one silly girl in. How long has she been gone?’
‘We don’t know. We’ve searched everywhere. Jem and Jenkins came down here to look for her because we knew she wanted to ride on the beach. Did you not see them?’
‘No. God Almighty, woman, can’t I trust you to do anything?’ It was his concern, his guilt, perhaps, that he had left her to manage a daughter who was nigh unmanageable that made him speak so brusquely, but he felt her wince and regretted his outburst immediately.
‘You will cease to speak in such tones to a lady,’ said a cold voice behind him. ‘And release her at once.’
He turned. It was not Cecil or Sir Roland, though they hovered in the background, nor was it Augustus Spike. This man was a stranger. Stacey looked seawards. The boats had not yet reached the shore so he could not have come from the ship. ‘I shall speak to her as I think fit, sir,’ he said angrily. ‘She had the care of my daughter and has managed to lose her.’
‘And you would do better to go in search of her instead of lining your pockets at the taxpayers’ expense. I’ve a good mind to hand you in.’
Stacey was reminded of Gerard, patiently waiting for his signal that everyone they wanted was assembled. Should he give it? Would it make any difference to Julia’s safety or Charlotte’s if he did? The girl was on Ivor and there was no sign of the horse on the beach, nor had there been while he had been down here, so she must have ridden elsewhere. He prayed as he had never prayed before that the stallion had not thrown her down the cliffs or into the incoming tide and that, wherever she was, she was safe.
‘I do not think I have had the pleasure,’ Sir Roland drawled lazily, turning towards Lord Falconer.
‘Nor I,’ Stacey put in. ‘Who are you, sir?’
‘He is my great-uncle,’ Charlotte said.
‘Lord Falconer?’ The expression on Stacey’s face would have made Charlotte laugh if she had not be so overwrought.
‘The same. Now unhand my niece and go and search for your daughter.’ He looked at the boats, which were drawing up on the beach and had men tumbling from them, expecting tub carriers to be on hand to take over the cargo, but there appeared to be none. Stacey had to give the signal: it was now or never.
‘Stacey,’ Charlotte said, looking up into his face. ‘We must look for Julia—’
She got no further. The revenue men suddenly appeared, running along the strand, some making for the boats, others straight for the group under the lee of the cliffs. The boatmen assumed they were the late-arriving tub carriers and did nothing to save themselves. Until they produced pistols, determined that no one should escape. Stacey flung himself in front of Charlotte and Cecil started to run, followed by Sir Roland. Lord Falconer simply stood his ground.
‘Halt or we will shoot,’ Gerard roared at the retreating backs.
When they did not obey he fired, but only around their feet, bringing them to a sudden halt. Two of the Coast Blockade went and fetched them back, while the others rounded up four seamen who had been too slow getting back to the boats. The rest were rowing away as fast as they could, with bullets spattering in the water round them.
‘Do we have them all?’ Gerard asked.
‘No,’ Stacey said. ‘Augustus Spike is missing. I haven’t seen him all evening.’
‘Oh, Stacey,’ Charlotte whispered. ‘You don’t think he’s got Julia, do you?’
‘My God, if he has, I’ll kill him.’ He looked wildly about him, but there was no sign of horse or rider. Nor Spike, come to that. ‘Go home with Lord Falconer and leave it to me. I’ll find her.’