Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles)

by Louise Franklin

  She watched the waves for a moment, then made her way slowly back up the tunnel, wondering what she would do with her newfound knowledge. Would she try to stop the smugglers? They were using her property for their illegal trade, putting her in danger of arrest, if not worse. If these goods were found by excise men, Edward could be held accountable.

  What was the penalty for smuggling? she wondered. Near the top of the tunnel, she froze as she saw the flicker of a light behind the gates. She quickly extinguished her lamp and drew from her pocket a knife. She looked back down the way she had come, wondering if there was a path up the side of the cliff.

  A soft voice carried to her, and she frowned, thinking she recognized it. She crept slowly up the final stairs. She had left the gate open wide enough to walk through it without making any noise. She stood in the dark shadows of the dungeon, watching Peter and Harry examine the cargo just as she had done earlier. They had followed her.

  She sighed loud enough for them to hear, and so startled them that they jumped in her direction, their knives drawn. Peter held a candle in his left hand. They looked ready to fight to the death.

  “Stand down, boys, it’s only me,” she said and stepped slowly into the light.

  Clearly relieved, they lowered their knives. Harry smiled at her, though Peter looked like he still wanted to do her harm. His thin face was set in hard lines of anger.

  “You should not be here, miss,” Peter said.

  “You should not have followed me,” she replied, wondering why he was angry. “So we are even.”

  Harry grinned at her and she shook her head at him.

  “Still following me, Harry?”

  He nodded, looking proud of himself.

  “We need to leave,” Peter said.

  She didn’t argue with him. She swung the heavy gate closed. Replacing the lamp onto the floor, keen that nothing should look out of place, she followed the boys up the stairs and out. She closed the door but had no way of locking it, and knew that the smugglers would be highly alarmed at finding their door unlocked. This turn of events might be enough to scare them away. They might even move their contraband and not return.

  They walked through the woods in silence, returning to Ravenstone, with Peter constantly checking to see if they were being followed. Harry didn’t seem at all worried and walked along casually. At the stables, Harry nodded his good night but Peter followed her around the side of the west wing where the ivy clung to the dark walls. She studied him a moment, wondering how long he had known that she was no cripple.

  “Did Harry tell you?”

  He shook his head. “Harry keeps his secrets.”

  “And you are not going to ask me why, either, are you?”

  “It’s not my place to question you.”

  She studied his face. His were eyes focused on her, but she could read nothing in them.

  “You don’t trust me,” he said. “You want to know if I will keep your secret.”

  She nodded. Peter was no fool and his cunning made her more anxious, not less. Fools were easier to predict.

  “I saw you climb out your window weeks ago.”

  “And you have followed me ever since?”

  He remained silent.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I don’t sleep much.”

  This was probably true, but there was more he wasn’t saying.

  “Then I bid you good night, Peter,” she said and reached to pull herself back up the wall.

  He watched her climb, and then sidle along the roof before scaling down to her window. She opened it and crawled inside, then waved good night to him.

  She put on her nightdress, thinking about Peter’s speech. When he had first arrived two months ago, his London dialect had been strong. She still heard it sometimes, but he was actually working hard to lose his accent.

  He had lessons every day with the Mrs. Blackwell, who was a strict teacher. Perhaps she was forcing him to speak without the heavy dialect. Yet Georgiana had gotten the impression Peter wasn’t a boy who could be forced to do anything he didn’t want to do. So why did he want to?

  She unlocked her door and climbed into bed wondering if she was doing the right thing, trusting Peter. But then she didn’t really have a choice. In the end, she fell asleep, exhausted and dreamt of pirates chasing her through a dark forest.

  ***

  The day of the dinner at Hamly Hall arrived far too quickly, and Georgiana sighed heavily as Harriet styled her short hair carefully around her face. For propriety’s sake, as her mother would have it, one could not ignore an engagement, once accepted. She might want to ignore propriety, but she could not stand rudeness.

  With that thought, she dressed for the coming dinner, wearing her best gown. Choosing the blue muslin she had worn at her wedding, she added a pearl necklace and earrings. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she wrapped a cashmere shawl about her shoulders and asked Harriet to bring her cloak.

  Dixon carried her out into the waiting coach where Harry stood in his new uniform, grinning while he held open the door. Dixon was to accompany her, and rode with Harry who took his place behind the coach. The coachman cracked the whip, and they set off with a lurch.

  The road to Hamly House wound through the village and past the church where the gravestones cast long shadows with the setting sun. The vicar stood on the stone stairs leading up to the church and watched her coach pass. She smiled, remembering her thoughts of kissing him on her wedding day. It seemed a long time ago.

  The road wound past fields, farms, and small stone cottages until they turned between two iron gates. The formal gardens of Hamly house were perfectly kept, the house itself a Tudor of pale stone. The light shone brightly from the downstairs windows, and all too soon, they came to a stop. Harry opened the door and pulled down the steps, then stood aside as Dixon lifted his mistress from the carriage. He carried her up the short flight of stairs to the front door that swung open as they neared.

  Lady Kingston stood in the great hall waiting with a smile. “Lady Fairchild, I am so glad you have come to cheer our evening,” she said, and guided Dixon with an extended arm in the direction of the drawing room.

  Georgiana held her head high and smiled as she entered to find the drawing room filled with visitors. Clearly, she was to be the night’s main attraction as all conversation ceased with her arrival, and all eyes followed her entrance.

  Lady Kingston would have her sit on the settee next to her. Georgiana recognized Lydia and her brother, Robert, and Lady Kingston’s daughters. They all stood together in their finery, their eyes on her. Other guests, whom she had not met, mingled throughout the room, or sat in various chairs. Slowly she labored through their introductions to her as the night wore on. Every noble or gentry within a good distance had been invited, and had accepted.

  Georgiana soon was unable to remember any of the names of those introduced to her, and already she wished herself back at Ravenstone. She listened politely as Lord Kingston complimented her on her fortitude, riding despite being so disadvantaged. Another lady complimented her on her dress, and then the conversation lapsed and silence descended on the room again. Georgiana was determined not to be intimidated as she felt every gaze in the room on her. The butler appeared and announced the arrival of another guest, Captain Nicholas Markham. Georgina stopped breathing, truly wishing she could slip away unnoticed. The evening had suddenly gotten worse, much worse.

  The announcement brought an almost imperceptible gasp, primarily from the female guests in the room, and all eyes moved from her to the man that entered in blue uniform, his hat under his arm. He bowed to his hostess, Lady Kingston, who had quickly left Georgiana’s side to greet him.

  “Captain Markham, what a great surprise,” she breathed, her eyes shining at the magnificent success her evening was proving to be.

  “I am uninvited, Lady Kingston, and can only beg forgiveness. My only excuse for my intrusion is that I am in need of charming company.”


  “Had I known of your arrival here in the country, Captain Markham, be assured you would have received my invitation. With your presence, the evening is complete. You must meet our guest of honor, Lady Georgiana Fairchild, who has graced us with her company this evening.”

  He bowed deeply, his eyes only on her. “Lady Fairchild.”

  His tone sounded mocking to her, but no one else seemed to notice.

  “Captain Markham,” she responded simply.

  “You are in remarkable good health and happiness, Lady Fairchild. Married life must be agreeable to you.”

  “I have found it to have only advantages, Captain Markham.”

  “Not a life of enslaved servitude as you had feared?”

  His words set off a wave of whispering around the parlor and she forced herself to remain guarded. The entire room was hanging on their every word.

  “I find marriage to Sir Edward very agreeable. He is perfectly amiable.”

  “So would be any man, having removed himself far away.”

  She felt herself flush as the whispering turned to soft laughter. She was not to be forgiven then.

  He straightened before she could reply, and turned his back to her. Lady Kingston glanced at her daughters and moved forward on his arm toward them. They performed the expected curtsy with vigor, while he bowed in returned. He was soon absorbed into a small group and conversation was once again assured.

  Georgiana feared for what the rest of the evening would become.

  “It is most fortunate, indeed,” Lady Kingston said as she took her place next to Georgiana again. “My Caroline has set her cap at him, but Dorothea will not give him up so easily.”

  “Oh dear, I feel I must warn you, he is the most eligible young man here tonight, and quite a few young women will be vying for him. You are confident that they can hold his attention?”

  Lady Kingston turned, rather affronted by the question that came from an elderly woman, Mrs. Ashton, who was seated across from Georgina. The woman had, up to that point, ignored the entire party by sticking her nose in a book titled The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia. The book lay in her lap now, forgotten, as the unfolding drama before her absorbed her attention.

  “My daughters are the best match Captain Markham could hope for,” Lady Kingston said, her tone cold. “Why only last week the Marquess of Hartington himself paid us a visit. He was quite taken with both Caroline and Dorothea.”

  Lord Kingston raised an eyebrow at this statement but kept silent on the subject.

  “I do not question your daughters’ accomplishments, nor their breeding or beauty, for they have that. I only question their ability to be of interest. Having met Captain Markham on a previous occasion, I found the young man to be singular in his taste for intelligent conversation with little interest in the usual, accomplished young ladies. With only two minutes in your daughters’ company, I ascertained that intelligence is not their strong suit, my dear.”

  Stifling a laugh as Lady Kingston opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, Georgiana was relieved that the attention had shifted from her, and that there was once again conversation in the room. She could still feel the intrusive gaze of many of the guests, but she could at least now feel confident that she was not the only topic of conversation, and thus might yet survive the evening without further embarrassment. She thought of her mother, who would not have appreciated the circumstances.

  Lady Kingston, unable to find a suitable reply to Mrs. Ashton’s remark, rose from the settee and crossed the room to speak to her other guests. Lord Kingston smiled politely but remained silent. The other occupant of their small circle was the young Mr. Jones, whose eyes had not left her since she arrived. She had tried her best to ignore his rudeness, but turned now to stare at him, hoping he would relinquish his post. Her attention seemed to only encourage him, for with a smile from the left side of his mouth, he gave her a slightly drunken look. She despaired and returned to ignoring him.

  “Do you read, Lady Fairchild?” Mrs. Ashton asked.

  “Indeed, I do,” she said, hopeful for the one meaningful conversation of the evening.

  “And what do you read?” Mrs. Ashton asked, her face already drawn into lines of disapproval at what she feared she would hear.

  For a moment, Georgiana considered lying, answering with the name of some novel that was popular amongst young women and would draw superficial censure at best. She often ran into this dilemma of pretending to be someone she was not, only so as not to have someone find fault with her.

  “Come now, Lady Fairchild, surely you remember the name of the last book you picked up?” she asked impatiently.

  “Most recently, I read The Social Contract,” she said and waited for the reaction.

  “Rousseau,” Mrs. Ashton said, clearly surprised.

  “Why, yes,” she said sweetly.

  “You dare much, Lady Fairchild,” Mrs. Ashton proclaimed.

  “So I have been told.”

  Lord Kingston scowled at her with a fierce look of disapproval, while Mr. Jones still watched her, his expression unchanged. She wondered if he was listening at all, and supposed he was not.

  “How is your book?” Georgiana asked, indicating the one that lay in her lap.

  Mrs. Ashton picked it up and handed it to her. “It is the story of a young man, Rasselas, son of a King in Abyssinia, who escapes his gilded prison to see the world and search for happiness.”

  “Will he find it, do you think?” she asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Ashton replied, shaking her head and looking disappointedly at Georgiana. ”Happiness does not exist, my dear.”

  “You seem so sure of it.”

  “You are young,” Mrs. Ashton replied. “It is just as it should be that you have hope, but sad to say, being a keen observer and having reached a grand age, I can with good confidence relate that happiness lives only in the wishing for it.”

  “In that case, I shall waste no more time in trying to acquire it.”

  “That is quite impossible, I’m afraid. You see, it is in us to seek contentment except for those who are the kind who must breathe tragedy to survive.” She leaned slightly forward as if to impart a confidence and looked toward a woman on their right. The woman in question sat in a chair across the room, not engaged in conversation. “That is Mrs. Naslyton. She is one who feels cheated, when she does not have something to lament.

  “Her husband, the good Mr. Naslyton, renders himself into a drunken stupor to bear it. I am surprised they were invited at all, and I cannot think what Lady Kingston is about in requesting their presence tonight. Those such as myself, who have attained a vast experience of the world, closely examine the conduct and habits of others before they form a friendship on the sole recommendation of appearances.”

  “And do you have many friends, Mrs. Ashton?” Georgiana asked dryly.

  “Many? No,” she replied, her tone defensive. “Surely you would not acquaint yourself with them.”

  “I am unfortunately the kind that smiles at all and approves of even those poor souls who are destined not only to live on the edges of society, but beyond it.”

  “Then you lack courage to find fault with vice or to defend virtue. It shows a character whose preference or love is meaningless, for it is given too freely.”

  Georgiana smiled, not wishing to give offense, but also not wanting to continue the conversation.

  Mrs. Ashton returned to her book.

  Dinner was announced, and the drawing room soon emptied as the guests made their way to the dining room. She waited for Dixon to arrive, and watched Nicholas leave the room, escorting Caroline, and smiled to herself. She had been right about his choice.

  She was seated next to Lord Kingston who sat at the head of the table. Lady Kingston sat at the foot with Nicholas on her right and Caroline next to him. Georgiana glanced at him and he returned her glance with complete equanimity, then she broke away to answer a question from the gentleman on her left. She d
id her best to keep up the polite conversation about music and life in the country.

  Each course arrived, more delicious than the one previous, and she ate slowly, enjoying each dish. She smiled and laughed at appropriate moments, and forced herself to be as amiable as possible. The conversation turned to the war and Napoleon, as most conversations did. A question was asked of Nicholas, if he thought the war would soon be won. Everyone listened to his account of life on the seas, the woman responding to the romance of it while the men were more interested in the politics.

  Georgiana listened to his voice and not his words. She had missed the sound of him. It had about it a calming effect on her, the deep even rhythm of it, lulling her serenely as she listened. Then the conversation turned to the recent social unrest and the fear that a revolution could occur in England as it had in France.

  “It cannot happen here,” Sir Arnold Chettam proclaimed. “The poor in England may suffer but it is the fate of the poor to do so no matter what country they live in.”

  “Indeed,” replied Lord Kingston. “It is not the poor that are to blame for the unrest but those few troublemakers who stir them up for their own gain. We Englishmen are, however, blessed with Members of Parliament who have seen to it that sedition will not find its mark here. With the passage of the new Acts, no group can organize for fear of the consequences. We have made it illegal for groups of over fifty to assemble. That is what I call making good use of power and may those scoundrels be wary of it.”

  “What scoundrels, Papa?” Caroline asked prettily.

  “Why the Radical Whigs, of course,” he replied, scowling down the table. “Lord Grey, you know, criticizes the peninsular war. And that damned lawyer, Brougham, who has been let into the House of Commons, speaks of reforming education. Fortunately, he was defeated but he still causes trouble with his oratory and his influence. The push for reform in government is even more radical. They shall not rest until they see power shifted from the upper classes to the middle classes and they will use the masses to do.”