As if this was an arranged meeting, she calmly remarked, ‘The miracle man who walked alone out of the sea of the dead to join the living. What brings you here, Lancer?’
‘I have come to take up the position of estate manager that you promised me.’
‘Hold on there,’ she advised, dismounting and wagging a finger at him. ‘As I recall I offered the position not promised it. There have been changes here since we last met.’
‘The position is no longer open?’
Shaking her head she replied, ‘That is not correct. The principal change is that I am married. I am now Sarai Edelcantz. My husband is Emil.’
‘I take it that he is now managing the estate.’ Lancer stated rather than questioned.
‘You take it wrong. Emil Edelcantz is capable of drinking two or three bottles of brandy of a night but would definitely be unable to manage as much as a chicken run. Having said that, I should warn that though I feel free to criticize my husband it is not open to others to do so.’
‘Will he be giving me orders if I become your estate manager?’
‘He will not. I am still my own woman.’
‘Then I will have no reason to criticize him,’ Lancer decided.
One foot in the stirrup, Sarai spoke as she swung up into the saddle. ‘If you care to walk up to the house we can discuss the possibility of your employment.’
‘I’ll be there,’ a pleased Lancer promised.
‘And I will be waiting for you,’ she said, giving a little tug on the reins to hold back the stallion who was about to move off. ‘There is one other item: something that can’t be mentioned in the company of my husband. I understand you were in Exeter Gaol at the same time Gray Sawtell was there.’
‘I was.’
‘Did you have the opportunity to speak to him?’
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘Because …’ She replied hesitantly, her usual arrogance replaced by coyness. ‘Well … I suppose I would like to know how he was during his last days.’
‘That suggests that he meant a lot to you.’
‘What grounds have you for making such a supposition?’
‘The first time we met he was waiting for you a little further along the trail. From your reaction to him being there I judged that the two of you weren’t just going to exchange polite “Good afternoons” as you passed by.
‘For a potential employee you are grossly impertinent, Lancer,’ she protested.
Glaring angrily at him, she rode off fast without uttering another word. He was left wondering if he had blown his chances of becoming estate manager prior to even reaching Adamslee House.
‘Willie Brickell has been released, he’s back home.’
Delighted by this news, Arabella was also thrilled by the fact that this was the first sentence Lionel had spoken to her in many weeks. He had completely changed, having almost gone back to being the old Lionel. He had arrived home that evening earlier than usual, which was doubly surprising as his brother Malcolm had come back to the village for a few days. When she made it clear that she was making tea for them both, Lionel had meekly sat at the table. She decided to choose the right time, supposing that there was one, to tell him that she had found employment at Adamslee House. Lionel’s temper had become so bad that it had recently manifested as frightening tantrums. Even so, his pride was intact. Considering himself to be the man of the house, she feared that he might well go berserk when she told him that she would be contributing to the household finances.
Staying with the subject he had introduced, she commented, ‘I didn’t think Willie was capable of killing anyone.’
‘Maybe not doing the killing,’ Lionel said. ‘But they hanged Sawtell for that, and Willie always did as Sawtell told him, so he was probably guilty of helping.’
Though wanting to argue on Willie’s behalf, Arabella was keen to avoid saying anything to upset Lionel now that he was talking to her again. So she agreed. ‘You are no doubt right, Lionel.’
‘I was pleased with the money Sawtell paid me,’ Lionel reminisced, ‘but maybe I did wrong by working for him. He rightly paid the penalty for murder, and perhaps I have been punished for getting involved in smuggling. I have a feeling that now my luck is about to change.’
This provided Arabella with the lead-in she desperately needed to break her news to him. ‘I believe that you are right, Lionel. Our luck is changing for the better. I have got myself work in the kitchen at Adamslee House.’
Hearing her own words echoing around the barely furnished room, Arabella waited in dread. Expecting him to explode in a terrible rage at any moment, she was staggered to hear him speak in a calm voice and call her by name for the first time in weeks.
‘That is good news, Bella, really good news.’
‘You don’t mind me going out to work?’ an incredulous Arabella managed to enquire.
‘Of course not,’ Lionel assured her. ‘It eases my mind to hear that you will have money coming in. You see, I was about to tell you that Malcolm is going back to London tomorrow, and I am going with him. He says that he can get me well-paid work either on the docks or at sea.’
The limited but brighter world Arabella had been building since her return from the successful visit to Adamslee House, collapsed. She wept uncontrollably. That he ignored her distress confirmed one devastating: Lionel Heelan would never return to her, or to Adamslee.
Sarai Edelcantz remained standing when she invited Lancer into her study, and she didn’t ask him to sit. Not speaking, she turned her back on him to gaze unseeingly out of the window. There were times when she didn’t like herself, and this was one of them. Though the horrific image of Gray Sawtell’s face and eyes minutes before his death would be with her forever, she was mortified by how rapidly her feelings for him had faded. Now the presence of Joby Lancer in the confines of her office was awakening Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of love who had dwelt within her since puberty.
Turning to face him she asked for forgiveness, ‘Please excuse my rudeness.’
‘No apology necessary,’ he declared with a smile. ‘I was aware that you had things on your mind.’
If you deduced that, she thought, I am glad that you are not a mind-reader. Maybe that isn’t so! If you knew what I was thinking at this moment we could both take a short cut to what I know we both want, and then discuss the estate manager business afterwards. Control yourself, Sarai, she silently commanded, with a reminder that she was the lady of the manor about to interview a prospective employee, not some painted up strumpet looking to turn a trick.
‘Your prompt arrival tells me that the job interests you,’ she ventured. ‘Am I right?’
‘I need work, Sarai.’
‘The position is yours, but there are one or two stipulations. Alfred Gribble, your predecessor, was a perfectionist, a really dedicated worker who ran this estate as if it were his own. I have no doubt that you will be equally as efficient, most probably more so, but I want to be involved. Gribble took decisions, brought about changes, without consulting or even considering me. It was as if I did not exist.’
‘That won’t happen with me, Sarai,’ Lancer guaranteed. ‘You have existed for me, often frustratingly, since we first met at the place where we were reunited a short while ago.’
Obviously pleased by this, she told him, ‘You have a way with words, Lancer, and a manner that proves you have had your way with many women. I would be impressed if you had not walked away from me the day we first met, only to come back to me months later after spending time in prison.’
‘That’s easily explained. But I have already incurred your wrath by mentioning Gray Sawtell.’
‘I was angry with myself rather than you,’ she declared. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you why at some time, maybe I won’t.’
‘It’s your prerogative, Sarai.’
‘It will be difficult for me to get used to having someone around who uses big words,’ she said with a short laugh. ‘Most of the people I encounter each
day find it difficult to grunt intelligently.’
‘When there are other people around I will grunt if you wish,’ he offered humorously.
‘If there should be an occasion for you to grunt, it will be when we are alone,’ she couldn’t stop herself from advising suggestively. Though pleased to see his reaction, she recovered from this lapse to adopt a business-like manner. ‘You will not be expected to share the servants’ quarters downstairs, but will have a room on this floor. However, there are some house rules. When we are alone I will be Sarai to you, and you will be Joby to me. When there is anyone else present, be it a servant or a guest, you must call me Mrs Edelcantz and I will use your surname when I address you.’
‘I’ll obey the rules, Sarai,’ he promised.
‘Good. Now we must discuss your salary.’
Nine
ON HER FIRST morning at Adamslee House, Arabella entered the large, spotlessly clean kitchen with trepidation. Aware as she stepped over the threshold into the kitchen that she was a simple village lass invading the intimidating world of the upper-classes, Arabella had the daunting impression that she was treading on hallowed ground. A middle-aged woman and a young girl, neither of whom Arabella knew, were standing at a table kneading dough. They glanced at her briefly in what she thought was an unfriendly manner. Mrs Winchell, who had been pleasant when Arabella had come to Adamslee House to apply for the job, appeared to be forbidding as she stood with arms folded waiting for her to approach.
Taking a few tentative steps forward, it was an immense relief for Arabella when Mrs Winchell gave her a welcoming smile and introduced the two kitchen workers, first indicating the woman. ‘This is Ida Sutton, who has worked here for so many years that she is a part of the furniture now. Ida is both a hard worker and an incessant talker. This pretty little wench is Nelly Wellman, who I’m sure will be delighted to have a workmate of around her own age. Ida, Nelly, meet Arabella who has joined our little band.’
‘It is nice to meet you, love,’ Ida Sutton said, adding jokingly, ‘and I know that I speak for Nelly, too. She don’t say much but her heart is in the right place even if her brain ain’t.’
‘That ain’t a nice thing to say, Ida,’ the girl admonished the older woman, wearing a smile that enhanced her prettiness as she advanced to hug Arabella. ‘I do hope we can be good friends, Arabella.’
‘I am sure that we will be, Nelly. Everyone calls me Bella.’
‘Then that’s what we shall call you,’ Mrs Winchell announced. ‘Now, we know who each other is, and there is work to be done. You can start over here by greasing these pans, Bella.’
Relieved by the welcome she had received, Arabella hurried over to eagerly start the chore she had been assigned.
‘That should not have happened,’ Sarai declared both lazily and unconvincingly.
Eyes closed she lay at Lancer’s side, absently chewing on a blade of glass. They had started out on a dark and dismal afternoon on a ride to acquaint him with the perimeter of the estate. Along the way the sun had been anxious to be seen, parting heavy curtains of cloud so that it was pleasant enough to stop and take a rest on a low hill.
‘Is that your way of telling me that you regret it?’ Lancer enquired.
‘Certainly not,’ she declared, raising herself up on to one elbow to look down at him. ‘It was really very special, if that term can be used to describe a civilized couple making wild love in the long grass like a pair of gypsies.’
Lancer sat up. Still not accustomed to being free, even the scenery seemed out of perspective. The downs gave the impression that they were unnaturally close. It was as though he could have stretched out a hand and touched them. His prison-conditioned body had reacted gratefully to the sunlight with a feeling as if he was bathing in warm golden water. The soft skin and fragrance of a woman always had a therapeutic effect on him.
‘I always fancied the gypsy way of life, and now I know why,’ he remarked.
‘I don’t know whether to believe that or not.’ Sarai sighed. ‘I always found an air of mystery in a man to be attractive, but you are a total enigma, Joby Lancer. You give nothing of yourself.’
‘I have never had any complaints.’
Exasperated, she complained, ‘You are deliberately misunderstanding me. I am not referring to what happened here. All I know about you is that you walked out of the sea like some mythical figure, an ancient legend. You had to come from somewhere. I am aware that the Paloma was a troopship. Were you a soldier?’
Lancer hesitated, undecided. Sarai had given him much-needed employment at a high rate of pay, more money than he had ever been paid. She had a right to know more about him, but it would be disastrous if his past should be generally known. The hills and dales of the countryside were as evil as the dark and dangerous alleyways of the cities, perhaps more so in some different way. Records would show that he hadn’t been among the dead, so there would now be a bounty on his head. There was doubtless many a poverty-stricken Judas around who would sell him out to the political dictators in London.
‘This has to be just between you and me, Sarai,’ he stipulated, before venturing further.
‘As a married woman, Joby, I trust that everything between you and me is strictly between you and me.’
Still hesitant, Lancer pointed out, ‘Your good name is safe with me, Sarai, but I have much more to lose.’
‘That sounds very serious.’
‘Believe me, it is.’
‘Even so, you are in no danger from me, but you must obey your own counsel, Joby.’
‘I find that difficult where you are concerned.’
‘I am sorry that I pressed you,’ she replied, in a tone that conveyed she was miffed.
‘I wasn’t complaining, but was trying to pay you a compliment in a twisted kind of way,’ he attempted to explain. ‘I was a captain serving with the 38th Regiment of Foot. But on the Paloma I was a prisoner being brought back to England to face a court martial on a charge of cowardice in the face of the enemy.’
Impulsively embracing him, clinging to him tightly for some time before speaking, Sarai then said, ‘I wouldn’t believe for one second that a man like you could be accused of cowardice, Joby.’
‘Thank you for your support, Sarai, but the army believes it and the court martial will believe it, so whether or not it is true is academic. ’
‘If they are unable to find you there won’t be a court martial,’ she rationalized. ‘No one here, other than me, knows anything of your history. I certainly won’t be revealing it to anyone.’
‘I know that,’ he confirmed. The sap from the blade of grass had moistened and put a gloss on her full lips, and he couldn’t resist kissing her. ‘I am pretty sure that I can spend the rest of my time here in Devon without being discovered by the army. I think I might try the Romany way of life.’
Aware that he was trying to lift their spirits, she chuckled. ‘Don’t expect me to join you; I have to keep up appearances. It wouldn’t be possible for me to mingle with royalty one moment and squat on my haunches making clothes pegs the next. Which reminds me, not the clothes peg part the aristocracy, Emil will probably be back at the house now. We had better be on our way.’
Gaining something from having shared his secret with her, Lancer’s good feeling increased as they rode through the beautiful countryside. This lasted only until they neared the house and he saw a tall man walking along the terrace, putting garden furniture back into place now that the threat of rain had passed. This was his first sighting of Count Edelcantz.
A light breeze that smelled of the river and pine woods and forest flowers plucked gently at the leaves on the trees that they passed through as they rode in. Edelcantz stood waiting for them. Slender and urbane, his fair hair clustered in natural curls on his long, aristocratic head, he greeted Sarai but afforded Lancer nothing more than a superior glance. It was enough to free Lancer of any guilt he might have felt, but didn’t, about cuckolding the haughty Swedish nobleman.
‘This is Joby Lancer, Emil,’ Sarai said in an attempt at creating a normal situation.
Edelcantz’s right hand moved as if about to offer a handshake. Sunlight sparkled off the big black stone set in a ring on his middle finger as he thought better of the potential handshake by pulling his hand back and walking away.
‘Emil has a tendency towards snobbishness,’ Sarai offered apologetically.
‘I would say that’s only one of his problems,’ Lancer observed with an indifferent shrug.
Becoming quietly insightful, Sarai murmured, ‘Our marriage is a sham, Joby. I don’t love him, in fact I don’t even like him, but by agreeing to be his wife I do owe him respect.’
‘You weren’t being very respectful just a half-hour ago,’ Lancer reminded her as they walked their horses to the stables.
‘That was a cruel thing to say,’ a saddened Sarai complained. ‘I have regretted my actions countless times in the past, absolutely detesting my weakness, but my nature is a family legacy that I have no control over. Perhaps my behaviour borders on insanity, but at least I can satisfy my primitive urges in the natural way. Oliver Adams, one of my ancestors of just a few generations back, was completely mad. He burned this place to the ground and himself with it. His portrait hangs at the top of the stairs, and I shiver every time that I pass it.’
‘You should stop and have a word with him’ Lancer advised drily. ‘Perhaps you could persuade his ghost to set Emil alight.’
‘You are wicked, Joby Lancer,’ she chided him smilingly. ‘I would probably take you up on that idea if I could trust Oliver not to burn me to ashes as well.’
‘I think you could trust him not to set fire to one of the family, Sarai.’
‘The fact Oliver set fire to himself would not seem to guarantee that. Anyway, Emil wouldn’t be here now if you had come back to me sooner,’ she affirmed.
The Toll of the Sea Page 15