Smugglers' Summer

by Carola Dunn

  “It is only a carnelian. If your mama objects, I shall keep it for you and you may wear it when you visit. After seeing how pretty you are in elegant clothes and with your new coiffure, I refuse to let you sink back into drabness.”

  “You are a darling.” Octavia hugged her. “Whatever happens in the future, I shall wear it now and enjoy it. Do you really think I look pretty?”

  “Only look at yourself in the mirror. You cannot doubt your own eyes."

  “I scarcely recognise myself.”

  “Those curls want some more brushing,” said Ada severely. “Natural they may be, but they won’t set right without you help ‘em. Let me show you how, miss. There now, if I don’t have two young ladies fit to set the Thames on fire!”

  “The Tamar, you mean,” said Julia, suddenly losing her high spirits. “How I wish I were in London! At least among so many people that odious Sir Tristram could not persecute me with his attentions.”

  “You are unjust. He does not persecute you, and I do not think him in the least odious.”

  Julia sighed. “You are right. Isolated as we are his constant presence is inevitable, and I will even admit that he is charming. But I do not love him and I wish he will go away."

  Dinner was not a cheerful meal. They judged it wisest not to disturb Lady Langston with the story of their afternoon’s explorations, so the conversation was an exchange of commonplaces in which Julia did not trouble to join. When the ladies withdrew, Sir Tristram remained at table long enough to fortify himself with a glass of brandy against the evening ahead.

  When he went up to the drawing room, Octavia was reading, her ladyship had taken up her embroidery and was actually setting a stitch, and Julia was at her favourite post, gazing out of the east window. He joined her.

  “Do you care to walk in the gardens, Miss Langston?” he asked. “It will be light for an hour and more.”

  “These June evenings go on forever.” She sounded as if she thought the sun shone late deliberately to annoy her.

  “Or a game of chess, perhaps?”

  “Ask Octavia. I must help Mama sort her silks.”

  The baronet and Octavia set up the chess board by the west window, while Julia pulled up a footstool by her mother’s sofa and took several skeins of thread from the workbasket. For several minutes the quiet was broken only by the murmur of the players.

  “Julia! You are tying my silk in knots! Pray leave it alone and go play upon the spinet. You have scarce touched the instrument since we came and it has a prodigious pretty sound.”

  “What is the point of playing when there is no one to listen!” cried Julia.

  My lady’s shocked look was followed by a plea from Octavia.

  “Do play, Ju. I love to hear it. Indeed I did not realise there was an instrument here or I should have asked you long ago. You will not blame us for being a smaller audience than you deserve.”

  “My playing is nothing beyond the ordinary,” Julia disclaimed, but she looked ashamed of her outburst and went to the spinet.

  The next few days passed in much the same occupations, except that without the excitement of the secret map Julia’s fretful temper was still more marked. On the evening of the fourth day, she took her seat at the spinet without being asked, but she played with a mournful dreaminess clearly intended for her own ears only.

  Sir Tristram and Octavia were playing backgammon. He threw a double five and knocked one of her most promising pieces off the board.

  “Have you considered my request for advice?” he asked under cover of the music. “You have had ample opportunity to discover how your cousin regards my suit.”

  “I am certain that you do your cause no good by staying here. She sees only that you are not James Wynn.”

  “Does she truly love him? Here, it is your turn to toss the dice.”

  “Ha, a double six! Now I shall have my revenge. What is true love? She pines for him. If she saw him daily, who knows how she would feel by now? I believe my uncle was wrong to part them at this juncture, and still more wrong to separate her from all company and entertainment that might serve to direct her thoughts away from him.”

  “In his case, absence makes the heart grow fonder. I am afraid that in mine, it is more like to be out of sight, out of mind. Yet if I stay, it is only to give my head for washing. You advise me to go."

  “She must regret your departure. She is a social creature, and if an audience of three is not enough, two will hardly suffice! Perhaps she will see your merits more clearly in your absence. But I do not mean to raise your hopes too high. Have you never thought of giving up the pursuit?”

  “A feeble wretch I should be to give up so easily! I have some sense of my own merits, as it pleases you to call them, and Lord Langston is on my side. I must hope that time is, too. However, I will trust your judgement and make myself scarce for a fortnight or so. In fact, I have urgent business at home that cannot be well managed by correspondence. The sooner I go, the better.”

  Octavia rattled the dice thoughtfully. The game had scarcely moved during their discussion. “Do you mean to travel by way of Plymouth?” she asked.

  “Yes. My horse is stabled there. Coming down I rode part of the way as a change from sitting in the Langstons’ carriage, but I shall ride all the way home. It is cross-country, with poor roads from here. Is there something I can do for you in Plymouth?”

  “If you do not care for company, I shall perfectly understand, but I have some few errands to perform in the town and I should be excessively glad of your escort down the river.”

  “I am entirely at your service, Miss Gray. Is tomorrow morning too soon for you?”

  “That will answer very well. Let us finish this game, then I shall ask my aunt’s permission."

  “My play, I think.” He threw a two and a three. “Alas, you have left me no room to move, ma’am, and I must forfeit my turn.”

  Chapter 9

  The trip downriver was very different from Octavia’s journey upstream, though she once again found herself aboard the River Queen. Captain Pilway seemed like an old friend now, and accompanied by Sir Tristram and Ada she could have faced with equanimity another encounter with smugglers at midnight.

  She was not called upon to do so. For one thing, they left at mid-morning. It was misty, with very little breeze, and the boat slipped quietly through the water carried by the combined efforts of the current and the ebb tide. The banks were scarcely visible, and Octavia was glad of the warmth of her grey and white striped pelisse.

  Since it was no longer her best, she had ventured to wear the grey figured silk dress. Sir Tristram had thoughtfully provided a blanket to sit on, and the deck had been swept between unloading limestone and loading the present cargo of fruit. An irresistible odour of gooseberries, cherries, and strawberries rose from the well.

  Shortly after they left Cotehele Quay, a rowboat appeared out of the mist. Octavia quite expected it to pull alongside and take aboard a bale or two of untaxed tobacco, but though Captain Pilway hailed the rower he did not slow down. A trail of bobbing floats followed the boat, circling out from the bank, and as they came closer she could see a net sliding into the water from its stern.

  The rower headed for shore. A couple of men in thigh-high boots pulled the boat in, then all three started hauling on the net. As the circle grew smaller, the water within swirled and a silver-glinting fish jumped, twisting in the air and scattering droplets before it fell back with a splash.

  “Salmon?” asked Octavia.

  “Good guess.” Sir Tristram had watched her intent face with slightly amused approbation. “If you are interested in the fishing, I believe you would enjoy a visit to Cotehele Mill. I shall take you there when I return.”

  “What is there to see at Cotehele Mill?”

  “All the industries of a country estate, and all in one place. Much the same activities may be found at my place in Gloucestershire, but scattered about.”

  “I should like to see it. Tell me ab
out Gloucestershire. Is it pretty country?”

  He described Dean Park and its surroundings. She listened with interest, asking questions, until Halton Quay came into view. The mist had thinned somewhat and she scanned the washing line hopefully, but there was no sign of the scarlet petticoat.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “The smugglers’ warning sign. It is not here today.”

  “You said something yesterday about trusting the evidence of your own eyes as to Jack Day’s profession.”

  It was his turn to listen as she recounted her adventures. She made a comedy of the tale and several times he laughed aloud. However, when she finished with her escape from the Riding Officer, he said seriously, “You came to no harm, I know, but I wish you will not travel alone again. Promise me you will hire a private boat to return today. I am certain your aunt expects it.”

  “I have Ada to protect me this time.” They both looked to where the abigail dozed in a corner of the deck, and she laughed. “I promise, if you will tell me how to arrange it.”

  “I shall arrange it myself, before I leave. Also before I leave, I hope you will honour me with your company at luncheon at some inn. Breakfast already seems long ago.”

  Octavia accepted both gracefully and gratefully. As if reading their hungry minds, the sailor Tom made his way forward at that moment, bearing a tin bowl of cherries.

  “Cap’n’s compliments an’ there be goosegogs an’ strawb’ries too if ’e’d like ’em, miss.”

  A breeze rose, and with its aid the sun drove off the mist. By the time they reached the Sound, sparkling whitecaps danced about the River Queen. They had a superb view of Mount Edgcumbe, with its wide avenue leading up to the stately Tudor mansion. Sir Tristram pointed out a number of follies, ranging from a temple in honour of Milton to a Gothic ruin. Octavia longed to explore the grounds, though it seemed highly unlikely that she would ever have the chance. She was sorry when they turned away towards Plymouth.

  As Sir Tristram helped her ashore, she saw the New Customs House on the quay.

  “I must deliver a letter there,” she said, pointing. “It will not take a moment.’’

  She left him giving directions for his saddlebags, his only luggage, to be taken to the Golden Hind Inn, and with Ada following she went up to the gate of the Customs House. She handed her note to the porter, asking him to see it delivered to Lieutenant Cardin, and was turning away when he stopped her.

  “Mr Cardin’s within, miss, if ye’ll bide for an answer.”

  “I did not expect an answer,” Octavia said.

  “‘Twon’t take but a minute to find un. ‘Tis right sorry the lieutenant’d be to miss his sweetheart.” The man winked at Ada and hurried off, just as Sir Tristram came up.

  Octavia crimsoned at the sight of his raised eyebrows.

  “I am not his sweetheart, indeed I am not,” she said indignantly. “He was kind to me when I arrived in Plymouth and I promised to let him know I had reached Cotehele safely. Then I did not like to send word to the Customs House by way of the Tamar smugglers.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Sir Tristram, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. “It must be awkward to have friends in both camps. Shall we see what the Golden Hind can do in the way of a neat luncheon?”

  He offered his arm, but before she could take it Lieutenant Cardin dashed out of the Customs House. He saw them, looked around bewildered, then approached.

  “Miss Gray? It is you! I can see you are perfectly recovered from that devilish stagecoach. I hardly recognised you, ma’am. I hope you’ll let me show you about town this time?”

  “Thank you, sir, I should be happy to accept but we are on our way to luncheon.” Dimpling at the admiration in his eyes, Octavia presented him to Sir Tristram.

  The young officer saluted. Sir Tristram shook hands with him and professed himself delighted to make the acquaintance.

  “The name is familiar,” he said. “If you care to join us, perhaps we can ferret out some connection.”

  “There is a connection, of sorts,” Mr Cardin blurted out as they started up the street. “I have seen you at Mount Edgcumbe, sir. The earl is my patron.”

  “Ah, I have it. Your father was the midshipman who saved the first earl’s life. At the Battle of Quiberon Bay, was it not?”

  “That’s right, sir. My father advanced to captain, but he died before I was old enough to go to sea. His lordship—the present earl, that is—helped me to enter the Navy, and then to obtain promotion. I transferred quite recently to the Customs service. The Navy is laying up ships, you know, since the end of the war with France.”

  Sir Tristram was pleased with the lieutenant’s cheerful, sensible conversation. They enjoyed a luncheon of Cornish pasties and grilled mackerel with new peas, and then he commended Octavia to the young man's care without a qualm. If he understood her circumstances aright, it could prove a respectable alliance for both. While she might look higher on the social scale, and he for a bride with a more ample portion, with Lord Edgcumbe’s patronage their prospects must satisfy their friends.

  Sir Tristram counted himself their friend, and one not without influence to be used in their favour. Nonetheless, the idea left him vaguely dissatisfied.

  Laughing at himself in the role of matchmaker when his efforts in his own behalf met with so little success, he went to find his horse.

  Lieutenant Cardin had never shopped for a lady’s parasol before, but he knew where the best shops were and was happy to lend his support and advice. After much dithering and laughter, Octavia emerged from the third haberdasher’s with two pair of gloves and a beruffled parasol of white oiled silk, polka-dotted in black. The proprietor promised it would hold off a shower of rain as well as the rays of the sun, and Ada said it would go with any outfit.

  A milliner provided a saucy chipstraw hat decorated with white artificial roses, ideal for the country, and they moved on to the shoemaker. Here Ada insisted that the lieutenant wait outside (“Ankles!” she whispered to Octavia), and they saw him through the shop window, striding impatiently up and down, while slippers, sandals, and half-boots bestrewed the floor. Feeling shockingly extravagant, Octavia chose a pair of boots and two each of slippers and sandals. She counted her money, found she had more left than she had supposed, and added a pair of stout walking shoes.

  Ada nodded wisely. “Miss Julia can’t resist a bit of lace,” she said, “and I can see you’re the same with shoes, miss. It’s a good thing Plymouth prices are half what they are in town. We’d best be going now, afore you see anything else to take your fancy and afore the young gentleman comes in to fetch you out.”

  Mr Cardin happily relieved them of the packages and begged them to step into a nearby coffeehouse for a cup of tea. Refreshed, they left the parcels with the proprietor and walked about the Barbican, then strolled across the grassy Hoe with its spectacular view of the shipping in the harbour and Sound. All too soon it was time to fetch the shopping and repair to the quay to find the boat ordered by Sir Tristram.

  “I have enjoyed myself prodigiously, sir,” said Octavia, offering her hand to the lieutenant.

  Instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips. “You will let me know next time you come to Plymouth, won’t you?” His pleading eyes made him look like a hopeful puppy. “There are still any number of sights to be seen.”

  “Your duties do not seem to occupy a great deal of your time.”

  “Unless I am at sea, I can always get away for a few hours. Much of our work is done at night. Please say you will come again?”

  “I cannot be sure, because my cousin is not permitted to leave Cotehele and it is not fair to abandon her. But if I do come, I will call at the Customs House to see how you go on. There, does that satisfy you?”

  “It will have to,” he said sadly, and helped her into the boat.

  The hired boat was much smaller than the cargo-carrying sailing barges, and much more comfortable. Octavia leaned back on th
e well-cushioned seat, her packages at her feet, and trailed her fingers in the water. Lieutenant Cardin stayed on the wharf, waving, for as long as she could see him.

  “You’ve made a conquest there, right enough,” commented Ada with a smile.

  Octavia turned to her, startled.

  “You mean . . . you mean he is enamoured?” she asked incredulously.

  “Head over heels, if you ask me, miss. Nice young chap, but with his way to make in the world yet.”

  “If you are warning me that he is not like to offer marriage in the near future, you need not trouble, Ada. I have no thought of such a thing. Indeed, I can scarcely believe you are serious!”

  “You’re still used to thinking of yourself as an antidote, begging your pardon, miss. It’s my belief that if you was to come out in society now, you’d have as many admirers as the most of them milk-and-water misses, and what’s more, they wouldn’t get bored, for you’ve a taking way with you and plenty of sense in your cockloft. You’ll excuse me talking so plain, miss, but I can’t abide to see you mistrust yourself so and I’d go bail the lieutenant is enamoured, as you put it.”

  Octavia put her arms round the maid’s neck and kissed her cheek. “Be careful,” she said, “or you will raise me so high in my own conceit you will be compelled to give me a sharp set down. If Mr Cardin has really conceived a tendre for me, I shall have to watch how I behave towards him if we meet again. I should not like to lose his friendship.”

  The return to Cotehele was tedious, though towards the end the setting sun painted the sky with crimson, gold, and green. Octavia missed Sir Tristram’s conversation. She was sure that Julia must feel the same and that he had been wise to leave.

  It was dusk when they arrived, and the gig from the house was waiting for them. Octavia took out her purse to pay the boatman, but he waved it away.

  “T’gennulman paid,” he said. “Not t’gennulman as seed you off, t’other gennulman.” He laid his finger along his nose and nodded his head knowingly.

  “Oh,” she said, in some confusion, “well, thank you.”