Smugglers' Summer

by Carola Dunn

  Sir Tristram threw Octavia a glance of commiseration and spent the evening at Julia’s side.

  It was still quite early when Julia stretched and yawned and declared that there was nothing like a day in the open to make one sleepy.

  “Come on, Tavy,” she added. “We cannot have you sleeping the day away again. What a waste of the countryside you longed for!”

  Miss Crosby’s face was full of triumph as Octavia unwillingly said her good nights and retired.

  Having risen so late, she was not in the least sleepy. She sat up in her bed, leaning against a pile of pillows, and tried to concentrate on the first part of Byron’s Don Juan, a poem Julia said every lady of fashion must be acquainted with. She did not like it, but it seemed an appropriate rebellion against Hannah More.

  There was a knock on the door and Ada came in.

  “Here’s a note from Sir Tristram, miss,” she announced in a conspiratorial whisper. “He said as you’d be wanting to hear how the captain goes on.” She handed over a much-folded sheet and slipped out.

  Octavia held it for a moment without opening it. She wanted to press it to her heart, but could not bring herself to do anything so suggestive of a Cheltenham tragedy. With carefully steady fingers she unfolded it.

  No salutation. He had not wanted to write “Dear Miss Gray.” And it ended simply, “In haste, Deanbridge.”

  “You will be glad to hear,” it said, “that Jack’s condition is much improved. The fever is diminished, though naturally his arm pains him greatly. I am deeply grateful to James Wynn; I had rather be grateful to anybody else in the world, as you may imagine.

  “My humble apologies, ma’am,” she imagined the laugh in his eyes at such formality, “for the postponement of our outing. Even had you not been too fatigued for it, I must have remained close to Jack until his improvement was certain. Tomorrow I must go down to Mount Edgcumbe to inform the earl of what is toward. I beg your indulgence for the day after, which shall not pass without a visit to Cotehele Mill.

  “Wynn is not the only person who has my heartfelt gratitude, together with my undying admiration for her courage.

  In haste, Deanbridge.”

  Perhaps there was good reason to press it to her heart after all. She folded it and put it under her pillow, and fell asleep with her hand upon it.

  Julia was once more up betimes. They went down to breakfast together and were arguing the relative merits of tea and chocolate as a morning drink when Sir Tristram came in.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “You may think yourselves early risers, but I have been before you. Since I shall not be here today, I have got you a picnic packed up already, and taken it down to the arbour by the fish pond.”

  Julia clapped her hands in delight, while Octavia smiled at his ingenuity. Undoubtedly a goodly portion of the hamper’s contents had already found its way to the cave.

  “Where are you going?” asked Julia. “I hope you will not be gone for long?”

  “I have business with Lord Edgcumbe. I shall return late tonight.”

  “Good. We shall miss you, shall we not, Tavy?”

  Sir Tristram looked surprised at her words. Octavia saw that he still did not realise that Julia simply enjoyed company, even when her James was with her, and not merely to avoid political lectures.

  Miss Crosby came in and took a seat beside Julia, whose attention she engaged with compliments about her fine suitor, accompanied by significant glances at the baronet.

  Julia answered her politely, while her suitor seized the opportunity for a quick word with Octavia.

  “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes, indeed. After all, I have been waiting for several weeks now! You have seen our friend this morning? How does he go on?”

  “Still improving. I hope to arrange his future today. I beg your pardon, ma’am?” He turned to Miss Crosby. “But certainly Miss Langston’s gown becomes her admirably. However, Miss Langston would be beautiful in rags. Her beauty is of the type that needs no adornment."

  Julia sparkled at him. “Pray do not tell Papa such a thing!” she exclaimed. “How shocking if he were to take your words seriously. Now if you will excuse us, ma’am, Octavia and I are eager to take the air while it is fine. Do not miss the tide tonight, Sir Tristram. I look to see you at breakfast tomorrow."

  They walked down through the passage into the lower garden, and went to the bower to check on their picnic.

  “Shall we take it with us?” asked Octavia doubtfully. “There are two handles, I expect we might manage.”

  “No, James shall come up here with us. I’m sure all the servants know he is here, and neither Mama nor Miss Crosby ever stirs from the house. What an odious woman she is! Always disparaging you and toadeating me.”

  “Her position is difficult, enough to sour any temper.”

  “You are too charitable! We shall not think about her. How I love this garden with its twisting paths and bridges over the streamlet, and all the flowers! Shall we run? Do let us pick up our skirts and run."

  “Be careful, Ju!” Octavia followed her light-footed cousin more slowly.

  As she had feared, Julia came to grief on a bend, sliding on the gravel and landing on her knees. She sat back and pulled up her petticoats to inspect the damage, biting her lip.

  “Drat!” she swore and blinked back tears. “I had forgot how a skinned knee hurts. It is ten years since I did such a thing.” She smiled ruefully at Octavia.

  “We must go back to the house and have Ada bandage it. And look at your hand! You have scraped that too and there is dirt in the cuts. Can you get up? Let me help you."

  “Thank you. Ouch! How it stings! We need not go back, though. James will know what to do.”

  “You know that he has medical training? I only found out by accident, and also that he grew up in the country. I had thought him as much a Londoner as I am.”

  “His father has an estate in Surrey but he has lived in town for near ten years.” Julia limped along holding her skirts away from the sore knee with her undamaged hand. “To think he was there all that time and I only met him less than four months ago!”

  “His father has an estate? You have found out more in those few months than I did in four years! Is your papa aware of the estate?”

  “I do not know. No, I expect he is not. I only found out myself two days ago, when James mentioned that he had been in Surrey since I left London. It is not something he talks about, because he disapproves of great landowners, but he is the only son and will inherit it. Not that he will be a great landowner. It is quite small, I believe.”

  “All the same, I expect it will change Lord Langston’s feelings towards him. You must write at once.”

  “I cannot. I would have to reveal that James is here! And if Papa did not relent, that would be the end of everything.”

  “What are you going to do then? Will your papa make you stay here until you accept Sir Tristram? I do not see what you are to do.”

  “If only Sir Tristram would withdraw his suit! Surely Papa would look more kindly on James if it were not for his rival. Sometimes I think the only thing to do is elope.”

  “No! Oh, Julia, do not say so. Promise me you will not.”

  “I cannot promise, though it would do James’s career no good, so we shall not act precipitately. But if nothing has changed by the end of the summer . . . I cannot promise, Tavy.”

  Shocked, Octavia walked on in silence. If Julia caused a scandal by eloping, the tattlemongers would say she did it to escape from Sir Tristram’s unwelcome attentions. He would be doubly hurt, by losing her and by the world’s censure.

  She saw James sitting under an oak tree near the chapel, reading as usual. Looking round, she realised she had outdistanced her cousin, who was toiling along uncomplainingly some way back down the path.

  “Mr Wynn!” she called. No response. Louder, “Mr Wynn!”

  Buried in his book, he did not stir.

 
“James!” came Julia’s plaintive voice faintly from behind her.

  He jumped up, dropping the book on the carpet of last autumn’s leaves.

  “Miss Gray?” he asked, looking bewildered, then saw Julia. “My love, what is the matter?”

  He hurried to his beloved, passing Octavia with scarce a nod. She followed. She found it hard to restrain her amusement as the man who had unflinchingly cut open Jack Day’s arm with red-hot steel carefully examined her cousin’s childish injuries. With soothing words he led her to the rivulet. He washed hand and knee in its clear, cold water and bound them up with strips of cloth torn from her already ruined petticoat.

  He could not have lavished more sympathy on the most dangerous illness, yet Octavia had received a still more convincing proof of his passion: though lost in his reading, he had heard Julia’s voice.

  In spite of the indecorous intimacy occasioned by the necessity of examining his beloved’s shapely leg, James did not permit himself any untoward familiarities. Octavia was relieved to note the propriety of his behaviour, since she had been feeling somewhat guilty about conniving at her cousin’s clandestine meetings.

  Still, she could hardly protest at Julia’s spending the days alone in the gardens with a gentleman. Not after her own midnight adventures in these same gardens!

  After a while, Julia announced herself sufficiently recovered to stroll along the level path towards the quay. They had not gone far when they saw Lieutenant Cardin coming towards them. Octavia, already weary of playing gooseberry, greeted him with pleasure.

  Julia and James were equally delighted with his company. The four of them spent an enjoyable day together, which came to an end only when they heard the medieval clock up at the house striking six.

  “We must go and change for dinner, Ju,” said Octavia. “Mr Cardin, you will dine with us, will you not?”

  “Thank you, but will not Lady Langston think me presumptuous?”

  “Mama is happy to entertain guests as long as they do not require her to put herself out,” Julia assured him, “and she does dislike to dine in exclusively female company. Since Sir Tristram is gone, you will be doubly welcome.”

  Octavia and the lieutenant walked on, leaving Julia to take reluctant leave of James.

  “I shall be very glad to get a good dinner,” Mr Cardin confided. “The tide does not turn until near midnight.”

  “Yes, Sir Tristram said he would be late returning from Mount Edgcumbe.”

  “I met him at the quay when I arrived. He seemed displeased to see me, so I hope he will not take it amiss that I stay to dine.”

  “I am sure you mistook his meaning,” Octavia reassured him. “Besides, if Lady Langston chooses to invite you, I am sure it is none of his affair.”

  And far better that the young Customs officer should be safe within the house instead of wandering alone about the garden finding clues to Red Jack’s whereabouts!

  Chapter 19

  It rained during the night. By morning, a cool, blustery wind was chasing clouds about the sky like a flock of grey sheep chivvied by a sheepdog.

  “A perfect day for a long walk in the country,” said Octavia as she and Julia dressed.

  “The lanes and fields will be all muddy!” objected Julia.

  “Confess!” laughed Octavia, who had expected this reaction, “you do not care for long walks whatever the weather. I mean to go, though. If I do not take more exercise I shall grow fat again. Ada, I shall wear one of my old brown dresses, so it will not matter if I dirty the hem, and my stoutest shoes, if you please.”

  “I wonder if James will like to go?”

  “Excessively unlikely. Did he not abandon country life years since? You must resign yourself to doing without me today, Ju.”

  “I wish you will take Sir Tristram with you. You ought not to walk alone. Suppose you fall!”

  “And scrape my knee? I shall be glad of his company if he wishes to join me.”

  “You need not ask him; I shall tell him to go with you. He is too obliging a gentleman to refuse.”

  Octavia was well satisfied. Without telling her cousin about the projected outing to the mill, she had arranged to leave her alone with James all day, as Sir Tristram had planned. And she had made her think it was her own idea, so she could not feel ill-used at being abandoned.

  They went down to breakfast. Raeburn, at his most stolid, was listening to a stream of complaint from Miss Crosby. The kippers were cold, the tea too weak, the sideboard undusted, and the housemaids pert. It was perfectly shocking how things went to rack and ruin while Mrs Pengarth was away, and still more shocking how she took advantage of his lordship’s kindness to prolong her absence.

  “Yes, madam,” said Raeburn woodenly. “Good morning, Miss Julia, Miss Gray. Tea and chocolate as usual?”

  “If you please, Raeburn.” Julia turned to Miss Crosby. “How right you are, ma’am,” she said with the greatest affability. “My mother has simply no notion how to hold household without a competent housekeeper in attendance.”

  “Oh no . . . I did not mean . . . Lady Langston is certainly . . . Indeed, Miss Langston, you mistake . . ."

  Octavia choked on a bubble of laughter and took a hurried sip of tea. It was too hot, and she choked in reality. While Julia and the butler fussed over her, patting her back and offering napkins, Miss Crosby slipped red-faced from the room.

  “Ju, that was brilliant and perfectly horrid of you,” gasped Octavia, at last regaining her breath. “I have never heard such a masterly set-down. And true too! If Raeburn were not here, the house would be at sixes and sevens for all my aunt could do.”

  “She’s right, though, Miss Julia,” confessed the butler. “Leastways, there’s not a speck of dust on the sideboard, for Doris does keep the maids to their work, but I made the tea weak because Miss Gray likes it weak, and the housemaids are pert because they don’t like her, and the kippers are cold because she’s the only one as eats them and Cook doesn’t like her neither!”

  The girls crowed with laughter.

  Nibbling on a muffin, Julia remembered that Sir Tristram would not be taking care of today’s food supply.

  “Raeburn, do you think Cook has a small picnic basket? Miss Gray and Sir Tristram will not be with me, so I need enough just for me and . . . just for me. But I shall be very hungry!”

  “Just for you and, Miss Julia,” assented Raeburn gravely. “I understand perfectly and I’ll inform Cook.”

  Julia smiled at him sunnily, perfectly aware that he knew of her suitor’s presence.

  Sir Tristram had still not come down when they finished eating.

  “I cannot wait for such a slug-a-bed,” Julia declared. “James expects me. Do you still intend to go walking today? If you change your mind, come and join us.” She went off with a spring in her step.

  Octavia dawdled over a third cup of tea. It was provoking of the baronet to sleep in on the day of their expedition, when he was usually such an early riser. She supposed he had gone to see Red Jack after arriving on the late tide. In fact, she thought, he had missed a vast deal of sleep recently. Perhaps he was too tired for the visit to the mill.

  He came in, his stride as firm and purposeful as ever, and sat down to his usual hearty breakfast.

  “I was thinking,” said Octavia tentatively, “that you have not had a full night’s sleep in an age. We need not go today if you prefer to rest.”

  He looked up with a grin from his bacon and eggs. “What a poor creature you must think me! It is not much more than a mile to the mill; I believe I shall manage it if you promise to slow down when I grow weary."

  “Wretch! I promise.”

  “The paths will be muddy after the rain.”

  “That is why Julia does not come,” said Octavia with satisfaction. “I am wearing an old gown so that mud will not show. All my old gowns are mud-coloured.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “So you are. I had not noticed, though I shall never forget the picture you presented wh
en you first arrived at Cotehele!”

  “That was limestone, not mud. Now do stop talking and finish your breakfast, or we shall never leave.”

  The baronet refused to be hurried, so it was half an hour later that they set off. As they passed the stables, the horse Lord Edgcumbe had provided for Sir Tristram’s use whickered a greeting. A groom looked out reproachfully.

  “Ah’s not been rid sin’ ye cam back fro’ Mount Edgcumbe,” he pointed out.

  “I know. I shall try to take him out later today. Have you a nice, quiet hack suitable for Miss Gray?”

  “I do not ride, sir.”

  “I know, but it is time you learned. We shall be able to escape further afield.”

  “Julia rides, and I expect James does too, since he grew up in the country, so that will not serve. I should like to learn, though, if there is quite a small horse for me. They always seem so very large."

  “We’ll talk of it later. Thank you, Sutton.” Sir Tristram hurried her away. “Now what is this? Wynn country-bred? I thought him a thoroughgoing townsman.”

  “As did I. It turns out his father has a small estate in Surrey which he will inherit! Julia thinks her papa does not know. It will surely change his opinion of James’s merits as a son-in-law.”

  He frowned. “Has she written to inform him? How is it she had not told him before?”

  Octavia explained why she could not enlighten Lord Langston. “Who knows what he would do if he knew James was here! I daresay he would find some kinsman in the Scottish Highlands with a castle suitable for incarcerating poor Ju, like Mary Queen of Scots at Lochleven.”

  “I cannot like it that Langston is misinformed as to Wynn’s prospects,” he said, still frowning. “It would be dishonourable to rely on such an advantage over my rival.”

  “Fustian! His future inheritance of a small estate cannot change my uncle’s opinion of your advantage as present possessor of a large one. Nor does it make the least difference to James’s only advantage, which is Julia’s opinion, or rather, feelings.”