Still mulling over the problem, Beth went upstairs to see how her cousin was faring. Charlotte was asleep, so Beth came back down again. Mrs Morland was just crossing the hall as she reached the bottom step.
‘Oh, Lady Allerton,’ the housekeeper said, ‘there is a message from the Reverend March. He anticipates being at Hoveton for the rest of the afternoon and begs your pardon.’ She smiled. ‘He especially asked that Lord Trevithick go down the wine cellar to select a particular claret to have with the dinner, plus a dessert wine and some more port! His lordship is down there now, if you were wondering where he had vanished to, my lady!’
‘Thank you, Mrs Morland,’ Beth murmured. She watched the housekeeper hurry off back to the kitchens and wandered slowly towards the drawing room, still turning the problem of Fairhaven over in her mind. It was as she reached the drawing-room doorway, when she actually had her hand on the door frame, that she was struck by an idea; an idea so outrageous, so daring, that she was not sure that even she would put it into execution.
There was Fairhaven and there was Marcus. She might trust him, or she might not…
Beth tiptoed down the corridor to the wine cellar. The heavy oak door was wide open, the cellar steps yawning below into darkness. Beth could faintly discern the flicker of a candle flame far in the depths of the vault and she heard the dusty scrape of glass on stone. Marcus was evidently engrossed in the task that Theo had set.
Only the previous night, when Theo March had been extolling the virtues of his wines, Beth had heard him joke that there was only one key to the cellar to prevent envious friends sampling his collection. That key was now in the door…
Beth stared. She crept forward and swung the door closed. It shut silently on oiled hinges. Beth turned the key, extracted it from the lock, and put it in her pocket.
A strange kind of madness took her and she almost laughed aloud. She ran up the stairs—she had not unpacked her trunk completely and now she threw her possessions in at random, squashing them down and slamming the fastening closed. She paused only to pen a hasty note to Charlotte and all the time she was listening intently, waiting for the inevitable shout from below that would show that she had been found out. None came. She hurried back down the stairs, her trunk bumping clumsily on every step, and shot out of the front door.
And all the while she was exulting in her escape and the fact that she had won.
It was only a step into Ashlyn village, but Beth hurried, glancing over her shoulder all the time, convinced that someone was watching her and about to ruin her plan. She had quickly considered and discarded the idea of asking Fowler to harness the carriage horses—that would take too long and be too noisy. Instead she was banking on the fact that there was a carter in Ashlyn who would be able to take her to Bridgwater.
At the forge she found exactly what she was looking for. An old cart was already standing waiting, half-loaded with sacks, the piebald cob chewing placidly on some hay whilst the carter chatted to the smith. Both of them looked up curiously as Beth hurried forward.
‘Excuse me, sir! Can you take me to Bridgwater, if you please? I can pay you well…’
The carter was an elderly man and he was not to be hurried. He looked at the blacksmith, who gave him a significant look in return. He took off his hat, scratched his head, and put his hat back on again. Beth was almost dancing with frustration.
‘Aye,’ he said, after a long moment. ‘I can take you there, missy.’ He threw her trunk in the back, climbed slowly into the seat, leant down to give Beth a hand to scramble up beside him, then flicked the reins for the horse to set off. It seemed to Beth that the big cob was resentful of the sudden departure and moved with deliberate, agonising slowness.
‘I believe it is but five miles to the sea?’ she ventured, as they turned on to the road.
‘Aye.’
‘And we can go straight there?’
‘Aye.’
Beth glanced over her shoulder. The village was receding, slowly, and no one was running down the main street and shouting after her. She started to relax a little. After all, there was only Charlotte and the servants at the vicarage. Charlotte was so poorly that she would not wake up for hours and the kitchen was well away from Theo’s wine cellar. It could be some considerable time before anyone realised Marcus’s predicament and even then she had the only key. It was heavy in her pocket.
As the cart lumbered down the country lane, Beth sat back with a sigh. The moment of exhilaration had gone, leaving her feeling oddly empty. She told herself that it was only because she felt so nervous at venturing off on her own, but her heart gave her another answer. They had been in complete accord, she and Marcus. It had been such a perfect morning. He had told her that he would not oppose her in the matter of Fairhaven. But…she had not trusted him. And she had ruined everything with her impetuous flight.
Beth gritted her teeth. She had won now. That was the important thing. The Reverend Theo would not return for hours and, even if he did, the door to the cellar was stout and could not easily be broken down. Marcus was trapped and she would definitely reach Fairhaven before him now. It did not matter if he had genuinely intended to give her the island or not, for she had won.
Beth swayed backwards and forwards with the movement of the cart and wondered what would happen next. In all likelihood Marcus would not even trouble to follow her. Probably he would never wish to see her again. Certainly he would never speak to her, unless to haul her over the coals for her appalling behaviour. And it had been appalling; Beth could see that, now that she had plenty of time for reflection. To have locked him in the wine cellar was bad enough, but to somehow betray the memory of their happiness that morning, to distrust him, that was her real offence. She reminded herself that she had finally outwitted him, but all she could think of was that the price had been so very high. She found that she was totally confused by her conflicting feelings and was almost in tears.
They lurched their way along the country roads towards the sea. It became clear to Beth that her idea of a direct journey and that of the carter was slightly at odds—he detoured to several farms on the way to unload his sacks and stood around chatting for what seemed like hours to Beth. After a while the sun dipped behind the clouds and a sharp wind sprang up, bringing with it the first hint of rain. Beth huddled down on the seat of the cart, but there was no shelter. She was cold, for her gloves, hat and scarf were in the trunk and the wind seemed to blow right through her coat. By the time the carter dropped her on the quay in Bridgwater it was getting dark and Beth felt more miserable than she had done for a very long time.
‘How could she do such a thing?’ Charlotte Cavendish wailed, pressing a small and inadequate lace handkerchief to her eyes. ‘I know that Beth can be rash and impulsive, but she has never behaved like this before! Never!’
‘Your cousin, madam, has all the self-restraint of a wayward child!’ Marcus said, through his teeth. He was trying to remove some clinging cobwebs from his jacket and was tolerably sure that it would never be quite the same again. Certainly it was no longer a glowing tribute to Weston’s tailoring.
‘It is this absurd obsession with Fairhaven!’ Charlotte lamented. ‘I fear that it has quite taken over Beth’s thinking! If only we could find some way to distract her attention—’
‘I will give her something else to think about when I catch up with her!’
Marcus’s gaze fell on Charlotte’s apprehensive face and his own hard features softened a little. Mrs Cavendish had only risen from her sickbed a half-hour previously, and to find that her cousin had abandoned her and locked him in the cellar into the bargain was a shock that might have justifiably sent her into a fit of the vapours. Yet she was quite resolute, if pale, and Marcus admired her for that.
‘Have no fear,’ he said, in a gentler tone. ‘I will find Lady Allerton and I will escort her to Fairhaven just as I had intended and I will also marry her! So you need have no concerns for propriety, Mrs Cavendish…’
&nb
sp; Charlotte looked slightly winded at this rush of events. ‘Marry her! I cannot conceive why you would wish to do so, my lord—’
‘Neither can I at this moment!’ Marcus said feelingly. ‘But it is inevitable, I fear! Would you be so good as to pass me those scissors, ma’am? There are several loose threads…’
Charlotte snipped assiduously for a moment. ‘How did you remember the other entrance to the cellar, my lord?’
Marcus laughed. ‘A relic of my misspent youth, I confess, ma’am! I remembered Reverend March once telling us that there was a passage from the cellar to the icehouse in the garden and one day when I was about fourteen I had sought it out. This time it seemed much smaller!’
Charlotte shuddered. ‘Reverend March! Whatever will he say when he returns and finds the key to his wine cellar missing?’
‘I leave you to smooth that over, ma’am!’ Marcus said cheerfully. He looked up as Justin came into the drawing room. ‘Is the curricle ready, Justin?’
‘It’s waiting for you,’ Justin said, with a grin. ‘I’ve sent a messenger to meet McCrae in Bridgwater, so he will be expecting you and will also have started to instigate a search. Don’t worry, ma’am—’ he turned swiftly to Charlotte ‘—I am sure Marcus will find Lady Allerton before she comes to any harm!’
Marcus clapped his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Sorry to leave you so precipitately, old fellow, but I know you will deal admirably with Theo, and see Mrs Cavendish safely home.’ He did not miss the look of guilty pleasure that passed between the two of them and smiled a little to himself. ‘Mustn’t let the horses chill! Oh, and Justin…’ he paused in the doorway ‘…I’ll wager that Theo will be more distraught at being debarred from his own wine cellar than by aught else! Pray tell him that I will send his key back to him as soon as I have wrested it from Lady Allerton’s grasp!’
Although it was late afternoon and growing dark, Bridgwater quay was still busy with traffic from the river. Beth picked her way between barrels of herrings and piles of coal, trying to ignore the curious stares of the sailors and their occasional coarse remarks. She had thought that it would be a relatively easy matter to charter a boat to take her to Fairhaven, but now she realised that she had no idea where to start. There were plenty of ships tied up at the quay, but she knew she could not simply pick one, go aboard and ask the captain if he would take her to Fairhaven Island. Her trunk was weighing her down and seemed twice as heavy as it had done earlier. Eventually, when she had walked all the way down the North Quay and was wondering what to do next, she came to a brigantine whose captain was busy coiling a huge jute rope whilst his crew unloaded a cargo of lemons in big panniers. The captain looked up, smiled at Beth and touched his cap; emboldened by his courtesy, Beth hurried forward.
‘Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me if there is a ship sailing past Fairhaven that might be prepared to land me there?’
‘There’s a ship sailing for Fairhaven on the morrow, ma’am,’ the captain said, peering through the dusk. ‘Moored just down the quay, past the square rigger. Over there, see—’ And he pointed to a ship that was tied up some fifty yards away. ‘Tidy craft, is that,’ he said approvingly. ‘Lovely job. Built originally as a French privateer, they say, and quite old now but as neat and as quick as they come…’
Beth stared, transfixed. The ship was very trim indeed and on the port side could be read the name Marie Louise next to a painting of seagull in flight. At the back of Beth’s mind a voice echoed, the voice of her nursemaid all those years ago at Mostyn:
‘Your grandfather had a beautiful ship called the Marie Louise, named for his French mother…It has a drawing of a seagull on the side, La Mouette, in French…’
So the evil Earl of Trevithick had stolen the ship along with the island and the sword. Beth let out a small gasp of shock and the captain looked at her in some concern.
‘Are you feeling unwell, ma’am?’
Beth did not—could not—reply. She had seen two men, who were standing on the quay beside the Marie Louise, deep in conversation. One was thin and almost concave, dressed in an old-fashioned brown waistcoat and serviceable dark trousers. The other was tall and elegant despite his working garb of a rough frieze coat over his white linen shirt. The sea breeze ruffled his black hair. Beth pressed one hand to her mouth and took an instinctive step backwards, almost tripping over the coil of rope. Her movement caught the eye of the thin man, who caught his companion’s arm and swung him round.
It seemed impossible to Beth that the man whom she had locked in a wine cellar only a few hours ago could be here on the quay at Bridgwater, seeing to the provisioning of what could only be his own yacht. How could Marcus possibly have escaped in the first place, let alone reached the port before her when she had a head start? All this went through her mind even while she spun around, ready to run away. Marcus was too quick for her. He had already halved the distance between them and when she bumped clumsily against a stanchion and nearly fell, Marcus’s arm went around her, scooping her clear of the ground.
Beth gave a small sob of mingled fear, annoyance and strangely, relief. ‘Lord Trevithick—’
‘Lady Allerton?’ Marcus sounded savage.
The thin man came running up, panting. ‘My lord…’
‘All right, McCrae.’ Marcus’s tone was clipped. He did not put Beth down. ‘Would you call off the search, please? And take care of Lady Allerton’s luggage. I will see you in the Sailor’s Rest later…’
He looked down into Beth’s face and she saw that his eyes were blazing with fury. She instinctively shrank back from the anger she saw there.
‘As for you, Lady Allerton,’ Marcus said smoothly, ‘I will settle with you now! And in private! You are about to wish you had never been born!’
The inn was not like any that Beth had previously encountered in her travels. Although it was only late afternoon it was already full and smelled overwhelmingly of ale and tobacco. The noise was deafening—there was raucous laughter and loud conversation that quickly became lewd repartee when Marcus pushed his way thorough the throng, still carrying her.
‘That’s a pretty little moppet you have there, my lord, and no mistaking! When you’ve finished with ’er, pass ’er on…’
Beth struggled in Marcus’s arms. ‘Put me down at once, Lord Trevithick! How dare you subject me to the comments of these people—?’
‘You have brought all this and more upon yourself through your own behaviour,’ Marcus said, through shut teeth. ‘You will oblige me by keeping still, my lady, or I shall drop you into the nearest lap and let them have their way!’
This dire threat led Beth to turn her face into Marcus’s shoulder, close her eyes and try to blot out the coarser comments of the crowd. In a moment the noise faded and Beth realised that they had left the taproom and were going upstairs. Marcus was carrying her with about as much consideration as a sack of potatoes—her feet bumped against the wall and she scraped one elbow painfully on the banister. She opened her mouth to protest, saw the look in Marcus’s eye and closed it again.
Marcus pushed open the door of a tiny chamber and dropped her unceremoniously on to the bed. Beth bounced on the mattress and came to an undignified rest with her skirts all tumbled about her and her hair falling from its pins.
‘Oof! Is it really necessary to treat me with such lack of consideration, my lord? And what can you mean by bringing me to this low place? I demand to return to Ashlyn at once—’
‘No, madam,’ Marcus said, still through gritted teeth. ‘You were the one who was so determined to be here that you would take any steps to achieve it!’ He kicked the door closed and turned to survey her, his glittering dark gaze raking her ruthlessly.
‘I have no real wish to speak to you now, but there are a few things that I must say. Leaving aside your inexcusable behaviour in locking me in Theo March’s wine cellar, you have the gross folly to try to run away and arrange passage for yourself to Fairhaven! Alone!’ Marcus ran a hand through his hair. ‘Have
you any idea of the distress you have caused your cousin? Do you even care? You have no more sense than a spoilt brat and you deserve a good spanking!’ Marcus drove his hands into the pockets of his coat as though to prevent himself from doing her an injury. ‘I would administer one myself were it not for the fact that I should probably enjoy it far more than I ought!’
Beth blushed bright red. ‘My lord!’
Marcus shot her a furious look. ‘My lady? It is about time that someone told you a few home truths! You are easily the most infuriating and exasperating woman that I have ever met! Now, I am going to meet with McCrae to arrange tomorrow’s sailing, and I shall be locking you in here for your own safety! Do you object?’
Beth stared at him, quite cowed into silence. ‘I…Marcus, I am sorry—’
‘I do not wish to hear it!’ Marcus stalked over to the door, then turned back to her. ‘Speaking of keys, I should be obliged if you would hand over the key to Theo’s cellar—at once!’
Beth fumbled clumsily in her pocket, aware that Marcus was watching her efforts with the same angry, implacable regard. When she put it into his hand she heard him make a noise of disgust, and he took it from her without a second glance.
‘We shall speak later, if I regain my temper sufficiently to do so without shouting!’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘In the meantime I suggest that you draw as little attention to yourself as possible. No leaning out of windows and begging for rescue! Do you really wish for that pack of villains to come upstairs for you? It is about time you learned some sense, Lady Allerton!’ And, so saying, he slammed out of the door and Beth heard the key turn with finality in the lock.
Marcus had not returned by eleven o’clock that night. Shortly after his departure a slovenly maid had appeared with a tray of greasy beef stew and Beth ate some half-heartedly whilst she listened to the noise swell downstairs as even more seafarers joined the throng gathered below. The tiny room was cold and dirty, but she had absolutely no wish to effect an escape and go straight from the frying pan into the fire. It was unnerving not knowing what Marcus intended. She did not believe that he had locked her in in order to take advantage of her, but she felt uncomfortably vulnerable.
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