by Dawn Harris
‘Oh yes. Always.’
Scrambling down the steep chine without mishap, we were walking along the firm sand when I bent to pick up a stone. Turning it over, I threw it away, and he asked what I had been looking for.
‘Fossils,’ I explained. ‘My father collected them. I keep them in the workroom.’
A gull landed on the sand in front of us, and as it took off again, squawking, he said, ‘I wish I’d known your father. Giles said he was the most fascinating man he’d ever met.’ Giles had told me that too, and it filled me with pleasure. ‘But why did he live here instead of his ancestral home?’
Since my father’s death, most people had avoided speaking of him in my presence, although I had often longed to do so. Whether Mr Reevers understood that or not, it was hard to tell, for his face expressed nothing but polite inquiry. Thus I strolled along the wide stretch of sand, enjoying the feel of the fresh sea air on my face, as I had so often in the past, explaining that father had detested the situation of his family seat, and the cold, damp winters that went with it.
‘He loved Westfleet and the Island, and when he became Earl of Angmere shortly after my mother died, he refused to leave it to live in a place he loathed. I was his only child, and convinced he’d never marry again, he invited his heir, a brother, with five sons, to live there. As father said, it would be his one day anyway. Which, of course, it is now.’
‘Your father must have been a most unusual man.’
‘I think so, naturally. In fairness, I should tell you he was wealthy enough to do precisely what he wished.’
‘And is this a good place to collect fossils?’
I nodded. ‘Particularly after a storm-----’
‘A storm?’ he repeated, puzzled.
‘Heavy seas sometimes dislodge fossils from the crumbling cliffs.’ I told him of the odd looking bones we’d found a year or two ago after a particularly violent storm. ‘Father said they didn’t belong to any animal he’d ever seen.’
We were walking fairly close to the cliff face, and he glanced up at it. ‘I must say it looks decidedly unsafe.’
‘I have seen pieces fall, but not often.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ he grinned. ‘By the way, I found a copy of your father’s book in Giles’s library. It’s a pity you couldn’t find out how William Saxborough murdered his wife, but----.’
‘It was too long ago, and he’d covered his tracks well. If it had happened recently, we might have resolved it.’
He eyed me thoughtfully. ‘Would you have wanted to do that?’
‘Oh yes. I like solving puzzles.’
‘Then it’s as well you weren’t around at the time. Murderers have a nasty tendency to do away with people who find them out.’ William Saxborough was long dead, but the man who had killed three Saxboroughs was very much alive, and the thought of what he might do sent a shiver up my spine. Mr. Reevers went on, ‘Was there an official investigation?’
‘Yes, but it failed.’ The wind blew a strand of hair across my face, and I brushed it away. ‘Just as today’s investigation is failing - to find out what happened to Thomas and young Tom, I mean.’
‘Nor will they,’ he said, ‘if French smugglers were involved.’
The wind had turned blustery in the last half hour, and a sudden fierce gust tore the hat from my head. Just as it began to bowl along the beach, Mr Reevers grabbed it. Brushing the sand off as best he could, he returned it to me. ‘Shall I fix it back in place again?’
His audacity made me gasp. ‘You will do no such thing.’
‘You needn’t be afraid I will hurt you with the hatpins. I know how to fix them.’
‘I have no doubt of that,’ I spluttered, and glanced up at the cliff top.
‘Mudd can’t see us, if that’s what is worrying you.’
‘It isn’t,’ I retorted shortly.
‘Why look up then?’
His eyes softened into that intimate look he’d begun to adopt when we were alone, and I opened my mouth to put him firmly in his place, when a movement in the distance, close to Hokewell village, caught my eye. ‘Good gracious, isn’t that Piers Saxborough? What on earth is he doing?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Piers held a long stick which he kept pushing into the sand, in the manner of a Riding Officer searching for kegs buried by smugglers. The beach itself was deserted, and he obviously thought he was alone, but we could see what Piers plainly couldn’t. A group of angry villagers gathering on the cliff top. Piers might be a gentleman, but smugglers were no respecters of rank when their livelihood was at stake.
‘Oh dear,’ I murmured, half in amusement. ‘There’s barely a man in Hokewell who isn’t involved in free trading. Perhaps we should intervene---’
‘Must we?’ Mr Reevers drawled lazily. ‘I should infinitely prefer to watch. Of course, if you like the fellow —’
‘It’s not that. Only he is Giles’s cousin-----’ I looked at him, remembering Piers was his cousin too, but at that moment Piers, realising he was no longer alone, hurriedly left the beach, leapt onto his horse and galloped off. ‘How very odd. Why on earth would Piers want to test the sand?’
Mr Reevers shook his head, still grinning. ‘Who knows?’ he said as we made out way back to the horses. ‘But if he carries on doing it, he’ll end up in a ditch one dark night. A wise man would stick to sketching.’
I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Have you actually seen any of his sketches?’
‘I saw one purporting to be of Dittistone Bay,’ he admitted, grimacing. And drawled, ‘One can only hope his technique will improve.’
‘You shouldn’t mock—’
‘Shouldn’t I?’ He smiled down at me. ‘You, of course, with your obsequious nature, would naturally admire his drawings.’
I choked. ‘How do you know what my nature is?’
‘My dear girl, I knew that within five minutes of making your acquaintance.’
I lifted my chin. ‘I wish I might say the same of you, Mr Reevers. And I am not ‘your dear.’’
‘No. But that could easily be remedied.’
I uttered a kind of spluttered gasp, and looking up, saw his eyes were full of laughter. ‘You should be more cautious, Mr Reevers. I might have taken you seriously.’
His expression softened. ‘Might you?’ He gazed sidelong at me, and I stiffened instantly, uncertain of where this was leading. A muscle twitched in the corner of his mouth. ‘Ah, but I was quite certain you would not. You see I had the pleasure of meeting Julia Tanfield the other day, and she informed me you don’t mean to marry. So I knew I was perfectly safe.’ And he grinned wickedly at me. I should have been shocked I suppose, and I should certainly have delivered a sharp rebuke, but it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.
Riding back to Westfleet with Mudd in attendance we spoke of ordinary things, and after bidding him farewell, I walked into the house still smiling to myself. Apart from Giles and my father, I’d never met another man who laughed at the same things as I did. But now when I met Mr Reevers in the company of others, I found myself glancing in his direction if something amused me, aware he would find it diverting too.
Hearing voices coming from the drawing room I went in to find my aunt and cousin had both returned. But Lucie was close to tears, and on seeing me she burst out, her lip trembling a little, ‘Drusilla, Giles has to go away.’
‘Go away?’ I repeated. ‘Where to?’
‘London. He has to attend to some legal matters - a letter came this morning.’
‘Can’t his attorney come to the Island?’ I asked.
‘He could, but Giles wants his wedding clothes made in London. So he means to do both together.’
‘Very sensible,’ my aunt commented.
‘He’s going the day after tomorrow,’ Lucie declared forlornly. ‘While the weather seems settled.’
I reminded Lucie, ‘Well, it’s only seven weeks to the wedding.’
‘I know,’ she sighed, trying to resign h
erself to Giles being away for three or four weeks.
I reminded her of the exciting day ahead of us tomorrow, this being my aunt’s birthday outing, which knowing Giles, would be planned down to the tiniest detail. He’d promised to be at Westfleet at eleven, so I was a little surprised when he arrived half an hour early. Luckily I was ready, and was arranging some flowers in the drawing room when Jeffel ushered him in. As I told him, my aunt and cousin were still dressing, and he nodded, as if that was what he had expected.
‘I came a little early on purpose, Drusilla,’ he said, crossing the room to where Jess, the kitchen cat, had settled herself against the mullioned windows to bask in the sunshine. Smoothing her gently, he went on, ‘I wanted a word with you in private.’
‘With me?’ Suspecting this concerned my uncle, my heart lurched in alarm.
He didn’t answer, for Jeffel had reappeared with some refreshment, and observing the confection on the plate, Giles commented in blissful anticipation, ‘Ratafia biscuits.’ A response that brought a gratified smile to Jeffel’s lips. ‘Cook had just finished making a batch, sir.’ Giles was a favourite with the Westfleet servants, and his addiction to ratafia biscuits well known to the indoor staff. Cook, in particular, thought Giles far too thin.
‘Truth to tell, Jeffel,’ Giles admitted, seating himself opposite me, ‘Westfleet’s ratafia biscuits are lighter than those at Ledstone. But for heaven’s sake don’t repeat that or my cook will leave our service in a huff, and my mother will never speak to me again.’
Jeffel’s usual professional demeanour instantly softened. ‘I’m sure nothing could ever stop Mrs Saxborough speaking to you, sir.’
When my butler had left the room, I objected jokingly, ‘Stop buttering up the servants, Giles. If Jeffel repeats your remark to cook, I can expect an immediate demand for an increase in pay.’
‘And very well deserved it would be,’ he said, taking another macaroon. ‘Aren’t you going to try one? They really are delicious.’ He brushed a tiny crumb from his riding breeches, but seemed loathe to say what he wished to speak to me about.
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I asked fearfully, ‘Have you news of my uncle?’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ I didn’t know whether to be glad, or sorry, but he began to wander round the room, picking up books and putting them down again, before he finally stopped by the fireplace, resting one foot on the fender. Eventually he said, ‘The truth is Drusilla, I want to beg a favour of you.’
I burst into laughter. ‘No wonder you look so uncomfortable.’ Giles had always been fiercely independent. He might ask me to do some kindness for his mother, but never for himself, as this favour clearly was. ‘How many days have you spent looking for some way to avoid asking my help?’
He gave a wry chuckle. ‘No more than four or five, I swear.’ Adding ruefully,’How well you know me.’
I thought I understood what this favour was. ‘Your Mama will have Mr Reevers to look after her, and Vincent and Piers to entertain her, but I’ll happily keep an eye on her while you’re away.’
Giles employed his most angelic smile. ‘I would be most grateful.’
‘It’s such a loathsome task, I’m amazed you dare ask me,’ I mocked softly. ‘Your Mama being the tartar she is.’
He laughed appreciatively. ‘Well, actually, that isn’t the favour. I knew you wouldn’t mind visiting Mama. Drusilla, I need someone I can trust to relay a message to Leatherbarrow.’ Whenever Giles sailed to London, he sent Leatherbarrow home with the yacht, until it was required.
‘Wouldn’t it be wiser to keep him with you this time? Your Mama would feel easier in her mind if she knew you weren’t alone.’
‘I won’t be alone. My valet goes to London, naturally.’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Giles. Leatherbarrow would offer some protection when you are out and about.’
‘Not you too, Drusilla. Mama can hardly bear to let me out of her sight for fear of something happening to me,’ Giles sighed. I made no comment and he continued, ‘You know better than anyone what Ledstone means to me, but I never expected to inherit the estate. I wish with all my heart that Thomas and young Tom were alive, but they’re not, and nothing I can do will change that. Ledstone is mine now, and when Lucie and I are married, I shall have everything a man could possibly want. Do you imagine I would risk losing all that? I promise you nothing is going to happen to me.’
There being no answer to that, I asked, ‘What is this message you want me to deliver to Leatherbarrow?’
‘Only to let him know when I want the yacht.’
‘I always thought you wrote to your Mama.’
‘I did at one time, but a messenger is quicker. Only I don’t want Jacob walking up to the stables in full view of the house.’ Visitors on foot always came down the quarter mile long drive. ‘It’s rather awkward with Vincent and Piers being here. But it’s not just that - the thing is, Mama misses very little of what goes on at Ledstone.’
That was very true, yet I couldn’t see what his difficulty was. ‘I don’t understand, Giles. Isn’t Jacob the man who collected my uncle’s letters in France?’
‘Yes, but he didn’t bring them up to the house. I met him in the village.’
I frowned at him, puzzled. ‘Giles, why don’t you want your Mama to see Jacob?’
‘Well — he is rather fearsome looking, and she’s still worried sick over these silly rumours connecting me with smugglers.’ He turned up his hands in appealing fashion. ‘It’s only tittle-tattle, but I don’t want anything upsetting her while I’m away.’
‘Couldn’t you find someone more suitable?’
‘I haven’t had time, what with everything else, and Jacob is reliable.’ What he’d said sounded plausible enough, yet I had the distinct feeling he had not told me everything, and that I would not approve of whatever it was he had omitted.
‘Where does Jacob live?’
‘He comes from Blackgang.’
I stared at him in horror, for some of the most notorious smuggling gangs were to be found at Blackgang. Remembering his childhood longing to join the smuggling fraternity, my heart began to pound. Surely he could not be so foolish. I swallowed hard. ‘How far are you involved with these smugglers, Giles?’
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘I shan’t be arrested by Mr Arnold and hauled aboard the revenue boat along with a keg of French brandy, if that’s what you mean. Smugglers are used to carrying messages, that’s all. In their business they have to be discreet and quick.’
Again that was perfectly credible. Jacob had certainly proved his worth in the matter of my uncle’s letters. Yet there was something about Giles’s manner I found disturbing. Disturbing, and vaguely familiar. It took me a moment or two to realise what it was. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him and it reminded me of the times when, as children, we had crept out at night to watch the smugglers. His eyes had sparkled with the thrill of it all then, and for one brief second I had seen that same look again.
All our lives we had shared problems, laughed at the same things and confided in each other. I had never kept anything important from him, and I’d always assumed it was the same with him. His love for Lucie meant we saw less of each other, as was only natural, yet when we did speak, there had been nothing in his manner, before today, to suggest he had stopped confiding in me. I didn’t know when, or why, that had happened. Only a certainty that it had.
Looking at him, I saw he was totally in command of himself again, his eyes showing only a slight anxiety as he awaited my answer. ‘Of course, I’ll help,’ I said. It was only a small favour designed to spare his mother any more worry. He thanked me, and I asked how we were to know if news came of my uncle.
‘Radleigh will look after Ledstone while I’m away. He’ll pass on any information.’ He hesitated, knowing I thought my aunt and cousin should be told my uncle was in prison. ‘Leave it one more week would you, Drusill
a? If nothing’s changed by then, do what you think best.’
‘All right,’ I agreed. And aware Marguerite would worry about him even more when he was in London, I urged, ‘Try to set her mind at rest, if you----’
‘I’ve already done so, Drusilla. I told her that dealing with solicitors and tailors in London is much safer than riding a horse round the Island.’
I nodded, praying he was right. I just wished I didn’t feel so uneasy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My aunt and cousin joined us then, ready for the outing. Giles at once admired Aunt Thirza’s birthday presents; a lace shawl from Lucie, and a book of poems I had given her, before handing her his own gift, a bottle of French perfume. I raised an eyebrow at him, realising it must have been smuggled, but he only grinned, and she was too delighted to ask how he’d come by it.
We soon set off for Ledstone Place, where the gentleman came out to greet us. Vincent, elegantly attired in a dark green coat and fawn riding breeches, was his usual charming self, but Piers, who was in his favourite maroon, seemed particularly morose. As I slipped from the saddle, Mr Reevers came over to greet me, looking very dapper in a light blue coat. I was not surprised to learn Marguerite was still in her bedchamber, as she was never on time for anything.
The grooms walked our horses and while we stood talking, Giles suggested to Piers that he take his sketch book, there being excellent opportunities for drawing today. When Piers went to fetch it, Vincent told us, ‘I’m afraid my son is not at his best today. He has a touch of earache. Something he suffered from rather badly as a child.’
Aunt Thirza, of course, knew exactly how to cure this painful condition. It involved the use of an onion, and while Vincent listened courteously, Mr Reevers murmured to me under his breath, ‘Should I procure an onion for Piers do you think? I have a strong desire to see what he would do with it.’
I made a sound between a choke and a splutter. ‘Have you no sense of decorum?’
‘None whatsoever. I thought you knew that.’ And I had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing.