by Dawn Harris
When Piers returned, Giles announced we were going to Allum Bay, and I saw Aunt Thirza’s eyes lit up. She had, on occasion, expressed a desire to visit this unusual place, and I smiled gratefully at Giles, amazed that with so much else on his mind, he should have recalled her wish.
Five minutes later my godmother appeared, dressed in a stunning black riding habit and a very dashing hat. Looking round at us all, and employing her most dazzling smile, she inquired with perfect innocence, ‘Oh dear, have I kept you waiting?’
Everyone assured her otherwise, Giles assisted her onto her horse, and with Vincent riding beside her, we set off down the long drive. Marguerite being a nervous horsewoman, we rode the four or five miles in a very leisurely fashion. Dismounting at the top of the steep cliffs that led down to the bay, Marguerite announced this was as far as she meant to go. ‘For no matter what anyone says, I simply cannot clamber down that dreadful cliff.’ Giles, having anticipated this, insisted on staying with her, and spread some thick rugs, brought for that purpose, on the ground.
The descent to Allum Bay was extremely difficult, but my aunt was determined to achieve it. Vincent, at his most gallant, urged, ‘Do take my arm, ma’am. We can’t have you injuring yourself.’ Progress was naturally slow, none of us saying much, as we concentrated on negotiating the long descent to the beach.
I had always been impressed by the coloured sands here. They were mainly yellow, white, red, black and green, which as I explained to my aunt, were most vivid when seen in sunshine after heavy rain. Piers settled himself on a rock with his sketch book, and while the others admired the sands, I searched for fossils, having the good fortune to pick up what appeared to be a tooth. It was so large, I couldn’t think which animal it had come from, and put it in my pocket to look at later.
My aunt, moving well back from the cliffs to gain an overall view of the colours, stood on some big stones covering the shingle, so near the water’s edge I called out, ‘Be careful, Aunt. Those stones are slippery.’
Alarmed, she headed back towards the cliffs, and began collecting samples of the different colours, attacking the sands with such vigour that Mr Reevers warned her of the danger of cliff falls.
‘It would seem no part of this beach is safe,’ she smiled, aware he was teasing her, and went on putting the samples into the small containers brought for that purpose.
Vincent spoke nostalgically of the fine time he had here as a boy pretending to be a smuggler, and after glancing at Piers’s sketch, murmured to me, ‘I’m afraid his command of the craft is sadly lacking. Still it keeps him happy.’
After Piers had finished his sketch, and my aunt had seen all she wished to, we started on the long, steep climb back. When my aunt reached the top and saw the picnic laid out ready, she announced she was absolutely famished. Amid the general laughter, we settled ourselves comfortably on the rugs, eagerly tucking into the delicious spread Marguerite had ordered. Cold meats, pies, hard boiled eggs, tomatoes from her greenhouse, a delicious cheese, followed by apple pie and fruit, washed down with Giles’s best wine.
Resting in the sunshine after this delectable repast, I took another look at the fossil I’d found on the beach. Watching me, my aunt sighed, ‘You already have a room full of fossils. Surely you cannot need any more.’
Vincent commented, ‘I didn’t know you collected fossils, ma’am.’ I didn’t answer at once, as Mr Reevers had spoken at the same time, wishing to see the tooth. As I handed it to him, Giles explained to Vincent that fossil hunting had been my father’s hobby. ‘What Drusilla particularly enjoyed was helping with his “History of the Isle of Wight.”’
To my surprise, Piers said, ‘There’s a copy in the library at Ledstone. It has everything I---’
‘If you assisted with that, Lady Drusilla,’ Vincent intervened, eyeing me with respect, ‘I must congratulate you.‘
Giles said, ‘Drusilla listed the known facts of each historical event on large sheets of paper, which were fixed to the walls of their workroom, so that every detail could be seen at a glance. It was most impressive I can tell you.’ Somewhat embarrassed, I insisted it was simple common sense. And as everyone had now examined the tooth, I put it back in my pocket.
Mr Reevers smiled lazily at me. ‘That’s because you have a logical mind, Lady Drusilla. Do you have plans for another book?’
‘One day, perhaps,’ I answered vaguely.
At which Lucie blurted out in surprise, ‘Oh, but I thought — I mean, you are working on something, surely. You always seem to be in your workroom lately.’
I’d thought Lucie’s head was too full of wedding plans to notice what I was doing, and the last thing I wanted was for attention to be drawn to the information on my wall charts. But she’d aroused everyone’s curiosity now, and they all looked in my direction, expecting me to tell them exactly what I was doing. And, in that moment, I couldn’t think of any explanation that wasn’t an outright lie. I’m not averse to stretching the truth, or even twisting it a little, but I have never been able to lie convincingly. So, foolishly, I hesitated.
Giles gazed at me thoughtfully, but said nothing. The other gentlemen waited politely for me to answer. My aunt, however, was not so reticent. ‘Surely Drusilla, there can be no need for secrecy.’
Somehow I collected my wits together. ‘I suppose I take after my father. He didn’t tell anyone he was writing a book until he was certain he could make a good job of it.’ Both those statements were true, and I hoped they would all assume I was working on another book, but didn’t want to talk about it yet.
Vincent flicked open his snuff box and took a small pinch of snuff with his fingertips. ‘I wish I could write a book, I must say. You’re a very clever woman, ma’am.’
‘Oh yes,’ Lucie declared eagerly. ‘Drusilla is the most intelligent person I know.’
Instantly Giles threw up his hands in mock despair. ‘I had hoped you wouldn’t discover that until after we were married.’
Once the laughter had died down, Marguerite gazed fondly at her son. ‘What Lucie meant Giles, is that Drusilla is the cleverest woman she knows.’
By the time we reached Westfleet that evening the fine weather had begun to break, and it soon became clear we were in for a severe gale. Aunt Thirza said she was thankful it had not come in earlier and spoilt the day, as she had not enjoyed herself so much in months.
That night, listening to the wind rattling the leaded windows of my bedchamber, I finished the last few pages of the novel Julia had lent me, and being still wide awake, wondered if my book on fossils could tell me anything about the tooth I’d found. The book was in the workroom, and the servants had gone to bed, but as reading often helped me to sleep, I slipped on my dressing gown, picked up the candle, and shielding it from draughts with my hand, tiptoed down the creaking staircase as quietly as I could. When I opened the workroom door, I heard a slight movement, and almost instantly, the candle was knocked out of my hand. I shrieked, the candle holder struck the floor with a clang, and a shadowy figure dashed across the room, and out of the door that led to the garden.
Instinctively I ran after him, but the darkness and the howling of the wind made it impossible to see or hear anything. Going back indoors, I was lighting the workroom candles when Jeffel, wearing a dressing gown over his night attire, came to see what all the commotion was about. I told him somewhat breathlessly, ‘I came down to fetch a book and disturbed a burglar.’
Jeffel peered at me anxiously. ‘Are you all right, my lady?’
‘Just a little shaken. Still, I shook him too. He fled like a frightened rabbit,’ I said, indicating the workroom door.
Taking a lighted candle, Jeffel carefully inspected the door. ‘He picked the lock, my lady. I can see a scratch mark that wasn’t there yesterday.’
There were no bolts on this particular door and I asked Jeffel to fit some in the morning. ‘A new lock would be advisable too.’
‘Very good, my lady.’ He pushed a cabinet in front of the door, in case the bu
rglar came back later, and mopping his brow, asked if I’d seen the man.
I shook my head. ‘It was too dark.’
‘I’d better check if anything is missing, my lady.’
While he did so, I looked round the workroom itself. Only then did I notice that the shutters covering my wall charts had been raised, revealing every scrap of evidence I had gathered about the murders. The purpose of the shutters was to keep out the light, not to conceal what was recorded; so there was no lock. And I had closed them myself, barely an hour since. Jeffel returned, reporting all was well, and I asked him to fix good strong locks to the shutters too.
My aunt and cousin came into the room, and it all had to be explained again. While they were naturally anxious, the man had long gone, and there being nothing we could do now, we went back to bed. Here I reflected on the sheer chance that had taken me down to the workroom at that particular moment. If I hadn’t done so, would I ever have known an intruder had been in the house? If he’d managed to lock the door again and pulled the shutters over my wall charts, I wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
By morning the gale had abated to a breeze, and immediately after breakfast I decided to tackle the estate accounts, which I had rather neglected lately. I sent a message to the stables telling Mudd I wouldn’t need him before eleven, and repaired to the library, settling myself at my writing desk. But instead of concentrating on the accounts, I kept thinking about last’s night incident. Then twice in the next fifteen minutes my housekeeper asked to see me, Jeffel came in to inform me the carrier had brought a large parcel for Lucie, and that having found bolts in the house, he could fit them now, if convenient.
I decided if Jeffel was going to start hammering in the workroom, the accounts could wait. I would ride down to Hokewell Bay, where I could walk undisturbed, and sort out the thoughts running through my mind. It was not yet nine o’clock, and none of the family was up, thus after sending a message to the stables for Orlando to be saddled, I wrote a note for my aunt, saying I’d gone down to the beach to see if last night’s heavy seas had dislodged any fossils from the cliffs.
Strolling down to the stables, I remembered I’d told Mudd I wouldn’t need him until eleven. The groom saddling Orlando, touched his cap and said Mudd was out exercising a horse, but was expected back any minute. The beach being only a five minute ride from Westfleet, I took the reins, instructing the groom to tell Mudd to come down to Hokewell Bay when he returned.
On reaching the bay, I tethered Orlando to the gate at the back of Smith’s farm, where Mudd could take care of him. There was no sign of Smith or anyone else on the farm, and walking down to the beach, I looked up at the cliff face, observing last night’s high water mark was several feet above my head. Perfect for dislodging fossils. I searched automatically, making slow progress along the beach, my mind on the break-in. This, I was sure, had came as a result of my hesitation at Allum Bay the previous day. When I had stupidly made it all too obvious I was working on something I didn’t want to talk about.
There was nothing of any significance on my charts, just generally known facts, and background details which helped me to see the situation as a whole. I had not included my theory of how Cuthbert Saxborough might have died, as it was only guesswork. And I didn’t have a theory about the yachting tragedy. I believed the intruder had simply wanted to find out how much I knew. Now he’d seen how little that was, perhaps he would be satisfied. For one thing was certain; I had no evidence that would lead me to his identity.
By the time I started to retrace my steps the tide was well on its way in, the strongest waves coming to within ten feet of me. I stopped briefly, to examine a piece of dislodged cliff, but there were no fossils in it, and I had barely moved on half a step, when something extremely heavy struck my right shoulder. And for the first time in my life, I lost my senses entirely.
When I came to, I was face down in the sand. A sandfly landed on my nose, and when I brushed it away, an agonising pain shot through my right shoulder. The throbbing made me feel nauseous, and I lay still until it had subsided. The chunk of cliff that had knocked me senseless was close by, and it had grass on it, signifying it had become dislodged from the cliff top. After a gale, I had seen small pieces fall down the cliff, but nothing this size. Nor had I been struck by one before.
My face was turned towards the sea, and I was trying to work out how to get up without fainting, when a particularly ferocious wave raced up the beach drenching me with freezing cold water. That cleared my muzzy head, and in relief I remembered the message I’d left for Mudd. When he saw the state of the tide, he would come looking for me. The way the servants fussed was a nuisance at times, but now I thanked heaven for it. Gingerly lifting my head to look for Mudd, I saw what my stupefied brain had forgotten, and I groaned. The high cliffs were impossible to climb, and I could only get off this beach by way of Hokewell chine, at which point the cliff jutted out some thirty yards nearer the sea than where I was now. To reach safety, I had to get round that first. But, if the tide had reached me here, then the water would already be two or three feet deep where the cliff jutted out. And there was no sign of Mudd.
I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come. Even if my message had been forgotten, Mudd would have seen that Orlando was not in his stable, and asked where I had gone. Glancing up at a watery sun, I judged from its position that it must be about two hours to nuncheon. No-one else at Westfleet would worry about me until then. By that time, I thought it highly likely I would be dead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gritting my teeth, I leant on my good elbow, and gradually got up onto my knees, just as a second chilling wave crashed over me. The beach lurched alarmingly, then a wave smacked into a nearby rock, throwing ice cold water into my face, and the swaying stopped. Using the cliff as a support, I slowly inched my way upwards, shivering from the drenching and the south westerly breeze.
Gasping and cursing, I stumbled along the beach for what seemed an eternity, holding my shoulder in a vain effort to stop the excruciating pain, hampered by sea-soaked skirts and freezing water surging around my legs. By the time I reached the point where the cliff jutted out nearer the sea, the breakers smashing against it sent spray ten foot up into the air. Thirty yards stood between me and the safety of the next beach, but it might as well have been thirty miles.
I leant against the cliff, teeth chattering uncontrollably, watching wind whipped waves rising majestically into gigantic curling breakers that hung in mid air, before crashing in a swirl of foam that swept to the foot of the cliffs and round my ankles. As each wave receded, the fierce undertow tore savagely at my legs, seeking to drag me into the sea.
All along the beach I had prayed it wouldn’t be necessary to swim. I was a poor swimmer at the best of times, and I didn’t know if I could stay afloat with a shoulder that had me screaming with pain. But I only had two choices. I could swim. Or I could stay here and wait for the waves to smash me to pulp against the cliff. I began to laugh a little hysterically at having to choose between being battered to death, or drowning. The first meant certain death, the other gave me a very slim chance. It was an easy decision.
I had once seen my father bowled over by the force of a wave, and these were only moderate, for the gale had abated. I had often marvelled at the might of those thundering breakers, but looking at them now, my mouth went very dry.
Sitting on a rock, I dragged my riding boots off by wedging them, one at a time, between two rocks and pulling my foot out. Removing my stockings, I lifted the voluminous skirts of my riding habit and tied the saturated cloth round my waist as best I could, to stop the wet material hindering me in the sea. Taking a deep breath, I waded into the water, ignoring the towering waves slamming against the cliff. I turned my back to two huge breakers, somehow keeping upright, and before the next one reached me, launched myself towards and through it. But the wave struck the cliff near me, flew up into the air, and a jet of water shot straight in my mouth.
Chokin
g, I reached for the sand, but I was already out of my depth, and the sea closed over my head. Kicking frantically upwards, I broke through the surface, gulping, gasping, spluttering. White froth from the wave tops hit me in the face, only there was no going back now, and that calmed me. Using what little stamina I had left, I threw everything into getting beyond the jutting out cliff. Turning parallel to the coast to keep the cliffs in view, I swam on my left side kicking hard with my feet, thrusting my left arm forward, and barely moving my right.
Slowly clawing my way along, I was a fraction past the middle of that jutting out cliff, when a giant wave crashed over my head. With my back to the breakers, I hadn’t seen it coming. As I went under, a huge press of water propelled my body inexorably forward. I tried kicking upwards, but it was useless. There was a roaring in my ears, and I knew I couldn’t hold my breath much longer. Not that it mattered; I was about to be splattered against the cliffs.
At the precise moment I thought my lungs must burst, my left knee scraped against something firm. Then my head broke through the surface. I was kneeling on sand. In front of me the beach led up out of the chine. I had missed the cliff by a whisker. I staggered up onto my feet, reeling and gasping, taking great gulps of fresh air into my starved lungs, savouring the glorious flavour of salt on my lips. It had never tasted so good. My shoulder felt as if it was on fire, but I no longer cared. I was alive.
Untying my skirts, I waded towards the water’s edge, stepped on a sharp stone, lost my balance, and fell backwards into the water. I saw the next wave rise to a dizzy height above me, felt the fierce undertow dragging me back into the sea, and as I clutched desperately at the moving sand, the wave crashed over my head, choking me.
As the sea receded, I heard a shout, and with my last ounce of strength I lifted my head to see a man galloping down the beach towards me. Bringing his horse to an abrupt halt, he leapt off, and without stopping to remove his boots or coat, Mr Reevers plunged into the water, scooping me up as if I was a lightweight, murmuring, ‘Oh, my dear girl,’ with more agitation that I thought him capable of. I had never been held so close by a man before, although I did not think of that until later.