by Dawn Harris
‘Oh dear, am I late for nuncheon?’ I saw by the hall clock that I was, by almost an hour. At the sound of my voice, my aunt, uncle and Lucie came hurrying into the hall, and I told them only that Leatherbarrow had been attacked. Lucie, unaware Giles was in any danger, showed a natural warm-hearted concern for a servant she liked. My aunt began asking questions, and as she and Lucie were naturally looking at me, they did not notice my uncle’s ashen face.
Catching him alone later, I said someone else would fetch Giles once we knew where he was waiting. I didn’t say I was that someone, nor do I think that occurred to him, but he was very worried about Giles being stranded. ‘I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to him, Drusilla.’
After nuncheon I went for a stroll in the garden to think of a way to explain why I was going away for a few days without taking my maid, when I saw Mudd returning. Walking over to the stables, I met him half way across the cobbled yard.
‘Did you find him, John?’
‘No, my lady. His wife said he wouldn’t be back until tonight.’
I groaned. ‘Where has he gone for heaven’s sake? Did she tell you?’
‘She said he was out on one of the fishing boats.’
‘Something to do with smuggling no doubt.’
‘I expect so, my lady.’
I stood thinking for a moment, and he waited for me to speak. ‘We can’t go to Normandy without knowing where Mr Giles is. We’d never find him. If you speak to Jacob tonight, we’ll leave first thing in the morning.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
That evening I played chess with my uncle in the library, and it was after nine when he, having won the deciding game, joined my aunt and cousin in the blue room, while I stayed to read the newspaper. I had barely picked it up when Jeffel came in to say Mudd wished to see me. I nodded. ‘Send him in, please Jeffel.’
I saw from Mudd’s face that the news was not good. ‘Jacob was at home this time, my lady, but he doesn’t know where the rendezvous is.’
‘Doesn’t know?’ I echoed, dismayed. ‘But he must.’
‘He waits at a French inn, and Mr Giles sends him his orders there.’ I closed my eyes in despair, cursing Giles and his secretive, meticulous planning. ‘What will you do now, my lady?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know, John. I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning.’
After he had gone I studied a map of Normandy, looking for what Leatherbarrow had described to me. An isolated beach well away from any village. But, there were numerous such places along what had to be hundreds of miles of coastline. Leatherbarrow obviously had to know the rendezvous, but Jacob did not need to, so Giles hadn’t told him.
I accepted I could not go, yet it wasn’t a decision I made easily, for I felt that, somehow, I ought to be able to do something. Yet it was Giles who had made that impossible, and only my knowledge of him, and how he planned things, stopped me giving way to despair.
At that moment, my aunt, uncle and cousin, came in to say goodnight. At present, my uncle, on Dr. Redding’s advice, retired to bed promptly at ten, and glancing at the library clock I saw it was almost that now. Aunt Thirza and Lucie soon left, but my uncle lingered for a few minutes, quietly urging, ‘Try not to worry about Giles. He’s no fool, my dear.’
‘I know,’ I sighed. But that night I had a terrible nightmare in which Giles was trying, singlehandedly, to fight off a horde of sans-culottes on a French beach.
When my maid drew back the curtains in the morning, the house was engulfed in thick fog, and going down to the stables after breakfast, I could see no more than a yard ahead of me. Which, as I said to Mudd, would have stopped us going to France this morning in any case, and made me feel marginally better.
Nor was there much sense in going out riding until it cleared, and I spent the morning in the workroom. Writing down how Leatherbarrow had been attacked, and thinking about the way Mr Reevers had acted.
The fog hung around well into the afternoon, at which point I rode over to Dell Farm, but Leatherbarrow was still unconscious, and I began to fear the worst. I slept badly that night and awoke again at daybreak, thinking of Giles waiting in vain on the beach. Jumping out of bed, I drew back the curtains to find an overcast sky, but the fog having completely gone, I went for a long ride before breakfast.
This being the day we were dining at Ledstone, Lucie and I, accompanied by Mudd, called in at Dell Farm on the way, learning from Mrs Ward that Leatherbarrow was showing signs of coming round.
‘That is good news,’ I said in huge relief, as she led the way up to his room.
‘The doctor thinks it will be a day or two yet before he regains his senses properly,’ she warned, opening the door of the bright bedchamber at the back of the house. A jug of fresh flowers stood on a table beside the bed, next to a basket of fruit, which Mrs Ward announced proudly, Mrs Saxborough had brought up herself.
I responded appropriately, and looking at Leatherbarrow detected a slight improvement in the colour of his face, but he did not open his eyes, and we soon left promising to call again the next day.
At Ledstone, Marguerite awaited us in the family drawing room, the gentlemen not yet having joined her, and she was delighted to hear Leatherbarrow was on the mend. ‘I took a basket of fruit for him, you know.’
I smiled. ‘Yes, we saw it.’
‘Well, when he does comes round, I thought fruit might tempt him to eat. I find I can often manage a grape or two when I’m not feeling quite the thing, and I know Giles would want me to do everything I can for his groom.’ She looked up at me. ‘I’ve hardly slept these last two nights, thinking about it all. Still, there is one good thing to come out of it. I have rid myself of Mr Reevers.’
CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR
‘What do you mean?’ I gasped.
‘He’s gone to London to see Giles.’
‘London?’ And without thinking, burst out, ‘But Giles isn’t-----’
When I stopped, Marguerite gazed at me, puzzled. ‘Isn’t what, Drusilla?’
‘Isn’t likely to be in London much longer,’ I said quickly, gathering my wits together.
Lucie gave me an odd look, but my godmother accepted my explanation without question. ‘Oh well, he’s gone anyway. When he told me about Leatherbarrow, I said how worried I was by what was happening at Ledstone. And I have been Drusilla, ever since the Saxborough ring was found round that smuggler’s neck, and we realised poor Thomas and Tom had been murdered. Giles is ignorant of it all, and he should be told. He ought to be here. To tell the truth, I was in tears, and Mr Reevers said I was quite right. Which did surprise me, because we don’t usually agree on anything. He insisting on leaving at once, promising me Giles wouldn’t go after the murderers now, not with the wedding being so close.’
I stared at her, conscious only of a sinking feeling in my stomach. ‘He left the same day?’ She nodded happily. ‘Within half an hour, on account of not wanting to miss the tide. He took Giles’s boat too, it being much faster than his. I must say two whole days without that dreadful man has----’ she stopped, for the door opened and the gentlemen came into the room.
They bowed, Vincent’s graceful bearing sharply contrasting with his son’s perfunctory civility, and the usual pleasantries had barely been exchanged when Parker came in to announce dinner was served. The dinner was good, as were all meals arranged by Marguerite, but I was too stunned by Mr Reevers’s sudden departure to appreciate either the food or the conversation. As I sat toying with the piece of pie on my plate, puzzling over why he’d gone now, when he hadn’t thought it necessary before, I became aware my godmother was speaking to me. Looking across at her, I forced a smile, and asked what she had said.
‘I wondered why you hadn’t tried the lemon tart, Drusilla,’ she murmured. ‘I had it made especially for you.’
I smiled. ‘It looks absolutely delicious.’
She gazed at me in concern. ‘Are you feeling quite the thing? You’re very quiet tonight.’
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Reassuring her, I tucked enthusiastically into a portion of the deliciously tangy tart, just as Lucie ask Piers how he liked the Isle of Wight now. To my surprise, he answered at some length. ‘The coastal scenery interests me most,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t realised how much the sea erodes the cliffs. At Blackgang I was told the edge of the cliff where I stood could be gone by next year.’ He seemed to be making an effort to be civil, Lucie having hit on a subject that intrigued him, for there was no sign of his customary surliness.
Resolutely thrusting all other thoughts from my mind, I encouraged, ‘If you come back next year, you’ll see for yourself how much it has changed.’
‘Perhaps I will.’ And he almost smiled. ‘I have been reading your excellent book on the Island, Lady Drusilla----’
‘My father’s book, Mr Saxborough.’
He inclined his head. ‘Yes, of course. I had no idea there had been so many shipwrecks.’
‘The coast, especially here on the back of the Island, can be really treacherous. Three American ships were lost on the underwater ledge in one year alone, and a French sloop was smashed to pieces under the cliffs at Dittistone.’
‘Foreign ships, in bad weather,’ he commented. ‘It doesn’t happen to local fisherman---’
‘In severe weather it can happen to anyone. At the end of May, the revenue cutter ran aground when chasing smugglers during a gale and was damaged beyond repair.’
Piers asked, ‘Has the cutter been replaced?’
I nodded. ‘By the ‘Swan III.’’ And I explained the importance of the boat in Mr Arnold’s fight to reduce smuggling on the Island. ‘Some years ago, his official request for a fast cutter being turned down, he and one of his brothers-in-law funded one with their own money. Sadly it foundered in a gale within a month, and the Commissioners of Customs finally agreed to provide a replacement.’
Piers asked several questions about the Customs service, until Marguerite beseeched, with her most entrancing smile, ‘Oh do let us speak of something else. Talking of boats always makes me feel queasy.’ Everyone laughed, and we dutifully changed the subject.
I invited Vincent and Piers to call at Westfleet now that my uncle was well enough to receive visitors, and they promised to do so soon. The more I saw of Piers the less I liked him, but I couldn’t leave him out of the invitation. Vincent, on the other hand, was a charming man, and exactly the companion Marguerite needed at this time. Like many a rebellious youth, he had become a man of sense in his mature years. He teased her fears away with kindness and patience, filling her days with amusing and interesting conversation. She would miss him when he went back to Italy, but she had the wedding to look forward to, the joy of living at Ledstone with Giles and Lucie, and the prospect of grandchildren.
Vincent, having visited all his old haunts and the friends from his youth, spent most of his time at Ledstone now. Which suited Marguerite perfectly, especially as Piers was invariably out touring the Island, usually with a sketchbook in his saddlebag. When the gentlemen rejoined us after dinner, Lucie asked Piers if she could see some of his sketches, but he insisted they were not fit to be shown in company.
At which my godmother declared, ‘We’re all family here, Piers. Well, Lucie soon will be, and Drusilla has always been like a daughter to me.’
Still he shook his head, until Vincent said in some amusement, ‘I think you must fetch them, or you will offend the ladies.’
‘If you insist,’ he muttered abruptly, and left the room without a backward glance.
‘I’m bound to own Piers is right,’ Vincent admitted. ‘He cannot draw. He hopes that, with perseverance, he may improve.’
Piers returned shortly with several sketches, all of coastal scenes, but his tendency to include every rock on a beach gave his drawings an unbalanced appearance. Nevertheless, I commented diplomatically, ‘I admire anyone who can draw. I gave up the attempt by the time I was fourteen.’ Lucie, in her kind-hearted way, found something to appreciate in them all, and my godmother said everything that was proper.
I suspected Piers used his sketching as an excuse for getting out of the house. The amiable pursuits enjoyed by his father, of genteel conversation with Marguerite, a stroll in the gardens, or a sedate carriage ride round the estate, were far too slow for a young man, and I imagine he would be thankful to leave the Island.
That evening, back at Westfleet, when everyone had retired for the night, I sat in the library puzzling over Mr Reevers’s swift departure. I couldn’t understand why he’d left for London in such haste. And I couldn’t forget how I’d seen him bending over the groom, stone in hand. Or that awful moment when I thought he meant to shoot me. Nor could I help thinking of his desperate financial situation, or that, at the time of the murders, he must have thought himself next in line to inherit Ledstone, after Giles.
Yet he was also Giles’s friend, entrusted with the care of Ledstone, and Giles’s judgement was normally sound. So Mr Reevers might have been trying to warn me of the consequences of rushing impulsively into dangerous situations, and perhaps he had gone to London, believing it was time Giles returned. But what he would do when he discovered Giles wasn’t there?
I kept mulling it all over in my mind, but the more I thought, the less sure I became of anything. There were too many uncertainties; too many questions I couldn’t answer. Some of the more worrying thoughts kept me up for a long time gazing unseeingly into the waning library fire. At one point, I went into the workroom to look at the details I was sure of, for it was always useful to remind myself of irrefutable facts. But, as I was to find out much later, one fact I believed to be a cast iron certainty, couldn’t have been more wrong.
The wedding was only three weeks away now. By then, I would surely know who was involved in the murders. A thought that made me tremble. For, while I wanted to know the truth, I was becoming increasingly afraid of what that truth might be.
Visiting Dell Farm the following morning, I found Leatherbarrow had regained consciousness at last, but it was another fortyeight hours before he was capable of answering questions. He was propped up in bed with several pillows, with a clean bandage round his head, his face white and strained. ‘How are you feeling, Leatherbarrow,’ I asked, sitting on the chair beside the bed.
‘A bit weak my lady, but Mrs Ward said her chicken broth will soon set me to rights.’ He glanced at the empty bowl on the beside table. ‘That’s the third helping I’ve had today.’
He spoke in a way that made me ask, ‘Do you like chicken broth?’
‘Oh yes, my lady,’ he answered, a little hesitantly.
‘Only not three times a day?’ He smiled rather sheepishly, and I said, ‘I’ll get Dr. Redding to speak to Mrs Ward. She’ll listen to him.’ He thanked me, and I asked if he felt up to telling me about the day he was attacked.
‘All I remember is leaving Ledstone, my lady. After that - well - I’ve tried to think, but my head’s so muzzy. The doctor says it will come back to me in time.’ Concentration was obviously difficult, and not wishing to tire him, I did no more than ask where he was supposed to meet Giles. ‘He wouldn’t be there now, my lady. He told me he wouldn’t wait more than a day. People notice strangers and he couldn’t risk someone reporting him.’
This eased my mind more than I could say. I had wondered what Giles would do if the weather made it impossible for his groom to get to Normandy in time. I was sure he’d have some contingency plan, for Giles always did, and it was that hope I had clung to after Leatherbarrow’s attack.
Even so, I put the obvious question, ‘How will he get home?’
‘That’s what I asked him.’ And he mumbled drowsily, ‘He said it was better I didn’t know.’ His eyes were drooping, and having first made sure the blankets were well tucked in, I left feeling almost light-headed with relief.
I had a word with Dr. Redding as I’d promised, and when I saw Leatherbarrow the next morning, he thanked me profusely. ‘Are you still getting the broth?’ I asked, smiling.
On my way home, I rode into Hokewell to see Jackson, in the hope he had news of the dead French smuggler who’d stolen the Saxborough ring. I had called several times recently without finding him in, but today I saw him walking towards his cottage. He looked round on hearing the sound of a horse, and stopped to wait for me.
‘I’m glad I’ve seen you, my lady,’ he said, touching his forelock. Lowering his voice, he went on, ‘I’ve just come back from France and I was coming up to the house later. It isn’t good news, I’m afraid. None of the Frenchies I’ve spoken to know who the man was.’
My heart sank, for this had been my only real hope of finding out. ‘Had they heard about Mr Thomas and Master Tom?’
‘Yes, my lady, they all knew. These things get about like wildfire. But not one of them saw anything that night, nor have I heard as much as a whisper as to who did it. I’ll keep asking, but I think the dead man must have come from a part of France we don’t go to.’
‘Yes, I see.’ It was impossible to hide my disappointment, and all I could do was urge him to keep trying. I’d had such high hopes of Jackson. Someone must know something, and it was human nature to talk about things, no matter how secret.
Nevertheless, life carried on as usual, and with the wedding being so close now, I set in motion a great flurry of activity to ensure the house was spotless. Ordering the preparation of guest bedchambers; furniture to be given an extra polish, carpets to be thoroughly beaten, as well as the meticulous cleaning of spare crockery and glasses. The gardens too had to be immaculate, a supply of extra wine glasses for the wedding breakfast had not yet arrived, and Lucie’s last minute fittings had to be squeezed in.
Dr.Redding continued to be pleased with my uncle’s progress.‘He’ll soon be his old self again,’ he told me one morning. ‘Oh, by the way, Leatherbarrow returned to Ledstone yesterday.’