Diccon put the candle on top. “The string goes all the way downstairs and we tie it around that big cauldron in the kitchen. So long as it stays tight, the shelf stays up. But if someone bad should break in, we’d only have to lift the cauldron or cut the string and the shelf would fold down, dropping the candle onto the pan. Do you see?”
Arthur knit his brows. “It wouldn’t make ’nuff noise to fright a thief, I don’t think.”
“Quite right,” said Diccon. “Only we’ll have a thin line of black powder under the shelf, leading to the far end of the table.”
“Oh. So when the candle falls down, it sets light to the powder? If it’s just a thin line it still won’t make much of a bang, Diccon.”
“No,” agreed Vaughan. “But those will.”
Arthur looked at the collection of intriguing packets on the window end of the table, and his eyes became very wide indeed. “Fireworks?”
Diccon nodded. “Fireworks.”
“An’ the powder will catch ’em alight?”
Vaughan said laughingly, “We certainly hope so. If they all go shooting out of the window, they’ll be seen for miles and people will come to help.”
“Ooooh! Diccon, can we—”
“I’m afraid not, old fellow. But we’ll have a show on Guy Fawkes’ Day, how’s that?”
Arthur’s face fell. “It’s in November. An’ it’s a long way from now.”
Diccon knew that Vaughan’s plans for the day had included taking Fanny for a drive. His eyes asked a question. Vaughan nodded and said, “You’re not forgetting that your doctor prescribed sea air? Why don’t you get to it? Mac can help me set that fallen block into the wall downstairs and there’ll still be time for my—er, activities.”
“Thanks, Joss. Well, Detestable, will you take me along in your galleon?”
His answer was a shout of joy and a crushing hug, and down to the beach they marched, hand in hand.
Diccon was relegated to the rank of Bo’sun and when the Detestable Dag was safely aboard, he bent to his oars and, obeying the command of the Scourge of the Seven Seas, sang heartily,
No matter your rank, you’ll walk the plank
If you drift across our bow!
So stay well clear of the buccaneer
Who’s taken The Brotherhood’s vow!
Joining the chorus in a piercing scream, Captain Detestable waved the skull-and-crossbones flag with one hand while clinging to the side of the rowing boat with the other.
Sing Ho for the Jolly Roger flag!
Sing Ho for the Spanish Main!
Daring and bold is Detestable Dag
You’ll not see his like again!
Yo … Ho!
No never his like again!
Pleased with their efforts, they laughed together, and Captain Detestable exclaimed, “Oh, jolly good, Bo’sun!”
The wind was rising, and the rowing boat plunged into a trough. Diccon slanted a glance at the lowering clouds.
Whether or not it is designated a “galleon” a small boat in choppy seas can play havoc with the strongest stomach, but although Arthur gripped the side tightly, his eyes were bright with excitement. What great fun it would be, he said, if they should be shipwrecked. On a desert island.
“Great fun,” agreed Diccon solemnly. “But I don’t think there is one nearby.”
“Then let’s go to one far-by!”
Diccon chuckled, but Arthur’s face clouded. “He’d be sorry then,” he muttered. “’Specially if we wasn’t found for days ’n days!”
In an attempt to alleviate that hurt, Diccon said, “If truth be told I suspect your brother saw weather blowing up and had enough sense to stay on dry land.”
“Then he could’ve taked me with him in the new coach.” Arthur scowled. “He told Etta he’d got to meet someone ’portant, but he din’t even say g’bye to me when he drove out. He’d forgot.”
“Well we’d best not forget we’re out here looking for a prize. Keep your eyes open, Skipper!”
They sighted sails on the horizon and gave chase, but the cowardly East Indiaman fled before them. A large piece of floating driftwood became a Portuguese pirate frigate and they gave her a broadside, then boarded her and had just sent several members of her villainous crew on a stroll along the legendary “plank” when the bow of the rowing boat drove through a wave and a cloud of icy spray soaked them both. Arthur shrieked exuberantly. Shaking salt water from his eyes, Diccon gasped, “Whew! I’ll be for it when Miss Marietta discovers I took you out in heavy weather!”
“She won’t mind. She’s a good sport. D’you think she’s pretty, Bo’sun?”
A brief pause, then, “Aye, Cap’n. I do. Hold tight now, we must turn about and make a run for our home port!”
Arthur had to use both hands to hang on this time, but he showed no sign of fear and when the boat was on a more even keel once more he shouted, “Mr. Williard wants her for a wife. Would he be my uncle then?”
“No, old fellow. Your brother-in-law.”
Indignant, Arthur exclaimed, “I don’t want him for a brother ’law!” He considered, looking glum, then asked, “I ’spect you wouldn’t like to have Etta for a wife, would you? She’s nice. For a girl, you know.”
Again, Diccon did not at once reply, then he said rather breathlessly, “Miss Marietta is—very nice. And I would.”
“Oh. Well, are you goin’ to?”
“I’m—afraid not. Here comes another big one!”
The big one successfully negotiated they headed in to the calmer waters of the little cove and Arthur persisted, “Why not? Etta likes you better’n that old Mr. Williard. ’Sides, if you had her for a wife you wouldn’t go ’way, would you?”
Touched by this betraying question, Diccon smiled down into the small wet face, and the boy beamed back, then shouted, “There she is!”
Marietta was walking down the sands of the cove, her cloak flying in the wind.
“Caught red-handed!” said Diccon, his heart giving its customary leap at the sight of her.
Arthur teased, “You’ll be for it now, Bo’sun!” He waved, and howled, “Here we are, Etta!”
Shipping the oars Diccon jumped over the side and began to haul the boat up the beach. Marietta ran to help, then had to back away from an incoming wave. “Oh, for a pair of your hip boots,” she said, laughingly.
Arthur waved the skull-and-crossbones as Diccon lifted him over the side. “Ladies don’t wear hip boots! You’d look funny, Etta. I’m Cap’n Detes’ble Dag and we been pirates and we singed—sung, a pirate song. Very loud. Bo’sun Diccon can’t sing, but he’s a good row-er. Are you cross? Is he ‘for it’?”
“He will be if you take a chill! You’re soaked through!”
“Run all the way up to the manor,” urged Diccon. “Please, Captain Detestable. For my sake!”
“Oh, all right!” Arthur started off, then turned back. “Is you goin’ to ask her now?”
Marietta turned to look at Diccon curiously.
He felt his face burn, and said gruffly, “I’ll let you know when I do. Off with you, brat, and tell the Lord of the Larder to get you warm and dry and find something for you to eat!”
Chuckling, the boy trotted off.
Diccon hauled the boat higher up the beach. “I’m sorry he got wet. I’d not expected weather to blow up so fast, though Lord knows I should have. This coast is famous for that very thing.”
Marietta seized the starboard side and tugged mightily. “I suppose my brother charmed you into overriding your better judgment.”
“Well, he— Oh, have a care!”
She had tripped on her cloak, and he sprang to lift her as she tumbled to the sand.
“What a fumble-fingers I am,” she said, sitting up and tidying her skirts, her heart warmed because of the anxiety in his eyes. “No—don’t say it was your fault and that you should never have taken Arthur out on the water in such weather. It was more than kind, and you cannot know how grateful I am. The poor chil
d was so disappointed when Eric had to leave.”
Diccon knelt there, drinking in her loveliness so close beside him. His voice a caress, he said, “You must know how fond I am of the boy. He’s a grand little fellow.”
“Yes, he is, but I’m afraid he has taken you over and you must not let him impose on— Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, interrupting herself. “And here I am come to impose once again, and ask if you were able to talk with Eric. He said nothing of his visit to you, save that he covets Orpheus.”
“He’s not the only one. Yes, we had a chat. Rather brief, unfortunately. I tried to drop a few hints, but he doesn’t know me yet, after all, and I’ve no wish to seem too avuncular. Too soon.” She looked at him sharply, and he added a fast, “I think he’s rather shy of this awesome old chap.”
“Yes.” She said ruefully, “He’s awfully young, even for two and twenty. It seems to me that I was older at that age.”
“But that, of course, was very long ago.”
“Wretch!” She laughed. “I suppose we all look back and think how much wiser we were than those who came after us. But—he is just a boy, Diccon. And very dear to me. You will try again? Please?”
He said softly, “How could I deny such a very … poor old lady?”
The silver light was in his eyes. A tremor shook her. His lips, which could be so stern, were curved to a smile of such tenderness that she was suddenly desperate to feel them on her own. Breathlessly, she waited.
Diccon had felt her tremble. Her lovely face seemed to him to glow. He reached out and drew her closer and she did not resist. Her eyes were so soft, her lips slightly parted. Enchanted, he bowed his head and leaned towards them.
A gust of wind sent her cloak flying. Through a golden haze he saw something glitter on her shawl. And the cold knifeblade of reality slashed through and destroyed that magical moment.
Marietta saw his face change, and she pulled back, belatedly embarrassed by such a shocking lapse of propriety. How could she have allowed herself to lounge about on a public beach all but embraced in a man’s arms? A comparative stranger, really, who was—who was staring at her bosom! Her hand went up instinctively to pull her cloak closed. His move was faster. Shocked, she shrank away, but his fingers had grasped the pin on her shawl.
In a harsh voice she scarcely recognized he demanded, “Where did you get this?”
“It was a gift. Let go at once, sir!”
Narrowed and grim, his eyes lifted to search her face. Marietta started up and he released the brooch and helped her to stand. He said coldly, “Blake Coville gave it to you.”
It was a statement rather than a question. Irritated, she said, “Is there some reason why I should not accept a gift from a friend? I think it is none of your affair, Major. Besides, how can you know who gave it me?”
He walked beside her towards the cliff path and answered, “It belonged to my mother.”
With a gasp, she halted and turned to face him. “Your—mother? But—but why on earth…? Oh! I knew I should not have accepted it!” She tried to unfasten the brooch. “You shall have it back!”
“No. He gave it to you. If you wish to return it, return it to him.”
“Well, I will—if I can get the wretch— I mean, if I can get it off. The clasp is caught in my shawl. Oh, why ever would Mr. Coville have been so gauche as to give me a piece of jewellery belonging to another lady?”
“Probably in the hope that I would see it, and be plagued by guilt,” he said dryly.
She looked up at him. The wind tossed his thick unruly hair about and where the spray had dampened it small curls had plastered themselves against his brow. His head was held high, his mouth tight, and with the darkening clouds behind him he looked stern and formidable. She was reminded of a painting she’d once seen depicting a Roman centurion preparing to lead his men into mortal combat; there was the same hawk look, the same fierce intensity. For some reason she felt a pang of fear.
Not looking at her, he said, “You’re wondering if I told you the truth, or if I am as guilty as the Covilles say.”
She hesitated. “You said very little of it. Have I the right to ask for the whole story?”
“No.” His gaze lowered and softened. “If I told you, it would make you an accessory, do you see? I’d not put you in that position.”
Appalled, she faltered, “An accessory to—what? Are you—are you saying—”
He put one long finger across her lips. “Whatever you may think—whatever may happen, will you believe that one most unworthy man cares very much about your happiness?”
She did believe and for an instant she was both grateful and comforted, but his previous remark haunted her and she said, “You’re frightening me. And you’re evading again. Diccon—can’t you at least—”
“Etta? Etta…?”
Mrs. Cordova waved urgently from the top of the cliff. She was obviously agitated, and Marietta hurried to the narrow path, Diccon’s supporting hand at her elbow.
“Aunty Dova? What is it? Is Papa—?”
“Your father is well.” Mrs. Cordova clutched her arm as they reached the top. “I must talk to you. Something has happened. I knew—” She glanced at the silent man and moaned softly. “I knew!”
Alarmed, Marietta asked, “Knew what, dearest? Is Fanny ill? Or—”
“No, no! And Mr. Vaughan, the very nicest boy, is so devoted.… Only— Oh dear, oh dear! Come quickly, my love! I’ll explain in the carriage. Yes, I made Bridger drive me down. This horrid wind! And that awful pastry man! And Mrs. Maitland again. But—we must talk Etta!” She glanced at Diccon, who had drawn back. “Not here! Privately!”
“Very well. But I must go and fetch Arthur, he got soaked in the boat and is drying off in—”
“He must wait! Etta, Etta! You do not listen, child! I said privately!”
Diccon came up to assist the ladies into the carriage. “I’ll bring him to you, ma’am. He’s likely bamboozled Mac out of a piece of cake. I’ll have him home before dark, I promise.”
Marietta thanked him gratefully. He slammed the door and the coach jerked and rattled on its way. The wind was blustering in the trees. She thought absently that it was a good thing he’d not taken the boat very far out. How radiant little Arthur had been. Captain—what had Diccon named him? Detestable Dag, that was it. She smiled fondly. So much of his time he’d given the child; so much of joy. The coach rocked to a sudden gust. The shrubs beside the drive were whipped apart revealing the man who stood among them. She jerked her head around in time to see Diccon gesture violently. The man plunged into the trees.
“You’re not listening to me, Etta,” said Mrs. Cordova plaintively. “Now what is it?”
“There was a man hiding in the bushes! A boy, rather. It was Sam South. And I’m sure Diccon knew he was there!”
“Then Mrs. South was right, and her boy was at Lanterns! I am not surprised! Oh, Etta! We have been dreadfully deceived! I was right, the good Lord aid us! We are in the most frightful trouble!”
* * *
Jocelyn Vaughan tilted the kitchen chair to a precarious angle and smiled dreamily at the ceiling. He had taken his supper at the dower house and returned to Lanterns late in the evening in an apparent haze of bliss. Busily occupied with the letter he was writing, Diccon paused to slant an oblique glance at him.
“My mind is made up!” declared Vaughan. “Fate, or that roseate little nude who flits about loosing off his arrows, has dealt me a lifetime leveller, and I’ve not the slightest quarrel with the rascal!”
“Hmm,” grunted Diccon, his quill pen scratching across the page.
“None,” said Vaughan. “She is the perfect lady for me. I knew it, you know, the instant I looked at her.”
“Really? I thought at first glance you took her for a dummy.”
MacDougall, who sat by the stove polishing Diccon’s riding boots, chuckled and said, “A flush hit, y’ken!”
“Yes, and d’you know why?” Vaughan straightened his chai
r, narrowly avoided knocking over the branch of candles, and retaliated indignantly, “He’s jealous! I found the lady of my heart and mean to offer for her with no backing and filling, whereas he sits and glowers and grieves, and does nothing to claim his own love!”
At this Diccon lowered his pen and lifted his head. “Mean to offer for her? What—after a courtship of less than a week? You’ve maggots in your loft! It’s too soon, you silly clod!”
“I let no grass grow under my feet, if that’s what you mean. Strike while the iron is hot and all that kind of thing. Don’t you agree, Mac?”
“Och aweigh, it makes no never mind; a wench is a wench, forbye. But ma fither used tae say ‘love that’s soonest hot is soonest cold.’”
“Well, of all the marplots! Miss Fanny is not a wench and I’ll thank you to watch your tongue, MacDougall! As for you, Major, sir—”
“Gad, and the child is off again.” Diccon sighed.
Vaughan’s eyes flashed. Standing, he said bleakly, “I’m not a child! I don’t want that rascally step-brother of yours for my brother-in-law! And if you mean to let him snatch your lady from under your nose because you lack the gumption to offer—”
Diccon interrupted quietly, “I cannot offer, Joss. You know my feelings on that score.”
“Do I? Does anyone—ever—know your true feelings? Oh, you may freeze me, but I’ll give you my opinion regardless: with or without a fortune you’re a fool not to make a try for the lady. Fanny told me she thinks her sister is half-way in love with you already.”
Diccon stared at him. “She never did.”
“’Pon my word! And I think it also. Wake up, man! Don’t throw away—”
“Will you stop?” Diccon sprang to his feet and said in a sudden fury, “D’you think I don’t know how lovely and dear and desirable she is? D’you think that having found her at last, I want to lose her? I’d begun to think I had a chance. But now—I’ve racked my brain trying to find a way through this bog, but there is no way! For the love of God—leave me be!” And with a distraught gesture, he was gone, leaving the door wide behind him as he stamped out into the rainy night.
The two he left behind, looked at each other. After a minute Vaughan rose and went to the door.
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