by Vanessa Gray
Althea’s sobs turned into whimpers, somewhat to Faustina’s surprise. “What happened, Mary?” she asked. Mary was sitting awkwardly on the sand, her face calm enough, but the eyes she raised to Faustina held pain in their depths. “It is nothing,” said Mary in a tight voice.
“It’s my fault,” wailed Julia. “I slipped. How are we ever going to get her up the cliff?”
Aubrey said quietly, “Hugh, I didn’t quite like to leave the girls here.”
“Of course. I’ll arrange it. You stay here, if you will, Aubrey. Ned will be of no use to us.”
At that, Mary’s head came up, but she said nothing. She turned to look after Ned, down the beach still talking to Linden, but the movement caused a twinge in her ankle and she was forced to close her eyes again.
Hugh was already striding down the shingle toward the foot of the cliff path. Faustina sat beside Mary on the sand, holding her hand, and gave herself over to morose reflections.
The happy outing that had been anticipated by both Faustina and, presumably, Althea had gone sour somewhere along the way. Althea was whimpering still, her face sheltered in Prudence’s broad shoulder, and if the truth could be known, Faustina would have been greatly relieved had she been able to bawl like an infant herself.
She still shuddered when she relieved the moments when she thought the bobbing roundness in the water was a dead body; it had been a shock that she was only now beginning to feel. She had sustained a wave of relief when she saw die truth.
And then she had surged with indignant anger when she realized that her cousin was all but accusing Hugh Crale of leading the band of smugglers. It was outside of enough.
And yet, what did they know about the kind of man that Hugh had become in the past eight years? He had been wayward enough before he left home, constantly at war with his father, lashing out in all directions with futile fury.
And had that fury taken the road to defiance of all law and order?
She began to believe that there was in fact more to the smuggling than a few small kegs. She could not, of course, guess the truth, because Ned had not seen fit to confide in her. But it did not take a major intelligence to understand that Sir Edward Waverly of his majesty’s government would not spend a week or more in Devonshire on the track of brandy or a bit of smuggled brocade.
And with determination she kept her thoughts firmly focused on the events of the day, in order to keep at bay the recollection of those few moments when her guard had been down and she had leaned gratefully against a solid shoulder and felt a gentle hand stroking her hair.
Enough of that!
Hugh was back with his men in a surprisingly short time. He paused a moment to look down at Faustina. She refused to meet his eyes, and after a moment he said roughly, “I brought this blanket for you. You’re frozen!”
She allowed him to drape it over her shoulders, steeling herself against his touch. She need not have feared. His hands were not quite as tender, she thought with pique, as if he were laying a saddle blanket across the back of a not-too-well-thought-of-horse.
When the party rejoined Lady Waverly, still seated with Helen where they had left them, Louisa cried, “Good heavens, Faustina, what have you done to your dress? I vow I did not like it at all, thinking it vastly unbecoming. But to ruin it in such a fashion! Dirt! Wet! And what, pray tell me, is that very odd thing you are wearing? The latest in cloaks?”
Helen chimed in, “Quite unladylike. I must agree with Lady Waverly.”
Faustina said coolly, “Must you?”
She must have sounded more ferocious than she intended, from the way Helen shrank away from her. Or probably, Faustina guessed, Helen didn’t wish to be contaminated with the wet sand that was beginning to flake and fall off Faustina’s skirts as it dried.
Lady Waverly had found the afternoon with Helen Astley more than wearing. In addition, Pendarvis had hastily informed them that there was some slight trouble on the beach, before he went on to speak at length with Dawson. Still feeling slighted, she now chose to unburden herself of an accumulation of aggravations. “It is high time that I came to take over your affairs, Faustina. Egmont has sadly failed with you. This is all his fault.”
Faustina said quietly, “My father’s fault? Because I went out on the rocks to help Althea back? I do not quite see how he is to blame for that. In fact, he would be much at fault for my rearing if I had not done so.”
“Egmont should have married you off. Long since. I swear I did my best. Anybody will say that I did what I could for you. And no one would say that you weren’t a success in London.”
“I remember well,” said Faustina testily. “And I believe I have said, more than once, that I am grateful to you.”
Lady Waverly opened her eyes wide. “Of course you did. But the fact is that your father did not come up to the mark. Five offers that I know of, besides all those that did not receive sufficient encouragement to offer. Five. And Egmont refused to insist that you marry.”
Suddenly the funny side of the whole afternoon came to Faustina’s rescue. “I think even you, Aunt, would have decried my father’s judgment had he married me to them. All five — at once? Really, Aunt Louisa!” She collapsed on the ground, laughing helplessly.
She wiped her streaming eyes at last, conscious of a certain silence around her. She looked up into the sternly disapproving eyes of the vicar’s daughter. It was enough to nearly unseat her composure again.
“I think it is unseemly to indulge in hysterics,” said Helen primly.
“Oh, pray do not provoke me!” cried Faustina. “I know I am behaving badly. But in truth I cannot help it.”
Helen had not enjoyed her afternoon much, either. But it was not in her nature to allow herself an indulgence in emotions. She would have considered her position as sadly undermined had she given way to such hysterical abandon as Miss Kennett had just done. Imagine coming up from a stroll along the beach — a childish pursuit at best — in such a totally devastated condition! And dear Lady Waverly was doing her best to bring Faustina to a realization of her duty to the world.
Helen would not have recognized her emotions as uncharitableness, or even jealousy. Five suitors for Faustina; she thought of her as being quite “fast,” and certainly she would not want to have it said of Helen Astley that five eligible men had offered and been refused.
She was nearly ready to give up the idea of enticing the earl; perhaps Lady Waverly was right, and Sir Edward Waverly would be more suitable. At any rate, it was her intention to side with Lady Waverly in all things, at least until her own mind was a bit more settled.
Opportunity was now afforded. Lady Waverly cried out, “Faustina! Is that Julia with Mr. Talbot?”
Faustina composed herself sufficiently to look around. There indeed were Julia and Aubrey Talbot, cresting the clifftop together and moving toward them. They did not seem to be in any particular hurry.
“How could you leave those two together?” said Lady Waverly with suppressed fury. “Faustina, this is outside of enough! I do not expect that you would behave yourself with decorum, but to allow Julia to be alone with—”
“Aunt,” said Faustina wearily, “Ned was with them when I left. Surely her brother is sufficient protection?”
“I don’t understand. Where is Ned? Why didn’t he come up with them?”
Faustina realized with surprise that Lady Waverly and Helen knew nothing of what had transpired below on the shingle. They truly did not understand how Faustina could have gotten so disheveled. Simply saying “To help Althea back” gave no notion of plashing wave and slippery rock and of Althea’s real peril.
Nor were Lady Waverly and Helen aware of the discovery of kegs of brandy, anchored to the bottom of the bay. That, only she and Hugh knew, besides Ned. And Ned had spoken to them both in confidence about the smugglers and the trap that he had laid for them. She could tell her aunt nothing of that.
But Louisa Waverly had drawn her own conclusions. Her daughter and that up
start Talbot were returning from their stroll on the beach, almost hand in hand.
But Lady Waverly’s nearsighted eyes had deceived her. Helen pointed out, as the figures came closer from the cliff edge, “There’s Mary. Between Julia and Aubrey.”
“That makes it no better,” said Lady Waverly, although in a somewhat mollified tone. “I do not like it above half.”
When the trio arrived, it was clearly seen that Mary was limping. In fact, she could barely touch her foot to the ground, and the other two were supporting her.
“I fell,” she said simply, in answer to excited questions. “That’s all.”
“You should have been more careful,” said Helen pontifically. “Making such a fuss!”
“I did not do it on purpose, Helen,” said Mary equably. Her lips clamped tightly together, though, and Faustina wondered whether it was from pain or a desire to hold back the scorching words that would have been appropriate.
“No, indeed, she did not!” cried Julia. “I fell against her and knocked her down!”
“You what?” said Lady Waverly ominously. “I think you must tell me just how this happened.”
Faustina said, “I can tell you easily, Aunt. Althea got beyond her depth on the big rocks — you remember the long finger of rocks? — and I went out to get her. Julia was carrying her back and lost her balance. Julia was not to blame, either, was she, Mary?”
But Mary did not answer. She simply slid to the ground in a faint.
The earl, carrying his daughter, crested the cliff edge, and soon the picnic party was on the way home. Faustina was still comforted by the warmth of the blanket Hugh had draped around her, and her thoughts were gray indeed.
Louisa, mindful of Yarnall on the box and Samuel and Combes at the back, kept a fuming silence all the way home. She waited barely until they arrived in the entry hall before she rounded on Julia. “I cannot tell you how disgusted I am with you. You have behaved outrageously, and you must not believe that I will not take notice of this. I do not quite know yet what measures I shall take, but believe me, they will be taken.”
“But, Mama, I haven’t done anything—”
“You know my intentions for you,” cried Lady Waverly. “That is sufficient reason for you to behave with the utmost decorum. It certainly cannot be admirable for a man of such consequence to see you throwing all responsible behavior aside, and simply hurling yourself at a… a mere fortune-hunter!”
Aghast, Faustina intervened. “It was nothing of the sort, Aunt Louisa! I assure you, Julia behaved with the utmost propriety!”
Lady Waverly was not permanently diverted. “You would not be a judge, Faustina, as I have told you. I do not wish Julia to throw away her chances as you did.” “But, Aunt…”
Lady Waverly turned to Julia. “Let me tell you, I will not allow that miserable creature to get ideas above his station.”
“His station, Aunt Louisa? He is very well connected,” murmured Faustina, but her protest went unheeded.
“Go to your room, Julia. I will speak to you later.”
Julia was past protesting. Tears streamed down her face, and she could not say a word in her own defense. Louisa started up the stairs. “I will take care of Mr. Aubrey Talbot,” said Louisa darkly as she went to her room, with the firm intention of having strong hysterics to relieve her lacerated feelings.
Chapter 15
Kennett Chase the next day resembled a battered shore after a storm, as far as the emotional state of its inhabitants was concerned. Faustina was not convinced that Lady Waverly suffered from anything more than a sulky mood following what she must have considered deliberate defection of her family, escaping to the shingle below and abandoning her to the company of Miss Astley.
Julia, this morning, was white and silent, with tragic eyes, while Aunt Louisa herself was enjoying an exhausted sleep, following what a connoisseur might have considered her finest emotional outburst yet.
And Ned was steeped in gloom.
Not for the antics of his dearest kin, of which he was scarcely aware, but, as he told Egmont, “Another failure. I was sure the smugglers would return for their booty.”
“Only three kegs?” objected Egmont. “Hardly worth the trouble of gaffing it.”
“There must be more, of course, sir,” said Ned. “If they in fact landed the spy, then we’re too late. But we were there, all along the shore, and saw nothing of a suspicious nature.”
“You don’t think the man landed?” Egmont snorted incredulously.
“No, sir. Don’t see how we could have missed him. My theory is that they sent the kegs to test us. If we found the kegs, then they’d stand off a day or so.”
“Another thing you may not have thought of,” suggested Egmont. “The anchor on the kegs was dragging. Then, there is no telling how far the outfit had drifted, is there?”
“No, sir. Not really. But the current sets along the shore there all the way from Tor Bay. Cliffs and coves all along there, and any one of them could be the one the smugglers intend to use. It’s all, as you know, quite desolate country up there.”
“No one to interfere,” agreed Egmont.
“And no one,” added Ned, “to oversee any signals made.” He munched toast reflectively. “A light from the clifftop would carry far out into the bay. I think, with pour permission, sir, I must stay on a bit.”
“Of course,” agreed Egmont. “Besides the fact that, of all your family, you are the most welcome, we’ve got to jet to the bottom of this despicable affair. I shouldn’t like to think that Napoleon could land a spy here in what is, after all, the country that Drake came from.” After a moment he repeated, “No, I shouldn’t like it at all.”
Ned’s thoughts suddenly took on a rosier, and guiltier, aspect. The possibility of a French agent’s landing on a shore of England must, of course, be paramount in Ned’s immediate plans. But there was rapidly developing in Ned’s thoughts another reason for staying in the vicinity of the vicarage — a pair of deep blue eyes and hair the color, so his bemused thoughts ran, of a ripe russet apple, and above all, a sweetness, even in the face of Helen’s insults, that had stirred Ned’s bachelor soul to the depths.
By the time Faustina had come downstairs, Ned was far advanced in certain dreams he would not have shared with anyone in the world. Not even Faustina, whose sympathy he had always counted on.
Faustina herself was abstracted. She had spent a sleepless night, and looked forward to a more than ordinarily unpleasant day. Strange, she thought, how all her days were becoming unpleasant since Hugh returned. Or was it since Aunt Louisa had descended upon them? Surely the latter. Witness last night.
She shuddered. “Caught a chill?” said Ned solicitously. “I thought you might. Wrong of me to keep you standing out there in that cold wind when you were soaked to the skin.”
“I’m in excellent health,” retorted Faustina. “It would take more than a wetting in May to overset me. But I cannot say the same for your mother. She is an ill wind!”
“Something amiss?” asked Ned. “I was away all night, you know.”
“I know. With that… discovery. You know, I dreamed of finding bodies from here to Scilly, all screaming. But the screams were only your mother, having spasms. And this time, Ned, I don’t really understand why.” She explained briefly the events of the previous afternoon. He was not overly impressed.
“She’ll get over it,” he said with unjustified hope. “She always does.”
“But Julia seems to think that this time she will not,” remarked Faustina, “and truly this session has lasted longer than other times that I remember.”
But Ned’s thoughts were already elsewhere. His mother’s vagaries were an old story to him, which he usually responded to by removing himself from the immediate vicinity for the required length of time.
“I think I should go to call on the vicar.”
Faustina’s eyes widened. “I don’t think your mother is in quite such desperate straits as to need religious c
ounseling!”
Ned reddened slightly. “To see how Miss Bidwell is this morning. That was a serious fall she had.”
“And she was so brave,” remembered Faustina with amusement. “Give her my best, then, and tell her I shall call on her soon.”
After he had left, she sat chin on hand for some time. Had old Ned at last, having evaded many a mama and daughter, fallen into a trap of his own devising? She was still smiling by the time that Ned, long out of sight, reached the vicarage.
Helen Astley received him with surprising warmth. Helen had now not the least doubt that Lady Waverly had informed her son of what she had hinted to Helen yesterday. Helen had been surprised at Lady Waverly’s forthrightness, but a night’s reflection had persuaded her of that lady’s goodwill. And here was Sir Edward himself to pay his first formal call!
“How good of you to come!” she cried. “May T offer you some refreshment? I do not quite know what you would prefer to drink, Sir Edward, but I shall study to learn!”
Surprised, Ned said simply, “I came to inquire about Miss Bidwell. Is she recovering?”
Helen was taken aback for only a moment. How embarrassed her caller was! He must be covering up his Shyness by inquiring about Mary.
Upon his insistence, Helen ushered him into the small morning room where Mary Bidwell sat, her foot on a small footstool, the whole covered with a light coverlet.
“How meticulous you are,” Helen said to Ned in an encouraging whisper, “so careful in your attention to the proper thing!”
Mary seemed singularly flustered when Ned entered the room. “I am so sorry,” she said, “I must not stand on my foot for another day or two, the doctor tells me. And I really feel I must obey him. I could not wish to be an invalid longer than I must.”
Helen left, leaving the door ajar. Ned said, “You’ve had the doctor, then?”
“Oh, yes. Helen is so kind. The vicar insisted that the doctor come. I know what a nuisance it is to have an invalid around the house…” Her voice trailed off.
Ned guessed shrewdly that she had heard a homily on the subject already that morning. He said, with unnecessary sharpness, “I suppose, from what Talbot tells me, that you have cared for a good many invalids in your family.”