by Kit Donner
“Yes, I do believe you do”—he paused—“need further instruction.”
And with that obtuse reply, he quitted the room with his ministering equipment.
Chapter 8
Patience put a hand to her quivering, swollen lips as she watched the earl leave the room. What have I done? What had he done? Rupert had been right, this man was dangerous, but not in the way either had imagined.
She still felt his hard lips on hers. It must be wrong. No man kissed like that unless the woman was his wife or his mistress. And she was neither. Was she already on the path to damnation? James would condemn her for responding to his kiss, for allowing misguided passion to rule her head. Confusion reigned because, try as she might to tell herself she was here for Rupert’s sake, part of her knew she was also doing this for herself.
Although she had not encouraged his lordship’s attentions, she had been the recipient of his soul-taking kisses and tender caresses. She fanned her cheeks, remembering how her good arm had rested on his powerful shoulder, her heart still clipping at a frantic pace.
She took deep breaths to regain her sense and sanity. It did not seem possible to regret what had happened between them, nor did she normally waste time wishing to change the past, reflecting only how the past would affect her future.
Her future. What did it hold? For so long, her history was one of continual love and support for her four brothers and her fiancé, Richard. When he died, a lifelong dream of family and home became obsolete, deemed appropriate for the hopes only of younger girls.
Contentment had been hers in caring for her family. Passion had never played a part in her relationship with Richard, but then, she had not known that there was more emotion and feeling to be realized from a simple touch or a searing look. That in life there is something sweeter than chocolate, more brilliant than rainbow colors, more fragrant than the promising nectar of a blossoming honeysuckle. All for the taking, if only one knew where to find it.
And her teacher had been indeed generous and skillful. There was more, and it was right to want it. Would God think her wicked for wanting to experience something she had never known before? And even though she disliked his lordship’s arrogance by insinuating she needed practice, his kisses lit long-dormant timbers of fire in her soul.
Wiggling down into the nest of her bed, she resolved to continue to search for a way to free Rupert and fight for something more which would perhaps bring her greater happiness. But could diverse propositions have hope in a happy reconciliation? She hoped she would not get more than she bargained for.
The next morning, Patience moved slowly down the shiny dark cherry staircase, careful not to move her arm overmuch. She had awakened early this morning with only a dull ache from her wounded limb, her stomach growling. Washing and dressing had proven to be quite a chore, taking over an hour because of her handicap. Oversized mobcap and glasses snug on her nose, she decided to venture out of her small chamber.
Mr. Gibbs, in the kitchen, told her authoritatively, “His lordship has instructed me to show you the account books in his study. He seems to believe you have some knowledge of arithmetic.”
A while later, she sat in the earl’s chair, safe from all prying eyes, and leaned back, melting into the leather. Tea and a half-eaten biscuit lay nearby. She closed her eyes and all her senses were attuned to his presence. She felt the very fiber of him, with his brandy, sandalwood, and the smell of tobacco permeating her musings.
She jerked herself away from those thoughts, opening her eyes to concentrate on the room. It took only minutes to realize that she could not work in this gloomy atmosphere. She left the large chair and headed to the windows to open the gold-brocade curtains stretched floor to ceiling.
Dust particles flitted through the bold stream of light filling the once-cavelike room. Scrutinizing the furnishings and the condition of the study, to her dismay, she found boxes filled with books piled high in the corner and empty bookshelves lining the walls. But for the desk and a few scattered chairs near the fireplace, the room looked unwelcoming. Actually, she realized, the whole house presented an unloved façade.
As she gazed around the sparse room, she concluded that the house had more of a flavor of an inn than a real home. After reflecting long enough about the earl’s manor and his manner of inhabiting it, Patience turned to the books at hand.
The morning stretched into the late afternoon, interrupted only by Lem bringing her a small repast when she had almost finished recording the latest house supplies for the month. She stood up and thought to take the finished tray to the kitchen.
What a sapscull! Why not look in his desk for possible clues to his plans? Her hands trembled with anxiety as she reached for the first knob. A niggling, conscience-grabbing, Methodist-forbidding instant halted her movements. But then she remembered she was on the honorable side of the law and hoped the constable would believe the same thing. Perhaps there was not anything to find, his lordship being far too clever.
Three drawers opened to a slight tug but revealed nothing. The other three remained tightly locked, with no sign of a key. Nothing to condemn the man, except his disturbing kisses and passion-filled bright blue eyes. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not disappointing.
Who was he, truly? She herself had heard the earl proposing to sell England’s secrets. But suppose, imagine, he might not be the guilty party, at fault only for his purposeful seduction that she seemed to fall for time and again. While she might be slightly relieved, it still left two questions: Who had murdered her cousin? And who was the Englishman guilty of treason?
As she gazed at the huge bookcase behind the massive mahogany desk, she remembered Lem telling her a tale about secret passages that led to the shore. Hmmm.
Fifteen minutes later, she had still not found an opening but knew it had to be there somewhere. The mantel clock measured time lost, ticking noisily in her ears. She rubbed her palms against her skirts and tried again, her luck sure to change. Her fingers finally felt a small latch underneath the fourth shelf. She pulled it, and the bookcase opened smoothly, revealing a threshold beckoning the unknown.
Only one way to discover more of the earl’s secrets. A little harmless trip down the passageway to see where it led. Before taking a step over the entryway, she remembered to take a weapon, hoping it would not be necessary to use it. She reached over and grabbed a letter opener and candle off the earl’s desk. The letter opener fit snugly in her deep pocket. She swiftly lit the wick, hitched her skirts higher, took a deep breath, and stepped into the darkness.
Water drip-dropped and echoed throughout the black corridor. The candle wick in her hand flickered from a faint draft. She placed her right hand on the nearby wall to steady herself down the uneven stones, slick under her feet from condensation. One step, then two. A shiver ran through her from the damp air. In the distance, she could discern running water.
She stopped. Was that a voice she heard? Patience hoped it was not the earl and his friends returning. In an echoing chamber, it was difficult to tell whether sounds were coming from in front of her or behind her. She held her breath for what seemed like hours before proceeding. The voices faded away, and her heart returned almost to its normal beating.
She nearly lost her footing when a small animal ran across her shoe. A shriek escaped her lips. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t like the dark, nor the cold, nor an unknown destination, nor mostly anything I can’t see. With a battle of wills arguing in her head, she stubbornly continued her journey farther down into the cave.
Quickly learning to walk on the difficult path, with the candlelight providing only glimpses of what was in front of her, after several slight missteps, she could hear the Channel water slurping the beach. She drew closer to a larger pool of light as she approached the cave’s opening. When a mischievous breeze extinguished her candle, she hugged the side of the cave as she made her way to the entrance.
So this passageway did lead to the beach. Easy enough for a French s
py like the earl to have a ship waiting to take him back to France. It must not be more than half a mile from Paddock Green.
Patience stopped directly outside the cave and looked down the quiet shoreline marred by a maze of huge rocks and boulders. A glance to the sky above assured her darkness would cover her progress, the full moon stayed hidden behind clouds. While the night might shield her presence, it was also effective in hiding the path the earl might have taken. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind and the water lapping against the smooth sands.
Then she heard them. Voices.
Her mobcap and spectacles stuffed in a pocket, a cool breeze blew a loose strand of hair across her face from her improvised bun.
The sand fell away beneath her sturdy shoes as she made her way slowly across the beach. After about three hundred yards, she stopped and listened again. Only the wind seemed to tease her ear. Without the voices, she lost her compass.
Patience stood with arms akimbo, trying to determine a course of action. Her bottom lip took a savage beating as her teeth chewed a decision.
Forbidding cliffs rose up to the night sky on her left. The ocean hissed its arrival and retreat from land on her other side. Where had they gone? Were they down the shore or had they perhaps climbed the cliffs? And where was the footpath Lem had described?
What was that? There it was again. The faintest light. Something flickered way down along the water surge. It glimmered briefly on the rocks. Then everything went dark.
She concentrated on the spot again to see if her eyes played tricks on her. A few minutes and then a much bolder light swept around an alcove of rocks.
Yes, that was it! She clapped her hands together excitedly and moved swiftly toward the direction of the light.
Confident of her course, and sure to find the French spies and perhaps the earl, Patience continued more slowly toward the spot where she had first noticed the light. Whatever she could learn this night, she would take directly to the constable. Although the brightness did not reappear, she heard the voices again, slight murmurings in time with the constant waves hitting the sands.
As she hugged the rocky embankment, she spied a large, oddly shaped boulder jutting out from the cliffs. A perfect place to hide and listen to spies planning their dark deeds. She crouched down and peered beyond the rock. Two dark figures stood near the shore looking out to sea. I wonder what they are looking at. Her brow furrowed, one hand braced in the sand for support, she studied the men. Neither looked like the proud, imposing figure of the earl or his brawny friend, the captain.
She tried to see beyond the rocks out to where the men’s gaze held them captive, but frustratingly found her sight hindered by the adjoining rocks. She sank back down on her knees to consider how to get closer to the men. Who were they? And where was the earl?
Patience studied the massive boulder providing her shelter and wondered if it could be ascended. Her hands skimmed the surface and felt small indentations that could allow for toeholds. Carefully, relying more on touch than on sight, she grasped the rough surface for purchase. The first few times proved wearisome, always slipping backward, but finally she pursued another recess with success and pulled herself up slowly by degrees, hampered by her wounded arm. She tried to keep her heaving breaths quiet as she climbed to the top.
I can do this. Do not look down, she encouraged herself. The edge at the top was almost within her grasp. Feeling exultant, she grabbed the slippery sides of the rock and hiked her head up to clear the top.
A weasely, hairy, dirty face stared back at her. And then Patience did a very womanly thing. She screamed as she lost her balance and pitched backward.
Chapter 9
Red Tattoo lay hidden behind the cliff’s low hedges, spying on the dark shadows appearing and disappearing near the tall white beacon, Parson’s Down, high above. His lordship had mentioned earlier that a small unit of five men who served as sea fencibles kept surveillance for enemy ships crossing the Channel. Rumors abounded that the Frenchmen planned to overtake control of the beacon, but why and when?
His lordship and the captain should arrive any minute. What could be keeping them? A movement from the beach distracted Red from the beacon. He counted two figures by the shore watching the Channel waters. Most likely smugglers.
Perhaps the master and his friend had been delayed, and with this thought Red decided to search for them on the path. It had grown quite late, over an hour since his lordship had sent him up the cliffs. His small, thin figure made no blot on the landscape as he crawled on his belly to a thick copse of trees. Finding the path’s hidden entrance, he scurried downward. Halfway down the cliff, the sure-footed Red braked before the surprised earl with the captain right behind him.
“What do you here, Red?” Londringham demanded. “Thought I told you to remain above.”
“Yes, what’s happening?” Kilkennen chimed in from behind Londringham’s tall form.
“Sir, I was…”
They heard a sudden, high-pitched woman’s scream followed by an animal’s bellow.
The commotion froze the men before they leapt into action. Bryce ordered Red back up the cliff to follow anyone that leaves the beacon.
“C’mon, Kilkennen, those sounds came from below!”
“But what about our French spy?” Kilkennen gasped while hurtling himself behind his friend’s running form down the twisted path to the shore.
“Our spy could be on the cliffs or below on the shore. But someone is in trouble.”
Their conversation could not continue at their frantic pace were they to find the woman whose terror-filled voice had broken the still night.
Patience landed on her side with a thump. The wind knocked out of her, she remained still in order to check injuries she sustained from the fall. She slowly eased into a sitting position, her shaking body throbbed from the jolt. A quick check of her vital parts came up with a suspected sprained wrist and further injury to her still-mending left arm.
Before she could take one step, she found herself scooped up and thrown over a stranger’s huge, burly shoulder. The ragged-clothed man, for that was all she could see upside down, rounded the huge rock at a quick pace and proceeded several feet before halting at the side of the cliffs covered with climbing moss and a latticework of branches. The pain in her wrist throbbed in time with her rapidly beating heart. Oh, why do I have to have such a curious streak? she remonstrated herself.
Breathing heavily and too weak to summon her vocal cords into working order, fear alone kept her silent. Where was he taking her? Was he one of the spies? Did he plan to do away with her? She hoped to learn all of the answers soon, except for the question regarding life and death. Perhaps if she appealed to this misguided man, he might have a merciful nature.
The stranger grasped several branches and pulled open a large-enough hole to sidle through with his burden.
“Where’d ye find a woman ’ere, Bear? Bloody trouble. Cover ’er mouth. We don’t want ’er screamin’ ’er bloody ’ead off and givin’ us away.” The hard, nasal voice echoed in the small chamber of the dark enclosure.
Her captor, well-named Bear, slipped Patience down from his shoulder and pulled her back against him, smacking a dirty, foul-smelling hand over her mouth. She noticed a smaller man pulling a curtain of heavy branches together at the cave’s opening.
She struggled with her captor, anxious to get away from the man’s implacable grip and repulsive smell. He obviously had not washed lately, if ever, judging from the strong, putrid odor emanating from his body which threatened to gag her—or else she would surely gag once she was free of his large hand.
Suddenly, another man pulled her roughly out of Bear’s clamped embrace. She cried out in pain as a tall, thin man put pressure on her sore wrist, dazedly wondering how many men were in this tiny cave. Slowly closing her eyes, she had an overwhelming feeling that she would either swoon or vomit. Still deciding what to do first, the thin man thankfully released her wrist and stuffed a handk
erchief in her mouth, a surprisingly clean one. He made quick work of tying her hands and feet with a slip of frazzled rope before shoving her in a corner. Obviously, this villain had very little practice with tying up hostages, for the loose knots would be easy to untie. Quicker than a sneeze, she could remove the rag and scream—but didn’t.
“Keep still, don’t move,” the tall one ordered in a raspy voice.
Patience, too frightened and shaken, only nodded. She shook her head to remove several long strands of hair which blocked her view. When she could finally look around the small, cramped area, Bear stood on the opposite wall staring at her. His was the face that had terrified her on the rock. Not that his face was utterly gruesome, but he did show more hair than skin on his face, which must have been the reason for his name. Her scream had been more in surprise than fear of this man. His large eyes watched thoughtfully, but she could not guess what lay behind his hairy mask.
The tall, thin man who had tied her up hunkered down near the entrance, peering through a small hole. Yet another man, rather short and energetic, paced up and down in front of her, every few minutes stopping to stare at her and shake his head in disgust.
The guard quickly turned and motioned for everyone to be quiet.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Along with her captors, she heard the sound of footsteps and voices.
The earl and his friend. She recognized them but could not distinguish their conversation. She shivered uncontrollably.
No way out. Even if she wanted to call out to the earl, how would she explain her presence on the beach? And she was not about to let these men know how frightened she was. She had to figure a way out of this mess without the earl’s help, nothing else would do.
“She must be here somewhere.” Londringham spoke distinctly from only a few feet away. The cave’s occupants heard sand squashed under boots in front of the hidden entrance.