by Grace Elliot
The maid narrowed her eyes with effort of remembering.
"A Mr. Oswald."
Hope shrank back. After what Oswald had overheard last night, and his proposition, the last person she wanted to see was him. She prayed Her Ladyship would decide it too early to receive visitors.
"Strange time for a call, I wonder what he wants? Show him to the morning room. We shall take tea."
A short time later Mr. Oswald joined them in the parlor. He looked a perfect gentleman in a striped waistcoat, high-collared shirt and stock. Hope's toes curled in her slippers as he made a show of greeting Lady Ryevale, bending over her hand and kissing it.
"Utterly charmed, Ladyship."
"Mr. Oswald, what an unexpected pleasure."
"I was passing. I do hope I'm not disturbing you?"
"No, indeed. Miss Tyler and I were in need of a break. Please, be seated."
Oswald arranged himself on the settle, flicking out his coat tails, then he turned to Hope and his face brightened.
"Miss Tyler. Delightful as ever."
Hope colored, but from petulance not pleasure. "Mr. Oswald."
"I'm so pleased you are here, for the truth be known, I wanted to speak with you."
"Really?" She frowned. If Oswald thought to court her, then he was mistaken. If she refused George, she was certainly not going to accept his suit.
"I have business on the Island this afternoon. If I happen to see your father, have you a message for him?"
"Oh." Her ire deflated a little.
"Isn't that considerate of Mr. Oswald?" Lady Ryevale prompted Hope. "Most kind…isn’t it?"
Oswald's compassionate expression curried no favor with Hope.
"That is indeed kind, and yes, please tell my father you find me in good health." She bit her lip, for she would be seeing her father herself in the near future.
"Well, Hope," Lady Ryevale said, puzzled by Hope's reticence, "have you nothing else to add?"
"Have a think, Miss Tyler, don’t rush yourself. I know how important family is. I just thought you might wish to let your father know any good news, that sort of thing."
Hope prickled, was he referring to the previous night's proposal? A thought occurred to her. "What business have you with my father?"
Mr. Oswald laughed lightheartedly. "You misunderstood me. My business is on the Island, not with your father, but it occurred to me to seek him out on your behalf."
The maid arrived with tea, saving Hope from further immediate comment. Nonplussed, Hope sat silent, resolved to say as little as possible. Lady Ryevale turned to Oswald.
"Have you family hereabouts?"
In an instant his demeanor changed. It was like blowing out a candle; all the light left his eyes.
"Alas, recently I lost someone very dear." He lapsed into silence, looking suddenly much older.
"I am so sorry to hear that. If there is anything we can do, just say. Recently, I feared for George's life," she shivered, "and that was bad enough. I commiserate with your loss."
Oswald closed his eyes. "Dear Lady, tis too painful to speak of, but I thank you nonetheless."
An awkward silence fell and witnessing their visitor's genuine distress, Hope's antagonism softened. For a moment Oswald seemed on the brink of tears, and then, with an abrupt movement, he stood.
“If you will excuse me ladies, tis time I was on my way."
"Of course." Both women rose in unison. "Please call again, my door is always open."
"Thank you, Lady Ryevale. Miss Tyler."
Hope shook the proffered hand. She felt ashamed of her earlier hostility and yet as the door closed behind Oswald, she was relieved he'd gone. She sighed. None of this altered the fact she had to tell Lady Ryevale she was leaving and explain why—without letting Her Ladyship dissuade her.
Chapter Seventeen
The morning after his proposal, Captain Huntley woke with the lark, brimful of energy. Yes, he would wait for Hope's deliberations, but he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer, so he rose in chipper mood, with the intention of seeing a jeweller in Boureham about an engagement ring.
It was a pleasant day for a drive following the coastal road, with the sea to his left and the gently rolling hills on his right. The carriage horse was lively, ears pricked, responding eagerly to Huntley's whip. Driving wasn’t so bad, sitting high, overlooking hedgerows into the misty fields beyond. His hopes of riding again grew dimmer by the day and he knew it, really he ought to sell Nero, it wasn’t fair to the horse not to be ridden hard—the stable lad did his best but was scared of the beast. Nero, like him, needed action, and only one of them was still up to it. But whereas such a thought would once have pained him, Huntley had changed and accepted the facts for what they were.
Since his proposal, everything had fallen into place. With Hope as his wife, he had a future, with Hope by his side, running the estate. It meant keeping laborers in work and ensuring they had food. It wasn’t what he'd dreamed of as a boy, but it was enough for him as a man. And to prove that to Hope, here he was starting to lay the past to rest.
Huntley liked this time of year and it was good to be outdoors even if the wind was getting up. Autumn reminded him of childhood games and chasing his brothers through drifts of fallen leaves. In no time, he'd left Sandehope behind to take the Boureham road. Five miles inland, Boureham was the nearest town. Whereas Sandehope served the sea, fisher folk and the like, it was at Boureham people went to for fancy goods, to visit milliners, drapers, silversmiths and jewellers.
Huntley reached the town in good time. He had a specific ring in mind, an opal set with diamonds—mirroring the colours of the sea, just like Hope's eyes. The jeweler was all unctuous agreement, having just such an opal in stock. He promised to have the ring made up within the week. Finding himself well pleased with the morning's work, Huntley awarded himself lunch at a tavern.
Replete and in a good mood, as Huntley clambered up into the gig and took up the ribbons, he realised he wasn’t yet ready to return to the Grange. Leaving the town behind, trotting along the country lanes, he was struck with the idea of visiting the Custom’s Office. It was, he decided, time to make his peace with every part of his past.
The Custom's Office was just as he remembered, the leaded windows facing the harbor, watching the comings-and-goings. Huntley drew to a halt outside and somewhat stiffly, climbed down. His injured leg ached and with a motion that was becoming a habit, he rubbed his thigh. He reached up into the gig for his cane, for to start afresh ,which meant admitting he needed to walk with a stick.
He entered the office and Bennett rose and came to greet him.
"Captain." He clasped his hand warmly. "Good to see you, sir."
"And you." His throat closed over.
"Word was you'd never walk again." He nodded to Huntley's cane.
"Trust you to be direct." Huntley grinned , after month's of people's politeness, such bluntness was refreshing. "I may never ride again, but I consider myself lucky to be alive."
"Well, I for one am glad to see you up and about."
"Look, you must be wondering what I'm doing here. The thing is, I wanted to apologise."
"Apologise? What for?"
Huntley took a deep breath. "I was posted here to root out corruption, and when I first arrived I suspected your integrity—which was wrong of me. It would mean a lot if you would accept my apology?"
"That's quite alright, Captain. You were doing your duty."
"Even so, there were better ways of going about it."
Bennett looked thoughtful. "The way I see it, this office had become complacent. You shook us up and that's a good thing."
The men clasped hands. Trying to hide his gratification, Huntley nodded toward the harbor.
"How goes things?"
Bennett beamed. "Thanks to you, the smugglers are having a lean time of it and no mistake."
"Oh?"
"Your raid in the Southwest was the turning point."
"The one where I
was injured? Then I'm glad to know some good came of it."
"Aye, that it did. Most of the ringleaders were rounded up and now their lackeys are too afeared of the consequences to risk smuggling."
"That's marvelous news. So the gang's disbanded?"
"Almost. Just the one leader evading justice—dropped out of sight he has. It was his brother you killed that night…."
"Ah."
"So you be careful, Captain, just in case his brother comes looking for you."
"I will. What's the fellow’s name? I'll keep my ear to the ground."
"All we know is his surname is Choake. He's a wily character, elusive as sea mist. Any day now I reckon one of his disillusioned lackeys will squawk. I'll send word as soon as we know more."
"Good work. Be sure you do, I'd like to help."
*****
At the same time Captain Huntley was leaving Boureham, back at The Grange Lady Ryevale yawned and announced she was going for a nap. Hope bit her lip, having yet to break the news, but for now the moment was lost and so Hope decided on walking Jasper.
It had become their habit, when Lady Constance took her post-luncheon nap, for Hope to walk the dog. She’d come to look forward to this as a time of solitude and reflection and this walk would be her last along these paths, and she'd best get used to the idea. She decided to refuse George face-to-face. And to refuse his proposal and remain under his roof was untenable, so she would leave.
In a thoughtful mood, Hope whistled for Jasper to keep up. He had charged into a mound of leaves and ran back, tail high as a flag pole. The air was full of autumn smells, of rotting leaves and wood smoke from the gardener's bonfire. A thick mist rose off the damp ground, adding a ghostly quality to the woods.
Hope turned her face to the sky; clouds were building into angry towers, with grey, glowering bases. A gust of wind caught her skirts and she shivered. Best not go too far, it wouldn’t do to get caught out in the rain. Oblivious to everything else, Jasper bounded on ahead, his nose close to the earth, picking up the scent of squirrel, then rabbit, switching trails, too excited to stick with one.
Dressed in a nankeen walking dress with matching pelisse, Hope followed their regular route. The woodland grew thicker, a delightful tangle of elm, hawthorn and oak, crisscrossed by paths. Hope reflected in what must have been a magical place to grow up, some many trees to climb, streams to ford and imaginary worlds to conquer. Was this, she wondered, where George's love of justice and righting wrongs had been born? She spotted an old rope hanging from a sturdy branch. She touched it affectionately, imagining the young Huntley brothers swinging on it, then tumbling off into the mud. A spasm of regret tugged at her heart, that her children would never play here. A deep longing dragged at her stomach, the thought of carrying George's sons, but quickly she quashed the idea and glanced around for Jasper.
“Jasper.” She whistled.
But no tan-and-white dog appeared. She peered into the undergrowth and called more loudly. “Jasper. Here boy!”
Taking her time she scanned around, hoping to see his busy tail or lolling pink tongue. Stay calm, she told herself, he won’t have gone far.
“Jasper!”
This time she frowned, irritation turning to panic as the dog failed to appear. A rustle in the leaves behind her and she spun around. A figure stepped forward, his face hidden by a large hat.
“This dog is yours?” The man said.
“There you are.” She sighed with relief as she spotted the tan-and-white dog wriggling in the man’s arms She recognised the voice, a deep fruity baritone, and for no apparent reason, her heart hammered with fear. "Mr. Oswald, is that you?"
He pushed his hat back. "It is indeed. What a fortuitous meeting."
“Mr Oswald, thank you. It seems we are destined to bump into one another.” She wondered at what he was doing in the Grange's woods.
“My pleasure, Miss Tyler, but best you keep that dog on a leash.”
“Absolutely.” She snipped the lead onto Jasper’s collar, who stared up at her with chastened eyes. She patted him and the dog’s tail erupted into wags, sweeping the path clear of leaves. She straightened. “Mr Oswald, I thought you were going to the Island”
“Indeed, and that is why I was on my way to The Grange, to seek you out.”
“Me?” Alarm rattled through Hope’s brain. “I made it plain we have nothing further to discuss.”
His long face grew serious as he cleared his throat.
“Alas, this has nothing to do with my offer. I regret Miss Tyler, I am the bearer of bad news.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She stared at him. He seemed genuinely concerned, his face pale despite the exertion of the walk.
“Go on.”
“Miss Tyler, I wish there was an easy way to tell you this, but your father has been hurt.”
Hope struggled to take in the news. "I don’t understand? How do you know?"
Oswald took a step back, and gestured to the path from which he had emerged.
“Because he's here, do hurry.”
“He’s here? On the mainland?” A chord struck with Hope, something didn’t add up. She stood her ground.
“Yes, he was coming to see you when he had an accident.”
Hope stared at him. "Why? Why would he be coming here? And how do you know?"
There was flicker in Oswald's expression, something she couldn’t quite read.
"Miss Tyler, can I trust you?"
"Of course."
"As a smuggler yourself…"
"Not any longer." Then the penny dropped. "He was making a landing in daylight?"
"Everything was carefully planned…until he collapsed."
She faltered, unsure whether to listen to her heart or her head. Something wasn’t right, but why would Oswald lie.
“Is father seriously hurt?”
“I wish I could say differently….”
"And his health had improved enough to sail again?"
"He was well at the start of the journey—an accident, you see."
A chill ran through her blood, Oswald had to be lying, her father was a sick man at the best of times.
"What sort of accident?"
Oswald narrowed his eyes. "Slipped and hit his head."
"Oh!" Hope exclaimed, in what she prayed was a convincing manner. "Then I must return Jasper to the house, and summon help."
A shadow passed across Oswald’s face. “Bring the dog, there’s no time to be lost. Your father's life hangs in the balance.”
“But…”
“But if we delay it may be too late.”
Hope’s world spun and yet she held her ground. She only had Oswald’s word, and yet what if she was wrong and her father really was dying? Oswald was a gentleman, he had all but asked her to marry him, what possible reason could he have to lie to her. “Tell me again what happened.”
Oswald bowed. “Madam, I fear even the slightest delay. It is you he asks for. Please. Come. I shall explain on the way.”
Hope quivered with uncertainty. “He’s nearby, you say?”
“Yes, on the beach. Please. On my conscience, no more delay, what message do I take him?”
Hope stood paralysed with indecision. Her instincts screamed something was wrong, but if her father's life was in danger….
Oswald shook his head, his hooded eyes glowering, and turned to go.
"Very well, stay here. What shall I tell William, when he asks why you did not come?"
"Tell him…tell him…" Hope's words died away. Oswald shook his head in disgust and made to go. Hope did nothing to stop him, watching as he strode off down the path and then, as if waking from a dream, she shouted for him to wait.
*****
Huntley whistled as the horse trotted homeward-bound along the country lanes. He felt liberated, ready for a fresh start; he had commissioned Hope's ring, the smugglers were on retreat and Bennett had accepted his apology. For so long, he'd struggled to right the world's wrongs while there was work
to be done at The Grange. Now his challenges were closer to home. He would work to improve crops and make the tenants more secure. While he'd been ill, Huntley had read of farming innovations, of revolutionary techniques for increasing yield, so people didn’t face the choice between smuggling or starvation. Of course Charles, as heir, would need to be consulted, but his elder brother showed precious little interest for anything other than the ton.
The traces jingled as the mare turned into the long drive approaching the main house. Huntley slackened the ribbons, letting the horse lead the way. It was as they rounded the final bend that Huntley saw a scuffle taking place on the steps of the portico.
Puzzled, Huntley guided the gig to the main entrance. He climbed down, rubbed his aching leg and threw the reins to the gardener's lad. On the steps, Jenkins was remonstrating with a young man. The lad was dressed in working clothes with heavy boots and a thick, oiled-wool jumper. His complexion was coarse and weather-beaten, and brown hair bleached by the sun. There was a familiarity about him that jarred with Huntley. He knew him, but how?
As Jenkins had the lad by the scruff, propelling him down the steps, as the lad called out Hope’s name. As he got closer Huntley recognised him, Thomas Tyler, as Hope's stepbrother.
"My apologies, Captain," Out of breath, Jenkins bowed. "But this fellow insisted on seeing you. When I said you were out, he asked for Miss Tyler. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I was 'inviting' him to leave."
"That's quite alright, Jenkins. You can let him go."
"Captain Huntley!" The lad's eyes lit up. "I'm so glad you're here…"
"Young Mr. Thomas Tyler, unless I'm much mistaken. Come to ask about your sister after all this time? Well, I can assure you she is in robust good health." Huntley made to walk past him.
"Please, sir, listen. It’s Hope I came to talk to you about.”
"That's enough." Jenkins snatched at Thomas’s arm, but the lad stood his ground.
“Captain, you are in danger.”
Huntley sighed. “What are you talking about? Now be still, and I’ll ask Jenkins here to release you.”Thomas immediately stilled. His instant response made Huntley more uneasy than any amount of shouting. There was a look of desperation in the boy's eyes which filled Huntley with foreboding. Why call now, after all this time, and then make such a commotion?