Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  “Come on, maybe we can find some more footholds farther along,” Conny said heartily, though he didn’t really hold out much hope. “Look, let’s go this way; the ledge looks like it curves back some. There’s nothing down that way,” Conny decided, for even though they had more ledge that way, it led back out over the beach, and there were only sheer cliffs there for as far as the eye could see above that ledge.

  Slowly the two boys made their way along the ledge. It was slippery with the waves splashing over it, and in Conny’s mind it seemed to get narrower and narrower with every step.

  “Isn’t this ledge becoming narrower?” Robin voiced Conny’s suspicions. And then to their utter dismay, they rounded the curve and found that the ledge disappeared altogether.

  But then they saw that it disappeared into the cliff. It was, in fact, the entrance to a cave. The entrance had, from the beach below, remained hidden. Without pausing any longer than it took to take a step inside, Conny led the way into the darkness, promptly falling to his knees when he lost his balance on the slippery floor of the cave.

  Robin leaned against the cold, damp wall, holding on to it for dear life. He found himself breathing easier now that the roar of the waves sounded farther away.

  Conny got to his feet quickly and peered into the shadowy darkness. The cave was filled with a strange grayish light filtering in from the entrance.

  Watching his friend, Robin said, “Don’t tell me we can’t stay here either.”

  Conny grinned a sickly smile. “’Fraid so, mate. How d’ye think this cave got formed in the first place?” he asked. And even as he spoke, Robin discovered how, for the first wave broke across the mouth of the cave, sending a wall of water rushing into its shadowy depths. “Through the centuries the tide eats away at the rock, forming a cavern. I’ve seen lots of these on islands in the Indies. If we’re lucky, there might be another opening topside. Sometimes the ceiling will have caved in, or there even might be several other caverns farther back, which might be above the tide.”

  Robin began to feel his way along the dripping walls. The angry roar of the sea seemed to grow louder with every second. How long would they have, the boys wondered silently, before the tide caught up to them as they moved deeper into the cave.

  Thirty

  When the stormy winds do blow.

  —Martin Parker

  Skylark shied nervously as the blackening clouds in the distance lit up with the brilliance of crackling lightning.

  “There, there, girl,” Rhea soothed softly, patting the little mare’s sweating neck. Her words were nearly drowned out when thunder rumbled through the darkening heavens.

  “I think we’re in for a soaking,” Francis commented, his gloved hands keeping a firm rein on his skittish mount.

  His gray eyes narrowed, Dante gazed out to sea, to where the thunderstorm was building. A silvery squall cloud was hanging low over the heavy seas. “I would estimate we have at least three quarters of an hour before the rains hit. What do you say, Alastair?”

  “I’m not quite as optimistic, Cap’n, so I’d guess about half an hour. But I hope you are correct, since this is one of my newer coats,” Alastair said, casting a worried eye at the somber clouds obscuring the horizon. The winds and waves were probably swirling and churning toward the shore.

  “I hope Robin and Conny are not out in this. I told them not to stray too far from the lodge,” Rhea said, concern growing as another flash of lightning lit the skies. She knew both her brother and Conny too well to assume they had heeded her words.

  “You needn’t worry,” Dante said with all the assurance of a man who was accustomed to having his orders followed. “I warned them against leaving the grounds. They are likely to be curled up before the hearth sipping hot chocolate. That’s how we’ll find them when we arrive,” he predicted.

  But Francis and Rhea exchanged knowing glances, for they had lived with Robin’s escapades too long to believe that. And with Conny, another adventurous spirit, on hand, Rhea felt it wise to expect the worst. The worst, to Rhea’s mind, meant watching them straggle home, soaked to the skin and shivering. She could only hope that Dante was right.

  Briefly, Rhea glanced back along the road that led to Sevenoaks House, but that high roof was blocked by the trees which closed in behind them and were bending under the stormy winds. After declining a third cup of tea for herself, while Dante and Alastair stopped Sir Jacob’s generosity by covering their brandy glasses with their hands, the party had bid a fond farewell to Sir Jacob Weare. But he would not allow them to leave until he had exacted a promise of another visit very soon.

  Reading her thoughts, Dante suddenly asked, “And what did you think of Sir Jacob?”

  “I liked him…although I am not certain I trust him,” Rhea said, startling Dante. “At least, not over the card table. I think he is not as forgetful as he would like people to think,” she explained. “For example, I think he knew quite well what his great-granddaughter’s name was. I suspect he is a very sly old fox.”

  Dante laughed. “I shall have to tell him that he failed miserably in deceiving you, my dear.”

  Francis and Alastair looked mystified. They both had thought him a harmless old gentleman, rather amusing, in fact, if opinionated.

  Dante nodded. “Everyone who knows Sir Jacob thinks him the most amiable of fellows until he wins time and time again at cards or horses, or drinks them under the table. He is no fool, despite what many think, and that is why he was able to get my lands back from Sir Miles. Sir Jacob was the ideal man for that job because no one, especially Sir Miles, would suspect Sir Jacob of having my interests at heart. It was well known at the time that Sir Jacob forbade Bess’s marriage to me when he discovered that I was not only penniless but also under suspicion of murder. And there was no reason for anyone to think he had changed his opinion of me over the years.”

  “What did change his mind about you?” Alastair asked.

  “He found out certain information, something I am not at liberty to reveal, that cleared me as far as he was concerned. But I didn’t know anything about it, so I was quite surprised when he tracked me down. I had been away at sea for about three years, returning now and again aboard the Perdita when she came in for supplies. Finally we needed refitting, and we docked in Portsmouth. You can imagine my surprise when, within the week, I saw Sir Jacob walking along the docks, looking for me. I am not certain, even to this day, exactly what I was expecting when he approached me, but certainly not a hand offered in friendship.

  “That was when we formed our secret alliance. I discovered that I hadn’t lost an old friend and that there was somebody who would keep an eye on Merdraco. I had, by that time, regained some self-respect, but I still hadn’t succeeded in getting my inheritance back. In fact, I assumed that was a hopeless proposition. I had saved a bit of money from my share of the prizes we won in battle, but it was barely enough to purchase my family’s heirlooms, the ones sold by Miles, much less the lands he had stolen from me. I didn’t even know how to begin.

  “And how was I to search for my lost possessions when I might be away at sea for months at a time? How could I get Miles to sell me back the land? Those were the problems. I thought they were insurmountable, but Sir Jacob didn’t seem worried. He proclaimed himself my guardian, at least in spirit, and told me to set my mind at ease, that he and his trusted solicitor would see to everything. He said for me to go back to sea and make some money, for he wasn’t going to be able to buy back my land on his good looks alone.”

  Dante smiled. “And do you know, by the time the Perdita was seaworthy again, he had a warehouse full of paintings, furniture, silver, and crystal that had once filled the rooms of Merdraco? It was extraordinary, and I suspect that he thoroughly enjoyed doing it. When I shipped out again I was full of hope. I knew that my dream was indeed possible, and after that day I never lost sight of it again. I owe everything to
Sir Jacob, and to my captain, Sedgewick Christopher, for if it hadn’t been for their faith in me, I don’t think I could have continued fighting and hoping for so many long years, all the while thinking of my home standing abandoned on a lonely stretch of shore.”

  Francis was deeply moved. Dante was quite a man to have taken the chances he had. He thought that if his father and Dante could just sit down and talk, the way Dante had been doing, they would find they had quite a lot in common. He decided to bring the subject up with his mother. She had a special way of getting his father to do things.

  Rhea was thinking that Sir Jacob Weare was an exceptional man just by virtue of his tracking Dante down to tell him that he had misjudged him. Then to have helped him regain his lands was an act of kindness which Rhea would always remember. Part of her happiness came because of that unselfish loyalty of so many years.

  Then another thought struck Rhea, and she asked softly, her words barely audible above the thunder, “Did Lady Bess know that Sir Jacob was assisting you?”

  “No. It was a secret between Jacob and me. No one else knew. You should know that the only way to keep a secret is to keep it between two people. Why?”

  “No reason in particular. I was just curious,” Rhea replied, but she wondered what had happened to cause Bess Seacombe to tell her grandfather the truth about Dante. Had her conscience forced her to come out with the truth? Bess would still have been quite young, and she might have been as much a victim of those tragic events as Dante was.

  The streets of Westlea Abbot looked lonesome when they rode back through it, the clattering of their horses’ hooves against the cobblestones echoing loudly. They drew even less notice than before, for already shutters were closed against the approaching storm. The market square was quickly being emptied, the stalls hastily dismantled, and the produce carefully crated until the next day. Many items would have to be sold cheap then, especially fish that was already a day old and beginning to smell like it.

  As they began to make their way across the wide square, they became aware of a coach halted beside a shop at the far side. It wasn’t until Rhea caught sight of Dante’s grim face that she realized whose coach it was.

  Because of the scurrying people seeking shelter, they’d had to slow their horses to a walk as they crossed the square. In fact, they had halted completely while a tradesman pushed his cart in front of them. While they waited, the owner of the coach-and-six stepped out of the shop, where bolts of materials were being handsomely displayed in the bay window. An elegantly dressed woman was on the gentleman’s arm.

  Sir Miles Sandbourne was assisting the lady into the coach when another woman approached him from behind, a small boy holding on to her hand as she dragged him closer to the shiny coach. From their vantage point across the square, it seemed Sir Miles was dismissive when the woman addressed him. Even from the distance she looked angry.

  She pulled the small lad in front of her, holding his face up to Sir Miles. Then she reached down and picked up a handful of what looked like horse droppings and threw the contents of her hand at Sir Miles’s elegantly shod feet.

  Rhea gasped when Sir Miles raised a hand and slapped the woman full across the face, sending her stumbling backward. Without another glance, he climbed into his coach, his coachman whipping the team into action while a hurrying footman slammed the door. He barely had time to climb aboard.

  “It would seem Sir Miles hasn’t changed any. Still the perfect gentleman where the ladies are concerned,” Dante said, remembering the story of his mother’s beating at Sir Miles’s hands. “Sir Miles seems reluctant to accept his responsibilities toward a former mistress and the bastard he sired. Charity is something Sir Miles is unfamiliar with. Now that he is through with her, he’ll let them both rot in the gutter,” Dante said, his lips hardening into a straight line as the coach drew abreast of them and, to their displeasure, halted.

  Rhea could barely stand to meet Sir Miles’s sardonic gaze. He put his head out the coach window and stared at his stepson.

  “I heard a rumor that you had finally gotten up the courage to return to Merdraco,” Sir Miles greeted Dante, and Rhea had her first inkling of what Dante’s life must have been like with this creature as his stepfather.

  “I am surprised that you found the courage to remain,” Dante commented, his gray eyes raking the other man contemptuously. “Especially considering that others seem to hold the same opinion of you that I do,” Dante added while drawing a clean, scented handkerchief from his coat pocket and touching it to his nostrils as if offended by some noxious odor.

  Mesmerized, Rhea watched Sir Miles tap his cane with its silver wolf’s head against the coach door, his anger barely held in check as he parried words with his stepson—apparently none too successfully, which must have been a shock to Sir Miles.

  “I dealt quite easily with you once before, Dante,” Sir Miles reminded the younger man. “I shall do so again,” he threatened quietly.

  But Dante, well used to facing the enemy, merely smiled. That was insulting enough, but the words which followed had Sir Miles’s gloved hands tightening on his cane as if he were about to strike.

  “Actually, Miles, I have you to thank for my good fortune. If it hadn’t been for your betrayal, I would never have left here and been forced to live a life that I can now look back on with pride. Nor would I have been in the Indies to stumble across that treasure map. You might as well admit defeat. Give up, Miles. You’ve lost, for I have succeeded in returning to Merdraco, and I have no intention of leaving again,” Dante promised.

  “Ah, but what have you returned to?” was the contemptuous rejoinder. “I hear that Merdraco is little better than the laystall I always thought it to be, along with the offal spawned of it and which insists on calling itself a man,” Sir Miles sneered, his dark eyes watching for signs of uncontrollable rage or anything to show that he had managed to get under the other man’s guard.

  But Dante showed no annoyance or anger. Indeed, he seemed amused by Sir Miles’s outburst. “Soon Merdraco will be as it once was. You might as well accept that, Miles,” Dante said softly.

  “As it once was?” Sir Miles Sandbourne asked doubtfully. “I seriously doubt that. There is nothing left of the past but your name, and that has been spat upon. Oh, you may buy yourself new carpets and chairs, and landscapes to decorate the walls, but the portraits will be of strangers because the Leighton portraits are gone. Your home will not be Merdraco, not the Merdraco you were driven out of.

  “You have no heritage, nothing to remind you of the almighty Leightons, masters of Merdraco. Have you forgotten so soon that I was forced to sell at auction all the fine possessions of the Leightons? For all your wealth, you have nothing,” Sir Miles taunted, enjoying the looks of outrage on the faces of Alastair and Francis.

  “Ah, Miles, I do so hate to disappoint you, but since you will not be able to gaze upon the halls of Merdraco, I shall tell you now that I possess all that was stolen from me by you. Through the years I have bought back almost all the furnishings that left Merdraco. I even have the portrait of my mother. It now hangs in a place of honor over the hearth in the lodge. And every time I gaze upon her beautiful face, I thank God that she had the courage to escape you, Miles. You were cheated of your revenge against her for having chosen another when she decided death was preferable to living with you.

  “And as I ride across the land that is once again Leighton land, knowing that the enemy has been vanquished, banished from ever setting foot on that which is mine, I can only pity you, Miles. For you are the one with nothing to show for all of the long years of plotting and planning, for savoring a revenge you never truly had. And, ultimately, revenge has become mine, Miles. It is mine now to savor,” Dante told an ashen-faced Sir Miles Sandbourne. His gloved hand was so tightly clenched around his cane that Rhea thought it would surely snap in two.

  Rhea glanced nervously between the two. A
lthough she could not blame Dante, she couldn’t help but worry about what Sir Miles would do to get even. This was not a man who would ever admit defeat, certainly not at the hands of Dante Leighton.

  “Miles? I’m cold. Are we goin’ to sit here all day? My teeth are chatterin’ and I’m beginnin’ to shiver. If ye’d bought me that fur like I was askin’ then I wouldn’t be complainin’, now would I?” a petulant voice sounded from inside the darkened coach. It seemed to break the spell.

  Sir Miles smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile, Francis thought, especially when those dark eyes of Sir Miles’s lingered on Rhea.

  “Ah, Lady Jacqobi, how beautiful you look. What a pity that soon those lovely eyes will be red-rimmed with tears.”

  “Indeed, Sir Miles.”

  “Yes. I fear that your husband is not at all well liked in these parts. And I do fear that some harm must surely befall him one of these days. ’Twill be such a pity for one so young and pretty to become a widow. But do not despair, for I am certain that some handsome young gentleman—perhaps one much like that gentleman there”—he pointed to an indignant Alastair—“will come along and help you forget your unfortunate first marriage. In fact, since you are a Dominick, and your son is the first grandson of the Duke of Camareigh, your new lover will be more than pleased to raise Dante’s son as his own…much as I did Dante. And being so young, the child will have no memory of his real father,” Sir Miles speculated with a sad, understanding smile. “Please, Lady Jacqobi, feel free to come to Wolfingwold anytime. You are always welcome in my home.”

  And with that, he withdrew back into the darkness. With the tapping of his cane on the roof, the coach pulled away.

  “What a horrible man,” Rhea murmured, her gloved hands shaking slightly as she held the reins. The gentle little mare could feel her mistress’s distress and neighed uneasily. “He frightens me.”

  “The man’s contemptible, and certainly no gentleman,” Francis expostulated angrily. As a member of a highly respected family and the heir to a dukedom, he had never experienced such rudeness. “Why, he actually threatened you, Dante. It’s disgraceful! I shall personally see that he is never invited to Camareigh again,” Francis promised with a glint in his eye, and Rhea, glancing at his profile, thought he not only sounded like her father but looked like him as well.