Too Hot For A Rake

by Pearl Wolf

  Waverley frowned, searching his mind in an effort to unlock the meaning of Trasker’s cryptic words. “He cannot possibly mean she’s under the ruins of the old abbey,” he said aloud. He thought a moment, then shouted, “Of course he can! There’s an old cellar under there!” He asked, “Can you ride my horse, Jess?”

  “There an’t a ’orse alive I can’t ride. Casper says I wuz borned in the saddle.”

  Waverley smiled at the lad’s fearless pride, slid off his horse and boosted Jess into the saddle. “You must listen carefully, for I have a notion I know just where milady is. Here is what you must do. I’m counting on you and I know you won’t fail me.” In a few words, he told the boy and took himself off on a run.

  The terrain along the coast was treacherous. It slowed his progress. By the time he reached Monster Point, the familiar crest he was seeking, he was cut, scraped and shaken to the core. It didn’t take him long to find the familiar opening underneath “the monster’s” chin. He removed his coat and his boots and placed them high up on the bridge of the monster’s nose. He recalled that the tide had never reached that high when he was a lad.

  The boulder he and his mates thought of as “the monster” stood sentinel over the English Channel, its long mane facing the land. The monster’s forbidding face had stirred their imaginations, he recalled. At high tide, he and his daredevil friends took turns climbing up on the monster’s nose and diving into the sea.

  He ducked under the neck of the jagged face that hung suspended over the sea. His luck held, for the tide was not yet high enough to hide the sliver of sand he needed for entry. He stepped gingerly across the sand to a gap in the wall, the only path that led to the old cellar under the abandoned abbey.

  When he was a lad, free traders had used it to store smuggled goods until the excise men were no longer on their trail. That gave him and his boyhood friends the opportunity to break into their stores and drink themselves silly.

  The sand slip held an inch of water, the sign of a rising tide. He waded in, running one hand along the wall for purchase. The cave was dark, forcing him to stop and wait until his eyes adjusted to it. He inched around the first bend of the cave and followed the ripple of the uneven rock wall. He was forced to endure the discomforts of frigid seawater. He barked his shins on rough stone and resisted the urge to howl in pain. He thrust one hand to the top of the wall, and discovered the ledge that ran around the back of the cave. He allowed himself an inner smile of victory, for he knew he’d found the beginnings of the old cellar walls, carved as it were, from the natural seawall.

  Waverley hoisted himself up onto a ledge covered with slime, knelt there for a minute to let the water drain off his soggy trousers and shifted his feet. Using the wall as a guide, he moved along the granite until he felt the seam that told him he’d reached the ramp into the old cellar. He bent his knees and crept up the sloping rock to the ancient cellar entrance, slipping and sliding all the way.

  Behind him, darkness descended, forcing him to rely on sheer instinct. Waverley found the door. It was just where he remembered, he thought in triumph. He pushed it, but it did not give. He threw his body weight against the door, felt the metal of the rusted latches snap, and heard the clink of iron when the door fell to the ground on the other side, its rusted hinges rasping as it landed.

  Rancid water rushed at him. He brushed it away from his eyes with the back of his hand, took a deep breath, and proceeded into the darkness.

  As he stepped inside, his nostrils wrinkled in protest against the fetid air. He fell to his knees and inched along until he found the stone stairs, worn thin with age, that led up to the old cellar. In spite of their condition, he knew they would still hold a man’s weight. Slowly he rose and began traversing the floor, his wet feet slipping on the mossy stones. He heard an odd sound and stopped to listen.

  His ears detected a faint rustling in one of the far corners. Rats no doubt. He shuddered but continued on cautiously. He heard another sound. Another rodent? Or was that a groan? His heart slammed against his chest, but he forced himself to keep inching along walls slick with water, thick with lichen. He stumbled over broken staves from ancient barrels and shreds of old sailcloth. He froze when his foot touched something soft, a bundle perhaps.

  Waverley nudged it again. This time the bundle moved. He bent to examine it. He touched it. Sailcloth. What was underneath? Bloody hell! He ran his hands over it until he found a hole large enough for one of his fingers. He hoped to God it wasn’t some strange sea monster ready to deprive him of his finger. He heard a whimper escape. He pulled the canvas up in one sweeping motion and saw the whites of not one but two pairs of frightened eyes staring up at him.

  “Stay back! I have a gun,” Helena said in a quavering voice.

  Waverley burst out laughing. “Not that old trick again, my adored raven. We both know you can’t shoot worth a bloody damn.” Relief at having found her alive flooded his whole being. “Are you all right, my darling?”

  “Desmond? I thought we were going to die here. How did you find us?”

  “Never mind that. You’re safe now. Who’s this beside you?”

  “Allow me to introduce you to a fine gentleman, my lord. This is Captain René Le Clair of the shipwrecked Le Coq d’Or. He sailed from Cherbourg with a full cargo of French wines and brandies. But his crew and his passengers were all murdered by smugglers.” She turned to the captain, who was in a swoon. “Wake up, René. This is the Marquis of Waverley. He’s come to rescue us.” She turned her face to Waverley. “He speaks only French.”

  “How did you get here, Le Clair?” Waverley asked in the man’s native tongue.

  “Never mind that, for now,” Helena interrupted. “Captain Le Clair is gravely ill. You must take him out of here and see to his recovery. He wants those murdering smugglers found so he can testify against them, a thing he is determined to do before he returns to France.”

  “I’ll take you both out of here. We’ll go up to the first cellar and…”

  Helena touched his face with her hand. “Not possible, my darling,” she said gently. “Someone slammed the door at the top of the stairs shut and jammed the lock. The key I used to open the door is useless. How did you get in here? No matter. You’ll have to take the captain out the way you came in. You must hurry, love. He’s very weak.”

  “All right, it won’t be easy, but with your help, we’ll manage.”

  Helena shook her head. “I can’t help you, love. My ankle is swollen and I can’t walk on it.”

  Waverley thought a moment. He took off his coat. “You’ll have to help me, my sweet.” Without waiting for her answer, he removed his shirt. “Sir?”

  “Oui?” Le Clair’s voice trembled.

  “I’m going to fashion a sling out of my shirt and tie you onto my back. Can you stand if milady helps you?”

  “Oui,” the captain repeated in a trembling voice.

  “Give me a moment, sir.” Waverley lifted Helena and held her tightly. “I love you, my precious raven,” he murmured into her ear. “Jess should be waiting outside with my horse. I can’t take the chance of bringing the captain into the castle. The Traskers have too many spies. I’ve a strong suspicion those two have had a hand in the dreadful business of murder and smuggling. Jess will take the captain to the Ship Inn with instructions from me to arrange for Doctor Fenwick to attend him. Then I’ll come back for you. Take heart, my love. I’ll be as quick as I can.” He kissed her hard, a kiss she returned with her heart and soul.

  She followed his instructions and the captain was soon secured. “You’ll have to hold on to me, sir. I need both my hands to grasp the ledge.” He turned to Helena and added, “Be brave, precious raven.”

  “Come back quickly,” she whispered, though she knew he was out of earshot. All the same, the words gave her courage. She sank down, once again trying to ignore her throbbing ankle, and closed her eyes to rest until Waverley returned for her.

  The marquis eased himself into the fri
gid water. The tide had risen even higher during the few minutes he had been inside. Every muscle urged him to hurry, to go back for Helena without delay. But he forced himself to proceed slowly to protect the captain, dragging his feet through wet sand and stone while his pulse raced.

  At last he could make out the walls of the cave leading outside and hurried in spite of his burden. When he crawled out into the light, he squeezed his eyes shut against the sun’s harsh glare.

  He staggered out of the water, untied his shirt and eased the captain down onto the sand before he collapsed on his hands and knees and panted for breath. He heard someone riding down the ravine and could only hope that it was Jess, for he didn’t have the strength to fight off an enemy attack.

  “’Ere now, sir. You all right?” the lad asked, holding the reins of the horse. “But where’s milady? An’ who’s this?”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Out searchin’ for milady, like you said, yer lordship.”

  “Her ladyship is waiting for me to return for her. She’s twisted her ankle badly. This is Captain Le Clair, lad. He’s very weak and he doesn’t speak English. Steady the horse, Jess. I’ll lift the captain up behind you and tie him to you with my shirt. Ride hell for leather to the Ship Inn. Tell Tom or Mrs. Wells to feed and bed this man and call Doctor Fenwick to attend him at once. I’ll pay all charges. It’s important we save his life. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir. But what about…?”

  “I’m going back for your mistress. He lifted the captain up behind Jess and tied him securely. He slapped the horse’s rump and watched them ride off. Then he turned back to rescue Helena. He splashed back into icy tidewater up to his knees and forced his weary legs to move into the darkness of the cave.

  Helena hugged herself to keep the cold from seeping further into her being. Her teeth chattered, but her mind was more at ease now that Waverley had come to the rescue. He would be back for her as soon as he carried the ailing captain to safety. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the damp wall and thought of the man she loved.

  The chill she felt turned to heat. She touched her head to test for fever, but she felt cool. Helena put her hands on the floor to shift her weight, astonished to discover that they were covered by an inch of water. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts of Waverley, she hadn’t noticed the slowly rising water on the cellar floor.

  Why was it taking him so long to return? Helena tried to stand, but her strength failed her. Instead, she crawled on her hands and knees in the direction of the cellar steps as the water began to creep up to her wrists. Her morning gown was drenched, which made it difficult to continue.

  Where was Waverley? Perhaps he’d been prevented from returning by the rising tide. She sat up long enough to unfasten the sodden gown, for it was slowing her progress. She wriggled her way out of it, leaving her only remaining garment, the water-soaked chemise, to clothe her body.

  When she reached the bottom step, she put her knee on it and tried to pull up to the next one, but the ancient wood cracked beneath her weight. She reached for the third step, grasped it with uncommon strength and hung on with all her might. She pulled hard, tearing the hem of her chemise in the process. As she inched her way up, she tested each new step with the weight of one knee, to make sure it wouldn’t collapse under her, like the first one had.

  When she reached a higher step, she was above the rancid water. It was then that she noticed the makeshift wrapping on her aching, swollen ankle. It had torn and come undone along the way, leaving only a small piece remaining. She tried to wind it tighter for support, but it too fell away in shreds.

  Helena took deep breaths and tried to rest a bit. She could not shut her ears to the sound of water rising as she alternated between shivering from cold and perspiring from heat. A last wave of exhaustion overwhelmed her. She rested her back against the wall and closed her eyes, but they flew open again at an unfamiliar sound. Mice? She couldn’t be sure. The scratching sound, at first a mere whisper, grew louder, a quiet rumble. She tried to concentrate, to discover where it came from. Her head swiveled round to search for the source.

  Metal on wood! Helena knew that sound. Someone was trying to unlock the cellar door. She turned and scrambled up the last two steps, nearly losing her balance, but she managed to hang on with her hands, by this time full of splinters.

  “Waverley!” she cried as the door swung open. “You’ve come at last.”

  A faintly familiar voice answered, filled as it were with mockery. “No, Lady Fairchild. I’m here to claim you for my bride, just as I promised I would.”

  Helena screamed, but the sound was muffled when someone threw a blanket over her. She kicked and struggled all the while she was carried up the back stairs to her chamber. Once there, the sounds of several female voices assaulted her ears.

  “Here’s the bitch now,” a woman said, her voice ominous yet recognizable.

  Chapter 22

  Later…

  “Stop strugglin’, milady. Won’t do you a bit o’ good,” said Mrs. Trasker, removing the blanket imprisoning Helena. “Hurry up and get the bath ready for milady, Belinda. The earl’s impatient to be off with his bride.” She chuckled at her jest.

  “We’re doin’ our best,” said Belinda in a resentful tone. “C’n we help it if she won’t stop wrigglin’ and be still?”

  Mrs. Trasker had enlisted only the maids loyal to her. Nell, Eliza, Rose and Belinda helped prepare Helena for her abduction, but it wasn’t easy, for Helena struggled, kicked and fought with all her might. By refusing to cooperate, she hoped to buy enough time for Waverley to reach her.

  “Just you let me slap her around some, and she’ll stop wrigglin’ like a fish soon enough,” said Belinda after the maids had managed to put Helena into the tub. They were drenched from the bathwater Helena had splashed all over them. Belinda and the other maids had been trying to wash her dirt-encrusted body, but Helena persisted in frustrating their efforts.

  “No rough stuff, mind. His lordship wants her clean, but not beat up. Not even one bruise. He’s fixin’ to marry her, though why anyone would want a hellion like her is beyond me. She ain’t even fit for my Harry when he becomes the marquis.”

  “Harry fancies her, though,” said the saucy Belinda.

  “Mind your tongue, girl, and get on with it.”

  Helena glared at Mrs. Trasker as all four young women pulled her from the tub and began to rub her dry, none too gently. “You’ll regret this to the end of your days, Mrs. Trasker. And…and, what have you done with the dowager?”

  Mrs. Trasker turned her nose up at her. “Never you mind about the dowager.”

  “May I see her before I go?”

  Mrs. Trasker thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Don’t think the earl would like it.”

  Helena pressed her when she detected a slight hesitation. “Where’s the harm? I just want to say good-bye to her. The earl wouldn’t have to know.”

  Mrs. Trasker saw some advantage in this proposal. “Will you stop yer strugglin’ and let my girls finish dressin’ you proper?”

  “All right,” said Helena. A spark of hope eased her heavy heart. “If you give me your word of honor you’ll allow me to say good-bye to the dowager, I’ll stop struggling and cooperate.”

  “I can give you only a few minutes with her ladyship. Can’t spare any more time than that, else My Lord…er…his lordship will have my head.”

  London: Fairchild House

  Georgiana crept into his bed and straddled him. “Wake up, you abominable stuffed shirt,” she whispered into her brother’s ear.

  Still wrapped in the fog of sleep, Edward forced one eye open. “Who’s that?” He tried to sit up, but something heavy prevented him. His arms were in captivity, for she held them down over his head.

  “Dare you to hit me, you beast. Telling Father on me! How could you do me such a miserable turn?” She burst into a familiar laughter.

  “Get off me, you shamele
ss hussy!” Edward said sternly, the corners of his mouth quivering.

  “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at your favorite sister for long, My Lord Stuffed Shirt. Can’t let a stupid pair of boots get in the way of your hopeless adoration of me, now can you? Besides, wasn’t it you who taught me all those devious tricks, odious brother of mine?”

  Edward put his hands on her hips and lifted her off. “You owe me for those boots, Georgie, and for the clothes you so carelessly ruined.”

  She crossed her legs as she sat on his bed, for she was wearing pantaloons. “Guilty as charged, love, but I have one small problem. I haven’t the blunt to pay you for them. Thanks to you, Father has cut off my allowance, not to mention my riding privileges. He has ordered me to beg your forgiveness. So here I am. Do you have any sackcloth and ashes in your wardrobe? May I borrow them?”

  “So that’s why you’ve invaded my chambers, you incorrigible brat,” he muttered, trying to climb out of his bed. “Let’s see. You’ve no blunt to spend. You may not ride like the wind in the Park. What next will you do in the way of mischief? I know you can’t live without stirring up trouble.”

  “We can always think of something if we put our heads together, love, can’t we? The way we used to when you weren’t such a dead bore?”

  Edward donned his dressing gown, but before he could knot its belt, Georgie jumped on his back, flung her arms around her brother’s neck and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  This act was too much for his composure and he burst into a shout of laughter. “Get. Off. My. Back. You detestable monkey.”

  Waverley Castle

  When the marquis returned for Helena, she was nowhere to be found. How was that possible? He called her name yet heard just the hollow echo of his own voice. Unspeakable thoughts invaded his mind as he stood alone in the dark surrounded by nothing but a bleak emptiness.