The Artist's Healer

by Regina Scott

  “That girl is his daughter,” Abigail told Linus. “He’s a widower too.”

  He felt for the fellow. Yet how much better was life now that Abigail was beside him?

  The magistrate’s voice boomed out. “In the first fleet, we have the Hind of the Waves with Captain Meadows, the Merry Widow with Captain Grant, the Valiant with Captain Willison, the Importune with Captain Barkins, the Spirit of the Sea with Captain Norris, and the Siren’s Call, captained by our own Quillan St. Claire, who joins our Regatta for the first time, with first mate Mr. Alexander Chance, who is no stranger to our event.”

  “Ooh, the captain.” Mrs. Archer craned her neck as if she could see the fellow from her perch. Abigail perked up as well. So, he realized, did every lady near him.

  “Gentlemen,” the magistrate bellowed. “Prepare your sails.”

  Canvas unfurled like low-hanging clouds. Bows headed away from the shore.

  “On my mark,” Mr. Howland shouted. “Away!”

  They swept across the waves. The wind before them, they each had to tack back and forth while avoiding the other. Linus caught himself holding his breath as they began the turn past the Lodge. Abigail leaned closer, until the scent of peaches overpowered even the salt of the air.

  “Look,” Ethan cried, pointing. “Captain St. Claire is in the lead!”

  He was indeed. The Siren’s Call with its mermaid on the bow and black sides cut through the waves, taking advantage of every ounce of sail. Abigail grinned at Linus. He grinned back.

  “But look, the Hind!” someone called.

  Another boat narrowed the distance, until the two sliced side by side. Linus wasn’t sure who finished first.

  Jack Hornswag scrambled up from his perch above the Dragon’s Maw to speak to the magistrate, who nodded and raised his speaking trumpet.

  “First place, the Hind of the Waves. Second place, the Siren’s Call.”

  A groan went through the onlookers. It seemed to be coming mostly from the ladies.

  “But that means he gets to try again,” Ethan said with a look to Abigail.

  “Indeed it does,” she said, giving Linus’s hand a squeeze as if to reassure him as well. “Do not count our good captain out yet. I’m sure he has plans.”

  “Here comes the second fleet,” her mother said.

  Ethan looked, then frowned. “Why are there seven of them?”

  The rest of the onlookers must have seen the other ship at the same time, along with the flag she flew so brazenly, for voices rose in fear.

  “The French!”

  “The enemy!”

  “Invasion!”

  “Run!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  All around them, people cried out, scrambled to their feet, shoved their way down the grandstand. Her mother fell over as one of the men above them clambered past. As Abigail bent to help her, she heard a cry from Ethan. Twisting, she found Linus staring at the spot where his son had been.

  “He slipped through the opening between the seats!” He started to kneel.

  Abigail caught his arm. “Don’t! You’ll be trampled.”

  Her mother regained her feet even as another woman was dragged down the grandstand by those higher up. She lay on the ground at the bottom, face white and wrist hanging crookedly.

  “Go to her,” Abigail told Linus. “We’ll find Ethan.”

  He hesitated only a moment before loping down the seats.

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Lawrence asked Abigail and her mother even as he directed his wife and children down the stand. “I can leave Davy to help.”

  “Go,” Abigail told him. “There are others who need more help.”

  “Ethan,” her mother worried as the jeweler followed his family.

  Abigail felt it too; fear like a fist squeezed her heart.

  “We’ll find him, Mother,” she promised. “Come with me.”

  The crowd had thinned sufficiently that she was able to lead her mother off the bench and assist her down to the ground.

  “Stay here,” she said, tucking her under the edge of the highest seats. Then she crouched and peered into the shadows below, lip caught between her teeth.

  A frightened pair of eyes gazed back, and she nearly sagged with relief.

  Instead, she offered him her hand. “Come out, Ethan. It’s all right.”

  He crept toward her, face striped by dust and tears. “I fell,” he said.

  “I know,” she said, sending up a prayer of thanks and brushing dust from his hair as he reached her. “And you were very brave and very clever to stay still until we could find you.” She gave him a hug for good measure, then held him out at arm’s length. “Were you hurt?”

  “Not much,” he said, rubbing at his backside. “Not like when I was sick.”

  She did not want him thinking about his illness at the moment. “Good. Let’s collect your father and see what’s to be done.”

  “He’s coming,” her mother put in, and Abigail turned to find Linus approaching.

  “Miss Whitacre’s family came for her,” he reported. “A sprain only, as far as I can tell. Nothing broken.” He put his arm about Ethan’s shoulders, peered deep into his eyes. “All right, my boy?”

  Ethan nodded. “I knew you and Miss Archer would come for me. And Mother Archer too.”

  Her mother stretched out her arms as far as they would go and gathered them all close. “Of course I will. We’re family.”

  The dream, the hope, was as warm as her mother’s embrace, but now was no time to discuss the possibility of making that dream a reality. As her mother released them, Abigail sent her a smile, then turned to look around. The grandstand was empty. So was the one across from them. The French sloop had taken up a position at the entrance to the cove, as if to stop anyone from escaping by water. Would they fire?

  Would they land?

  “Quickly, now,” Linus said, as if he had the same fears. “We must get off this headland.”

  Abigail took her mother’s hand in one of hers and Ethan’s hand in the other, and they all hurried for the village.

  But Grace-by-the-Sea was in an uproar. A few must have had time to return home, for they struggled up the hill now, arms laden with clothing, blankets, and family belongings. The militiamen were doing what they could to organize the evacuation, but they were down in numbers. Half of the troop was out on the water as crew or timers for the Regatta.

  “Head for the Downs,” Mr. Greer was calling as he stood outside his apothecary shop near the shore, waving people up the hill. He had thrown his red coat over his waistcoat and hadn’t taken the time to button it. “Bring only what you need.”

  “I won’t leave my best lace for the French,” Miss Pierce the younger informed him as she came out of her shop nearby. She clutched a bolt to her chest.

  “We will leave nothing for the French,” Mr. Greer promised her. “We’ll torch every building as soon as we know everyone has escaped.”

  Abigail gasped. “Surely not!” She hurried up to him, pulling her mother and Ethan with her, Linus right behind. “These are our homes, sir, our livelihoods.”

  “That is a direct order from the Lord Lieutenant for Dorset,” Mr. Greer insisted. “Laid down in the evacuation plan for each village. We must leave nothing that might give the enemy aid or comfort.”

  “If my linens would comfort a French soldier, I’d rather he had them than burn them,” Miss Pierce the elder said before pushing her sister up the hill.

  Linus stepped forward. “Right now, we must think of safety first,” he told Greer, and she wanted to cling to his calm, reasoned voice the way Miss Pierce the younger clung to her lace. “You’re sending them to the Downs. Why? There’s nowhere to house them, no way to feed them. There isn’t even a source of drinking water from what I’ve seen. And any troops landing will march up that hill in the same direction, right into them.”

  “I am merely following the plan of the Lord Lieutenant of Dorset,” Mr. Greer said testily. “It is no
t my place to question it.”

  “No,” Abigail said. “Apparently it’s mine.” She turned to Linus. “We must send them to Lord Peverell’s Lodge. It’s hidden among the trees on the far headland, out of the way. The French might not even notice it. There will be water, shelter. Once the French pass, we can fish.”

  Linus nodded. “Take Ethan. Lead as many as you can in that direction. I’ll find the magistrate and Mr. Denby. We’ll get the rest.”

  “Now, see here,” Mr. Greer started. “I cannot authorize the confiscation of private property.”

  “Only if it’s to be burned, it seems,” Abigail returned. “You, sir, are overruled. Ethan, Mother, come with me. We must turn the tide.”

  ~~~

  She was amazing. Linus only had a moment to watch Abigail wade into the stream of escaping villagers and visitors and begin to guide them toward the opposite headland. He left Greer sputtering and went to look for Howland and Denby. Surely they would know how to protect everyone.

  He found the magistrate coming down the path from the castle with Eva, Mrs. Tully, and the Denbys. Linus met them and explained the change in plan.

  “Excellent notion,” Mrs. Denby proclaimed. “I’ll gather our Regulars and enlist their aid.” She picked up her skirts and hurried for High Street.

  “Some will run for the church,” Eva said. “We’ll send them to the Lodge. Come, Maudie.”

  “The trolls will be here shortly,” she told Linus before following Eva down the lane. And he could not tell if she thought her trolls would be their salvation or their ruin.

  “The earl and those with him have already left the castle on my orders,” Howland told Linus and Denby as they followed. “They will alert Upper Grace.”

  A large group was headed in that direction, the remaining militiamen among them. Enough had reached the top of the hill that Linus and the others had to go up and order them around to the Lodge. They discovered another group heading up Church Street for the path to the headland. Eva and Mrs. Tully were directing them.

  “Up you go,” Eva advised. “Best place to be at the moment.”

  “Trolls behind you,” Mrs. Tully added. “Move right along.”

  Howland pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “Well done, Eva. We’ll sweep the village, make sure everyone is out.”

  “And stop Greer from setting it ablaze,” Linus said.

  “Be careful,” she said before returning to her task.

  “The French won’t land,” Mrs. Tully told him. “The mermaids won’t allow it.”

  Linus wasn’t about to rely on mermaids. He, Denby, and the magistrate returned to High Street, then headed down to the apothecary shop.

  Greer stood outside, torch in one hand, staring at his building as if he simply couldn’t bear to see it go up in flames.

  Denby stepped in front of him. “Put that out.”

  Greer roused himself. “I take no orders from the Excise Office.”

  “No,” Howland said, moving in next to him. “But as head of the militia for Grace-by-the-Sea and the magistrate for this village, I do have the authority to issue orders. Put that out.”

  Greer hesitated, sweat beginning to pop out on his high brow. “You approved the plan, Magistrate. You helped compile it.”

  Linus stared at him. Howland raised his chin. “I did, to my everlasting sorrow. Before my marriage, I had a tendency to follow the law to its last letter. Now I believe it more important to follow its spirit. No village should have to build itself back from the ashes because of our actions, Mr. Greer. Would you condemn Grace-by-the-Sea after one glimpse of a French flag?”

  Greer drew in a breath. “No.” He set down the torch and rolled it in the dirt of the road to extinguish it.

  Linus wanted to cheer, but there was too much more to be done. “The others are gathering at the Lodge. Perhaps you should join them.”

  Greer nodded and headed in that direction. Howland, Denby, and Linus started back up High Street.

  They met Mrs. Denby coming from the spa, along with Lord Featherstone, Mrs. Harding, Mr. Crabapple, the Admiral, and Doctor Owens.

  “Mrs. Rand, Miss Turnpeth, the others?” Linus asked her.

  “Most are on their way to the Lodge,” she reported. “I couldn’t find Mr. Donner or Mr. George. I hope they had the sense to follow.”

  “How might we be of assistance, Magistrate?” Lord Featherstone asked.

  “We’ll quarter the village,” Howland said. “Knock on every door.”

  “And once this is over,” Linus added, “we must review the evacuation plan. Who decided we should fire the village?”

  “Standard practice,” Howland said over the cries of protest from Mrs. Harding and the Admiral. “Fire the village, kill any livestock that might be of use. Destroy any food, supplies.”

  “Draconian,” Lord Featherstone pronounced.

  “Indeed,” Owens agreed, brows up. “Won’t the population have to return at some point?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Linus said.

  “We should move,” Denby said. “They’ll come ashore any moment now.”

  They all turned toward the water. The cove sat empty, quiet. Beyond the entrance, the Channel rippled in the sunlight.

  Just as empty.

  Howland stepped forward. “Where are they? If they intended to land, they’d have to come through the cove. There’s no other low bank for miles.”

  Denby squared his shoulders. “You all canvas the village, get everyone out, just in case. I’ll head for the castle, see if I can find a better vantage point.”

  “Go,” Howland said. “Jesslyn, divide your troops. Two to Church Street and Castle Walk, two to each side of High Street. You have a half hour, then I want you climbing for the Lodge.”

  “The Lodge?” Owens asked Linus as Jesslyn began partnering the others.

  “A property hidden on the west headland,” Linus explained. “The villagers and our guests are heading there rather than out on the Downs.”

  “More strategic value,” he said with a nod. “Do you need my help?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Denby put in. “Take the west side of High Street with Doctor Bennett. It’s mostly shops, but some have flats above or behind, and it’s possible others took shelter there.”

  “On our way,” Linus said.

  It was a mad half hour. He and Owens knocked and shouted as Lord Featherstone and the Admiral canvassed the opposite side. In the distance, other voices shouted on Church Street and Castle Walk.

  “Remarkably obedient, your villagers and guests,” Owens mused as they headed back up the street, having found no one.

  “Remarkably fortunate,” Linus told him. “It was utter chaos for a time.”

  “And so it might have remained,” Owens assured him, “but for you, the magistrate, and Mr. Denby.”

  Linus wasn’t so sure about that. Abigail had been the one to think of the Lodge, Jesslyn to rally the Regulars. Eva and Mrs. Tully had proven more effective at leading the villagers and guests than he and the other men had been. Abigail had also rescued Ethan so he could help others.

  He nearly stopped in his tracks as the realization hit. The very traits that had concerned him had proven their salvation—her quick action, her fearlessness, her willingness to take risks where others hesitated.

  How could any man fail to admire such a woman?

  They regrouped a few moments later at the crossroads between Castle Walk and Church Street.

  “The French have vanished,” Denby reported, breathing hard from his run in both directions. “Most of the boats in the Regatta took sail too.”

  “Perhaps they went to mount an attack,” Owens suggested. “You have such captains designated, do you not? Sea Fencibles, I believe they’re called.”

  “We do,” the magistrate allowed. “But their purpose is to go out and meet the French in the middle of the Channel. Most of the ships in the Regatta wouldn’t have been carrying cannons. And there’s no time to mount a defense whe
n the French arrive from nowhere.”

  Linus cocked his head. “An excellent observation, Magistrate. How did a French sloop appear in the middle of the Regatta? One might think it designed to sow panic.”

  Howland stared at him. “They were testing us!”

  Denby glanced out over the water. “And I fear to think what they just learned.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lord Peverell’s Lodge was a sprawling place built of brick imported from outside Dorset. It boasted three withdrawing rooms and a dozen bedchambers, but it had not been designed to hold most of the inhabitants of Grace-by-the-Sea and all those who had come up for the Regatta.

  “And the Spa Corporation will pay for any damage?” Mrs. Kirby had asked as she had unlocked the door for Abigail.

  “Mr. Greer is aware of the change in plan,” Abigail had replied, hoping the Spa Corporation president would agree to supply whatever was needed in the end.

  Now families and friends clustered in each bedchamber, the spa guests who were not still in the village were congregated in one of the withdrawing rooms, the other Regatta attendees made up the other two withdrawing rooms, and the shopkeepers and workers of Grace-by-the-Sea ranged from the kitchen to the dining room. Children huddled with their parents. Husbands and wives held hands. And everyone listened for the dull boom of cannon fire, the tramp of soldier’s feet.

  Both Abigail and Mr. Wingate, the vicar, moved from room to room, checking on everyone.

  “What are we to do, Miss Archer?” Mrs. Evans asked, holding her new baby close as her daughters clung to her skirts. They had come up the headland alone. Abigail assumed her husband was out on one of the boats.

  “We’ll wait here for word from the magistrate,” Abigail told her, smiling at the baby, who drowsed in his mother’s arms as if he was the only one content with the world. “In the meantime, if you brought food or drink, it would be good if you could share it with others.”

  Mrs. Greer, seated nearby, hugged the bag she’d brought tighter. Lean and angular, the wife of the Spa Corporation president generally liked announcing his position to all and sundry, even those who had voted him into office multiple years now. Abigail generally did not engage with her, but if the woman had food to share, Abigail would make sure the others knew it.