by Jo Ann Brown
He glanced in the direction she pointed, then looked more closely at something that hung from a tree. Not high up. Exactly on eye level, so someone passing by would not fail to notice it. He reached up and scowled as he saw the breeches with a hole ripped in the back. The material was identical to what Jobby had had in his mouth when he had chased the intruder.
Jonathan pulled the hanging material off the branch, then grimaced as two things fell out of it. He picked up one and stared in disbelief. It was a crudely made stuffed toy in the shape of an animal.
“It is a dog.” She gasped. “A dog with the same color as Jobby. An effigy like the ones we made of Guy Fawkes for bonfire night.”
Jonathan reached down for the other item. It was an old knife. When he looked from it to the stuffed dog, he saw a slit in the toy the exact shape of the knife.
“Oh, sweet heavens!” Cat whispered.
He turned the rusty blade over and over. The haft was gritty with salt. “Heaven has nothing to do with this.”
Chapter Nine
No one spoke.
The only sound was Miss Kightly’s soft sobs, as she leaned her head on Meriweather’s shoulder. His pats on her arm were awkward, but he was doing his best to calm her. Opposite them, Cat sat between her sister and Miss Fenwick. Northbridge paced on one side of the room, and the vicar did the same on the other. Northbridge’s children were upstairs with a kind nursery maid named Alice, who was making them feel at home.
Jonathan stood by the door, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him. He had tried to begin a conversation more than once, but each time either Meriweather or Northbridge shut it down with a few sharp words. It was clear that they did not want to discuss what he and Cat had found when the ladies were present.
That made no sense, because none of these women, with the exception of Miss Kightly, had given any indication that they were faint of heart. How long were they going to wait to talk about what they should do?
As if he had asked that question aloud, Cat and her sister rose. He did not see any visible signal among the ladies, but Miss Fenwick came to her feet, as well. Miss Meriweather went to where Miss Kightly sat and disentangled the young woman from around her cousin so smoothly that Jonathan was amazed. Miss Meriweather and Miss Fenwick helped the sobbing woman from the room.
Cat followed, pausing long enough to whisper, “Jonathan, don’t let them do something foolish. If there was any doubt before, it’s clear now that the smugglers will stop at nothing.”
“I know,” he said softly. “Jobby—”
“I have already given instructions that he must not be allowed outside without a leash.”
He gave her a swift smile. “He won’t be happy.”
“Better unhappy than dead.”
He nodded as she stepped past him. He caught her arm, surprising himself as much as her. When she looked up at him, he said, “Advice we need to take for ourselves as well, Cat.”
She flinched but nodded.
Reluctantly he released her so she could catch up with the others. Did she have any idea how much he wanted to hold her close, while he kept her safe from every danger in the world? One look deep into the dark wells of her eyes and he would gladly lay down his life to protect her. Only now when the threat surrounded them could he admit that he was beginning to care for her deeply.
He almost laughed at the irony. The man everyone believed to be a hero was ready to sacrifice his life for a woman he should not dream of making his own, until he proved he was a true hero. And if he became a real hero by facing the mass strength of the smugglers by himself, he would end up dead. That was the warning left in the wood. What a mess he had made for himself with his web of lies!
“We cannot let these smugglers think they scare us,” Northbridge said.
“Even if they have.” Meriweather set himself on his feet. “Catherine has already alerted the staff to stay out of the wood and not to let any of the animals wander in there.”
“That is wise.” Mr. Fenwick remained sitting, but his eyes were narrowed with an anger that Jonathan had never expected to see on a clergyman’s face. “I will speak to those in the village with children.”
“And let the smugglers know of our plans?” Jonathan demanded as he pushed himself away from the wall. Save for the vicar, this conversation could have been one of the many they had around low-burning fires the night before a battle. He had not expected to fight another war once Napoleon was defeated.
He closed his eyes, and the image of the French soldier raising his knife toward Northbridge burst into his mind. Everything had frozen in perfect clarity in that moment, searing the whole attack on his brain. He could recall each detail, the smells of fear and death, the cries of battle and the dying, the way his muscles tensed as he saw the knife flash toward Northbridge.
“What plans?” asked Northbridge, yanking Jonathan out of his horrific memories. “All we have decided so far is to be cautious.”
Jonathan nodded, annoyed for letting himself be sucked back to memories of when Northbridge had almost died. Jonathan had been known as the calm one when they had faced the French, but then Cat had not been involved. Admiration for Northbridge filled him anew. His erstwhile commander gave no sign of the distress of having the woman he loved and his beloved children caught up in this invisible war with the smugglers.
“Caution is the most important step,” Jonathan said.
Northbridge smiled tautly in his direction. “I am glad to see we are of one mind on that. This is not the time for heroics. This is the time for thoughtful discussion and careful decisions.”
“You know this situation better than we do, Mr. Fenwick.” Jonathan looked at the vicar. “Do you have any advice for us?”
Slowly the vicar stood. He put one hand on Northbridge’s shoulder and the other on Meriweather’s. “I do not, but Paul the apostle does when he wrote to the Philippians. ‘Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.’”
“You are right,” Jonathan said. “We should not act in haste.”
Northbridge scowled. “The only way to kill a snake is to chop off its head. Declaring war on the poor fishermen in the village who have been coerced into helping or being silent or both will do nothing but create anger and fear and resentment.”
“You saw the result of that today,” the vicar said.
“So we need to find their leader and deal with him?” Jonathan rubbed his hands together, but nothing could ease the sudden cold cutting through him. He had thought he was done with war, but another battle awaited them.
“Yes,” Mr. Fenwick said with regret. “The late Lord Meriweather planned to do that, and I have no idea how close he came to success.”
“Not close enough to halt them.” Jonathan glanced from Northbridge to Meriweather and then to the vicar. “It appears we must take on the task and finish what he began. What do you say?”
Northbridge smiled coldly. “I say aye.”
“Meriweather?”
Their host nodded, and Jonathan suspected Meriweather was relieved that his friends had already made the decision before asking him.
“So what do we do?” Meriweather asked.
“Listen,” Jonathan said. “When we were on the Continent, some of the best information we obtained was simply by listening. Here, we can listen in the house, in the village, on the shore and at church.”
Mr. Fenwick smiled and nodded. “An excellent plan, and one I can help with, gentlemen.”
“So is it agreed?” Meriweather asked.
They nodded, and Jonathan dared to believe that he would have a chance to
halt the smugglers and prove himself to be a hero in truth.
* * *
“I publish the Banns of Marriage between Charles Winthrop, earl of Northbridge of Northbridge Castle, Sussex, and Sophia Meriweather of Sanctuary Bay, North Yorkshire. If any of you know cause, or just impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”
Sophia’s face glowed as brightly as the candles on the altar. Cat took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. On the other side of the pew box, Charles was smiling and trying to hush his exuberant son at the same time.
Jonathan, who sat beside Charles, picked up Michael and sat him on his lap. He bent and whispered something in the little boy’s ear. Michael nodded, then edged off his lap and sat with his hands folded on his lap. He did not shift or make another sound.
Cat wondered what Jonathan had told the little boy. As if she had asked the question aloud, his eyes shifted toward her. She did not look away. She should, but she met his gaze steadily. When a smile uncurled along his lips, she smiled back. It was a day for joy. One of his best friends and her dear sister were eager to share with the world their love for each other.
There had not been much reason to smile since the discovery of the effigy. The men had searched the wood, but found nothing else. Even so, like Jonathan, Cat had no doubt it had been put up by the smugglers as a warning not to let Jobby loose in the wood again.
Lillian had been so distressed that she had taken to her bed and had not risen until this morning to join them coming to church. Cat had half expected her to return to Sir Nigel’s estate, but she appeared more at ease this morning. Or maybe it was that she had stayed close to Cousin Edmund, letting him hand her into the carriage and sitting beside him on the way to church. Cat had heard her tell her uncle, who had attended the Sanctuary Bay church this morning, rather than his own parish’s church to the south, that her visit to Meriweather Hall was going well.
Mr. Fenwick announced that the banns were being read in Charles’s parish church as well, and that the second reading would be next Sunday. Once they had been announced a third time, Sophia and Charles could marry.
Cat listened to the rest of the service, trying to absorb Mr. Fenwick’s erudite lesson. He challenged them with quotes from Scripture and from scholars. She often wondered what the villagers thought of his sermons. They treated him with respect, and she suspected they were proud of their learned vicar.
She bowed her head during the prayers and sang the hymns. She waited, hoping for the welcome of God’s presence, but it did not come. Even though she smiled along with the others as they thanked Mr. Fenwick for an excellent service, she was sad. She had no idea how to persuade God to be with her again.
Jonathan was pulling on his gloves beyond the church’s porch. She walked over to him, hesitant, because they really had not talked since the skating party. When he gave her a warm smile, she asked, “What did you tell Michael?”
“That he needed to be quiet during the reading of the banns, because someone might think he was protesting that your sister and his father shouldn’t marry. That way she might never become his mother.” He chuckled. “That child adores your sister, and he cannot wait to be able to call her ‘mama.’”
“How clever of you!”
* * *
Jonathan did not feel clever, but he liked the idea that Cat believed he was.
As if they had called the little boy’s name, Michael ran to them and pulled on Jonathan’s coat. “I was quiet, wasn’t I?”
“You were wonderful,” Jonathan said. “Do you think you can be quiet two more times while the banns are read?”
Putting his fingers to his mouth, he turned them as if he held a key. Eagerly he nodded.
Jonathan ruffled the little boy’s hair, glad that Northbridge’s children had come to love their father. Before the war, Northbridge had been unsure how to act around his children whom he barely knew after so many years fighting the French on the Continent. Sophia had taught him to open his heart to his children at the same time he had fallen in love with her. Now, young Michael adored his father, and his sister did, too.
It was so important, Jonathan knew, for a young boy to have his father in his life. He wished his own had been in his life more often, but the discord between his parents had prevented that.
As the others gathered around him and Cat and the boy, the conversation was lighter than it had been since they went skating. Parishioners interrupted them often to offer congratulations to Sophia and Charles.
“Thank you,” Sophia said to each one. “I feel blessed.”
“The community of Sanctuary Bay is thrilled to have the late Lord Meriweather’s daughter marrying well,” Jonathan said.
“And happily.” Lillian batted her lashes at Meriweather in a clear hint that he should think of marrying soon, too. Color rose up his friend’s cheeks, and he ducked his head.
“There are some,” Cat said to fill the uncomfortable silence, “who say that, after all you soldiers have been through, you are due every bit of happiness.”
“I like how you think,” Northbridge said as he gave a half bow toward Cat. He smiled at his betrothed. “Your sister is, my dear, a very wise woman.”
“Only because she agrees with you.” Sophia held her hands out to the children. “But I do agree that you have done your duty.” She glanced at Jonathan, and tears filled her eyes as they did each time she spoke of him saving her future husband’s life. “And some of you have done even more.”
Jonathan excused himself. He had to get away before he choked on the truth that he should speak.
Someday.
Not today on the day his friend was looking forward to his wedding. Not even to cleanse his soul would Jonathan ruin what should be a perfect day for Northbridge and his family.
When he saw Mr. Fenwick speaking with his sister, Jonathan made a decision. He was not ready to divulge the truth today, but he could not wait any longer for some guidance on how best to tell his friends when the time was right.
He greeted Miss Fenwick, who looked festive in her bright green pelisse. Then he turned to the vicar. “May I speak with you, Mr. Fenwick? Privately?”
Mr. Fenwick nodded. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Bradby. Will you give me a few minutes to get everything in order after the service? Then I can give you my full attention.”
“Of course.” What else could he say? That he needed to speak with the vicar now. Before he lost his nerve.
“Why don’t you meet me at the vicarage? I shall be less than five minutes here.”
“I don’t—”
“Mr. Bradby, come with me.” Miss Fenwick motioned toward the simple flint cottage. “Gregory has to close up the church and make sure everything is put away properly.”
He offered her his arm. What else could he do? Turn tail and run? He had started down this path, so he must see it to its end.
When Miss Fenwick put her fingers on his sleeve, he felt none of the delightful feelings that Cat’s touch evoked. But Miss Fenwick was pleasant company, talking about nothing important, as if she sensed the weight he carried. He should have guessed a clergyman’s sister would be insightful.
At the cottage, she opened the door. “You can sit anywhere, Mr. Bradby. Gregory will be here as soon as he can. If you will excuse me...”
“Of course,” he said automatically, but was surprised when she turned and walked back the way they had come.
Jonathan lowered his head as he stepped into the cottage. He saw the lamp he had moved hanging by the hearth, and he thought of how pleased Miss Fenwick had been with his help. Cat had been even more so, and he had delighted in being able to make her happy with such a small deed.
He chose a seat by the hearth which had burned down to embers. Rising, he put more
logs on the fire and stirred it up, so the cottage would be warm when the Fenwicks entered. He sat again and waited with little patience. He wanted this conversation started. He wanted it over. He wished he could avoid it altogether.
Maybe he could have if he had not come back to Meriweather Hall. No, it was not the place that had compounded his guilt. It was Cat. She was open and guileless and believed the foolish story of his heroism. Each time she mentioned it, or someone else did in her hearing, he wanted to crawl away like the worm he was.
He needed forgiveness. God’s and his friends’...and most of all, Cat’s. He knew how to ask God for forgiveness and he had, but knew he had to own to the truth to his friends before God absolved him of what had started out simply as a misunderstanding before blossoming into this lie that consumed him.
The door opened, and Mr. Fenwick came in. Even though he was not as tall as Jonathan, he had to duck beneath the low rafters. The vicar did it with the ease of practice as he removed his coat, hat and gloves, and hung them on pegs by the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Bradby, for getting the fire going.” He held out his hands to the hearth. “Even the old-timers are saying they cannot remember a winter this cold this early in Sanctuary Bay.” He faced Jonathan. “But you didn’t come here to talk about the weather, or so I am assuming.” He pulled up a chair and sat. “What can I help you with, Mr. Bradby?”
The words he had thought about saying so often withered on his tongue. It had been a mistake to approach Mr. Fenwick. He had known the Meriweathers for as long as he had been their vicar. Maybe Jonathan should have sought out advice from a clergyman who did not know either him or his friends.
Mr. Fenwick gave him an encouraging smile, and Jonathan realized the vicar had mistaken the cause for his hesitation when Mr. Fenwick said, “You need not worry about the chance of my sister overhearing our conversation. Vera is joining the Meriweathers and Lord Northbridge at Meriweather Hall for the afternoon.” Another smile eased his stern face. “She gives me time alone on Sundays for prayer and contemplation and for conversations with my parishioners.”
