by Mary Nichols
‘Yes, he became an earl and married his countess and I married your papa.’
‘He was the Earl of Blackwater, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘So the rumours are true.’
‘No, Lydia, they are not. After we both married we did not meet for years until Papa was offered the living in Colston. He was so pleased to have it, how could I argue against accepting it?’
‘He did not know the truth?’
‘No, I could never have hurt him by telling him. He was a good and devout man, who was a loving husband and an indulgent father, as you well know.’
‘But why did the Earl offer him the living? He must have known it would be difficult.’
‘The living your father had was a poor one and we already had five children and I was expecting John. The future looked rather bleak. Colston was a richer parish. The Earl did it to help us. We were able to avoid each other, except for the normal intercourse of neighbours, and we did nothing wrong. Ever. And then Freddie was foolish enough to get into that duel and his lordship came here and we decided what had to be done. You know the rest.’
‘But you went often to the Hall after that.’
‘I went to keep the Countess company, I have already explained that. I felt sorry for her.’
‘Did the Countess know about you and the Earl?’
‘I don’t know. I do not think so.’
‘She didn’t jump from the roof because of you?’
‘No, she was deranged, Lydia, had been for years.’
‘But you must have met the Earl at those times.’
‘Not often and then we were simply polite to each other. Until the night he had the fall that led to his death, we never spoke of our love. It was nothing more than a memory, which faded with each passing year.’ She paused. ‘I have not been unhappy, Lydia. I loved your father and took pride and joy in my children. What I am trying to say, dearest, is that happiness comes from following the right path, even if you don’t see that at the time.’
‘Yes.’ But she knew she would never come to love Sir Arthur and could not be convinced it was the right path for her. And her mother’s revelation had confused her more than ever.
‘You must not continue to bear a grudge against the Earl for what happened,’ her mother went on. ‘We have to live as neighbours whether we stay here or move to Sir Arthur’s house.’
‘Who do you think started those rumours?’ Lydia asked. It was a question which had been taxing her brain ever since they started. ‘Annabelle says it was Caroline Brotherton, but she could not have known anything unless she heard others talking. Who would even have guessed? You don’t think it was Mistress Grey? She was in service at the Hall for years.’
‘No, she would never say anything to hurt the Earl or the Countess, she loved them both. But there were other servants in the house who had served the family for many years, the old Earl’s valet for one. He must have been privy to any number of secrets and Ralph dispensed with his services when he came home. He may have borne a grudge. But you know, it does no good to speculate. The important thing is to live our lives as we know we should and hold our heads up. You are betrothed and in two weeks you will be married and so busy with your new life, this will seem like a dream.’
Or a nightmare, Lydia told herself. Her duty had been clear to her long before her mother’s revelation, and longing for another man, especially one who did not even exist, was a futile waste of time, a drain on emotions which were better used dealing with real people. Oh, she hoped and prayed her mama was right and it would become easier.
But she could have some adventure before she settled down to domesticity, she told herself. She could try to solve the riddle of the smugglers and the package and if there really was something nefarious going on, something more than bringing in a little contraband for local use, then she might be instrumental in bringing the criminals to justice. And it would serve the Earl of Blackwater right if she did it before he did. She had evidence; he did not. Oh, it would be great fun and certainly very satisfying to best him.
Had they brought in the contraband last night or had the master of the ship postponed coming in with it when his signal to the shore was not answered promptly? Had it been answered from some cove somewhere, which could not be seen from the land? But if it was all over, why had Robert Dent taken so much trouble to call on her and warn her off? He did not want her anywhere near the beach again tonight. Neither did the Earl of Blackwater and that was reason enough to go.
It was all very well to make plans in the safe atmosphere of the dower-house dining room, a very different matter to put those plans into effect, when it meant leaving a warm bed and venturing out into the night, especially when that night was as black as pitch, made all the more impenetrable by thick fog. When the time came, she almost changed her mind, but the thought that the contraband might be landed and dispersed under cover of that very fog and she would miss the going of it, kept her resolve.
At midnight, dressed in Freddie’s clothes, she made her way down to the path beyond the wood, but once on the marshes, the mist was thicker than ever, eerily silent. She stood to get her bearings, wondering if she dared go on, remembering how she had stumbled into the water the previous night when visibility had been a great deal better. Would the boats even be able to find their way in?
She heard a sharp sound like a seagull calling and then another. It broke into the silence like a thunderclap and she realised that was how the men would get their bearings: sound carried for miles on such a night.
Feeling her way step by step, making sure each foot was on solid ground before she put her weight on it, she crept forward. And always ahead of her, she could hear the cry of the seagull, though she was sure it was no bird which made the sound. Someone was out there, on the beach, guiding the boat in. Her breathing was erratic and she was shivering although she was far from cold. Every now and again she stopped to listen, turning to peer behind her in case she was being followed.
And then she felt soft sand beneath her feet and knew she had safely negotiated the marshes and was on the beach. She stopped to catch her breath and decide what to do next. The gull had stopped calling. And then she heard the creaking of an oar, so close it startled her. A slight breeze coming off the sea lifted the mist a little, so she could just make out the dim shape of a rowing boat. There were men on the beach, wading out to pull it in and low voices. They had only to turn round and they would see her.
She made for one of the hollows in the dunes close by and threw herself face down. Her fear of the fog was nothing compared to the terror she felt now. What, in heaven’s name, had made her think she could take on a band of smugglers single-handed? Did she imagine they would surrender the minute she challenged them?
Robert Dent had been right to warn her of the dangers and so had the Earl of Blackwater. Ralph Latimer. What wouldn’t she give to have him here beside her now? The thought brought a wry smile to her lips as she remembered her refusal to allow him to help her. Slowly she lifted her head. The men were unloading boxes and casks onto the beach, their low voices carrying easily to her hiding place.
‘What ’appened last night?’ The voice had a slight accent which Lydia thought might have been French.
‘We couldn’t let you land, too many strangers on the shore.’
‘Where’s the cart?’
‘Joe is bringing it up now. It ain’t easy in the dark, you know, specially with this fog. Can’t see a hand in front of your face on the marshes.’
‘Where’s Gaston?’
‘He ain’t here. Disappeared. Reckon the revenue men got ’im.’
‘And the map and stones?’
There was no immediate answer and then an explosion of verbal abuse, which was all the more sinister for being in French in a hissed whisper.
The cart, pulled by one heavy horse and driven by a huge man bundled up in cape and hat, arrived while this was going on and the men began loading it. ‘What about
our money?’ one of them asked.
‘You shall have your money, just as soon as this lot’s been delivered.’ This was said by the man on the cart.
‘That means I’ll ’ave to stand off another night. Two nights are dangerous enough, but three is suicidal.’
‘Can’t be helped. You want paying, you come in again tomorrow night.’
Lydia, who hardly dared lift her head to look, heard the boat shoving off and the creak of oars and wondered how many men were still on the beach. Dare she risk a peep? Slowly she lifted her head. The cart was being driven inland. Besides, the driver, there were three other men walking beside it and would pass very close to where she lay. She pressed herself down into the sand and tried not to breathe. The cart wheels creaked as it was pulled over the sand closer and closer to where she lay. Whoever was driving it would need to know the track very well, she decided, a local who knew the marshes.
And then it was past her and rumbling up on to firmer ground. Thinking herself safe, she sat up, just as one of the men, walking beside the horse’s head, turned to look back. She froze, but she was clearly outlined against the eastern sky, just beginning to lighten with a rose-hued dawn. He spoke to the man with the cart, evidently telling him to carry on, then made his way over to where she crouched.
She rose and started to run along the beach. He followed, chasing her among the dunes, though he did not shout. He did not need to, for he was gaining on her with every step; when she stumbled he threw himself on top of her. ‘Got you, my hearty.’
He was a big man and his weight was pressing her face into the sand so that she could not breathe. Just when she thought she would choke to death, he sat up, pulling her up beside him. ‘Now let’s take a look at you.’ He stopped and chuckled. ‘It’s a girl. I’ve caught me a girl. Who are you, girl?’
In the half-light of a new dawn, she stared at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide in surprise, then she grinned at him, a stupid, happy smile. ‘Don’t you know me?’ she asked, looking up into his face. ‘Don’t you recognise your own sister, Freddie Fostyn?’
Chapter Eight
Freddie stood and stared at her. ‘My God, Lydia. What are you doing here? And dressed like that.’ He chuckled suddenly. ‘Are they my breeches?’
‘They are.’ She was grinning all over her face. ‘I came watching for smugglers. I never dreamed you would be one of them. Oh, Mama is going to be overjoyed to see you.’
‘No, Lydia, she is not to know I am home.’
‘Not to know? Freddie, how can you say that? She has lived for your homecoming for ten long years…’
‘Then a day or two more will make no difference.’
‘Don’t you want to see her?’
‘Of course, I do, but I have unfinished business to do before I can present myself to her. I need to have something to show for my absence—I cannot return with empty pockets.’
‘She will not mind that at all, she will be overjoyed to know you are home safe and sound. Forget the free-traders.’
‘I can’t. I cannot explain it now, little sister, but later I will come home and there will be a reunion such as we have all dreamed of.’
‘Where have you been all these years? Oh, there is so much to tell you.’ She paused. ‘I suppose you must know much of it, for Robert Dent will have told you.’
‘Robert? What has he to do with it?’
‘Is he not one of the smugglers?’
‘If he is, I have not come across him. But then, how could I? I have only just landed. Now I must go, or the others will stop and come back for me. I don’t want them to see you. Wait until we have all gone and then go home. And remember, not a word to anyone. Especially to Ralph Latimer.’
‘Why would I tell him anything? I hate him for what he did to Papa and you, I always have. Besides, he knows.’
‘Knows? Knows what?’
‘About the smuggling. He discovered the hideout in the woods and is determined to catch you.’
‘The devil he is!’
‘Oh, he’s that, no doubt of it,’ she said. ‘I came to warn you. At least, not you particularly, because I did not know you were one of them, but if they were village men, I did not want them to be arrested.’
‘Is this the truth?’
‘Of course it is. Why should I lie?’ But it was a lie, because she had had no thought of warning them when she set out. But if it meant Lord Blackwater was frustrated, then no one would be more pleased than she was.
‘Then all the more reason to go home. Leave us to deal with him.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t know. It depends what he does. Now, off you go.’
‘But, Freddie, where will you be?’ Having been reunited with him, she did not want to part from him again. It was like a miracle, but there were ominous undertones to what he said, which frightened her.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to send word.’
He looked about him, scrambled out of the hollow and darted across the sand. In two minutes he was out of sight. For a moment she sat hugging herself, thinking of the joy there would be in the house when her brother came home. It was wonderful, glorious, the happiest day of her life. Or it would have been if he had not been so mysterious. In a dream, she picked up her hat and began plodding home, so filled with the strange reunion with her brother, she forgot to be vigilant.
A hand grabbed her arm and spun her round and another hand was raised to strike her. She cried out in terror. The raised fist dropped to her assailant’s side, though he maintained his hold on her arm. ‘Oh, it is you again,’ he said. ‘I might have known.’
‘Ralph Latimer!’ The family name, without even the courtesy of a title, was out before she could stop it. But she would not apologise, she would not.
He noted it but did not comment. ‘As you see.’
She tried to tug her arm free. ‘You are hurting me.’
‘I will hurt you a deal more if you do not stop wriggling like an eel.’
‘Then release me.’
‘No, you are going to come with me and we are going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.’
She struggled every inch of the way. The longer he spent trying to subdue her, she decided, the longer Freddie and his accomplices would have to escape. Now it was not simple curiosity and a notion to best the Earl of Blackwater which motivated her, it had become more important than that. Her brother’s freedom, perhaps even his life, was at stake; she was not going to allow that man to ruin it a second time.
Still struggling, she was half-dragged, half-carried back to the Hall. He pushed her ahead of him through a side door left unlocked for his return and through a series of corridors to the main hall and into the book-lined library, where he threw her into an armchair and perched himself on the edge of his desk near enough to make a grab for her if she tried to leave.
Silently she struggled to sit up and restore some of her dignity. But how could you be dignified when you are dressed as a young man in coat and breeches, both of which are covered in dirt and sand, and your hair has come untied and is all over your face, and you are shivering with cold and shock?
He smiled slowly; she was in a pickle, there was no mistake about that but, in some way, it served to make her even more attractive. He admired her courage, for how many genteel young ladies would dare to venture forth at dead of night and join a band of smugglers? He had told himself he would not allow her to creep under his guard and throw him off his stride, that he would interrogate her as he would any other lawbreaker, but how could he when it was all he could do to stop himself taking her in his arms and telling her he would make everything right again. His heart had turned traitor to his head.
He turned and poured a glass of brandy from the decanter on the desk beside him and, leaning forward, handed it to her. ‘Here, drink this, it will warm you.’ Then added, with an ironic smile, ‘It is duty paid.’
She hesitated before accepting it, but she needed somethin
g to warm her or he would take her shaking for fear. The fiery liquid caught in her throat and made her choke before it spread its glow into her stomach, but it did little to make her feel better. Where had Freddie gone? What was he doing? When would he come home? How could she go back home and spend tomorrow as if nothing had happened, when she was bursting with the news that Freddie was back?
He watched her sipping the drink, trying to fathom what was going on in her head, then he took the empty glass from her and set it down on the desk beside him. ‘Now, Miss Fostyn, I will have the truth, if you please.’
‘The truth, my lord, is that I like to roam about the shoreline at night,’ she said defiantly. ‘There is no law against it, is there?’
‘No law of the land against it, but it is against every law of respectability and good sense.’
‘And of course, you are an authority on those.’
‘No, or I would not be sitting here with you now, but I am sure Sir Arthur is.’
‘What has he to do with it?’
‘You hope to marry him, do you not?’ He smiled sardonically. ‘I imagine he might have something to say on the matter, if he were to know of this escapade. And others.’
‘And no doubt you will ensure he does know.’
‘Not at all. I have no wish for your reputation to be ruined by gossip, but it seems to me you are making a good hand at doing that without anyone’s help. If you wish your wedding to go ahead as planned, don’t you think you would be wiser to stay at home at night?’
‘And you, of course, have an interest in seeing that the nuptials take place, for the sooner I am wed, the sooner I shall be gone from here and no longer able to frustrate you.’
He smiled and inclined his head; she certainly frustrated him. ‘As you say. But that is not my only interest in your moonlight walks. I take exception to smugglers trespassing on my land and using my property to hide their contraband. I told you so before.’
‘What has that to do with me?’
‘Oh, I think you know.’
‘I do not. In any case, they are doing no harm. They are simply poor men who have wives and families to provide for and, with taxes so high, who can blame them for bringing in a few goods and avoiding the duty?’
