Sea Wraith

by Jocelyn Kelley

  After a delicious breakfast, Sian returned to her room to assist Helen in unpacking. The maid was as insistent as she had been at Nethercott Castle that she did not need any help.

  Sian did not argue. Instead, she had Tibbet show her to the rooms on the floor above which would be the nursery. All four rooms in the nursery needed to be painted.

  “Lord Bannatyne said we would paint whatever ye did not wish to do, Miss Nethercott,” the cheerful footman said. “Are ye really planning to paint pictures on the walls?”

  “Just one or two walls.” She wandered from room to room, then paused to look at the largest room which had a slanting ceiling. Close to the wall, she could not have stood erect. At the center of the room, the ceiling soared to more than twelve feet above her head. “I have never seen a nursery with such high ceilings.”

  “It used to be a ballroom, but it was divided into these rooms about fifty years ago.”

  She picked some peeling paint off the wall and wondered if it had been repainted in the interim. Cobwebs seemed the only thing holding the paint on the wall. Going to one of the windows, she unlatched it and threw it open, and she directed Tibbet to do the same with the others. Soon fresh air swirled through the rooms.

  Turning slowly to consider the light spilling in and the shape of the walls, she decided she would do a mural on the slanting wall and another smaller one in the area where the baby would sleep. She had the shape and size of the two spaces in her mind, so now all she needed was to decide what images she wanted to paint. She knew it must have something to do with the sea and the raw cliffs.

  “Tibbet,” she asked, “what is the quickest way to the sea?”

  “Through the back gardens. There is a break in the hedgerow at the rear. Ye can go that way instead of the longer way along the road.” His smile dimmed. “But ye must be careful. There are few paths down to the beach from the cliffs here at the edge of the world.”

  “Edge of the world?”

  He gave her a shy grin. “That is what some of us call it. There is nothing between us and America except the Atlantic, so we feel as if we are standing on the edge of the world.”

  “I can see why.” Through the windows, slowly rolling waves were visible in three directions. Until now, she had not realized the house had been built on a promontory that stuck out into the sea. The bay arched back inland before edging out again toward Land’s End.

  After giving Tibbet a list of items to have waiting when she was ready to paint, Sian hurried down the stairs. She paused only long enough to put on a paisley shawl and her favorite straw bonnet. Gathering her sketching materials, she had one of the maids show her the way into the back garden.

  Whole sections looked as unattended as the nursery, but two small areas had been cleaned of weeds and debris. She recalled that Jade’s husband had inherited the house from relatives who spent little time at the Hall. With a smile, she thought how her sister soon would have the other parts of the garden looking as lovely as the rose garden and the boxwood hedges twisting in an intricate pattern around a silent fountain.

  She did not pause to investigate further, despite how much she liked sketching blossoms. That was for later. Now she wanted to wander beyond the gardens to find the best scenes for the nursery murals. Bright colors and exciting vistas would be perfect for the baby, which is why she had decided to paint the cliffs and the sea on the slanting wall. All she needed to do was find the perfect scene to recreate on the walls.

  She found the break in the hedge. Pushing the wooden gate aside, she stepped into the meadow beyond. It had not been tilled, so weeds and gorse had claimed the land between the rocks. She picked her way through the low bushes with the ease of many walks across the moor. She passed a few people who were intent on tasks of their own. To each she spoke a greeting, but did not pause to chat. She kept walking toward the sea.

  Then she stood at the top of the cliffs, looking out over the water. The edge of the world, Tibbet had said, and she could believe it. Unless she turned around, she saw the sea in every direction. She stood where two half-moon bays came together. The waves rushing from the horizon rolled into each other.

  The night’s rain had washed away the sky’s milky color. In the bay to her left, pinnacles of stone, carved by wind and water, wore the white lace of gently breaking waves. Spume shot into the air, then collapsed into the sea in an unending, ever-changing rhythm.

  It was beautiful and even wilder than the Yorkshire coast which had been tamed by years of trade. When she stood on Whitby’s east cliff with the ruins of the old abbey rising behind her, the North Sea stretched to the horizon. The view was the same here, save that Bannatyne Hall cast its shadow over her. Even so, here there was the sense of the breadth of the sea where everything could be hidden and anything could be found.

  Was there enough room to sketch both bays on the nursery wall? What if she did one in the big room and the other in the sleeping room?

  Edging back from the cliffs, she slowly turned in one direction, then the other to get a feeling for the breadth of the scene. She limned quick lines on the sketchbook’s first clean page as she listed the colors she would need to recreate the patterns of sunlight and shadow across the cliffs. Should she include the odd shapes of Bannatyne Hall’s roofs in one mural?

  She looked over her shoulder at the great house and gasped. A man stood on the cliffs at the opposite end of the field. His ginger-colored hair caught her eyes. No, not ginger. More like a dark cinnamon, save where the sun glinted on it. She had seen hair that color on only one person. In London. At the home of the Duchess of Northborough.

  “Lord Lastingham?” she called, not sure she believed what she was saying. “What are you doing here?”

  He faced her. It was the earl. How many times had she seen his lean features in her dreams? Even though he was not a classically handsome Adonis, because his features were sternly drawn, he had captured her eyes from the moment they first met. She had tried to tell herself she was fascinated with the play of light across the planes of his cheeks and brow because she was an artist. That did not explain why her dreams had been of him taking her into his arms and kissing her. She was certain his kisses would not be as pallid as Sir Henry’s had been.

  But would they be as ardent as Wraith’s?

  She suppressed that memory as Lord Lastingham walked toward her.

  When he was close enough so he did not have to shout, he asked in surprise, “Miss Nethercott, is that you? I had not heard you were in Cornwall.”

  “I am visiting my sister Jade.” She willed herself to stop acting like a statue, but her feet seemed rooted to the ground. How could she have forgotten the depth of Lord Lastingham’s voice and its warmth? His smile suggested there was nobody he was happier to encounter along the shore. When he took her hand and bowed over it, she held her breath, wondering—hoping—that he would lift it to his lips. She drew her fingers out of his, reminding herself that he had not written to her as he promised. She must be cautious and not let him beguile her again. Affixing a smile in place, she added, “We are standing on my sister’s husband’s property.”

  “Ah, that is right. She married Gideon Bannatyne, didn’t she?” He gave her a friendly grin which did not look as forced as hers felt. If he had been surprised by how she pulled her hand away, he showed no sign. “Now that was a peculiar situation, as I recall. There were so many strange rumors floating about in the wake of his sister’s death and your sister’s marriage to Bannatyne. Maybe you could clear up the stories.”

  “There is little to tell, to own the truth.” Especially when what I really want to ask is why you never wrote as you promised. Oh, how she longed to say those words! But she had learned her lesson last night of speaking before she thought. “Gideon’s sister’s death was tragic, but he was comforted by his affection for Jade. They had a quiet wedding ceremony, as was proper under the circumstances. They plan to arrive here soon to welcome their first child.”

  “Ah, a tale with a
happily ever after ending.”

  “It is not a jest.”

  His smile vanished. “You are mistaking my words, Miss Nethercott. I was not making light of what Bannatyne endured. I was, rather, speaking of how well his life has turned around with your sister.”

  What was wrong with her? She had attacked every word he spoke. She wished they could begin the conversation anew. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I did not expect to see you here either.”

  “I have been in Cornwall for some time now. Several months at least, but time seems to flow more slowly here than in Town where there is a constant cycle of calls and gatherings.” He glanced toward the water. “Not that I am complaining, you must understand. Cornwall is one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited. When I walk out from the village, I feel as if I have gone back to a time when standing stones had power and barrows were doorways to the world of fairies.” His eyes crinkled as he looked at her. “You are being very kind not to laugh at my fanciful words.”

  “Why would I laugh? There is a sense of timelessness about these shores. King Arthur was conceived not far from here, and who knows? Maybe the Isle of Avalon is nearby, too.”

  “I am impressed, Miss Nethercott, with your knowledge of legends.”

  “My father was fascinated with the mythology of many nations, including our own, and he shared that with us. From an early age, we understood the enchantment of words and the lore passed from one generation to the next.”

  “Is that why you were wandering along the shore clutching a book? Were you checking what you have read against reality?”

  Sian hesitated. Sharing her artwork with anyone outside her family was something she seldom did. That her sketches were so incomplete made her falter even further.

  “I was eager to see what I could not last night when we arrived,” she said, for it was not a lie.

  “You traveled here after dark?” His ruddy brows lowered, and his green eyes narrowed. “You were fortunate to arrive unscathed.”

  She nodded. She would not refute his words, because she had suffered no physical harm, if she did not count how her lips tingled when she thought of Wraith’s brazen kiss.

  “You should not be out here alone, Miss Nethercott.” He offered his arm in the dark green coat that he wore over leather pantaloons which would protect his legs from the unforgiving gorse. “Allow me to escort you back to Bannatyne Hall. If you stay within its gardens, you should be safe.”

  “Safe? It is the middle of the day. If I do not wander too close to the cliffs’ edges, I am safe here.”

  “Pardon me for disagreeing, but you could not be more mistaken.” He offered his arm again. “If you will come with me, Miss Nethercott, I will explain along the way.”

  She hesitated as she raised her hand to put it on his arm. For many months, she had imagined being beside him again, talking with him, seeing his green eyes flashing with good humor. Now, nothing was as she had fantasized. Yes, he was as intriguingly good-looking as she recalled, but there was no hint of amusement in his eyes.

  His arm beneath the smooth wool was as unyielding as the stones around them. She had admired his strength from the first time she saw him. He had been no carpet-knight, for he had faced battle on the Continent. The duchess had believed it was on the Peninsula, or maybe at Waterloo—or perhaps both. Not that he had ever mentioned those battles to her. The duchess had lauded his service as an army major more than once at the luncheon where she arranged for Sian and Lord Lastingham to sit next to each other.

  Had her thoughts been visible on her face? She feared they had when Lord Lastingham said, “You are curious why I am here when I should be in Town, trying to make up for the time I lost during the war. You probably wonder why I am not playing cards with my tie-mates and flirting with the pretty ladies.”

  “No. I did not think about that at all.”

  “Really?” He arched his brows.

  She laughed in spite of herself. “Well, maybe.”

  “Ask yourself why I would be in that whirl when I have friends here, and I can lather you with nothing-sayings.”

  “I would prefer not to.” Her cheeks were suddenly warm.

  He chuckled. “I did not intend to put you to blush, Miss Nethercott, with my jests. However, I must own that I am very glad you are here.”

  “You are?” The warmth deepened.

  “Yes. You proved yourself a reasonable and logical woman during our conversations at the duchess’s house. That is why I feel I can be honest with you now. If you know the true danger awaiting on these cliffs, you will understand why I have warned you to remain close to Bannatyne Hall.”

  “I am listening. I will not promise you will change my mind, but I will listen.”

  “Fair enough, but I do need to beg your indulgence and ask that you tell no one what I am about to tell you. It may be a matter of life and death. Not solely my life, but others’, including yours and your sister and her husband.”

  Chapter Four

  Sian searched Lord Lastingham’s face for any sign he was hoaxing her again. She saw none. His features were as grim as a vicar standing over a grave.

  “Why would you confide in me?” She gulped, shocked at her inability to restrain herself from blurting out the first words she thought. How quickly her pledge had been broken. . .again!

  “Do you recall the first day we met?”

  She nodded, not daring to open her mouth, for she might say how she would never forget it.

  “Do you recall what happened during the duchess’s luncheon?”

  Again she nodded. Again for the same reason.

  “You witnessed the sorry scene when my cousin came to the table in his cups. . .and with his tawdry mistress who was almost as drunk as he was.” He grimaced, his mouth twisting oddly. “You helped me cover his unacceptable behavior, and you assisted me in persuading him and his companion to leave the room before the duchess was any wiser to what was going on. Do you recall that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  She wished he had let her continue to agree with him, but he clearly intended to draw her out. “And,” she said quietly, “you asked me to keep the truth to myself because it would bring shame to your family.”

  “The Duchess of Northborough is not known for her ability to either forgive or forget.”

  Sian had to smile. “She is a force of nature.”

  “Without a doubt.” He chuckled, then grew somber. “But you kept the secret, and I have not forgotten that. Once I believed most people could be trusted. Now I find it is very much the opposite.”

  “A cynical point of view.”

  “Maybe, but I do not hear you disagreeing with me.”

  “I would like to.” She could not keep from thinking of Sir Henry, who had believed he could trust her. “What secret are you asking me to keep?”

  “The reason I am here.”

  “Which is?” She stepped to the left to avoid a large bush.

  He went around it on the other side and held out his arm to her once the briars were no longer between them. “By now you must have heard about the chief illegal occupation so many have taken to along the coast.”

  “Are you referring to smuggling or wreckers?”

  “The latter, I am afraid. The former steal revenues from the king’s treasury, but wreckers steal lives.”

  “I had heard stories about wreckers before I came to Cornwall, but I have learned more since I arrived at Bannatyne Hall. What I have learned is very disturbing.”

  “The wreckers pretend to care so deeply about sailors that they rush to any ship in distress, but arrive too late. You know the hideous truth those lies try to conceal.”

  She shivered and drew her shawl more closely to her, pressing her sketchbook over her heart. “I find it difficult to believe such appalling crimes can take place along these beautiful shores.”

  “Believe it, Miss Nethercott. To turn away from the truth can be deadly.”

  “I unde
rstand.”

  “I hope you do. The wreckers will care little about adding another to their list of victims.”

  “I have no intention of going to sea. I am here to prepare a gift for my sister and her husband to celebrate the arrival of their child.”

  “That is good news.” He smiled as he added, “Both the child and that you will remain off the water. The rocks along this coast are difficult even for the most experienced sailors.”

  She nodded. She had considered borrowing a boat, but one view of the rocks had changed her mind. Even so, she argued, “But wreckers would have no interest in a small-boat.”

  “Unless they thought you were spying on them, trying to learn their secrets or where they hide their bloodied contraband. They will resort to anything—even more murder—to protect it.”

  Suddenly she realized what he had been telling her in a roundabout way. “You are here to stop the wreckers.”

  He paused as they reached the road that led toward Bannatyne Hall in one direction and to St. Gundred in the other. “That is the truth I ask you not to discuss with anyone else.”

  “Do you really think your presence is a secret? You are an outsider, even more than I am, because I have a connection to Bannatyne Hall. My sister wrote to me to expect the Cornish to be wary of anyone beyond their own village borders.”

  “Lady Bannatyne is wise, but I have an excuse to be here. You see, Miss Nethercott, I am calling on an old friend, Lord Pitchford, with whom I served when he was a colonel. It is thought that I am hiding from the cuckolded husband of my mistress. A man who was once my best tie-mate.”

  She gasped, “You are jesting!”

  “About Lord Pitchford, no, but about the rest, yes. I appreciate your faith in my good sense not to get involved with the wife of a good friend.” He grinned, and it seemed as if even the sun could not emit such warmth as his smile. “Or any man’s wife. But the story has been told and retold and retold again in St. Gundred. The latest version I chanced to overhear states I wounded a decent and wronged man in a duel, and I have come here in case he dies and there is a warrant for my arrest for murder. It is believed that the king’s law does not reach into Cornwall.”