Smugglers' Summer

by Carola Dunn

  “You are in a teasing humour today, sir. Oh, look!”

  Not twenty feet from the boat a dolphin shot vertically into the air, descending with a splash which would have drenched them had they been any closer. As if excited by the display, nine or ten of the animals rose to the surface in a humpbacked chain that mimicked a monstrous sea serpent.

  With a cry of delight, Octavia rose to her feet for a closer view. The little vessel tilted, her cry turned to alarm, and with a splash only slightly less than that of the acrobatic dolphin, she landed in the river.

  Before Sir Tristram could react, a hitherto unnoticed current had moved the dinghy several feet away from her. Her ballooning skirts buoyed her momentarily, but within seconds they must soak through, leaving her to sink.

  If he dived in and swam to the rescue, the boat would float away, stranding them in mid-channel. With two powerful strokes of the oars he moved closer, then unshipped one of them and held it out towards her, trying to steady the boat at the same time.

  She reached for the blade, caught it with both hands, hung on desperately as he drew her in. She grasped at the gunwale, and he abandoned the oar to pull her over the side into the bilge.

  For a moment, neither of them could speak, then Octavia gasped, “They held me up. The dolphins, they held me up. I felt them beneath me."

  He looked at her blankly, still stunned by her narrow escape.

  “It’s true!” she insisted. “Their skins are leathery, not slimy at all. I felt them.” She began to shiver convulsively.

  He took off his coat and wrapped it around her, though it was scarcely less wet than her gown.

  “We must get back to the house quickly,” he said. “The dolphins? Are you sure?”

  She nodded. He reached out and clasped both her hands, gazing into her eyes as if trying to read something in their depths, then turned to the oars.

  Or rather, to the one oar.

  The other, the one he had held out to her, was nowhere to be seen.

  “So much for my seamanship!” he said in disgust. “The first emergency and I lose my oar! Well, I have seen boats propelled by one so I know it is possible.”

  She grinned, wrinkled her nose at him, and shook her head.

  “Alas, sir, you persuaded me to trust you. How am I deceived!”

  “That is no way to speak to your rescuer! I was not to know you had no more common sense than to fall overboard.”

  Sir Tristram placed the remaining oar over the stern and stood up, balancing carefully. With no rowlock to hold it, it slid about haphazardly, and no matter how hard he waggled it, he merely rocked the dinghy without making the slightest forward progress.

  “Sit down!” ordered Octavia in alarm. “If you fall overboard I shall never have the strength to pull you in.”

  “There is more skill involved than I expected,” he sighed, obeying. “There is nothing for it, we shall have to shout for help. How excessively humiliating!”

  “Yes, but how fortunate that we are in the middle of one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. I wish we had the scarlet petticoat from Halton Quay. We might tie it to the oar and wave it.” She tried to stop her teeth chattering.

  “You are not wearing scarlet petticoats? Pity. I trust that after this you will never leave home without one. My neckcloth will be better than nothing, I daresay.” He pulled it off, tied one end to the oar, and raised it amidships like a mast. “Halloo!” he shouted, then stood up and shouted again, “Halloo!”

  “Help!” cried Octavia. Shivering, she pulled his coat closer about her. If she had to be marooned at sea in an open boat, she had rather be marooned with him than with anyone else she knew. Coatless, his shirt open at the neck and his dark locks ruffled by the breeze, he only wanted sword in hand to present the very picture of a pirate chief. “Help!” she called.

  They drifted slowly seaward on the ebbing tide.

  It seemed like an endless time before a sloop sailed across their bow within hailing distance and a faint “Ho there!” answered their hoarse shouts. Octavia was white-lipped with cold, though Sir Tristram’s damp clothes had dried on him and he tried to persuade her it was a warm day.

  “Not long now,” he said in anxious reassurance as the sloop lowered its sails, lost way, and came round. “Good God, I believe it is the Seamew! Yes, they are lowering a boat and even from here I recognise Jack Day’s dimensions. Your favourite free-trader is coming to the rescue, my dear!”

  “D-don’t tell anyone about the d-dolphins,” begged Octavia. “I m-mean about them saving m-me. P-please don’t.”

  He smiled understandingly. “I shall take all the credit to myself, never fear. It will in some degree atone for my subsequent stupidity. Ho, Captain Day! I have never been more glad to see anyone in my life!”

  Octavia was passed across into the Seamew’s gig like a bale of smuggled silk, Sir Tristram followed, and their dinghy was tied on behind. Red Jack insisted on substituting his own warm dry coat for the baronet’s wet one. It covered her to her knees. Already several degrees warmer, the colour returning to her face, she sat on a bench among the rowers while the two men discussed whether to take her aboard the Seamew to dry off, or to head straight for Cremyll.

  The rowers were a mixed crew. Two looked no different from any honest seaman, but one was a villainous fellow with long mustaches and a black-patched eye, while the fourth had a hook in place of his left hand and a hugely muscular right arm. They all nodded and smiled at Octavia.

  “Tha’lt soon warrum up, I’ll warrant, miss,” said the one-eyed man encouragingly in the slow, soft accents of a Yorkshireman. “T’air’s warrum enow for all t’water’s coldish.”

  Sir Tristram turned to her. “I believe we will go directly to Mount Edgcumbe, Miss Gray,” he said. “The captain vouches for his men’s silence . . ."

  “Aye,” “Aye,” and “Right enough,” were heard from the crew.

  ". . . But I think it best you do not board the Seamew without a female companion."

  “Oh yes, let us go back at once. I am hardly cold at all now, and perhaps my aunt is worrying.”

  The gig turned and headed towards the ferry landing, the one-handed rower pulling as hard with his right arm as the others with two.

  Red Jack noticed Octavia’s interest.

  “Dan Small was in the navy till he lost his hand,” he said. “Now he’s my right-hand man.”

  Dan Small grinned at her, and the rest laughed as at a time-honoured joke.

  “Ahoy, Cap’n Day!” came a booming hail. “Avast there, Seamew’s gig!”

  They all looked round. A cutter bearing the flag of the Customs service was bearing down on them, a figure on the bow raising a speaking trumpet to call again.

  “Avast there, boys,” Red Jack ordered. “For once, we’ve nothing aboard to upset the revenuer."

  “Lay to for searching!”

  The voice was distorted by the loudspeaker, but Octavia thought she recognised it. She had meant to visit Lieutenant Cardin; it seemed that he had come to her.

  The cutter pulled alongside and threw down a rope ladder.

  “Come aboard, if you please, Captain,” requested Lieutenant Cardin, leaning on the rail. “All of you, one by one.”

  “If you insist, Lieutenant,” said Red Jack genially. “We’ve nothing to hide. But I’ve a young lady here has taken an unwanted swim and I’d prefer to put her ashore without delay.”

  Mr Cardin scanned the group in the boat, his gaze passing over Sir Tristram in his shirtsleeves and wet-haired Octavia swathed in Red Jack’s coat. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Young lady? Come now, Captain!” Octavia waved to him and he took a second look. “What the devil . . . Miss Gray!”

  “Correct, Lieutenant,” said Sir Tristram dryly. “And I am prepared to vouch that there is no contraband aboard, at present.”

  “Sir Tristram! Sir, I beg your pardon, I did not recognise you. Of course I accept your word. But Miss Gray . . . is she all right?”
>
  “I shall do very well,” Octavia said with a smile, “but I should like to get home and dry quickly. I shall come and see you tomorrow, if you will be ashore?”

  “All day!” he said fervently. “Nothing shall make me stir from the Customs House until you come.” He flushed at the interested looks of both the smugglers and his own men. “Carry on, Captain Day.”

  “Until next time, Lieutenant.” Red Jack saluted, grinning, and the rowers took up their oars. “A good lad,” he commented as they pulled away, “and though I’ve not yet tried to insult him, the word is he’ll not take a bribe.”

  “Of course he will not,” said Octavia indignantly. When they reached the Cremyll quay, Red Jack lifted Octavia in his arms and carried her ashore, despite her protests that she was perfectly able to walk. He carried her all the way to the gates of Mount Edgcumbe, waited while Sir Tristram retrieved his horse from the lodge, and then passed her up to him.

  “This,” said Sir Tristram in mock severity, smiling down at her, “is becoming a habit!”

  His strong arm holding her safe, he cantered up the avenue.

  Chapter 13

  Lady Langston was thoroughly alarmed by her niece's adventure. In fact, Lady Langston was altogether unhappy with the results of her decision to come to Mount Edgcumbe. Sir Tristram had not proposed, Julia flirted wildly with every gentleman she saw, and now Lord Edgcumbe was planning to mount a production of a play he had recently completed.

  “Yes, I know we were to have a play at the Priory,” she said to her disappointed daughter, “but it is quite different in one's own home with one’s friends about one. Not to mention your father. No, my mind is quite made up. We shall return to Cotehele tomorrow.”

  “If Tavy has not caught her death of cold,” said Julia, not without hope.

  “Sorry, Ju, I am never ill. If you do not object, Aunt, I should like to do some shopping in Plymouth on the way. My slippers are nearly worn through.”

  “I suppose that would be unexceptionable, my dear, if Ada goes with you. You came to no harm last time.”

  “May I go too, Mama? I am sure if no harm comes to Octavia, it cannot possibly come to me.”

  “Certainly not!” Her irritation at her daughter’s recent behaviour roused her ladyship to unusual sharpness.

  Julia went off with a sulky face.

  When Sir Tristram heard of Lady Langston’s decision, he asked her permission to return to Cotehele with them. It was granted with relief, the anxious mother being half convinced he had given up hope. She was also pleased at his offer to escort Octavia to Plymouth.

  “I know she goes about alone in London,” she confided, “but what I should say to her mama if something happened, I cannot think.”

  “I believe Plymouth to be safer than London,” he said, “but the tides are such at present that she will arrive at Cotehele after dark. I promise you I shall not strand her in mid-channel again."

  “Oh, no, for Edgcumbe has offered us the use of two of his barges. One will take Julia and me directly to Cotehele, and the other will take Octavia to Plymouth and bring her after us when she is ready. What a very hospitable gentleman Edgcumbe is!”

  Sir Tristram was pleased to agree with this praise of his godfather, and went off to tell Octavia that he would accompany her on the morrow.

  “To lend you countenance,” he teased, “which you will certainly need for I expect half Plymouth knows by now that the lieutenant is smitten."

  “Mr Findlay has offered to escort me too,” she answered, her colour heightened. “I refused him, because I was afraid he might laugh at Mr Cardin. I know you will not, and I shall be glad of your company."

  Sir Magnus next sought her out. He had continued kind to her, and besides finding him an interesting person to talk to, she had come to regard him as a friend among the crowd.

  “I am sorry you are going, Miss Gray. May I call on you at Cotehele?” he requested.

  “Of course, if you wish to, sir. Only I expect you ought to ask my aunt, and I believe she will not care to receive visitors. Though of course as a friend of my uncle, you must always be welcome.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but perhaps it will be best if I do not disturb her ladyship.” He sighed. “You will convey my greetings to your father when you return to town.” He kissed her hand, and as he turned away she thought she heard him say as if to himself, “I am too old for her. Mrs. Alverston will suit me very well.”

  She looked after him, startled. Had she heard aright? Did his words mean what they seemed to mean?

  No, she scolded herself. She was growing conceited with too much attention. Mama would be shocked to learn what ideas two weeks in exalted company had put into her head. But at least she had two friends whose kindness she had no excuse to misinterpret. With Sir Tristram in pursuit of Julia and Red Jack Day so firmly attached to his Martha, only good-natured generosity could explain their willingness to assist her.

  She was sitting in the magnificent drawing room that evening, listening to the more talented members of the party performing a variety of musical offerings, when a footman made his way to her side.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, there’s two persons to see you. That is, not wishful of disturbing you, only to know are you quite recovered. I put ‘em in his lordship’s library. What will I tell ‘em, miss?”

  “Who are they? Did they not give their names?”

  “It’s Captain Day and Mr Cardin, miss. I know ‘em both.”

  “I will come down at once."

  She slipped out of the room and was halfway down the grand staircase when Julia called to her from the top.

  “Tavy! What is it? Are you all right? I saw you leave and thought maybe you do not feel quite the thing. But why are you going downstairs?”

  “I am perfectly well, Ju. I have visitors.”

  “Visitors? How extraordinary! Who is it? May I come with you to meet them?”

  Octavia considered. The footman had referred to them as “persons.” Clearly in his view they were not gentlemen. However, she could see no harm coming from Julia meeting them.

  “If you wish,” she agreed. “It is Captain Day, who rescued Sir Tristram and me this morning, and Lieutenant Cardin, the Customs officer I have told you about.”

  “The one who is in love with you? I cannot wait to meet him! Come!”

  To Octavia’s relief, her callers were not at daggers drawn. Indeed they seemed on remarkably good terms, considering their positions on opposite sides of the law. She put it down to their mutual, if vague, connection with the Edgcumbes. The lieutenant, younger and less sure of himself, was somewhat confused at being introduced to so elegant a young lady as Miss Langston, but there was nothing to blush for in his manners.

  They both made enquiries about her health and were pleased to hear she had suffered no ill effects from her ducking. The lieutenant confirmed their appointment on the morrow, looked disappointed on learning that Sir Tristram would go with her, and took his leave with the lowest of low bows to Julia. Red Jack lingered a moment longer, to press into her hand a folded paper which he asked her to deliver to Mrs Pengarth.

  “I shan’t be coming up to Cotehele for a while,” he explained.

  “How did you know we are to return there?” asked Octavia.

  “Oh, his lordship mentioned it,” said Red Jack evasively. “I must be on my way, miss. Good-bye, Miss Langston, a pleasure to have made your acquaintance.”

  He left Octavia wondering just how close was his relationship to the Edgcumbes.

  The next morning it was Julia’s turn to press a folded paper into Octavia’s hand.

  “Take it to the post in Plymouth,” she entreated. “I must find out for certain whether James has forgotten me.”

  “I ought not.” She looked at the letter uncertainly.

  “You have not given your word to thwart our love?”

  “No, but I am sure my aunt does not expect that I should encourage it. Oh, don’t cry, Ju! That was horrid of
me. Of course I shall post it for you. It is miserable for you not to know how he feels.”

  Julia blinked back tears. “It is much worse than knowing he does not love me. At least, I think so now. Perhaps I will change my mind if that comes to pass.” She tried to smile. “I shall see you this evening then, at Cotehele. Thank you, Tavy.”

  A stylish barouche carried Lady Langston, her daughter, and her abigail down the avenue to Cremyll quay. With them went Miss Matilda Crosby, Lady Emma Edgcumbe’s companion. For some years now Lady Emma had not felt the need of a chaperone, and the small, wispy grey woman, a poor relation, was in no wise suited to become her friend. She suited Lady Langston perfectly, being always willing to fetch and carry, sort tangled silks, or carry on a conversation without requiring more response than an occasional “tut tut,” or “really?”

  Five young gentlemen went down to the quay to wave farewell to Julia. They had all angled unsuccessfully for invitations to Cotehele, and looked with envy on Sir Tristram. Not only had he received the coveted invitation, but he had also sufficient confidence in his expectations to spend the day with Miss Langston’s little cousin!

  Octavia overheard one or two remarks hopeful of his suffering a severe set-down when he rejoined the Incomparable.

  Her own departure, some hours later, was far from mortifying in comparison. Sir Magnus, Mr Findlay, and Rupert Marlowe, spectacular in blue and orange, all rode down to Cremyll to take their leave. Nonetheless, she stepped aboard the small sailing barge with the light-heartedness of a child waking to the first day of the holidays.

  The crossing was swift, a stiff breeze chopping the water into wavelets which sparkled in the sun. They landed at Phoenix Wharf again. Octavia took Sir Tristram’s arm and they were walking towards the Customs House when Ada pulled at her sleeve.

  “Look, miss!” She pointed along the quay. “Isn’t that Mr Wynn?”

  “Surely not!” Octavia turned to look. Some hundred feet off, a tall, thin man was talking to a seaman. His hat was in his hand, and that reddish bush of hair was unmistakable. “Heavens above, you are right, Ada! Whatever shall I do?”