The Captain and His Innocent

by Lucy Ashford

  She bowed her head, recognising defeat. ‘I will have to fetch my music.’

  She went slowly upstairs.

  * * *

  When she headed down again, she saw that both Lord Franklin and his mother were outside the music room waiting for her. But they’d not seen her and she halted on the stairs when she realised that their topic of conversation was—her.

  ‘The girl really is most tiring, Franklin!’ Lady Charlotte was declaring crossly. ‘So slow. She’ll be deliberately wasting her time and yours with it. There’s bad blood in her. I told you it was a mistake ever to bring her into your household—’

  She broke off as Lord Franklin raised his hand in sharp warning. ‘That is the last occasion,’ he said, ‘on which you will refer aloud to the girl’s ancestry. Remember that she truly believes she’s related to us.’

  Ellie stepped back into the shadows, stunned. She truly believes she’s related to us?

  Meaning that—she wasn’t?

  Somehow she carried on down the stairs. Somehow she played the piano for them, to Lord Franklin’s enthusiastic applause, although Lady Charlotte merely gave a disdainful nod at the end of each piece. As soon as she could, Ellie retreated to her room and sat on her bed. And suddenly, in her solitude, it was as if the terror-filled days and nights of desperate flight from Paris with her father—of being pursued, for mile after mile—were upon her again. She felt as alone and as frightened as she’d ever been in her life. This house, which ought to have been a refuge, seemed darker. Colder.

  Then she thought—the man called Luke knows something. Each of his words came back to haunt her. She remembered his incredulous comments. ‘And you accepted what he said? That he was your relative? Turning up in Brussels, just like that?’

  It appeared that Luke quite possibly knew more about Lord Franklin than she did. If that was the case, she had to see him again—even if it meant that she had to do what he wanted. Had to gain access, somehow, to Lord Franklin’s library.

  * * *

  That night she lay in her bed, listening to the wind in the trees. Remembering how she’d felt when Luke had held her and had kissed her. Imagining what it could have been like, if she’d pulled him closer and let herself be ruled by her instincts, let him do the kinds of things she knew he would do so well.

  Her whole body was trembling, perhaps because her clamouring senses realised—even if her brain didn’t—that she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Luke Danbury again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lord Franklin stayed at Bircham Hall for three nights, and with the snow thawing rapidly, he rode out each day with Mr Appleby to survey the estate. Afterwards he was closeted with him to discuss business. In the library.

  Ellie saw Lord Franklin every evening at dinner, when his manner to her was unfailingly courteous. But Ellie felt she could trust him with nothing now. Felt she could tell him nothing about herself, without fear of betraying her secrets.

  Why had he made up those lies about being her relative? Why had he brought her to England? She felt sure, now, that Luke Danbury could have told her, that Luke knew many things he’d not revealed. She wanted—she needed—to talk to him again. She longed above all to be in his arms again, and that, she knew, was the most dangerous longing of all.

  * * *

  On the day of Lord Franklin’s departure, his carriage and horses were ready in the courtyard by ten. Lady Charlotte bid him a fond farewell, then almost immediately she summoned the butler and the housekeeper to give them a precise summary of all the staff’s failings during her son’s visit. It was Mary who told Ellie this, just before lunch.

  ‘Tore into them both, her ladyship did,’ Mary said sadly. ‘Some of us heard her. Don’t know why they put up with it, I really don’t.’

  * * *

  For the next few days, Lady Charlotte harried the staff at every opportunity. The atmosphere at the Hall was forbidding, and Ellie saw some of the maids in tears. On the fourth day, during lunch, Lady Charlotte rounded on a nervous young footman who had dropped a serving spoon and Ellie broke in, saying, ‘I’m sure he did not do it intentionally, Lady Charlotte.’

  Everyone in the dining hall—Lady Charlotte, Miss Pringle, the hovering staff—looked at Ellie in astonishment. Lady Charlotte turned puce, then summoned her two footmen to take her to her room. ‘Enough,’ she said dramatically. ‘I have borne enough.’

  Word came soon that her ladyship had a headache and would remain for the rest of the day in her darkened bedchamber. Almost immediately Mrs Sheerham announced that she was due the afternoon off and would go into Folkestone in the barouche to visit her sister there, and Cook seized the opportunity to ride into town with her and do a little shopping.

  Ellie was in the parlour when Miss Pringle came in to tell her this. ‘Oh, dear,’ Miss Pringle said. ‘Oh, dear. I shouldn’t be ungrateful. But how I wish...’

  ‘That you, too, could have the afternoon off? Then do so, Miss Pringle! Do as you please!’

  Miss Pringle’s face brightened. ‘I could walk to the Vicarage, which was my childhood home. But what if Lady Charlotte needs me?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be my companion, not hers,’ Ellie said gently. ‘And I am giving you permission to go.’

  And so Ellie was left in the parlour by herself. Thinking of Luke. Thinking of his command. I’ll give you a week to complete the task. No more. But most of all—she was thinking of his kiss. He’d been toying with her, he must think her a fool and rightly so.

  It was then that she realised Joseph had entered the room. He must have knocked, but she’d not heard him. ‘Ma’am,’ he said in his quiet voice. ‘I’ve come to tell you that the library is unlocked for the afternoon.’

  Her heart thudded. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Because,’ he answered patiently, ‘Mrs Sheerham has asked me to polish the brasses in there while she’s out. She’s given me her key.’

  Ellie had already risen to her feet. She needed to know. She needed to discover what was going on. ‘Give me five minutes, Joseph. And I’ll be there.’

  She went to check that Lady Charlotte was indeed still resting in her room; clearly she was, because the two footmen who attended her were dozing quietly in their chairs outside her door.

  Ellie made straight for the library. The door was open; the lamps were lit and Joseph was already energetically polishing the brass surround of the fire. On seeing her enter, he came over to lead her towards a table at the far end of the room and said, in his quiet voice, ‘I would estimate that you have an hour, perhaps a little more. Then Mr Huffley will require me for other duties and I shall have to lock the room again.’

  He went back to his polishing and Ellie swiftly scanned the room. Shelves full of books covered at least half of the wall area, but there were larger, deeper shelves that housed ledgers and files. I want you to get into the library, Luke had said, and to bring me anything you can find, any papers, documents or letters that relate to the autumn of 1813 and a place in France called La Rochelle. Do you understand me?

  She moved closer to the thick files which, she saw, were arranged by year. Her hands fastening round the thick file marked ‘1813’, she carried it to the nearest table, sat down and opened it.

  There were pages and pages of notes and letters—private letters, addressed to Lord Franklin. And as she examined the addresses and the signatures, she realised that some of these letters were signed by the prime minister of England. Others were from the head of the Admiralty.

  She felt her breathing almost stop. She’d had no idea that Lord Franklin was on close terms with men high up in the government. Was consulted by them, evidently, in matters of state and war. But did Luke know it?

  She suspected he did. She suspected he would think her a fool for not knowing it.

  The thick fil
e was packed with letters. She looked through them as quickly as she could, aware of the clock out in the hallway striking the half-hour and then the hour. She was reaching for another sheaf of papers when a small bundle of letters, tied together with a ribbon, almost fell from the table—she caught it and saw that it was labelled ‘Les Braves, Septembre 1813’.

  She pulled the ribbon aside and scanned the first one quickly.

  My dear Franklin,

  Further to our meeting in London about the British landing on the west coast of France in September, I would suggest that we proceed to give our instructions to the group known as Les Braves, although all this depends, of course, on the cooperation of the Foreign Office...

  There were more letters—some of them in French—giving names, places, dates. There were maps, of the west coast of France and of the harbour at La Rochelle. She studied them all with care. And again and again, the same words kept cropping up.

  Les Braves. The heroes.

  ‘Ma’am?’ She suddenly realised that Joseph was standing at her shoulder. ‘Ma’am. I really ought to report to Mr Huffley now and lock the room up again before he comes looking for me. You had best put those things away, I’m afraid, and get out of here before you’re seen.’

  Time had flown by. Swiftly Ellie tied the documents together and thrust them back in their box. Joseph was by the open door now, glancing alertly down the corridor—she made for the door also. But Joseph put out a hand to stop her. ‘One last thing, ma’am. The captain wishes to see you. Tonight, if possible.’

  ‘With the papers? But I dare not remove anything—’

  ‘He doesn’t need papers, ma’am. He just wants to speak to you. I will have a horse saddled ready for you—at half-past seven, when dinner is over—and I will accompany you, of course. Lady Charlotte has already announced that she will dine in her room.’

  The captain would want to know what she’d found. ‘But how will you get away, Joseph?’

  ‘It’s my evening off.’

  She nodded slowly, her throat dry.

  * * *

  At the evening meal, Ellie could hardly eat a thing, but Miss Pringle was so relieved at Lady Charlotte’s absence that she didn’t notice. Nor did she comment when Ellie left early to hurry up to her room and put on her cloak.

  In his usual quiet way, Joseph was waiting by the stables for her and managed to ensure that they left the house and gardens unseen. ‘The staff are taking their time over their supper,’ he told her, ‘and enjoying a little peace since her ladyship is indisposed.’

  Soon he and Ellie were riding swiftly through the darkness along the track to the headland, where Luke’s home—Higham House—loomed ahead of them. From the front, it looked to Ellie as bleak and forbidding as ever; though when Joseph led her round to the back, she saw that lamps burned in the courtyard and lights blazed from the windows.

  Joseph dismounted first and came to hold her pony for her as she eased herself from the side saddle. ‘You ride well, ma’am,’ he said admiringly.

  I’ve had to, she thought. I’ve had to learn all sorts of skills to save my life.

  Joseph hooked both horses’ reins over a post and went to knock at the back door, which was opened by the middle-aged housekeeper Ellie had seen before.

  ‘Joseph?’ the woman said anxiously, peering out at them. ‘Joseph, you’ve not brought more visitors? Goodness me!’

  And the captain was there, behind her. ‘Ellie,’ he said in his calm way. ‘Come in.’

  Luke Danbury was leading her into the large dining hall—the room that was almost filled by a huge old oak table and sturdy chairs and benches. She lifted her head to speak to him.

  ‘You wished to see me,’ she began. ‘You no doubt know that I gained access to Lord Franklin’s library—’

  He’d put out a hand to stop her. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And we’ll talk about that in a while. But there’s another matter, Ellie. You see, I need your help.’

  And something in the way he looked at her—something in the way the candlelight softened his hard features—made her suddenly breathless. In complete contrast to Lord Franklin’s aristocratic attire, Luke’s white shirt was made of coarse cambric, not lawn; his breeches were of well-worn buckskin, and his leather boots would never have known the tender care of a valet.

  She remembered Mary saying, Often you’ll see him out there in the fields himself, helping his men with the lambing and shearing and harvesting, and working harder than anyone. The other landowners, they don’t like it. They don’t like him.

  They would be jealous of him, Ellie thought with a sudden surge of emotion, because he had the determination and the steadfastness so many of them lacked. And he’d said that he needed her help...

  Suddenly she realised that he’d gone out into the hallway, and when he came back, she saw that he wasn’t alone.

  ‘Here are two people I’d like you to meet,’ he said.

  And Ellie saw that standing just inside the doorway was a young woman who held a little boy in her arms. The child would be scarcely two years old. ‘Maman,’ she heard the boy whisper. He was tightly clasping the woman’s neck. ‘Maman.’

  The boy had blue eyes, Ellie realised. Blue eyes and dark hair, just like Luke’s. For a moment, she felt such a fierce stab of jealousy that she could scarcely breathe.

  The young woman cradled the child in her arms, murmuring words of comfort in French even though tears were sliding down her cheeks. ‘There, my little one. There.’

  ‘Ellie,’ said Luke. She suddenly became aware that his hand was still on her arm. ‘Ellie,’ he went on, ‘this is Monique. And this is her child, Harry. Monique speaks only French. She’s recently endured a long and difficult journey and she’s not been well.’

  Ellie tried to nod, though confusion still racked her.

  ‘She’s anxious, above all,’ Luke went on, ‘for her child. I wonder if you might speak to her?’

  Ellie whispered, ‘So that’s why you wanted me here tonight? It wasn’t because you knew that I’d got into Lord Franklin’s library?’

  ‘That can wait a little while.’

  Ellie looked at the woman again and there was one overwhelming question she wanted to ask—Who are they?

  But there was no need; because Luke was already saying, ‘They are my brother’s wife and my brother’s child.’

  A mixture of emotions flooded through her—pity, sympathy, relief.

  ‘Mam’selle?’ Monique was saying hesitantly in French. ‘You are from Paris? You speak my language? Mam’selle, I need your help...’

  * * *

  Luke saw Ellie go up to Monique without hesitation. Monique still had tears trickling down her cheeks, but as Ellie spoke to her in fluent French, she gradually grew calmer.

  She is so beautiful, he thought, gazing at Ellie. I have used her badly. She was all alone in a strange country—as far as he could make out, the girl hadn’t got a friend in the world—and Luke had been as calculating to her as any of the enemies she must have faced so far.

  Be careful, Luke warned himself grimly. Remember you’re no good for her.

  Ellie was young and alone and must surely be as afraid of him as she was of anyone, if she had any sense. Yet he couldn’t stop watching her as she talked to Monique. He saw how the warmth and the caring shone from her, and how whatever she was saying made Harry smile through his tears and reach out to put his chubby fist in her hand.

  Ellie was in her usual clothes, he saw, which were shabby and over-large for her petite figure, while her long dark curls were pulled back tightly in a plain band. She was neat and her hair shone, but she had no vanity. Luke thought of Caroline Fawley, and others like her, who were only too well aware of their own worth—but Ellie? She was different.

  Ellie possessed courage, without a doubt; but she
was also young, innocent and vulnerable. She’d clearly known nothing of sexual desire—and he had to make very sure that she didn’t desire him. Yet in the soft candlelight, as she murmured in French to Monique, she looked more beautiful than ever.

  And her lips had tasted so sweet...

  He fought down the memory of that kiss in the snowbound garden, seeing instead a young and brave woman tending to grief-stricken strangers, soothing their fears with kind words.

  And who, he thought bitterly, had been there to comfort her, after she lost her father? Who had there been to soothe her fears with kind words, when she arrived in England, in an alien country? Who had there been to provide real, human warmth for a girl who’d lost her family and her home?

  And what about himself? What part was he playing?

  He was heaping on the punishment, by threatening to reveal her father’s past. He’d been absolutely pitiless towards her.

  She was coming towards him now, as calm and graceful as ever. The kick of lust hit at his stomach, and he wanted more than anything to take her in his arms, to kiss away the shadows of grief that marked the losses in her life that she tried to mask, always. He rebuked himself harshly. It’s up to you. Up to you, to stay away.

  She said to him, ‘Monique told me they have come to you for refuge.’

  He said steadily, ‘That must astonish you as much as anything you’ve ever heard about me.’

  Did he see her shake her head a little at that, as if to deny his own cynical self-contempt? She went on, ‘She said that she feels safe here. But she is very tired from the journey with Monsieur Jacques.’

  He nodded. ‘They had a difficult voyage. There were navy boats off the British coast and both she and the child suffered bouts of seasickness. Mrs Bartlett has been doing her best for them, but the child won’t eat.’

  ‘That is what Monique told me—but perhaps you could explain to your housekeeper that Harry doesn’t like milk or butter? But if she could prepare some dry toast and a little soup for him, Monique would be most grateful.’