by Dawn Harris
I stopped for a moment, and easing myself in the saddle, gazed out to sea towards France. I couldn’t see the coastline from here, of course, nor thankfully, was I ever likely to hear the screams of those suffering the terrors and barbarities of the bloody revolution that had been going on there for four long years now. The thought of so much bloodshed sent icy cold shivers up and down my spine, for if those jackals got their hands on Giles they would tear him apart.
Having explained Jacob would inform me when Giles was ready to come home, I said, ‘I never imagined the sight of a smuggler arriving at Westfleet would be a cause for celebration John, yet no man would be more welcome at this moment.’
Arriving back at Westfleet, I dismounted outside a side door and handed Orlando’s reins to Mudd. Hurrying inside, I found the whole household in a state of euphoria.
Jeffel greeted me, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Isn’t it the most wonderful news, my lady,’ he burst out exuberantly. ‘If only you had been here last night. I opened the door, you see. It was well after midnight, and I took a poker with me, just in case. I didn’t recognise Mr Frere, I’m afraid. I thought he was a smuggler, what with him being in old clothes and his face all black with gunpowder. ‘What do you want, my man,’ I says to him.’ My butler shook his head, chortling at his own mistake. ‘Then he said, ‘Don’t you know me, Jeffel?’ Of course, when I heard him speak, I knew he wasn’t any smuggler, but I didn’t know who he was, even though I held the candle up close to his face. Not everyone who speaks like a gentleman is honourable, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, my lady. When he told me his name, naturally I let him in then.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said, laughing. Jeffel couldn’t have been more thrilled if it had been his own uncle who’d escaped from the French. Nor did he begrudge my aunt such happiness despite her occasional, unwarranted criticisms of the way he carried out his duties.
‘Well, my lady, you can’t be too careful. I mean, no respectable person knocks on the door after midnight. By this time, the whole household was awake. Cook came out, and when she realised it was Mr Frere, she dashed off to the kitchen to get him something to eat, and to heat some water for him to wash his face. He was chilled to the marrow too, but we soon got a nice fire going in the drawing room.’ He broke off from his tale, lowering his voice to a confidential tone. ‘I should warn you, my lady, that he looks a little gaunt, having been stuck in a French prison all these months.’ Returning to his normal voice, he went on, ‘Then Mrs Frere and Miss Lucie came down to see what the commotion was about, and for a moment, even they didn’t recognise him.’
‘I don’t suppose they did,’ I conceded, with a watery smile.
‘Mrs Frere sent for Dr. Redding at once, in spite of Mr Frere saying it could wait until morning. But the doctor insisted he didn’t mind a bit being hauled out of his warm bed on such an occasion as this. And he says there’s no lasting damage done, or any disease.’
‘That is good news,’ I said, relieved. ‘Where is he now, Jeffel?’
‘Oh, do forgive me, my lady. Here I am chattering on, and you’ll be wanting to see Mr Frere for yourself. They’re all in the blue room, I believe. Mr Frere said he wanted to be somewhere in the light, what with it always being dark in his prison cell.’
Thanking Jeffel, I went through the drawing room into the blue room, stopping in the doorway. They had not heard me approach, and were sitting on the far side of the room by one of the big windows. I stood quite still for a moment, gazing at my uncle, who sat beside Aunt Thirza, with Lucie at his feet. Despite Jeffel’s warning, I was greatly shocked by the sight of the hollow-eyed, white-faced, haggard man before me. So unlike the slightly plump, contented uncle I’d always known. I wasn’t surprised Jeffel hadn’t recognised him; I would not have done so myself.
I was grateful to have a moment to school my face into an appropriate expression, before I walked into the room, smiling. Seeing me then, he got up slowly, a beam of pleasure on his thin face, and I, abandoning all pretence of calm, threw my arms round his neck. ‘Uncle, I cannot tell you……’ The rest of my words caught in my throat and I stood for several moments hugging him in grateful silence. Releasing me, he kissed me on both cheeks, and took my hands in his. I tried not to notice how bony they were.
‘I am extremely glad to be here, Drusilla my dear,’ he said, his voice a little feeble. ‘Have you heard how I turned up in the night looking like a smuggler?’
‘Yes. Jeffel told me.’
My uncle gave a weak chuckle, and I urged him to sit down again. Although obviously very worn down after his long imprisonment, he was in high spirits. ‘I thought he wasn’t going to let me in, you know. Mind you, once he realised who I was, he couldn’t do enough for me. In fact he stayed up half the night, fussing over me like a mother hen.’ He turned to my aunt, saying, ‘All the servants have been wonderful, haven’t they, my dear.’
My aunt nodded. ‘Yes, they were very good.’ She spoke in a subdued tone, and although I could see she was very happy, she said very little all the time I was in the room, which I put down to her being badly shaken by my uncle’s appearance.
As if aware I was watching her, she looked up at me, a curious mixture of pain and joy in her eyes. ‘Your uncle has had a terrible time, Drusilla. He’s been in prison, you know.’
Jeffel appeared at that moment with an extra blanket to keep my uncle warm, and returned a moment later with a bowl of sustaining soup cook had made especially. Savouring the delicious smell of it, my uncle begged Jeffel to thank cook, and having tasted the soup, pronounced it to be best he’d ever tasted.
‘Mudd says you escaped,’ I said, when he’d finished this repast.
‘Oh, it wasn’t any of my doing, I’m afraid. Some friends in France bribed a guard at the prison with a very large sum of money. And then paid smugglers to bring me to the Island.’
Lucie asked curiously, ‘Who were these friends, Papa?’
‘The Chevaliers. A father and son. People I became friendly with after you and your mother left France. I was lonely, and they were kind enough to invite me to dine quite often. You would like them, I know. I shall repay the money, of course, just as soon as I’m on my feet again. They risked their lives to save me, a debt I can never hope to repay.’
Lucie put a hand on her father’s arm. ‘They must be very brave, Papa. I should like to meet them, to thank them personally.’
‘When this dreadful revolution is over, you shall.’
It was a plausible enough story, and one which my aunt and cousin seemed to have accepted without question; and which I would have done too, if I had not known better.
My uncle said that the estate in France was totally lost. ‘But I have been exceedingly lucky to escape, as I don’t need to tell you.’
For myself, I was content just to listen to the sound of my uncle’s voice, and revel in the joy of the day. Even the sun put in an appearance, and we enjoyed its delicious warmth, refusing to move until the bell rang for dinner. My aunt, who always dressed for dinner no matter what had happened, declared she had no intention of doing so today. For once we found something to agree on, and indeed, the whole house seemed to radiate with happiness.
I woke later than usual the following morning, having slept more soundly than I had in weeks. I dressed hastily, urging my maid to be quick with my hair, as I was anxious to see how my uncle was. Going downstairs, I was surprised to find him alone in the breakfast parlour.
‘Ah, Drusilla. Good morning,’ he beamed. ‘Your aunt is not yet awake, and it seemed a shame to disturb her.’
‘Shouldn’t you be resting too?’
He shook his head. ‘Sleep was one thing I wasn’t short of in prison. There wasn’t much else to do.’
Lucie had not risen yet either, and after a simple breakfast, we walked very slowly down to the walled garden, settling ourselves on the seat in a pretty rose arbour, sheltered from the wind. My uncle turned his face up to the sun, closing his eyes in blissf
ul appreciation, and I was struck even more by the hollowness of his cheeks, and the wasted paleness of his skin. But Dr. Redding’s recommended diet, and cook’s special egg custard, would soon put the colour back into his cheeks, and I was sure he would be well enough to play his part at Lucie’s wedding.
When a small cloud obscured the sun, he opened his eyes, and I remarked casually, ‘That fable about how you escaped from France will do for everyone else Uncle, but that isn’t what happened, is it.’ He threw me such a startled look, I laughed. ‘Tell me, did Giles hold up the coach on the road to Paris, as he planned?’
He sat bolt upright in the seat, his eyes suddenly alert. After a moment, he said, ‘I didn’t realise you knew, Drusilla. Giles didn’t mention it.’
‘Didn’t he?’ I said, feigning surprise. ‘Well, he probably didn’t think it important. He and I have always been very close, you know. He meant to overpower the guards, with the help of some Frenchman.’
He eyed me in a calculating manner for a second or two before answering. ‘Giles doesn’t want it known, Drusilla.’
I nodded. ‘That’s why I didn’t mention it before. Tell me, is he safe? Did everything go according to plan?’
He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘Giles was well when we parted. But they held up the coach before it reached the prison, not afterwards.’ I wondered aloud what had made Giles change his plans, but he didn’t know. ‘They tied the guards to a tree in the middle of a wood, after borrowing their uniforms. Naturally when I saw two guards waiting to take me to Paris, I assumed they were revolutionaries. I didn’t recognise Giles, not having seen him since he was a child.’ Father and I had occasionally stayed at my uncle’s house when they lived in London, but they had only visited the Island twice; when I was seven, and again when Giles was at Oxford.
My uncle went on, ‘I don’t mind telling you Drusilla, I thought my last hours had come.’ For a brief moment the anguish he’d felt at that time showed in his face. Then he relaxed and put his hand over mine. ‘Still, that’s all over now, thanks to Giles. But for him, I should have joined those poor souls imprisoned in Paris.’ Tears glistened in his eyes. ‘I will never be able to repay him.’
Giles had changed all our lives for the better. For now my uncle would walk down the aisle with Lucie on his arm, as a father should. My aunt and uncle would set up home again, allowing Giles and Lucie to start their married life in the way he desired. An added benefit, achieved without anyone being the wiser.
I asked where Giles was now, but he didn’t know. ‘I expected him to return with me, but he said if the revenue cutter stopped the boat, it wouldn’t do for him to be caught with a gang of French smugglers.’
‘But it was all right for you,’ I said, amused.
‘Better that than the guillotine.’
This method of execution, brought into use the previous year, had been invented by a man called Guillotin, as a means of despatching condemned prisoners in a swift, humane manner. My uncle explained to me how the victim was tied to a plank and pushed into position, whereupon a sharp blade plummeted earthwards, severing the head, which dropped into a basket. First used on common criminals the previous August, a machine had been set up in the place du Carrousel, where three prominent royalists had soon lost their heads.
‘Whenever some important person was guillotined, the prison guards were only too eager to give me the news,’ he said. ‘Not that I am important, but those ruffians think all landowners are rich.’ I shuddered at the thought of him suffering this terrible fate, and he put a comforting hand on my arm. ‘Don’t upset yourself, my dear. I’ve lost my estate, but I still have my life, thanks to Giles. Believe me, I could not wish for a finer son-in-law.’
Thankfully, the loss of his estate had not left him totally penniless. ‘The proceeds from the sale of our London home are still with Coutts bank,’ he said. ‘I wanted something to fall back on if I failed to make a success of the French estate. It will be enough to buy a modest house, smaller than before of course, as we shall need some capital to live on. But we will have enough.’ A proud man, he was telling me, in his own way, that he had no intention of being a drain on the resources of either Giles or myself.
Crossing his ankles in leisurely fashion, he turned his face up to the sun again, and we sat for a while in companionable silence. I don’t know where his thoughts were, but mine were all with Giles, and I looked up to find my uncle watching me. ‘What’s bothering you, my dear?’ he asked in concern.
‘Oh, I was just wishing Giles would hurry home.’
He didn’t say anything for a minute or two, then murmured, ‘Drusilla, I must confess there is something I haven’t told you.’
CHAPTER TWENTYONE
I turned to my uncle in alarm. ‘What haven’t you told me?’
‘Giles had some business to attend to before he came home.’
‘Business? In France?’ The Ledstone Place estates had no business interests outside the Island that I’d ever heard of.
He nodded. ‘That’s what he said.’
Unable to even guess at what he was doing only increased my fears for his safety. But I hid these anxieties as best I could during what was otherwise a very happy time at Westfleet. A steady stream of callers kept me busy, wanting to hear of my uncle’s dramatic rescue first hand, but he wasn’t strong enough to receive visitors yet, as I explained to Mr Arnold when he looked in briefly on his way to dine with a friend in Dittistone.
‘I thought that’s how it would be ma’am, but I couldn’t pass the door without saying how happy Mrs Arnold and I were to hear the wonderful news.’ I thanked him and he went on soberly, ‘May I ask - is it true that he came over on a smuggling run?’
I admitted it somewhat ruefully. ‘You must forgive me Mr Arnold, if I don’t, in this instance, condemn the use of free traders.’
He inclined his head. ‘If it meant saving the life of a loved one, I would gladly deal with the devil, ma’am. Nor do I expect your uncle to betray those who helped him. But,’ he went on a trifle awkwardly, ‘they were French smugglers……’
‘As was the man who stole the Saxborough ring, you mean?’ Again he inclined his head. ‘That has been on my mind too, but there must be many such gangs, I imagine, and I’m afraid my uncle could not tell you anything, even if he was willing. He said he was blindfolded before going on board, kept below during the run, and the men who rowed him ashore all had blackened faces.’
‘I can’t say as I’m surprised, ma’am. Smugglers don’t give anything away to strangers.’ And he soon went on his way.
I continued to smile upon all such visitors, even the parson and his wife. To them, and anyone who asked, I repeated the story my uncle had invented, keeping it as vague as I could. He was greatly touched by the messages I passed on from people he’d never met, promising to thank them personally when he was stronger. Meanwhile he was savouring the simple pleasures of life again. Being with his family, enjoying the sustaining broths Dr. Redding had prescribed, sitting in the sun listening to the birds, watching the bees and butterflies, and laughing at the antics of Jess who pounced on everything that moved.
The happiest sight for me was to see my uncle strolling slowly through the gardens with Aunt Thirza’s hand tucked into one arm, and Lucie’s into the other. And I left them to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company whenever I could.
On one such morning, when they went for a walk, I added to my charts the details of how the Saxborough ring had been found. And sat thinking about how Thomas and young Tom had died. When a local fisherman drowned, his body could come ashore quickly, or it might not be found for days, or weeks, and often not in an area where he was known. Yet the two Saxboroughs had been washed ashore within an hour or two of drowning, on the west of the island where everyone knew them, and in a state where they could be identified. It was all too easy, too convenient. As if the bodies were meant to be found.
Had they been drowned first, I asked myself with a shudder
, and put on the beach to make it look as if they had been washed up? If so, where was the yacht?
And why had the smuggler stolen the ring? Had he done so against orders, greed overcoming all else? Father had taught me that things weren’t always what they seemed; but in this terrible affair, nothing was what it seemed. Mr Saxborough’s death appeared to be caused by jumping the east gate; Thomas and his son drowned, presumably when their yacht foundered. ‘Accidents’ planned and carried out with meticulous care. Plans spoiled, it would seem, by the greed of one French smuggler.
Had these smugglers murdered Cuthbert Saxborough too? If they had done so, why hadn’t they taken the ring then? Why wait until they had killed two more Saxboroughs? That made no sense at all. But then none of it made any sense.
In the morning the spell of fine weather gave way to a ferocious gale, and I groaned in despair, conscious it would delay Jackson’s attempts to contact French smugglers, and prevent Jacob appearing with a message.
It didn’t rain, but the violence of the wind whipped the seas into such a tumult that for three days no boat was able to cross the Solent, leaving us without newspapers, or letters, to tell us what was happening outside the Island.
On the third day, the gale finally blew itself out. That evening Julia had asked me over for a cosy chat, and before leaving home I strolled round my garden inspecting the damage caused by the gale. The gardeners, having cleared the fallen branches, were tidying up shrubs and flowers as best they could after so severe a battering, but sadly many were past saving, and as I rode over to Julia’s, the wind began to get up again. I didn’t take Mudd with me for so short a distance, but told him to come over at ten to accompany me home, and in the event I was very glad I did so.
Once Edward had been taken off to bed, I told Julia about my uncle’s escape, which she listened to goggle-eyed.
