Moon Cutters

by Janet Woods

  She busied herself sketching flowers and the ancient headstones in the warm, hushed air.

  After a while, her glance fell on the largest tomb. The rusty entrance gate still hung open on its hinges and the lamp was still there. Yet there was something different about it. Her gaze went back to the lamp. That was it – it had a new candle!

  Why on earth would a tomb need a candle over the entrance? Bumps prickled up her arms and into her neck. There was something about that mausoleum and it seemed to call to her. She didn’t even know who was interred there. As she approached it, the world seemed to hush, as if holding its breath. She felt uneasy and her blood began to pound against her eardrums.

  ‘Don’t be silly; the dead can’t hurt you,’ she whispered, the sound of her own voice giving her a small amount of comfort.

  The Fenmore name was etched into the lintel.

  Three steps down and she was in a cold, clammy half-light. It was a large space that accommodated about fifteen stone coffins of various sizes, set in alcoves. Placing her drawing tablet and pencil on a coffin, she moved to read the names of the occupants. She could only just make out the writing on the closest stone coffins, which were nearer to the door.

  Further inside were three more recent-looking ones. Bella Fenmore. Elizabeth Fenmore … then there was William Fenmore, beloved son of James and Bella. An empty coffin waited for Sir James, the lid leaning against the wall. She shivered at the macabre thought that this was a family gathering. Was the drowned Lady Marguerite, after whom the cove was named, buried here?

  Her mind switched from one woman to another. Elizabeth Fenmore must be Fletcher’s mother. So why wasn’t she buried as Elizabeth Taunt?

  There was a noise, like a faint whisper of voices and a sudden draught of air. The gates scraped a series of rusty discordant notes on their hinges as they swung together and latched, like a mouth closing around its prey.

  Panic welled in her as her imagination took hold. What if she couldn’t get out and she was trapped, kept prisoner by grisly, grinning corpses?

  Miranda sucked in small gasps of air, trying not to give in to a scream, expelling it in breathy squeaks when a shadow moved in the entrance and blocked the sunlight. Caesar gave a rattling growl, pawed at the gates and barked urgently at her, as if he’d picked up her panic.

  There was a drift of sensation, a faint pressure, as if somebody had touched her shoulder in passing. There was something comforting about it.

  The gate was latched on the outside. After all, which of the occupants had the ability to open in, even if they wanted to let themselves out? She managed to squeeze a finger through an elaborate scroll in the wrought iron and push the latch up, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. The gate opened.

  When she scrambled into the fresh air, Caesar’s ruff was pricked up around his neck and ridged along his back. When she smoothed it down, he wagged his tail, looked past her and gave a bit of a huff.

  ‘All right, I’m here, Caesar,’ she said and, pulling the gates together, she latched them and turned.

  Fletcher Taunt stood a short way away, grinning from ear to ear.

  She yelped, and tripped over a tussock, her knees nearly buckling with the fright he’d given her. The giggle she gave bordered on hysteria. Was he real or an apparition?

  ‘Why is it that the sight of me makes you trip over your feet? Come here.’ Looking delightfully dusty and dishevelled, he put out an arm to steady her and gathered her close. ‘Christ almighty! You frightened me half to death coming out of the family plot. It’s not All Hallows’ Eve, is it?’

  Instinct made her place her face against the steady beat of his heart. An apparition couldn’t be this warm. Then she remembered she hardly knew him and drew back.

  ‘Don’t move away, Miranda; it feels as though you belong there.’ Cupping his palm against her face, he gently pulled her back. ‘You and I both know how we feel about each other,’ and to remind her in the most practical of manners, he tipped up her chin and kissed her.

  She was scared of the tumult of feeling rioting through her. How could she feel like this about a man she hardly knew? How did she know it was love? She just did. He laughed when she sighed in defeat and murmured, ‘Yes … I suppose I do know.’

  ‘I’m glad we’ve sorted that out. May I ask why you’re visiting my deceased relatives?’

  ‘Curiosity, I suppose. There’s a new candle in the lantern and I wondered why.’

  ‘Ah … I see. You have sharp eyes. Did you come up with an answer?’

  ‘Not yet … and then I began to wonder if Lady Marguerite was laid to rest here. The light was so dim I couldn’t read the names. I thought I heard voices, and there was a sudden draught. The gates squeaked and then closed by themselves. See, somebody moved the stones propping them open.’

  His eyebrow arched and he chuckled. ‘You heard a ghost or two having a conversation? It was a gust of wind, that’s all, and it pushed the gates aside and they moved the stones. You made a good job of scaring the hell out of yourself as well as me.’

  Gazing at the trees, she reminded him, ‘There’s no wind – the trees are barely moving. You didn’t close the gate to give me a scare, did you? It was eerie … It felt as though someone touched my shoulder.’

  ‘No, I’ve only just arrived and came along the cliff. The sea breeze has just started to come in. If you follow the ripples, you’ll see the water change as the breeze sweeps them before it. It was just a stray gust, I expect.’

  Miranda felt much braver now Fletcher was with her, and she shrugged, ashamed of being so weak and willing to bow to his male reasoning. ‘You’re probably right. I allowed imagination to get the better of me.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less from a young woman.’ Taking her hand in his, he drew her away. ‘Let’s get out of here. A cemetery isn’t a very romantic place for a private tête à tête. There’s a nice sheltered little spot back along the cliff near the copse. We can sit there unobserved and talk.’

  There was a large boulder, and they sat with it against their backs and gazed out to sea, Caesar lounging at their feet.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just arrived back and haven’t been home yet; that’s why I’m so dusty.’

  ‘You weren’t very late.’

  He gave a bit of a frown. ‘I would have been on time if my uncle hadn’t disallowed me access to my estate via his. He’s had a wall and gate built across the road, and there’s an armed guard. Using the long way adds another five miles each way to the journey.’

  ‘Isn’t it a public highway? I did see some traffic on it – wagons with stone on them – and I thought he was having the wall repaired. Why would he do such a thing as close the road?’

  ‘He wanted to buy Monksfoot Abbey cheaply, and intended to pull the house down. My offer was accepted instead, although, as it turned out, Silas Asher ended up leaving me everything when he died. But let’s not talk of my relationship with my uncle. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company.’

  When he put his arm around her, she leaned comfortably into his shoulder.

  ‘I bought another clipper a couple of days ago. She’s little more than a hull and has been stripped of most of her fittings. She’ll be at a shipyard for repairs by the end of the month.’

  His voice had warmed when he’d spoken of the ship, and she prompted him, ‘Will that be expensive?’

  ‘Yes … but it will be worth it and I got her very cheaply. She’s a young ship, but honest when stripped down to her skin. There is a grace and dignity about her that needs to be exploited.’ He gazed down at her, the expression in his eyes still warm and now laced with tenderness, so she knew his words were describing her. ‘I’ve named my new ship after you – Lady Miranda.’

  She touched his face. It was a small caress, the only one she dared to offer him at this time. ‘I’ve never had a ship named after me before.’

  He took her hand and placed a kiss in the palm. ‘I’ll take you to
see your namesake when she’s trim and tidy and ready to receive visitors.’

  Her smile faded and she idly traced a circle on the back of his hand. ‘I’m your uncle’s guest, Fletcher. He’s been good to me and my sister, and I don’t like deceiving him.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and my association with him seems to be growing worse, rather than improving. I’m going to do something to heal the breach between us, and have sent a message to say I intend to see him on Sunday after church. After all, we are business partners. Does he ever talk of me?’

  ‘He’s mentioned you on occasion.’

  He engaged her eyes and looked amused. ‘But not with any great enthusiasm, aye?’

  ‘But not with rancour either.’

  ‘Thank you for that small kindness.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Before I went to Southampton, I told you I was in love with you, Miranda. Do you remember?’

  ‘How could I forget, when only a few days have passed?’ she said, with a grin. ‘It was a totally impulsive act. But you were very dashing, and you nearly swept me off my feet. I told you to think it over. I hope you have, and have come to your senses.’

  There was something boyish about his grin. ‘You laughed at me, and that was cruel, because it dented my feelings considerably. I just want you to know I have thought it over, as you advised. Nothing has changed. I still love you … only I love you madly now. There’s nothing like resistance to sharpen a man’s appetite.’

  ‘It’s too soon for … love. We’ve only met three times.’

  ‘I feel as though I’ve loved you all my life. Don’t be so sensible, Miranda. Run away with me.’

  ‘I can’t … I have responsibilities. I have my sister to consider as well as myself. Also, I don’t want to be involved in a scandal.’

  ‘You’re in the wrong place to avoid one, I fear. Your sister could run away with us. After all, it’s not very far to the next estate.’

  ‘I would prefer it if the argument with your uncle was resolved. I don’t want to spend my life on bad terms with the people around me. Shall I talk to him on your behalf and urge him to reconcile your differences. I needn’t mention that we’ve met.’

  ‘I’m not a man to hide behind a woman’s skirt, and would prefer to speak for myself.’

  ‘As you wish, Fletcher. You certainly have more than your fair share of arrogance.’

  ‘I can’t deny it.’ He ran his finger down her nose. ‘Are you very annoyed with me?’

  ‘No. I have something else on my mind.’

  ‘Ouch … I must be losing my appeal.’

  To answer in the negative would be playing into his hands, so she ignored it. ‘Sir James is holding a supper party for me a week next Saturday. It’s my nineteenth birthday. Perhaps he’ll invite you.’

  ‘If he did, it would have an alternative purpose. My uncle is not what he seems, Miranda. He has two faces, and he has many informers. Just bear that in mind.’

  ‘Informers?’

  ‘He’s a magistrate, and he makes it his business to know what’s going on in the district.’

  ‘Is that so bad?’

  He rose and, holding out his hand, pulled her to her feet. ‘We should avoid talking about my uncle … and you should keep your advice to yourself. You hardly know him, and certainly don’t know what he’s capable of. Curiosity can get you into serious trouble in these parts.’

  ‘So much for true love,’ she shot at him, and, jerking her hands away, she stomped off.

  When she looked back there was no sight of him. ‘Don’t keep appearing and disappearing without notice,’ she shouted. ‘And it’s rude to part without saying goodbye.’

  He was waiting for her at the turn-off to the road and held out his arms to her.

  They closed around her when she went to him, and he spun her round.

  ‘I have to tell you something before you go, Fletcher.’

  ‘Is it that you love me?’

  ‘I can’t love you … not yet.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t control love; it’s something you feel.’

  She ignored what she knew to be true. ‘Your uncle has proposed marriage to me, and I promised to let him know by the end of June. He wants me to provide him with an heir. I’ve already told him that he’s got one in you.’

  He pushed her to arms’ length. ‘How deep are you in?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do, Miranda. Has my uncle bedded you yet?’

  She suddenly remembered Sir James’s hands on her body and her cheeks flamed, but mostly from anger towards Fletcher.

  When she lashed out at him, he caught her wrist, and although she tried to free it, he held it fast. His eyes looked wounded, but they gazed steadily into hers as if daring her to lie, when he said harshly, ‘Answer me.’

  ‘Your uncle has been a perfect gentleman towards both my sister and me. In fact, he spoils Lucy as if she were his own child. Let go of me.’

  He removed his grip. ‘I believe you. Go ahead and hit me. I deserve it.’

  ‘Yes, you do. I’m angry that a man who professes to love me can think so little of me, and I allowed it to get the better of me. Just at this moment, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I thought it best that you knew what was going on, that’s all.’

  ‘Thank you for your honesty. It will help me to plan my campaign. Be warned … I’ll snatch you from his side at the altar if need be.’

  She kissed him, a gently placed caress against the corner of his mouth.

  He turned his head, stooped and captured her mouth. ‘You haven’t seen the last of me, Miranda.’

  Thank goodness for that, she thought as he walked away from her.

  Miranda felt uneasy again when she reached the road. Her back prickled, as though she was being followed.

  Caesar didn’t seem to be alarmed, though he gazed back at her a couple of times to wag his tail. He was a nice-natured dog, despite his training to guard, and loved being petted. When she rounded the bend, she drew him back into the shadow of a hedge and waited.

  She was surprised when Lucy came into view and she stepped forward, causing her sister to jump. ‘What are you doing here? Are you following me?’

  Her sister’s hands went to her hips and a wounded look exploded on her face. ‘I certainly was not. I felt like a walk and I was looking for you. You could have asked me to join you!’

  Guilt filled her. ‘Sorry, Lucy. You were playing the piano, and I know you don’t like being disturbed when you’re practising. I thought you’d be writing your book afterwards. Have you made much progress?’

  ‘Not in the writing, though I’ve finished the first chapter. Now I’m going to make a plan of chapters with scenes in. Making up stories is so interesting.’

  There came the sound of a horse, and they both turned. It was Simon Bailey.

  Caesar placed himself between herself and the horse and created an impressive rumbling brown growl deep in his throat.

  ‘Quiet, Caesar,’ she said and fondled his velvety ear.

  Simon doffed his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Jarvis. Miss Lucy. A lovely day, isn’t it?’

  Miranda nodded. ‘It certainly is, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘On your way back to Marguerite House, are you?’

  ‘We are.’

  He dismounted. ‘I’d better escort you. It seems that a trespasser has been seen on the estate. It might have been a smuggler.’

  Lucy’s eyes began to shine. ‘How exciting! Where?’

  ‘Near the cemetery; I’ve not long come from there.’

  Miranda raised an eyebrow, though her mouth dried and her heart began to thump. What if he’d seen her and Fletcher together? ‘What was the intruder supposed to be smuggling? Bones?’ When he chuckled, she said, ‘Does it concern you so very much, Mr Bailey? This is, after all, Sir James’s estate. How do you know it’s a trespasser?’

  ‘Someone who saw him told me. Anything ou
t of the ordinary that happens on this coast concerns me. That’s my job.’

  They began to walk.

  ‘Ah yes … smugglers and such. I’ve never actually seen a smuggler.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know one if you did see one, but you need look no further than the adjoining estate. They’re a murderous lot, and you should keep away from there if you can. Now Sir James has closed the road, it will make it harder for them to convey the smuggled goods through his estate and that route will be blocked.’

  Shock rippled through her. ‘Are you telling me that Fletcher Taunt is a smuggler? He’s Sir James’s nephew, and has only just bought the estate.

  ‘But he was on friendly terms with the previous owner, and Silas Asher was an out-and-out scoundrel. I’ll say no more.’

  Despite declaring he’d say no more, Simon Bailey carried on talking. ‘I’ve been given no reason to believe he is, apart from rumour, which gave me cause to search his company’s ship, Midnight Star, on a couple of occasions.’

  ‘What did you find?’ Lucy asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

  ‘Unfortunately, there was nothing, Miss Lucy. If there had been, he’d now be languishing in jail. Silas Asher, who previously owned Monksfoot Estate, was the scum of the earth, and so are those who were his partners in crime … many of whom are still employed there.’

  Lucy asked Simon Bailey the question Miranda would have liked to ask him, except she was reluctant to expose herself to any questioning regarding Fletcher Taunt.

  ‘Sir James can be awfully stern. He’d be cross if you arrested his nephew, though. What would happen to him? Would you give him a good flogging?’

  ‘It would depend on the magistrate. If he was found guilty and I recommended it, the man could be put to death by hanging or firing squad. It would serve as an example to other miscreants.’

  Lucy shuddered. ‘That’s a horrid suggestion. In all conscience, how could you do such a thing?’

  Miranda intervened. ‘Mr Bailey, I would suggest you remember that you’re speaking to a young woman of impressionable age. I do not want my sister exposed to such information.’