Moon Cutters

by Janet Woods

  Miranda stepped into the lighter mood he’d created. ‘Who are the others you mentioned? Yourself and Sir James excepting, of course, since it wouldn’t do to incriminate yourselves.’

  That brought laughter from everyone, and it was Sir James who answered, ‘I think we’ll let sleeping dogs lie on that. Miss Jarvis, I hear you’ve been sketching flowers. Please fetch your sketching block so we can see them.’

  Her heart sank. ‘I seem to have mislaid it … Besides, my sketches are not very accurate.’

  Sir James beckoned to a servant. ‘Tell Mrs Pridie to go to Miss Jarvis’s room and look for her sketching block.’

  Fletcher stopped the progress of the servant. ‘You might want to look on the hallstand first. I recall placing my hat on top of a sketching block.’

  Within a short time, the servant came back with the block and handed it to Sir James.

  Miranda sent Fletcher a smile that thanked him for getting her out of that particular hole. ‘You have sharp eyes, Mr Taunt. I seem to be getting absent-minded, and I’m certainly too embarrassed to show anyone my poor sketches.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sir James said, riffling through the pages. ‘This sketch of a briar rose is excellent. And, see, it has a message underneath on a ribbon … “Love never dies”. For whom was this sentimental message intended?’

  It was intended for her, because Miranda hadn’t sketched the rose; Fletcher must have.

  Now Fletcher gazed over his uncle’s shoulder and rescued her again. ‘That rose rambles over one of the graves, I believe. The message is inscribed on the headstone, so it must be intended for the person who occupies the grave, which isn’t named. It’s probably a woman buried there.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘The fact that there’s a rose planted on the grave. It’s a woman’s flower with a female name. And up to fairly recently, it’s been pruned regularly. Perhaps it was someone of Silas Asher’s acquaintance.’

  Sir James threw a frown his way. ‘I must take a look at this grave and go through the family records. It’s more likely someone who disgraced the family and was punished in death by being buried unnamed.’

  Lucy’s eyes were as round as saucers. ‘How wonderfully mysterious! You will tell me when you find out, won’t you, Sir James?’

  ‘You’re as curious as a cat sometimes, missy. One day that nose might get you into trouble.’

  Lucy blushed at the mild reprimand and retreated to her chair.

  ‘There’s just one small mistake as far as I can see, Miss Jarvis; it’s the wrong time of year for roses to bloom.’

  Fletcher took up her defence. ‘Miss Jarvis did say her sketches weren’t accurate. Obviously, she preferred the plant to look as though it were blooming. It’s a pretty little picture, Miss Jarvis.’

  ‘I appreciate your comments, Mr Taunt. Next time I draw, I’ll try to please others instead of myself, and be more accurate in my application of pencil to paper. Goodness, what a fuss about a small drawing. What will you make of my poppies, I wonder?’

  His eyes engaged hers. Mischief danced in their depths like glimmers of sunshine on the surface of a mossy pool. ‘I imagine your poppies will be a delight, Miss Jarvis.’

  Sir James smothered his laughter with his handkerchief.

  Miranda only just managed to keep hers under control, but she wasn’t quite as successful with her blush.

  The others crowded round to admire her work, and someone tickled the palm of her hand. She didn’t look to see who it was; she didn’t need to.

  Sir James drew Lucy back into the fold by saying, ‘What are you going to entertain us with tonight, Miss Lucy?’

  ‘Some Mozart, I think.’

  After the entertainment, the guests drifted off to their allotted rooms. They were staying the night and knew better than to linger when Sir James had already indicated he had business to attend to. Reconciliation seemed to be on the agenda.

  Fletcher didn’t feel easy about it, as though his absence had created a divide between them that couldn’t be breached without a large dollop of hypocrisy to oil it.

  Sir James poured them a brandy apiece, and they took a chair on either side of the fireplace and contemplated each other – just like they used to, for old habits died hard, Fletcher thought.

  The clock ticked steadily, the leaping flames crackled in the fireplace and the shadows danced on the wall. The brandy was one to be appreciated, smooth when savoured against his tongue.

  His uncle broke the silence. ‘Now, then, Fletcher, how shall we go about resolving our differences? Do you have anything to redeem yourself in my eyes after cheating me out of my half of the Midnight Star?’

  ‘I believe you agreed you may have been hasty over that.’

  ‘I’m willing to be convinced.’

  ‘I destroyed the note you signed that gave me your half of the ship in settlement of your gambling debt.’

  ‘I had no idea you’d done that. Why didn’t you tell me then?’

  ‘Because, in your usual bloody-minded way, you locked me out and sent me packing before I could tell you. The ship is still a company asset, and that company is in both our names. Moreover, the money your half of the ship has earned in the past two years is in a separate account in your name. You could have examined the books any time you wished by contacting Sir Oswald. What stopped you?’

  ‘The same issue that stopped you from contacting me; you call it bloody-mindedness and I call it pride. You made it perfectly clear the shipping business would be managed by you alone. I had no intention of going cap-in-hand to consult with Oswald, a man I dislike.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t want any part of managing it. The shipping company is doing well, and will do even better in the future. I’m proud of it.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll allow you that. Now about the Monksfoot Estate. You stole that from under my nose.’

  ‘I didn’t steal it. Silas said he’d never sell it to you. He was fond of the place, and he knew you’d pull it down. He seemed to have some sort of grudge against you, and suggested that he and I might be related.’

  ‘Did he, by God!’ James spluttered. ‘The arrogance of the man! You look nothing like him. You’re a Fenmore through and through.’

  ‘Didn’t the Taunt family have some hand in it?’

  ‘We’ve been through all this before. Let’s change the subject. What are your plans for Monksfoot?’

  ‘As well as the seaweed trade, I intend to run the estate as a farm.’

  ‘It’s good soil, I admit.’

  ‘Eventually, I’m going to put a stop to the illicit trading in smuggled goods. The authorities are strong now, and are backed up by the navy on occasion. It’s too close to home and only a matter of time before they catch up with us.’

  ‘Silas was always a bit flagrant about his business. He liked to flaunt it under the noses of the authorities.’

  ‘There have been running battles. I’ve got no desire to get a bullet in my back or dance a jig at the end of a rope. That tame customs man of yours has caused me some annoyance, boarding the Midnight Star. He’s already damaged some sails and the company’s reputation.’

  ‘It was not at my urging. Simon Bailey is a law unto himself. He’s a hard man to fathom. One day he’ll get a bullet in his back.’

  ‘Not from me. The shipping company is a legitimate business that fills both our coffers, and that ship is the only asset.’ Fletcher hesitated about mentioning the Lady Miranda, and decided not to – not until she was ready for sea and had a cargo lined up. ‘I’m worried Bailey will do something stupid that will jeopardize the lives of the crew. The last time he boarded, he held a gun to my head.’

  ‘You should be grateful he didn’t pull the trigger.’

  ‘I’ve told Tom Pepper he’s to make sure to keep his activities at a low-key level. I don’t want to spend the remainder of my life watching my back.’

  ‘Tom Pepper and his crew will do as he’s always done, with or without
you. They’re all sewer rats and you can’t trust any one of them. The trouble with you, Fletcher, is that you’ve got a conscience.’

  ‘So have you! You know, uncle, we should forget the smuggling and work the land together – in the same way we run the shipping company. You’re a much better farmer than I could ever be.’

  ‘It’s a thought, and I’ll consider it.’

  ‘Tell me about those young women.’

  His uncle stared into his glass and smiled. ‘I wondered when you’d get round to asking. Miranda is a fetching little thing, isn’t she? They have nobody to care for them – except me. I thought I might wed the older one and breed from her. She didn’t seem very keen on the idea, so I’m giving her a little time.’

  It was dropped into the conversation casually, as though Miranda was a brood mare. Fletcher felt sick. ‘What if she decides against it?’

  His uncle shrugged. ‘If I cannot persuade her, there are other options to explore. I’ve spent a considerable amount of money on that pair. I look on them as an investment and they owe me.’

  Fletcher could only imagine what those options were. ‘And the younger girl?’

  He shrugged. ‘In a year or so, she’ll be old enough to wed. Simon Bailey needs a young wife to keep him busy. I’m sure I could supply Lucy with a dowry – not a big one, of course, but enough for Simon to feel grateful towards me. You know … that idea of combining the estates is a good one. I’ll expect my name to be on the deeds, of course.’

  His uncle was still as devious as they came, Fletcher thought, trying not to grin. ‘I bought Monksfoot fair and square. I had no idea that Silas intended to leave his estate to me. One day, I’ll marry and produce a child or two of my own. I’m not such a fool that I’d jeopardize their futures for your present.’

  The brandy in the glass on the table began to ripple, and there was a low rumble followed by an explosion. The boards trembled under their feet. The dogs set up a clamour of barks and the glass in the cabinet tinkled.

  ‘What the hell!’

  The first explosion was almost immediately followed by a second.

  The two gazed at each other, then shot to their feet.

  Voices were heard in the hall and then the door was thrust open and Jack Pridie came in. ‘I think the new gatehouse and walls have been destroyed, Sir James.’

  ‘The devil they have! Where was the watchman – asleep? Arm the men and get over there. If he survived the explosion, dismiss him.’

  Sir James moved to the side table. Taking out a pistol, he cocked it, turned and aimed it at Fletcher’s head.

  Fletcher’s scalp seemed to shrink when his uncle said, ‘I’m of a mind to kill you. I was a fool to allow you to advance over the doorstep.’

  Andrew Patterson called out, ‘You have no reason to believe this was done on Fletcher’s orders, Sir James.’

  But his uncle wasn’t listening to reason and Fletcher had cause to be worried. Sir James was a crack shot, and from this distance he’d probably blow half his head off.

  ‘You have to the count of five to get out of my house. If you set foot on my property again, I’ll leave instructions for you to be shot out of hand. One …’

  ‘This is not my doing, uncle.’

  ‘Two …’

  There came a babble of voices from the landing, and Fletcher caught a glimpse of Miranda in the shadows. Her arm was around her sister, her hair a shining cascade about her shoulders, though they were still in their clothes. Both pairs of eyes were as wide as saucers.

  ‘Three …’

  She did what he prayed she wouldn’t: left her sister’s side and advanced down the stairs, trying to distract his uncle. ‘What’s happened? Why are you pointing that gun at Fletcher?’

  ‘Four … Get back upstairs, girl,’ his uncle said sharply.

  ‘Do as you’re told, Miranda,’ Fletcher shouted in alarm, but on the count of five she moved between them and threw herself against him. Arm sliding round her, he swung her aside.

  ‘Five!’

  Surely his uncle wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill him in cold blood, and in front of witnesses? Fletcher cursed, but he knew he was right. At the last moment, Sir James sloped the weapon away from them, his finger still taut against the trigger.

  It discharged, and there was a chorus of screams from the small group of ladies assembled on the landing.

  ‘Miranda,’ Fletcher whispered and caught her up in his arms as Lucy half tumbled down the stairs to Miranda.

  Twelve

  It had taken the bullet but an instant to punch a ragged tear in Miranda’s sleeve. It had emerged further along the fabric and had lodged in a cushion on the hall seat in an eruption of feathers.

  Lucy’s shocked screech echoed through the house.

  Fletcher relaxed. ‘It’s all right, Lucy; she’s not injured. It’s just a faint and your sister is already showing signs of coming round. I’ll bring her up to her room.’ He nodded to a wide-eyed maid. ‘Ask Mrs Pridie to attend to Miss Jarvis.’

  The servant aimed an uneasy glance at Sir James, who said calmly, ‘It was an accident; the girl distracted me and the gun went off. Get about your work now.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She scurried off, as if eager to escape the reach of Sir James’s trigger finger as well as relate the goings-on to the rest of the servants.

  Lucy exclaimed, ‘Oh! Thank goodness,’ and she burst into tears as she followed Fletcher and his burden up the stairs.

  The room that had once belonged to Fletcher’s mother had a fragrance peculiar to females, of perfume and powder and the more floral scents used in the pastille burner.

  He lowered his dainty burden to the bed and gazed at the portrait of himself hanging there. He couldn’t imagine being so young and smooth-faced. He couldn’t recall much about his mother either – couldn’t remember ever being close to her. He only remembered snatches of his infancy, and her indifference had kept him at bay.

  To make up for it, there had been a nursemaid when he was very young, a woman who’d held him to her breast and tenderly kissed away his hurt. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and the familiar, spicy and poignant smell of her seemed to infuse him for just a second before it eluded him again. One day she hadn’t been there any more and he’d felt lonely without her.

  Miranda made a startled little noise and scrambled upright. ‘Are you all right, Fletcher? You’re not hurt?’ She gazed around the room, bewildered, and her eyes fell on Lucy. ‘I remember now.’

  Lucy scolded her. ‘You gave me such a scare, Miranda. What on earth did you hope to achieve?’

  ‘It was an instinctive moment of decision.’

  ‘It certainly was. Mr Taunt looks as though he’s capable of defending himself, though.’ Lucy gave a bit of a giggle, though her eyes were still damp. ‘You’ve certainly given everybody something to talk about. I bet Sir James is lathered up with guilt in case he’s killed you.’

  Fletcher chuckled. His uncle didn’t know what guilt was, let alone give in to it. All the same, he liked this younger sister of Miranda’s. ‘So much for my family reunion.’

  ‘It was enthralling – so passionate and sincere that it brought tears to my eyes. I enjoyed every moment. You bear a strong resemblance to Sir James, Mr Fletcher.’

  He hoped the resemblance was physical rather than stemming from nature. ‘So I’m given to understand, Miss Lucy.’

  Mrs Pridie came in, carrying two glasses of milk. ‘Sir James requests that you join him in the hall immediately, Mr Taunt.’ She turned to the two young women. ‘He’s sent up a sleeping draught. He said to take it early so it will calm your nerves.’

  Crossly – and Fletcher could almost imagine her stamping her foot as anger replaced any fear she’d felt – Miranda said, ‘My nerves are just fine; it’s Sir James’s nerves that need attention if he pulls a gun on his guests at the slightest provocation. Tell him to drink it himself.’

  ‘I’ll leave it on the table in case you feel the need fo
r it later.’

  Fletcher exchanged a grin with Mrs Pridie. ‘I’ll leave her in your good hands, Mrs Pridie. They’re much safer than mine. At this moment, I feel like hanging Miss Jarvis here over my knee and smacking that pert little backside of hers.’

  It was to his great satisfaction that Miranda blushed before she glared at him, saying, ‘Ungrateful wretch! Next time I’ll allow him to blow your damn-fool head off.’

  ‘Which would make me feel marginally better than watching you get your damn-fool head blown off.’ His smile encompassed them both. ‘Thank you for saving my life, Miss Jarvis; I’m indebted to you. You and Miss Lucy must come and visit me at Monksfoot.’

  ‘Hah!’ she said, as bristly as a dog with a bone, and Lucy giggled.

  ‘Best you don’t go stirring up trouble for yourself, young man,’ Mrs Pridie said, clucking her tongue when he gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘You always had more than your fair share of charm, and you’ll need all of it to talk yourself back into the good graces of Sir James. Be off with you now.’

  When Fletcher went downstairs, his uncle didn’t look in the least bit contrite, just disgruntled, for he’d always disliked the calm of his household being disturbed. He was wearing his topcoat. ‘I’m willing to believe you’re innocent in this matter, Fletcher. I was too hasty.’

  Fletcher knew that was probably all the apology he’d get from him, yet he couldn’t help but needle him a little. ‘I’m relieved to be alive.’

  ‘You know damned well I wouldn’t have shot you out of hand. However, over the past two years you haven’t done anything to inspire my confidence, either.’

  ‘And neither have I done anything to worsen the situation between us, though there has been provocation that could have resulted in retaliation. Most of the time I was on board the Midnight Star, learning as much seamanship as I could absorb to further the business. A man should be aware of the practicalities of sailing a ship if he intends to run a shipping company, and it’s a hard life for those on board.’