by Mary Brendan
‘Do you suspect something?’ Julia launched that question at Deborah. She had detected something disconcerting in her daughter’s tone. ‘You said Mr Chadwicke took some port before bed, and you had a conversation. Would he not have said if anything untoward had occurred?’
‘He might not have wanted to alarm us. He knew he would be leaving today and would not be here to protect us,’ Deborah quietly pointed out.
‘Surely he would have warned Basham of his suspicions so that he could continue to be vigilant,’ Julia persevered. ‘Basham has said he’s not aware of anything sinister. I’m sure Mr Chadwicke is the sort of fellow who would do his utmost to help us if he could.’
‘I’ll fetch more toast, m’m.’ Basham found an opportunity to slip from the room.
‘I hoped Mr Chadwicke might stay long enough to have breakfast with us.’ Julia dipped her knife in to the jam pot and liberally applied strawberries to her toast. ‘It is bad of him to go off without saying his goodbyes.’
‘Basham gave you the note he’d left for you.’ Deborah took a sip from her coffee cup before adding, ‘You said in it he expressed his thanks and his farewells.’
‘It is not the same,’ Julia responded a trifle testily. ‘We have so few visitors. It would have been nice had he stayed longer. I’m glad you brought him home with you yesterday.’
‘You were not glad at first,’ Deborah reminded her. ‘In fact, Mama, I thought you acted quite rudely towards him.’
That bald complaint caused Julia to stare at her daughter open-mouthed, her toast hovering just before her lips. Quickly she took a bite and chewed to cover her confusion. ‘Well…you know he has bad relations,’ she mumbled through her napkin, dabbing at her lips.
‘He has one bad relation. Or rather he had one,’ Deborah said. ‘Could you not have shown a bit of sympathy on hearing of his brother’s death?’ she chided. ‘I know Sebastian was reputedly a wretch, but.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, miss.’ Julia looked to have recovered from the shock of being taken to task by her daughter. ‘The late Lord Buckland was a devil.’
An arch appeared in Deborah’s eyebrows as she silently requested the details.
‘Sebastian Chadwicke fled abroad to the Indies to escape arrest,’ Julia suddenly blurted. ‘It was rumoured he did so to avoid being hanged for murder.’
‘Was it a duel?’ Deborah rocked the coffee back and forth in her cup. She was not that surprised to know the extent of his crime. She’d heard whispers years ago that he’d fought over a Covent Garden nun. She knew, too, that gentlemen who duelled and killed their opponent often fled abroad for some years to allow the furore to die down.
‘Nothing quite so noble,’ Julia said sourly. ‘Your papa would not tell me it all, but I gathered it was some sort of criminal activity in which he was involved. Sebastian was always in trouble and a constant source of worry to his parents. I remember them as nice people. But the whole family was tainted by the shame Sebastian brought down on their heads. Those poor people had to accept that even liberal folk would at times have to shun their company.’
‘Did you and Papa shun their company?’ Deborah asked.
‘We always welcomed Randolph. You know we did.’ Julia wiped agitatedly at her fingers. ‘You know he used to come with Marcus and was always included in our circle.’ She gave a quivering smile. ‘I still do like him and would have him visit again before he leaves the area.’
‘But he has already left. He went early and I expect he is now in Kent.’
‘We might catch him at the Woolpack in Rye. I can despatch Basham with a message.’
‘He has business to attend to, Mama. I doubt he will want to come back.’ Deborah gazed at her cloudy coffee, knowing she stupidly longed for the statement to be untrue. How much did he desire her—enough to interrupt his business, and return to Woodville Place to see her? Inwardly she scoffed at her conceit. One wooing kiss from him and already she yearned for another. She doubted he did. He’d said yesterday that he was content to live his life as a bachelor, but she knew he wouldn’t lack for female company.
Randolph Chadwicke had been a notorious rake, as had his friend Marcus Speer before he married Jemma Bailey. On one of those occasions that her mother had alluded to, when he had been included in their circle and escorting her at the pleasure gardens, several women—not all of them ladies—had been blatant in displaying the fact that they found him attractive. If he needed a woman to quench his lust—soothe him, he might say, she reminded herself with an acid little twist of the lips—no doubt he would find a willing partner. Perhaps when back in the metropolis it might be one of those fawning flirts who’d bumped her hips against him when he was at Vauxhall, then looked surprised to have got his attention. With a sigh Deborah flexed her ankle beneath the table; for it felt a little stiff.
‘Is your ankle any easier?’ Julia asked, having noticed her daughter’s fidgeting.
As soon as Deborah had entered the breakfast room that morning Julia had naturally been curious to know what mishap had occurred to cause her daughter to limp. Julia had seemed relieved to know that nothing more sinister than pins and needles was to blame for Deborah’s stumble. Now, one minor injury led her to ponder on worse scenarios. ‘You will not go in to town and stir up anything with those Luckhursts, will you?’ Julia picked at crumbs on her plate before raising her eyes to give her daughter an anxious look. ‘What does Luckhurst want with us?’ she fearfully asked, having brooded for a few moments and found no solution to the suspicions tormenting her.
‘I told you yesterday, Mama, he is probably just curious about Mr Chadwicke.’ And I, too, am curious about him, Deborah thought as she sipped at lukewarm coffee. With a little grimace of distaste she replaced the cup on its saucer and pushed the set away.
Yesterday she’d not had from him the answer she’d wanted: that Luckhurst had not been prowling about their grounds. But she was sure Basham would not lie and he had said he’d spotted no interlopers whilst on watch. Was she being too suspicious? But it was natural for her to feel insecure after Luckhurst had tried to ambush her. He had ogled and leered at her before; he’d made crude comments about her figure and how he’d like to handle it. Never before had he and his cronies lain in wait for her to pass by on her trek home. She knew that Randolph’s warning that she should not go out alone in future was very sound advice. There would be no more leisurely walks back from town for her. She had promised him she would not do so quite half-heartedly at the time. But now she accepted that to invite such trouble would be utterly foolhardy.
Restlessness again assailed Deborah. Having barely eaten a morsel, she pushed back her chair. With just a twinge in her ankle slowing her pace she approached the window of the morning room and took a look out. It was another beautifully mellow autumn day. Later in the week, when her foot was sound, she would take the carriage—if Fred were fit enough to drive it—and visit Harriet at the vicarage. She hoped she would find Harriet’s sullen sister-in-law still away from home. Although she was always polite to her, Susanna seemed to cast a gloom on the atmosphere. Deborah bucked herself up. She would keep herself busy and not dwell on Randolph Chadwicke again. It was absurd to think that she might pine for him to return to Hastings when they had not seen one another for so long.
She was feeling bereft because, in common with her mother, she realised it was at times beneficial to have a strong male presence about the place. One of the reasons she’d accepted Edmund’s proposal was to ease her mother’s mind about their vulnerability at Woodville Place when so many rogues resided in the neighbourhood. And of course Edmund had been a good, kind man who had loved her. She had very much hoped the affection she felt for him would grow into love, but had lost him before she could find out.
Henceforth she supposed she should avoid visiting Hastings at times when Seth Luckhurst was likely to be there. Market day was one occasion that would draw him every week. It was sensible; it was also craven behaviour, and every fibre o
f her being rebelled at the thought of adopting it.
* * *
‘What’s this? A welcoming committee?’
Randolph had ducked his lofty frame under the low beam at the entrance to the Woolpack’s taproom.
On hearing that drawling question, Seth Luckhurst spun about so swiftly he spilled some ale and almost unseated himself from his stool. His brother swivelled on his seat in a less agitated fashion to stare at the stranger. The two henchmen who accompanied them unwound from where they’d propped their elbows on the battered, blackened bar.
Zack Luckhurst was the first to regain composure and approach Randolph.
Randolph was not fooled by Zack’s false smile or his firm handshake. A sweeping glance took in the men in the room. None of them trusted him, and Seth, in particular, hated him.
‘Seth’s been telling me that you two had a bit of a disagreement yesterday.’ Zack slung a cautionary look sideways at his sullen brother as he heard a muttered cursing.
Seth continued to glower from beneath his wiry brows. He took a swig from his tankard and watched the proceedings over it. He’d told Zack how this fellow had humiliated him and was hoping this time for some support and loyalty from his brother. He couldn’t understand why Zack wanted to find out more about the cove. Seth reckoned they should just haul him outside and give him the whipping he deserved.
‘I think we understand one another,’ Randolph said easily. ‘Seth now knows not to upset me on certain matters.’ He followed that up by addressing Joss Barker, the innkeeper, who was sitting behind the bar polishing brasses as though deaf and blind to whatever mischief the Luckhursts might be concocting on his premises. Having given his order for a hearty breakfast of eggs and venison steak to be taken to the back parlour, Randolph again turned his attention to Seth. Following an ironically comprehensive head-to-toe inspection, he concluded, ‘You seem no worse for wear and up and about bright and early.’
‘We wasn’t expecting you to turn up so bright ‘n’ early,’ Seth returned with seething resentfulness. ‘What with you looking after Miss Woodville ‘n’ all, we reckoned you might be spent ‘til noon.’
A chorus of sniggers erupted from the two henchmen and Zack, too, chipped in a lusty chuckle.
Emboldened by his cohorts’ reaction, Seth became increasingly ribald. ‘I wouldn’t let that one off lightly, if you know what I mean. I’d make her earn her keep if I was looking after her.’
‘But you’re not. I am.’ A corner of Randolph’s mouth just moved; his eyes remained as cold and flinty as tawny agate. ‘And as I told you yesterday, you forget that at your peril.’
‘Seth’s told me you’re mighty friendly with the Woodville lass.’ Zack attempted to defuse the tension by slapping a hand on Randolph’s shoulder. He’d spent just a few minutes in the stranger’s presence, but instinctively he realised this was not a fellow you took for a fool. Randolph Chadwicke was clearly cultured; he was also unnervingly forthright and confident. Unlike his dense brother, Zack had a wily intelligence and knew when to proceed with caution. ‘If you can thaw that ice maiden, good luck to you, my friend.’ His eyes and tone became crafty as he added, ‘Deborah Woodville’s a beauty that’d turn any man’s head. But you should know she’s caused a lot of trouble for certain people round these parts.’
‘Certain people? I take it you’re referring to the smuggling fraternity.’
‘What d’you know about smuggling, Mr Chadwicke?’ Zack asked, sliding a sly look from beneath bushy brows at the nonchalant fellow standing opposite. He was annoyed to discover that despite being almost six feet tall he was some inches shorter than Chadwicke and was obliged, whether seated or standing, to look up to him.
‘What do I know about smuggling?’ Randolph gave a sour smile. ‘More than you, I’ll warrant, and not necessarily from choice.’
Zack and Seth exchanged glances. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Zack enquired.
‘It means that I’m not intimidated by you, Zack Luck-hurst, or your oafish brother. You and your motley crew have a way to go yet before you reach anything like the Trelawneys’ standard.’
‘Trelawneys?’ Zack and Seth chorused together.
‘You know Ross Trelawney?’ Seth gaped at him, stunned out of his sulk at having been branded an oaf.
‘I know his brother Luke, too. Ross told me about your enterprise when I was with them recently.’
A slow, satisfied grin split Seth’s face. The thought that the Trelawneys had knowledge of his existence, let alone had mentioned him, was a very high accolade.
‘They had nothing good to say,’ Randolph drawled scathingly, having noticed Seth’s barrel chest puffing in pride.
‘So…you understand about certain things, then,’ Zack said with a fierce squint. But he, too, was delighted to know they’d come beneath the notice of such eminence. ‘You know nobody can be allowed to betray the fraternity. You’ll understand why your…lady friend…has been a bother to us and needs taming.’
‘You’ve been a bother to her,’ Randolph countered with a negligence that was belied by his steady feline gaze. ‘I’ll warn you once only to cease troubling the Woodvilles.’
‘Are you going to let him threaten us?’ Seth surged up off his stool with a belligerent snarl, fists balling at his sides.
Zack sent a ferocious scowl at his brother and swiped out in a way that made Seth duck. One of Zack’s horny hands went to his chin and began massaging bristles. He, too, had a burning need to make it clear that the Luckhursts were top dog in these parts. Unlike his younger brother, Zack was able to appreciate that sometimes wit was a mightier tool than was muscle. It would be easy enough to make some enquiries and find out if what this fellow had said was truth or fantasy. Zack suspected that Randolph Chadwicke was a successful and dangerous free-trader from East Anglia. He’d had his orders and had been warned to be on the look out for a stranger who might try to take over. He didn’t know how his paymaster had found out a rival was coming, but he suspected the fellow had now arrived, and with the Trelawneys’ backing.
The Trelawneys had been the most notorious smuggling clan ever on the south coast. The brothers were now all legitimate businessmen and as rich as kings, but their epic reputation and exploits had been written into folklore and were passed on at every hearth from father to son.
Zack was suspicious; he was also driven by self-interest. He was wily enough to consider whether benefits were to be had from transferring his allegiance. His current paymaster was a man who wanted to remain anonymous. He communicated with the Luckhursts only by note or messenger. Snowy had run messages for him. Zack had come to his own conclusions as to why old Snowy had met his end over Edmund Green’s murder when all his colleagues knew he hadn’t done it. Snowy had known too much and had had to be silenced.
‘I don’t care who he thinks he is, or who he thinks he knows,’ Seth suddenly bawled. He’d grown impatient waiting for his brother’s rumination to end. ‘How do we know he’s Trelawney’s pal?’
‘My word should be enough.’
The brothers pivoted together towards the door, jaws dropping. Randolph also turned with a smile curving his mouth.
‘I was expecting you yesterday,’ Randolph said as Ross Trelawney sauntered forwards.
The two men warmly shook hands, then, as a figure passed the open doorway, Randolph said, ‘Ah…breakfast at last.’ He’d noticed the innkeeper carrying a tray laden with steaming victuals towards the back parlour.
‘I hope you’ve ordered enough for two,’ Ross said as he followed his friend back towards the exit. With no more than a cursory look cast on the bar’s other occupants, the two friends ducked their tall frames beneath the crooked doorframe. With the Luckhursts gawping after them, they were soon strolling down the passage behind the stout figure of Joss Barker.
Chapter Ten
‘Oh, that’s a shame!’ Harriet Davenport looked quite glum to have just learned from Deborah that Mr Chadwicke had already gone about his bus
iness in Kent, and would probably not return to the locality. ‘I would have liked to see him again.’ Her dark ringlets tumbled forwards as she leaned to conspiratorially whisper, ‘I thought him very handsome.’
Deborah placed down her cup and saucer and smiled at the delicate bone china. ‘Yes…he is…’ she agreed, albeit reticently.
‘I thought he seemed as though he had a great deal he wanted to say to you,’ Harriet commented archly with a sideways peek at her friend. She picked up the plate of seedcake that was on the table and offered it to Deborah.
Deborah took a small piece, avoiding her friend’s eye. ‘Is Gerard with the bishop today?’ Usually when Deborah visited the vicarage her friend’s brother came out of his study to say hello, but so far there had been no sign of him.
‘He is, and I must say, Miss Woodville, that’s a shameless attempt to change the subject.’ Harriet clucked her tongue with mock exasperation. ‘I see I must act quite vulgarly inquisitive if I’m to find out anything at all. Did Mr Chadwicke once have a tendresse for you? If you say not, I shall find it hard to believe. The fellow could barely keep his eyes from your face when he joined us in Hastings that day. And what wonderful eyes they are too.’ An exaggerated thrill prettily shimmied Harriet’s shoulders. ‘I’m sure a wolf must look less predatory than Mr Chadwicke.’
Deborah could not prevent a little laugh bubbling in her throat. She knew exactly what Harriet meant! ‘Doubtless he was staring at me for the same reason I kept looking at him.’ A rueful smile tipped her full lips. ‘We both were astonished to meet under such odd circumstances. The last time we socialised was at our friends’ wedding, in Mayfair, seven years ago.’
‘You must have made quite an impression on him then, for he certainly had not forgotten you. He recognised you straight away. I’d say he’s very much hoping to get to know you again.’ Harriet cocked her head for a reaction to that remark. When Deborah simply took a nibble of cake, she persevered, ‘Will you allow it?’
