by Mary Brendan
‘I doubt I will need to give the matter much consideration,’ Deborah replied, brushing cake crumbs from her fingers. ‘I know Mama is keen to have him back again—as our protector—but I think he is probably already in the next county. If our paths again cross it will be whilst guests of the Earl and Countess of Gresham.’
The possibility that they might meet again at Yuletide made a flutter of excitement stir Deborah’s insides. Randolph had not indicated whether he would be visiting their friends when she had mentioned that she had received from them an invitation. Now he knew she would be at Gresham Hall at Christmas, would he be persuaded to go too?
‘Will you report to the magistrate that Luckhurst and his cronies tried to waylay you on that afternoon?’ Harriet had given a little disappointed sigh on having her romantic ideas punctured, and had turned her mind to more practical concerns. ‘It was dreadful of the brute to try to cause yet more trouble on the very same day he’d beaten your driver.’
‘It was Seth’s intention to punish me for reporting him,’ Deborah said gravely. ‘A waste of time it was, too, to have taken such a risk! Mr Savidge found excuses to avoid arresting those beasts over Fred’s injuries; he will certainly do nothing about Seth Luckhurst laying in wait to ambush me. I would not be surprised to be accused of being at fault for walking home alone.’ An agitated gesture displayed her vexation.
‘It might have been far worse for you had Mr Chad-wicke not insisted on escorting you home.’ Harriet’s brown eyes became clouded with mingling disgust and horror.
‘I know…’ Deborah’s answer was followed by a protracted sigh of relief that fate had intervened that day.
Deborah had arrived that afternoon at the vicarage, fully anticipating her friend’s probing questions about Mr Chadwicke. She’d known that Harriet would be keen to discover what had occurred once she and Gerard had departed for Rye market. Deborah had no reason not to tell her friend most of it…but some parts were too thrillingly secret to share with anyone, even her good friend.
Harriet cocked her head. Suddenly she got to her feet and approached the window. ‘Gerard is home. He is early today. Will you stay and have supper with us, Debbie?’
‘Thank you, no.’ Deborah replaced her cup on the table and glanced at the wall clock. ‘Fred drove me here in the trap. He still has aches and pains from his beating. Besides, I promised Mama I would not be out too long. I should like to visit the churchyard before we set off home.’
Harriet nodded in understanding. She knew that Deborah often took the opportunity to tend the resting places of her stepfather and her fiance, both at peace beneath the shelter of the sycamores in St Andrew’s graveyard.
As Deborah was pulling on her gloves in readiness to leave, Gerard entered the parlour and straight away launched into, ‘How nice to see you, Deborah. I have just bumped in to your friend Mr Chadwicke in Hastings. I must say he is a nice chap. He stopped and passed the time of day, although I could tell he was busy and wishing to get on.’
‘He is in Hastings?’ Debbie echoed faintly.
‘Indeed he is, although he tells me he will be travelling to visit his friend.’ Gerard deliberately widened his eyes to show that he was impressed. ‘He is friendly with Viscount Stratton who has a vast estate in Kent. I know the viscount has a farm. Perhaps he will let Mr Chadwicke purchase a few of his sheep. He told me he is interested in obtaining some hardy breeds for his Suffolk estate.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Debbie muttered sourly.
‘Mr Chadwicke dined and stayed overnight at Woodville Place.’ Harriet sought to bring her brother up to date with events. ‘Seth Luckhurst has been making a dreadful nuisance of himself and has been stalking Deborah,’ she recited forcefully. ‘Mrs Woodville spotted Seth prowling around in the grounds of Woodville Place, but luckily for them Mr Chadwicke scared him off before he could get up to any more mischief.’
‘Thank goodness he did so.’ Gerard shook his head, despairing of Seth’s wickedness. ‘But I have to say I thought it odd Mr Chadwicke wants to buy sheep.’
‘He told us he lost a good deal of his flock in sea flooding,’ Deborah explained.
‘He gives the appearance of being a refined gentleman, and used to his comforts. I’m not surprised he has influential friends.’ Gerard nodded sagely.
‘We share some such friends,’ Debbie supplied with a wry smile. ‘But people can have a change in circumstances,’ she added in more subdued tone. She had no idea if Randolph was no longer as comfortably off as once he’d been. He looked to be thriving, but appearances could be deceptive. His brother’s wild ways might have had financial as well as social repercussions for all the Chadwickes.
She and her mother knew only too well how a luxurious lifestyle could be suddenly whipped away by a stroke of fate. Her father’s death, and her mother’s remarriage, had set in motion a sequence of events that had drastically altered their lives and set their finances on a downward path. But she would not blame her mother for marrying George Woodville. Her mother had needed a husband’s love and support and the squire had made Julia very happy during their short marriage.
Deborah knew only too well she had no right to criticise the loss of family cash. Even before his death, her father’s wealth had been depleted by his generosity to her. He had spared no expense launching her into society; a lavish new wardrobe had been provided containing every imaginable garment, shoe and accessory; a new bottle-green landau and two pairs of magnificent chestnut horses had been purchased for her and her friends’ particular use that Season; and, to top it all, a magnificent ball with over two hundred invited guests had been held to mark her debut. To her shame she knew that the most costly sum had been wasted on her aborted engagement to the Earl of Gresham. Despite Marcus Speer’s insistence that he must contribute to all money paid out on preparations for a wedding that would never take place, her father had been adamant that he alone must bear the brunt of the losses—and they had been considerable, Deborah knew that. But her dowry had been kept safe, or so she’d thought.
‘Perhaps Mr Chadwicke will tell us more about himself when he is our guest.’
That news drew a startled look from Deborah, and a gasp and a delighted smile from Harriet. That very morning Harriet had urged her brother to ask Mr Chadwicke to pay a call if he was still in the vicinity.
‘He has agreed to come to a little soiree early next week before he sets off for Kent.’ Gerard swerved his eyes to Deborah. ‘I hope you will not think it an impertinence, but I told him I expected you and your mother would accept an invitation.’ Gerard had turned to his sister and thus missed Deborah’s stuttered reaction to that.
‘We must make an occasion of it,’ Harriet said gaily. ‘I think we should ask the Pattinsons too. We could have a buffet supper and afterwards perhaps Mrs Pattinson might be persuaded to play the pianoforte; I have heard her do so very well. I know Squire Pattinson likes a game of whist and Deborah is an excellent piquet player.’
‘That sounds capital!’ Gerard enthused, quite infected by his sister’s mood. ‘And I have more to tell you. A Captain Stewart has arrived to take the place of Lieutenant Barrow,’ he beamed. ‘I think we should invite him and perhaps one of his officers as well. We must let the dragoons know we support them and their fight against blackguards such as the Luckhursts.’ Gerard stepped to the fireplace and rubbed together his chilly palms, then held them to the glow in the grate. ‘I think this Captain Stewart means business. Only a week in the job and already a father and son from Bexhill, caught red-handed with twenty kegs of Geneva, have been confined in one of the Martello towers. Soon they will be up before the magistrate, then on their way to Horsham gaol.’
‘Is there any news of Lieutenant Barrow?’ Deborah asked in a rather breathless way; an erratic thump had started beneath her ribs as soon as she’d learned Randolph was still close by. It was some while since he’d left Woodville Place and she’d believed him already miles away. In an attempt to calm her frantic thoughts she conce
ntrated on the plight of the injured dragoon.
‘I learned today from Savidge that the Lieutenant is still unconscious,’ Gerard advised her. ‘He has a high fever and is delirious, but still clings to life.’
‘Yet nobody has been brought to account for it,’ Deborah said with a despairing shake of the head.
‘From what Gerard has said about Captain Stewart, it seems things might change now he has arrived to take charge,’ Harriet chipped in whilst giving a soothing pat to her friend’s arm. Harriet knew that Deborah’s rage at Edmund’s murder had been little alleviated by the passing of the years.
‘Captain Stewart seems a forthright, conscientious sort of chap.’ Gerard clasped his hands behind his back. ‘The bishop introduced us this morning and I took to him straight away. He said he intends to investigate Lieutenant Barrow’s assault as a matter of urgency. There will be warrants issued soon, mark my words.’
‘Not before time,’ Deborah muttered as she set her bonnet on her sleek golden chignon and tied the strings.
‘It is good that this new officer is prepared to tackle the smugglers. Unfortunately, as soon as word gets about that a serious investigation is under way, a great number of men will abscond rather than risk being apprehended for questioning,’ Gerard said solemnly.
Deborah and Harriet exchanged a look on hearing that. They knew very well that once those men and their wages were gone, the wives and children they left behind would be forced on to parochial relief or even the workhouse. Deborah had now lived long enough in this coastal community to know that the consequences for the fugitives’ families could be tragic.
* * *
Fred Cook frowned as he gazed at the bleak landscape. He turned up the collar of his heavy-caped coat and stuffed his fists into his pockets.
Deborah pulled at a few more fronds of bell-bind that were twined about the headstone on Edmund’s grave. She slanted a look at her restless manservant as he stabbed the toe of a boot into a clod of earth and peered about.
‘I see you are waiting to go, Fred. Are you in pain from your bruises?’
‘’S’not that, miss. It’s getting late.’
‘The sun’s not quite set.’ Debbie took a glance to the west where a shimmer of light hovered on the horizon.
‘Don’t do to tarry in these places at twilight,’ Fred said, squinting this way and that through his yellowing eyelids. He took a walk to the left and then to the right, weaving between the stumps of granite that jutted out of the grass at odd angles. Over the years the elements had caused many of the headstones to sink and slant. ‘Noose-head Ned’s been seen riding about the lanes and the churchyard.’
A musical little chuckle met that. ‘Fred Cook!’ Deborah softly chided. ‘You don’t believe that yarn about ghostly beings.’
‘You might scoff, miss,’ Fred mumbled in agitation. ‘But Lizzie Smith’s seen him not so long ago. Went into hysterics, she did. She was coming back from Rye fair with Billy Critchley. Took her an age to get over it. She says she still ain’t properly over it.’
‘Billy Critchley isn’t the fellow Lizzie is supposed to marry,’ Debbie pointed out. ‘Perhaps she concocted the tale as a diversion when it was found out she’d again been walking out with another fellow.’
Fred’s cheeks turned as colourful as the bruise that spanned his jaw. He too had come under Lizzie Smith’s roving eye. Instinctively he rubbed his chin as he remembered the punch he’d received from Harry Jones who was soon due to marry the little flirt. ‘A few others in the village have seen Noose-head Ned riding about,’ he said earnestly. ‘It’s said he keeps appearing by Pump Cottage ‘n’ you know that’s where he once lived. Folk say he’s trying to go back home. Horrible he is, too, they say, moaning, ‘n’ groaning, ‘n’ looking like he just got dug up.’
‘The smugglers like to put these silly tales about,’ Deborah said as she stood up and dusted her palms together to remove gritty soil. ‘It’s their intention to frighten people to stay indoors so they can go about their night-time activities undisturbed.’
‘Maybe…’ Fred said grudgingly with a peer about. A cloud had covered the horizon, prematurely ending the day. ‘But I don’t reckon it do to tempt fate, ‘specially round the graveyard, or Pump Cottage, ‘cos that’s where Lizzie said he rose up in front of ‘em, wailin’ ‘n’ swinging the rope about his neck.’
‘And what did Billy Critchley have to say about Noose-head Ned?’ Deborah asked, suppressing a smile.
‘He never said nothing. He said he weren’t there. Lizzie accused him of running off and leaving her on her own.’
Deborah ruefully shook her head. ‘Poor Lizzie. She should think herself lucky that Harry Jones still wants to marry her. It seems Billy Critchley has proved himself an unworthy rival.’ With a chuckle she took Fred’s arm and let him assist her over the mounds and hillocks back to the path. A few minutes later the trap had started on the mile-long journey back to Woodville Place.
Chapter Eleven
‘Susanna Davenport was shamelessly matchmaking!
Deborah slipped a glance from beneath a screen of lashes to where the vicar’s wife sat, her auburn head tipped coyly towards Captain Stewart. She was conversing with him whilst darting glances at her sister-in-law, apparently unconcerned by Harriet’s discomfiture. It was common knowledge that Susanna hoped to oust Harriet from her territory by finding her a husband. She had, it was gossiped, been putting her mind to it for the duration of her marriage.
Within a few minutes of Deborah and her mother stepping over the threshold of the vicarage Harriet had cornered them to impart some bad news. Glumly she had said that her sister-in-law was back from Devon too soon. Gerard Davenport, however, had seemed pleased at his wife’s early return and had watched her fondly as she sallied to and fro, declaring she was delighted to have such a gay homecoming.
Presently Harriet was seated at the card table between Squire Pattinson and his wife, and opposite Captain Stewart. Deborah could clearly see the spots of mortified colour on her friend’s cheeks. They were spreading to form a fiery blush as Susanna continued to regale the dragoon with her sister-in-law’s charming domesticity.
‘The hussy is trying too hard! Captain Stewart looks embarrassed!’
That hissed remark came from Julia Woodville, who was sitting next to Deborah on the sofa.
‘I think poor Harriet is suffering more than he is,’ Deborah replied in an angry murmur muffled by her glass. She put her drink down on the table, about to get up and go to intervene. She wasn’t sure if she would be successful, but she could try to turn the conversation before Susanna provoked Harriet into doing or saying something she was sure later to regret. Deborah knew her friend well enough; Harriet would take only so much of Susanna’s baiting before she retaliated.
‘No doubt Mr Chadwicke will be next in her firing line. I noticed Susanna acting girlish around him at supper.’ Julia’s rumbled remark delayed Deborah’s departure from the sofa. ‘I wonder why her husband doesn’t have something to say about her flirting with him. Not that Mr Chadwicke’s given her a scrap of encouragement. I will say that for him.’ A subtle peep at her daughter lingered long enough to gauge a reaction.
Her mother’s comment caused Deborah to sway her blond head sideways to find a pair of tawny eyes watching her…as they had been for most of the evening.
Deborah had the distinct impression that Randolph had guessed the gist of the whispered conversation between her and her mother. As though to prove her right, he strolled away from Sergeant Booth, with whom he’d been stationed, and took a seat next to Harriet at the card table. Immediately he started to chat to her whilst dealing the cards. Deborah shifted backwards on the cushions, determined not to follow him although she knew that, of the two of them, she’d first had the idea to go to Harriet’s aid.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, admiring his air of lazy elegance. He looked wonderfully distinguished in a superbly cut grey tailcoat, yet there was a casualness about him that
made his presence in the vicarage’s small drawing room quite appropriate. Other guests seemed also struck by his magnetism and several pairs of eyes had tracked his movements during the evening.
Moments after Randolph had seated himself Susanna had eagerly transferred her attention to him. Seeing his moment to escape, Captain Stewart declined another game and made his excuses to quit the group. As soon as he was up from the table he made a beeline towards Deborah and her mother.
‘Are you enjoying your posting to Sussex, Captain?’ Julia asked as the fellow sat down close by in a wingchair positioned opposite the sofa.
He smiled, his eyes lingering on Deborah’s perfect features. ‘I am, ma’am, thank you. It is nice to feel so welcomed.’ He took a glance at his host, who was now chatting to his colleague. ‘This is a fine gathering and I’m pleased to have had the opportunity to meet you all this evening. Sergeant Booth appears to be enjoying himself too.’
‘And we are pleased to meet you, sir, and your junior officer.’ Julia tapped at his scarlet sleeve with her fan to emphasise her point. ‘We are particularly pleased to know that you are here to keep those Luckhursts and their ilk under control.’ Julia smoothed her satin lap with fidgeting fingers. ‘They are dreadful rogues. One—the younger and the worst—was trespassing on our land just a short while ago and looking very shifty.’
Captain Stewart’s eyes reluctantly relinquished Deborah’s heart-shaped visage. ‘Did you report the intrusion to the magistrate?’
‘There is no point in doing so, Captain Stewart,’ Deborah said, giving him the opportunity he wanted to again transfer his attention to her. ‘Mr Savidge seems unwilling to challenge the smugglers.’
‘Indeed? What makes you think so, Miss Woodville?’ His steady stare caused colour to highlight Deborah’s sculpted cheekbones. ‘Is there a specific incident to which you refer?’
Deborah hesitated; she wished she’d thought more carefully before she’d spoken. Her mother still did not know that Fred had come by his injuries whilst protecting her from verbal abuse. Neither had Julia any idea that Seth had lain in wait for her, or that she had been lucky to have Randolph’s protection on that occasion. Deborah was acutely aware that this was not the right time for any of it to come out.
