by Candace Camp
He stopped, his breath going out of him in a rush. With a quiet curse, he turned and walked back to the beach. He stood for a long moment, looking out over the narrow waterway to the island. Camilla and her cousin had disappeared into the ruins of the keep. He wondered what had sent them rushing madly over there in the dawn. Had it been a planned excursion? Or an emergency? He had the gnawing feeling that old Jenkins’s suspicions were true, and that young Anthony was involved in smuggling. But apparently Camilla was involved in it, too.
His heart thudded in his chest, making him feel slightly sick. It was absurd that Camilla could be in a smuggling ring. Still, he was learning rapidly that Camilla was a warmhearted creature who would do almost anything to help the ones she loved. And she was not one to count the risks. What she did, she did wholeheartedly. If her beloved cousin needed her…
Benedict’s mouth twisted. Just how much did she love her cousin? What would she do for him? And was it smuggling they were involved in, or something else…something worse? Black emotions swirled within him.
He turned and stalked back toward the house.
* * *
ANTHONY LED CAMILLA through the large room, open to the sky, that had once been the great hall of the keep. The inner walls were down, mere piles of rubble over which they had to climb, and only one of the outer walls was completely intact. They walked across the grassy area and around another pile of rubble. They were sheltered from the wind by the remains of the outer wall as they made their way to what had once been the kitchens of the keep, though little remained now except the massive fireplace. By now Camilla had a good idea where they were going, an idea that was confirmed when Anthony led her straight toward the ruins of the back wall of the kitchens. They skirted a pile of large stone blocks and ducked behind them. A spreading bush grew there, and Anthony pushed aside its branches. He squatted down and crept under and behind the bush. Camilla watched him in exasperation, her hands on her hips.
“Anthony! I’m not crawling around in the cellars. I have gotten too old for it. What do you have down there? Why can’t you just tell me about it?”
“No, you have to see for yourself.” Anthony turned back toward her, pushing aside the branches so that she could enter.
Camilla bent down, looking at the square wooden door set into the ground beneath the bush. The wood was old and weathered, but still thick and sturdy. An iron ring was set into it on one side, and now Anthony curled his hand through the ring and tugged sharply. The door came up, though not easily, its rusty metal hinges squealing.
Camilla had found the door when she was a child, playing in the ruins, and later she had shown it to Anthony. They had often scared themselves silly by climbing down into its dark depths with their lanterns and exploring. The door had been set in the stone floor of the kitchens. Though many of the stones had been dug up and hauled across the water to pave the driveway of Chevington Park, and grass had grown up over much of what had once been the floor, the door down into the cellars had remained, its edges hidden by the grass. Camilla and Anthony had torn the grass away in those long-ago days when they played here, but Camilla would have supposed that the grass had reclaimed it. Instead, the grass had been neatly cut away all around and lay in a pile beside it.
Camilla cast Anthony a suspicious look. “Anthony! Have you been using the cellars for the smuggled brandy?”
“No! I swear—I would never show this to anyone outside the family. I haven’t told a soul about the cellars or this door. But it seemed an excellent place to hide— Well, you will see.”
He was already swinging down into the hole, searching for the rungs of the ladder with his feet. He scrambled down the ladder. “Wait.” His voice came back muffled. “I have a light down here.”
After a moment, light flared into life below the door. Camilla peered down into the hole. Anthony stood at the bottom, holding a lantern in one hand and gazing up at her. Beside him stood a sturdy wooden ladder, obviously not the same worm-eaten relic she and he had ventured down as children.
Camilla sighed. She knew that a woman her age ought to behave with more dignity. But she could not resist the siren lure of the dark mystery below. Hiking up her nightdress and dressing gown, then rolling them at the waist, she anchored them securely with the belt of the dressing gown. With her legs unencumbered to the knee, she crawled backward into the hole, searching with her foot for the first rung of the ladder.
The way down was not as long as she had remembered from her childhood, and soon she was standing on the ground beside her cousin. Anthony grinned at her boyishly and raised his lantern, giving her a better view of the room. They were in the earthen cellar where once the cooks had stored their foodstuffs. It was empty now, except for a few rotting barrels.
Anthony started off toward the low doorway in the far wall, and Camilla followed him, remembering how they used to explore down here, unwinding a spool of yarn behind them, like Theseus in the labyrinth, so that they could find their way back. There was a network of other rooms spreading away from here, some large and some small. Anthony had always claimed that if they searched far enough, they would come upon the dungeons where prisoners had been kept in the Middle Ages. They had never found them, but, then, their nerve had never lasted long enough for them to go very far.
Camilla wondered if Anthony had explored the cellars more thoroughly during the past few years. It seemed like exactly something he would do.
“Don’t tell me you have found your oubliettes and torture chambers,” she said teasingly as they crossed a long, narrow, low-ceilinged room.
“No,” Anthony confessed with a grin. “I’ve tried, though. I am afraid our ancestors were more interested in storing things than in holding prisoners.”
“A boring lot.”
“Yes, weren’t they?”
“Anthony…where are we going?”
“Just a moment. We’re almost there. I couldn’t go very far.”
“What do you mean?”
He entered another room and turned to his right. Another, even lower, door opened into another room. Unlike the rest of the cellars, the room beyond was not dark. A low golden light burned within. Camilla blinked in surprise. Why had Anthony left a light burning here?
Anthony bent over, almost in half, and walked through the doorway, and Camilla ducked down, following him. As she came through the door, she could see the whole small room at a glance. She gasped and stood up too quickly, striking her back on the doorway.
“Anthony!”
A man lay on the floor before them, taking up half the space of the room. He was lying on his back on a blanket spread on the ground, and another blanket lay on top of him, though he had pushed it down so that it covered only his legs. A coat, rolled up, served as a pillow. He was dressed in dark, rough clothing. He was of medium height, with pale skin and light brown, curling hair. His face was flushed, and there were drops of moisture on his forehead and upper lip. His eyes were closed, and he lay still, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths.
Camilla stared at him. Even though Anthony had said that a man’s life was at stake, she had taken his words as exaggeration. She had not been prepared to find a man down here in the cellars, much less one who was obviously quite ill.
“Anthony, who is he? What is he doing here?”
“I don’t know who he is. He is down here because I brought him here. It seemed the safest place. I found him on the beach, you see, and I didn’t dare take him home. This was the only other place that was close, where he could be sheltered from the elements.”
Camilla went forward and dropped down on her knees beside the man. She was no expert on medical matters, but over the years the minor cuts and scrapes and ills that had occurred at Chevington Park had usually fallen to her. Lydia had never had the temperament for treating illness, and since the servants were accustomed to look
ing toward the mistress of the house for treatment, from long years of doing so with Camilla’s grandmother, Camilla had taken on the burden after her grandmother’s death.
She curled her fingers around the man’s wrist. His pulse was tumultuous, and his skin was fiery to the touch. “This man has a high fever, Anthony. You need to take him to the doctor.”
“No. At least, not yet. Please, Camilla, can’t you try to do something for him? Grandmama always said you were good at it.”
“That was with colds and minor fevers and such. What happened to him? Why is there a bandage here?” She pointed to his shoulder, where a white bandage peeked out from beneath his shirt.
“That’s not the only one,” Anthony said grimly. He reached down and unbuttoned the man’s shirt, revealing another white bandage that was wrapped around his rib cage. He pushed up the stranger’s sleeve to show another long strip on his arm. Camilla noticed that there were several other red scratches on his arms and hands, not bad enough to be bandaged.
“Anthony…what happened to him?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” He glanced at her and saw the frown on her forehead. “No, don’t go thinking I was involved in this. I just found him the other day. He was lying on the beach, bleeding. It looks like he was stabbed to me. All these scratches and everything. And the one on his chest is long and shallow, as though someone had tried to stick a knife in him, and it hit the bone and slid along it.”
“Please.” Camilla swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat at Anthony’s description of his wound.
“Oh. Sorry. I forget sometimes that you are a female.”
Camilla shot him a darkling glance. “Why, thank you.”
“You know what I mean. You’ve always been a real game ’un.” He hunkered down on the other side of the wounded man. “I found him near the Point, where there are so many jumbles of rocks. You know?”
Camilla nodded her understanding.
“He was hiding back in some rocks. I only noticed him because Bumper was with me, and he went nosing over there. I went to see what interested him so, and there was this chap. He was unconscious, just lying there with a pistol beside him. I picked it up, and it smelled of gunpowder, so he had obviously fired it. And he had just as clearly been cut up. I splashed a little water on him, and finally he came round.”
“Then he hasn’t been like this the whole time? He was conscious for a while?”
“Yes. He didn’t have the fever when I found him. He had just passed out from losing so much blood. When he saw me, he looked scared, but I assured him that I wanted to help him. He saw I meant him no harm. He told me that he had been attacked. Someone had been hiding amongst the rocks and jumped out at him. He said they struggled, but he managed to pull out his gun, and the fellow took off. He fired it at him, but he didn’t think he hit him. I looked around a bit, and I could not see a trail of blood, so I think he was right.”
“Anthony! You talk so lightly of such things.”
Her young cousin shrugged, and suddenly Camilla was aware of how little he was still a boy. Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, he had changed into a man, with a man’s frame and a face that had seen something of life. She realized all over again how foolish it was of her grandfather to keep him shut up here at Chevington Park.
“Well, I’ve seen a few cuts before, and once Jem’s cousin— Well, never mind about that. The thing is, I had to do something to help the fellow. At first I couldn’t think where to take him, but then I remembered the keep and the cellars, and I thought they would be an excellent place to hide him.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t take him to the doctor. Or back home. Even Aunt Beryl wouldn’t turn away an injured man. And the authorities should know about his being attacked. They could be out looking for the man who tried to murder him. You should have gone to the magistrate. In fact, we ought still to go to him.”
“John Hamersmith?” Anthony let out a brief, contemptuous bark of laughter. “Do you honestly think he would be able to deal with a murderer running loose about the countryside? You know he always just ran to Grandpapa whenever he had a real problem. And he’s never had to deal with something like attempted murder. Why, the biggest thing that’s happened here was Boly Baker stealing Mrs. Runford’s hen.”
Camilla sighed. She knew that that was true. Mr. Hamersmith was a ditherer, and she, for one, would not want to place her own life in his hands. “No, I guess you are right.”
“I was afraid that if this man’s attacker knew that he was still alive and around here somewhere, he would try to finish the job. It would be better if I kept him secret until he was well again.”
“But what…what if he dies?” Camilla asked quietly.
He stared at her for a moment. “I—I don’t know. I guess then we would have to tell someone. The magistrate, I suppose. But he won’t die, Milla. You won’t let him.”
“You have a touching faith in me,” Camilla told him dryly. “So why didn’t you bring me down here to help him when you found him?”
“For one thing, I knew you would make a great fuss about it, just like this,” he retorted. “Besides, at the time, he wasn’t feverish. He even managed to walk most of the way here with my help. I thought if I bandaged his wounds and let him rest, he would be all right. But I guess the effort of getting here was too much for him. I should have gone back and gotten a horse and put him on it, but I didn’t want to leave him, you see. I thought that his attacker might decide to come back in the daylight and finish him off. But he lost consciousness on me before I got him across the land bridge to the island, and I had to carry him over on my back. He woke up once when I was tending to him, but he was obviously feeling quite bad. Then, the next time I came, he had this fever. I’m afraid that he developed an infection. When I got here this morning, I realized I was going to have to have your help.”
Camilla looked at the wounded man doubtfully. “I will try. But I’m not sure I can do anything for him.”
She opened the bag of supplies and looked through it. She pulled out a vial of dark brown liquid. “Do you have any water?”
In answer, Anthony pulled out a jug from the corner of the room and opened a box to take out a glass. Camilla poured a little water into the glass and added a few drops of the brown liquid from the vial, then swirled it around.
“All right. Now we need to get this down him. You will have to help me.”
Anthony got behind the man and lifted his head and shoulders, holding him propped against him. Camilla lifted the glass to the stranger’s lips and tilted it, saying, “Drink.”
The man did as she said. Camilla wasn’t sure if he was responding to her command or simply reacting to the glass being placed at his lips. He grimaced at the bitter taste of the mixture, however, and turned his head away.
“He has to drink it,” Camilla told Anthony. “It’s for his fever. It will help to bring it down.”
“What is it?” Anthony cast an uncertain look at the glass. “It looks pretty ghastly.”
“A decoction of feverfew and some other herbs. It was one of Grandmama’s recipes, and I made some for Mrs. Horton last time I was here. She said it did wonders for her.”
“All right. I’ll hold his head. You pour it in.”
It was not an easy task, but after several efforts—and with a good bit of the liquid spilled on the man’s shirt—they managed to get most of it down him. Then Camilla made a paste of herbs and water. She unwrapped the bandages to reveal two red, puckered wounds. As gently as she could, she pressed the paste against them and rebandaged him.
As she worked, she and Anthony talked. “Has he said nothing else?” she asked.
“Very little. I haven’t been here the whole time, obviously. You know how suspicious Purdle and Jenkins are. They are always watching me, sure I’m
about to fall into some sort of mischief. And Aunt Beryl’s almost as bad, wanting an explanation each time I don’t come down for dinner. Besides, I was afraid his attacker might be lurking about, watching, and would notice if I spent much time here. So after I bandaged him, I left him a jug of water and some bread and cheese I’d brought over from the Park. I didn’t see him again until the next morning. He woke up then, but he was clearly feeling rather rough, and I didn’t want to press him. He seemed wary about answering my questions. I could tell he didn’t completely trust me.”
“After you had saved his life?”
He shrugged. “He has a right to be suspicious. After all, someone did ambush him. He doesn’t know but what I saved him only for purposes of my own. I asked him what his name was, but he said that it was better I didn’t know.”
Camilla shook her head as she carefully applied the herbal paste to his wounds. “This is most mysterious. Anthony, I cannot help but think that you are involved in something you should not be. I wish we had someone we could turn to.”
Anthony nodded. “I do, too. I wanted to tell Grandpapa, but he is far too sick. I wouldn’t tell that dolt Cousin Harold anything. And Cousin Bertram would probably just say, ‘Oh, my,’ and disapprove of how the bandage spoils the line of the shirt.”
Camilla smiled. “That is probably true.” She paused, then began, “What about—”
“No! I am not going to that Benedict chap with this!” Anthony burst out. “He can’t be trusted with it. Why, we don’t even know his last name.”
“But if he really is a customs agent, as you said, he would know someone in authority, perhaps, someone who could do something about this.”
“More likely, he’d turn us all in. For all I know, he is the one who stabbed this man.”
“Anthony!” Camilla whirled to stare at him, her eyes wide with shock. “No! How can you say such a thing?”
“Very easily. We know nothing about him. Perhaps that is why he was lurking about that night you met him. He was waiting to ambush this man. You just gave him a better place to start from when you opened our house to him.”
