‘Oh, very well, young man. But I must have your word of honour you will not go on the beach alone to look for your dog.’
‘I already promised Papa, and I don’t break by word. You can trust me.’
Sarah bent to kiss him, flinching as her dress rubbed her injured shoulders. ‘Sally, make sure Jack is at the stables; do not send Edward on alone, take him there yourself.’
Sarah checked her appearance, smoothed her hair and with Beth walking sedately behind, headed downstairs to await her summons to the earl’s sanctum. Although Lord Fitzwilliam had not proved to be too high in the instep she had decided it would be politic to have her maid with her. An elderly gentleman might not wish to converse with a young woman who was unattended.
***
Edward walked ahead of Sally but remained within arm’s reach as he had promised. They were halfway down the long flagged path when a house- maid hurried up. ‘Sally, Mrs Mason has asked you to attend her directly.’
Sally stopped, undecided. She had promised Mrs Mayhew not to allow Edward to walk alone but she could not ignore a summons from such an august body as the housekeeper.
‘Can I help, Sally? You seem bothered by something?’
‘Oh, Mr Symonds you gave me such a start, coming out from behind the hedge like that.’
‘Good day, sir, I’m going to the stables to help look for my dog, but now Sally has to go and see Mrs Mason.’
Mr Symonds smiled. ‘I have just seen Jack on the downs, Master Edward. Shall I take you to him?’
‘Oh, yes please, sir. That would be splendid!’ Sally was not so sure. There was something about the swarthy manservant that made her skin crawl.
‘There, Sally; you can go to Mrs Mason and I can find Jack. Mama won’t mind me going with Mr Symonds.’
‘Yes, Master Edward.’
Symonds gave her no choice, still smiling, he grasped Edward’s willing hand and disappeared back through the gap in a hedge from which he had made such an unexpected appearance minutes before.
Sally shrugged. If Master Edward was content to go, she supposed there was no harm done. She retraced her steps to the house and went to find out why the housekeeper had sent for her so urgently.
***
As the side door closed behind her three mud-spattered riders galloped into the stable yard.
Oliver vaulted from the saddle and flung the reins across to Jenkins, who no doubt, was profoundly grateful to be back on terra firma. Riding had never been a favourite of his, and riding vente a` terre for six hours must have been a living nightmare. Oliver attempted to brush the worst of the travel grime from his clothes and satisfied he was clean enough to pass muster, set off for the house.
He did not run, it was not his object to draw attention to himself, but his long strides got him to the door before Jenkins had covered half the distance. He didn’t pause to knock but just walked in.
He took the stairs two at a time. Meeting Peters and hearing about the accident had added urgency to his mad gallop. He would not be happy until he saw Sarah and Edward, safe and well, with his own eyes.
He burst into their shared rooms, startling the two chambermaids. ‘Where are Mrs Mayhew and Master Edward?’ His barked question further flustered the girls.
‘I don’t know where Mrs Mayhew has gone but Master Edward went to the stables to see Jack, sir.’
Oliver scowled. The two girls retreated. ‘How long ago did Master Edward leave?’
‘A short while only, sir. We passed the nursemaid and Master Edward on our way up.’ She smiled nervously. ‘They were on the back stairs, sir.’
‘Thank you, you have been most helpful.’
Where was Sarah? Should he go and look for her or go back to the stables to find Edward first? He decided Edward must be his priority. As he turned to leave he heard the door in the dressing-room open and someone hurry in. Sally appeared, her face tearstained.
‘Oh, Captain, thank God you’re back!’
‘What is it, Sally, calm yourself and tell me, at once.’
‘Madam told me to stay with Master Edward all the time; she was worried after the accident yesterday and the dog turning nasty.’
‘Where’s Master Edward, Sally?’
‘That’s what I was coming here to tell Mrs Mayhew. A girl told me to go at once to see Mrs Mason but when I got there I wasn’t expected at all. But that Mr Symonds has taken Master Edward away with him.’
‘God’s teeth! The devil he did!’ Oliver ran from the room and pounded back downstairs. This was the worst possible news. He met Jenkins and Peters waiting on the steps. ‘Symonds has Edward. Let’s pray we find them in time.’
He raced back to the stables hoping to pick up the trail there. Billy said he had seen the pair heading for the beach about half an hour before. Peters held out his master’s sword belt and Oliver buckled it on. He turned and shouting for Billy and Ned to follow him ran, full stretch, towards the sea.
***
Sarah had been enjoying her time with Lord Fitzwilliam. He was a lively conversationalist and entertained her with amusing anecdotes from his youth. She spent the requisite fifteen minutes and then politely rose, indicating he should remain seated. She could not bear to see him struggle with his sticks and his valet was, for some reason, nowhere to be seen.
‘I will bid you good day, my lord. Thank you for your time. I have enjoyed my visit immensely.’
He chuckled, a picture of benign amiability. ‘Come again, my dear Mrs Mayhew. And next time make sure that scamp of a son accompanies you. Young Edward has been very remiss. He has not been to see me today. There are still many things he needs to be instructed in.’
Sarah curtsied. ‘I will make certain he attends you tomorrow, Lord Fitzwilliam.’
As they were walking along one of the interminable corridors upstairs, she stopped and glanced from the window. Something had attracted her attention; she was not sure what it was. She asked Beth to push up the window so she could have a better view. She leant out and her heart plummeted. What she had seen was Oliver running as though his life depended on it, his sword at his side, closely followed by Jenkins and Peters, a rifles in hands, and two grooms carrying pitchforks.
The spectacle would have been ridiculous was it not for the look of desperation on Oliver’s face. What was going on? Where were they all running to? She looked across the beach, shading her eyes from the blinding sun. For a moment she could see nothing out of the ordinary. Then, in the distance, she saw the twisted arms of the wreck and running away from it a tiny figure in black. This could only be one person, Symonds, Lord Fitzwilliam’s manservant.
Chapter Twenty-one
‘Mr Symonds, I can’t see Jack on the Downs, shall we call out to him?’
‘No, Master Edward; I expect he is too far away to hear.’ Mr Symonds started to lead him towards the beach. ‘The tide is on the way out; would you like to explore the old wreck with me?’
‘Yes, please, I would. Mama only said I mustn’t go on my own. She won’t mind me going out with you.’ Edward smiled up artlessly. ‘I’ve wanted to look at it ever since I got here last week.’ He bounced along beside the valet quite forgetting his original quest for Jack and his dog.
The empty sands stretched invitingly, the retreating sea invisible over the horizon. The black twisted remains of the sunken ship seemed a long way away. Edward tried to stop but the hold on his arm tightened and he found himself propelled across the beach. ‘You’re going too fast, sir, I can hardly keep up.’
Symonds slackened his pace. ‘I apologize, Master Edward, I was forgetting you have shorter legs than me. I am as keen to see the wreck as you are; it is years since I came out to look at it myself. I remember the night it went down; would you like me to tell you about it?’ Edward forgot his qualms in his eagerness to hear the gruesome s
tory.
It took several minutes brisk walking to reach their objective and the shoreline had shrunk to a smudge, barely discernible in the heat haze.
‘Up you come, Master Edward. Hold my hand, the weed makes it slippery to climb.’ Mr Symonds gave him no chance to pull back. He picked him up and pushed him, bodily, up the side, giving Edward no choice. He either scrambled up the remaining few feet or tumbled back to the wet sand.
Once on board Edward peered nervously into the black hole, which was all that remained. Now he was here, he wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea. ‘It’s very dark down there, Mr Symonds. I’m not sure I want to explore inside.’ He could hear the seawater, trapped below, slopping back and forth and unpleasant scuttling noises. He regretted his impulsive decision.
Mr Symonds laughed heartily, the noise sounding false. ‘Come along, Master Edward, we might find some treasure down there.’ All he could see were twisted, rotting crossbeams and nasty, dark, rank smelling water. His desire to investigate vanished and he attempted to step away but found his passage blocked. He stumbled and cried out as a large hand shoved him forward and he fell into the bowels of the wreck.
He screamed as he hit the freezing water, thinking he was going to disappear under its black surface. But the water was only a few inches deep. Bruised and terrified he staggered to his feet, his thin muslin shirt and breeches soaked. He looked up, still not quite believing what had happened, expecting see Mr Symonds climbing down to assist him.
What he saw caused him to whimper in terror. The man he had thought of as a friend was staring down at him with an expression of such malevolence, Edward could not fail to recognise it.
‘Well, well! Now we have you! The tide has turned and in a short while it will be all over for you, my boy. My master can die happy knowing his lands and title will go to a true Englishman and not a little blackamoor.’
Edward heard his abductor climbing back onto the sand and realized it was pointless to call out. He was alone and no one knew where he was. He had been told not to go near the wreck and he had given his word. Was God punishing him for his disobedience? How long did he have before the sea poured in and filled his prison? He stared hopelessly up at the only way out but knew the sun filled hole was too far away for him to reach.
A small amount of sun light filtered in through the gaps in the planks and gave him just enough illumination to look around for something to climb on, but all the walls were slippery with weed. He sat down in the water and his sobs echoed forlornly around the abandoned ship.
***
Oliver saw on the horizon a spidery figure scrambling from the wreck and increased his pace. He heard pounding paws behind him and Rags shot past, his teeth bared, and his hackles up, a fearsome snarl clearly audible. The dog reached the sand before him and raced off, his intention clear: Symonds was his quarry. ‘Christ save us, the tide has turned,’ Oliver gasped. ‘I’ll not get there in time.’ He tore of his sword belt, jacket and boots and began a last desperate race against the sea.
‘What about Symonds?’ Jenkins called after him.
‘Kill him.’ Oliver replied.
‘My pleasure, sir.’ Jenkins had his rifle loaded and ready in seconds. He raised a gun to shoulder, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The two grooms watched in awe as the distant figure fell forward onto the sand, the ball killing him instantly.
Rags, seeing the man drop, changed direction and began to follow Oliver out to the wreck. His paws were splashing rhythmically in the rising water as he raced. Oliver kept his eyes firmly on the wreck, praying he would reach it in time. The incoming tide was lapping at his ankles and running was becoming more difficult. He reckoned he had five minutes to reach it, and find Edward, before the full force of the waves engulfed them.
He was near enough to shout. ‘Edward, I’m coming, hang on lad, I’ll have you out in a moment.’ Was the too late? Had Symonds killed the child before he ran away? The water was at his knees and climbing rapidly. With a last desperate surge he reached the slippery black sides of the ship and started to climb, calling out as he did so. ‘Edward? Edward, son, answer me if you can.’ No answer, only the ominous gurgling of the incoming water as it gushed through the gaps in the beams began to fill up the boat.
Oliver flung himself over the edge and into the darkness. For a moment he could see nothing then his eyes adjusted and he saw Edward’s terrified face staring at him, the sea already up to his shoulders. With one scoop he snatched him up and held him above the water. ‘Edward, Papa is here now, it’s going to be all right. Trust me.’ He felt the boy’s arms link, in a vice like grip, around his neck and thanked God he had not been too late.
The water was up to his chest. He had to get both of them out of the hold if they were to have any chance of survival. In his determination to reach Edward he had jumped down without checking he was going to be able to get out again. Was this to be a fatal error? His only chance was to swim up as the level rose and pray he could get them out of the hole before the currents created by the water sucked them both back down to their deaths. He shifted his grip on Edward and used his free arm to keep their heads above water.
The sea lifted him and his kicked frantically. He could feel the terrifying force of the water as it raged into the confined space and for an instant feared he would not be strong enough. Then, like a cork, they were shot out of the hole and into the open sea. Where ten minutes before there had been sand, now all that stretched in any direction was water.
The wreck had vanished under the water. He held Edward’s face above the waves and looked around, he couldn’t see the beach. He had no idea which way to swim and his ability to keep them afloat was waning.
Then he felt something nudge his side and saw the shaggy face of Rags appear beside them. The dog swam strongly ahead and Oliver followed. Animals had an instinct for survival and he had to trust that. He had nothing else.
Then he felt a surge of power from behind and suddenly he and Edward were being carried along by the racing water. All he had to do was keep their heads clear and allow the sea to do the rest. Once they had broken free from the dangerous eddies surrounding the wreck the power of the incoming tide was carrying them to shore.
Minutes later he felt his feet touch the sand and bracing himself he started to wade through the water. He raised his head and could see the dunes a few hundred yards ahead. He knew he would have to run to try and beat the sea. If it overtook them again he wouldn’t have the strength to keep afloat. With his precious burden clasped to his chest he raced for safety.
Faintly he thought he could hear voices calling, but all his remaining strength and concentration was focused on this final effort. His bare feet hit the dry sand and he was winning. Then the sand became dry underfoot — he was safe. They were both safe. He collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as he dragged air into his oxygen-starved lungs.
‘Edward, you’re safe now,’ he croaked and slid the boy down to stand on his own feet. The boy’s body flopped from his grasp and lay, apparently lifeless, on the sand. Oliver reacted by instinct. He threw the limp form over a raised knee and began to pound on his back, his fists moving from buttocks to neck and up again. Water gushed from Edward’s gaping mouth but still he didn’t move.
Once, Oliver had seen a ship’s surgeon breathe life back into a sailor who had been plucked half-dead from the sea. Could he possibly do the same? Desperately he flipped Edward over and laid him on the sand. Then he bent forward and covered the boy’s mouth with his own blowing air into it. Nothing happened, Oliver tried again and again and he thought he felt faint movement of the boy’s chest, then nothing. He sat back, snatching Edward up to cradle him, unconcerned that Jenkins and the grooms could see the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He had failed. This precious child had died.
‘Sir, Captain, sir, I swear the lad’s breathing. Try him over your knee again.
Let the water come out.’ Jenkins words pierced through his misery and he did as suggested. He pummelled the boy for a second, futile, time and miraculously the tiny shoulders convulsed and water spewed from Edward’s mouth and he coughed and drew a ragged, gasping breath of life-giving air.
Gently, Oliver righted the child and stroked his pallid cheeks. ‘Thank God, Edward, you’ve come back to us.’ He tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t respond. He felt a steadying arm under his elbow and regained his feet. His son was breathing, but unconscious, in his arms. ‘Run back, Billy, and raise the alarm. Peters go with him. Arrange for someone to fetch the doctor and then ask Mason to tell Mrs Mayhew what’s happened.’
Oliver was grateful for the suns healing warmth and slowly his leaden limbs began to respond to his bidding more willingly. He recalled Rags had been swimming with him. ‘Jenkins, send someone out to look for the dog. He was out there with us; if it was not for him, I doubt I would have had this sense to swim away from the wreck. Edward and I owe our lives to that dog.’
‘I will organise a search party as soon as we get you both back, sir.’
Oliver, from being frozen to the marrow, now felt the sweat trickling down his forehead. He blinked and shook his head. He feared if he removed an arm to wipe his face, he would drop the boy. His strength was almost gone.
He had ridden the fifty miles from London hard, run a mile or two and swum another, it was no wonder he was beginning to flag. Willing hands finally removed the child from his arms and, his part played, he fell forward, unconscious, onto the flagstones.
***
Sarah and Beth expertly stripped Edward and chafed his limbs with red flannel. The bed, in spite of the heat outside, had been warmed by hastily heated bricks. Sarah held her sons limp hand and called his name. ‘Edward, darling, wake up. You are safe now, your Papa saved you.’ The small cold hand moved slightly and the pale eyelids flickered open. ‘Where’s Rags? I want him, please.’
A Suitable Husband Page 19
