by Grace Elliot
"Then try again."
"It's too late."
"Oh, do stop talking in riddles."
Huntley sighed, duty heavy on his shoulders. "Bennett says the men are agitating for Hope's arrest. Only the arrest of the leaders will placate them. Truly, if you care for Hope, find out who finances that gang."
Lady Ryevale grew pale. “I…I…cant.” She dropped her gaze, unable to look her son in the face.
“Why not?”
“Because,” Lady Ryevale looked up sharply. “Because, Miss Tyler trusts me.”
“Cooper died. And unless I get answers, she will hang.” Why, oh why, was he the only person trying to help?
“ I’m so sorry Mr Cooper's dead, but Hope didn’t shoot him.”
“I know that, but smuggling is a serious offence. Miss Tyler knew that when she got into the boat that night.”
“Oh, but George, the hardship that girl has endured—it’s heartbreaking.”
“She spun you a story and you fell for it. Mother, you are too softhearted.”
Huntley felt wretched as his mother withered. His nails bit into his palm and he felt weary and helpless. This was his fault. “I’m sorry, Mother. Miss Tyler should never have been brought here. It was wrong of me.”
“Wrong? She would have died in jail had it not been for you.”
Huntley glowered at the starched tablecloth as if it was the most hateful thing in the world. “This has distressed you unnecessarily…”
But to Huntley’s surprise, his mother's face brightened.
“George, I have a solution.”
“Yes?” He elected to humor his mother.
“Running the house and the estate is such a drain, and with Dickens not getting any younger…”
“I shall have another word with Charles.”
“No dear, that isn’t what I meant. Hope reads well and she's quick-witted…”
“No! No, I see where you are going Mother, and it’s out of the question. Hope is a felon."
"You are the senior officer and haven't charged her yet."
"A mere oversight."
"Did you actually catch her with contraband?"
"No."
"So she could have just gone for a boat ride that night?"
"Mother, you are being ridiculous."
"But if she stayed out of trouble? What if I offered her a position?"
"No! It's out of the question.”
“Not even to help me?”
“Miss Tyler cannot remain here."
A vein ticked on Huntley’s forehead; with Bennett’s accusation of his attraction to Hope ringing in his head, this was unthinkable!
“Hear me out, George. She’s had a harsh life. She needs help, not punishment. If I offered her a position she could send money home to her family. Dilemma solved.” His mother was not a woman easily deterred.
“Out of the question.”
“Perhaps even train her as my secretary…”
“What! Are you insane? Have you any idea how that reflects on me?”
Lady Ryevale crumpled," I don’t ask much of my boys. Goodness knows you have your own lives to live. But just this once, I ask this one thing and you refuse.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I chose my words poorly, but it just can’t be.”
Just don’t let her start crying, Huntley prayed, as he stood and stiffly patted her shoulder. She stared up at him with wide, disappointed eyes and he felt uncomfortable with what he saw.
“I sometimes wonder if you've lost sight of why you joined the Navy—to do right—to set an example, but now you would hang a young woman to protect your pride. You never used to be like this—once you would have stood up for what you thought…no matter the cost.”
“Mother…”
“I had no idea you could be so mean-spirited…”
“Mother,” Huntley squatted down and reached for her hand. “You mistake my intentions. I'm not going to let Hope swing—last night I had a battle royal with Bennett over just this point. I think as you do, that Hope is not to blame, but poverty drove her to it. As soon as she can walk, I’m taking Miss Tyler back to the Island, back home."
Pride shone from her eyes. "That's my boy. I knew you had a soft spot for her."
Huntley groaned and shook his head, wondering if there was anyone who hadn’t misunderstood his motivation for helping Miss Tyler.
Chapter Five
On an overcast March morning with the tide on the rise, two figures made their way down to the sea. The taller of the two, a man in naval uniform, strode on ahead; his companion, a slight woman, walked with the aid of a crutch and limped some distance behind.
Captain Huntley reached the private jetty and turned to watch Miss Tyler's progress. He drummed his fingers against the railing. Impatience was not his problem, but the urge to help Hope as if she were a gentlewoman. But to offer her his arm was unthinkable. If word got back to his men, his credibility would be destroyed. So instead, Huntley set to inspecting the twelve-foot skiff riding lightly in the water.
The boat dipped beneath his weight as he jumped aboard, keeping his balance with ease. He let out a breath, happy to be back on the water. Huntley glanced up; even at a distance Hope looked so pale that it made his heart ache. After a month of good food she was still painfully thin, her face all shadows and angles, with hollow cheekbones and a pointed chin. Miss Tyler puzzled Huntley; scrawny as a stray dog and yet she alone had the ability to make his pulse race.
He shook his head and fell back to checking the ropes and tackle. Some minutes later, he felt eyes on him and looked up to see Miss Tyler, watching warily from the jetty. It occurred to him that having so recently been an invalid, even this short walk had stretched her endurance and he felt hollow inside. Huntley stared. Not even the borrowed dress and old woollen shawl could detract from her lively green eyes. With her hair blowing in the wind and the defiant tilt of her chin, she seemed the essence of a free spirit. His breath caught.
Hope nodded down at the boat. "I'll need help."
"Pass the crutch."
Stowing it in the bottom of the skiff, he held out a hand to Miss Tyler. She shuffled to the edge of the jetty. He saw her problem, to step into the boat meant putting weight on the injured ankle.
"Place a hand on each of my shoulders."
Tight-lipped, she did as instructed.
Reaching up, his hands closed about her waist—such a tiny waist, lithe as a willow. Beneath his touch she felt so vital and alive, like a force of nature in human form. She leaned over the water and he swung her aboard. Her hair brushed his cheek and an agony of desire played across his skin. He caught her scent, a heady mix of fresh air and salt, and he swallowed hard.
She weighed no more than a cat and gently he set her down. They stood in each others arms, neither letting go, on the pretext of keeping their balance. Lost in the opal depths of her eyes, like staring into a clear sea on a sunny day, he felt her tremble and her hands slid away from his shoulders.
"I'm fine now, thank you."
As if suddenly finding himself holding hot coals, Huntley's hands flew away from her waist.
"Sit out of the way."
She shuffled along the hull and sat forward of the mast. Huntley cast off, and pushed the boat away from the jetty. Seated at the oars, he rowed away from the shallows into deeper water. Then Huntley set the mainsail and let it to catch the wind. With a satisfying thud, the canvas ballooned and the skiff skipped and jumped forward.
The bow sliced smoothly through the water, the deck bobbing and bucking. It felt good to be at sea once more and Huntley allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. They followed the coastline towards Sandehope and then picked up the main channel. From there it was a matter of bearing southeast across the Solent to the Isle of Wight.
"Thank you."
Absorbed by the wind direction, Captain Huntley had almost forgotten his passenger. "What's that?"
"You got into trouble for helping me and I wanted to thank you."<
br />
Huntley's heart pounded against his ribs; really, her tilted eyes were as changeable as the sea—one moment translucent green, the next dark as a stormy sky.
"We're not so different, you and I."
Huntley narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn’t say that."
"We both stand up for what we believe."
"With me on the right side of the law and you on the wrong."
She seemed not to hear. “I couldn’t sit and do nothing while my family starve, and you can’t bear injustice—even if that means breaking rules.”
The swell increased, tugging at the tiller. The wind changed direction, causing the boom to snap about. By the time Huntley corrected their course, Miss Tyler seemed to have no further wish for conversation and sat with her head tipped back savoring the breeze.
With her attention elsewhere, Huntley studied Miss Tyler. She swayed from the hips, riding the waves like a true sailor. With eyes closed and parted lips, her tongue darted out to taste the salt water spray—a creature in her element. It occurred to Huntley that whereas some women have a natural seat on a horse, Hope was at home on the sea. The thought brought a lump to his throat.
Away from the shelter of land, the sea breeze grew stronger. His mood lifted. Huntley loved the freedom of the surging sea and racing wind, only there did he feel fully alive. Nothing else stirred his blood in quite the same way—that was until he met Hope Tyler. He grimaced.
But his attention soon wandered back as she stared across the sea. Her hair in thick tendrils down her neck and around her shoulders—so vibrant and alive. Huntley shook his head, perhaps Bennett was right and he was blind to reason. But whatever the truth, he hadn’t the appetite to snuff out such a life. And so here they were—and he was glad. Except that his soul grew heavy, because to justify her release, he'd had to set spies on Miss Tyler.
Huntley studied the sky which was watery shades of grey. He frowned. Clouds blanketed the sun, growing thicker by the minute as the weather closed in. A lone seagull bucked and swooped, making for land. Out of nowhere a rain squall appeared, a curtain of shimmering droplets bright in the air, then just as suddenly it stopped. Huntley worked to recapture the breeze. Glancing around, he noticed Hope staring at the pennant like a seasoned sailor. He smiled, she reminded him of himself.
"Halfway there." He called out, for no reason.
Behind them the tree covered hills of the mainland had become an indistinct smudge, while some distance ahead, chalky cliffs rose out of mist. Huntley stirred uneasily. With each passing minute the Island grew less distinct as fog rolled off the island. They were sailing into a bank of mist, a steadily thickening veil over the land.
"Over there." Hope pointed toward the distant ruin of St Helens church, the whitewashed bell tower still visible on the cliff top. Huntley nodded and adjusted their course.
The mist thickened to fog. Such sea mists were notorious around the island. Nothing could predict them, and they claimed many an unwary ship, smashed to pieces on the rocks—the Islanders only too happy to salvage whatever harvest the sea brought. He squinted, looking for landmarks as even St Helen's tower disappeared. Fear squeezed his heart. The coast hereabouts shelved out for miles, the flats and shallows notoriously treacherous, it took special knowledge to navigate them blind. Knowledge he didn’t have.
"Damn." He muttered. "We'll have to turnabout."
Hope's disembodied voice penetrated the mist. "I can see us safely in."
"What?"
"Tis no great matter for me to see us into harbor."
"Ah!" His laugh echoed in the fog. "I forgot you navigate these waters after dark." The timbre of the sea changed as waves rolled across concealed shallows.
"Do you want my help, or not?"
Huntley weighed the options. The Excise men still wanted to charge Miss Tyler, this was her one and only chance to get away. Then came the sound of shingle close to hand, rolling along the shoreline and he made up his mind. A squall caught the sail, tilting the skiff to an alarming angle. Huntley pulled the boom around to settle the shifting craft.
"Do it." And added for his own benefit. "I'm as eager to be rid of you, as you are to be gone."
"Then again, we are of one mind." The boat rocked as Hope slid along the hull, a ghost materialising by his side. "Give me the tiller. And when we land, I go on alone."
Huntley caught the flash of sea-green eyes and an iron band tightened around his chest. "No. We agreed conditions. You are still in my custody."
He wondered if she was thinking she could not outrun him, and it saddened him, that she had not agreed out of honor.
"Very well."
Hope tipped her head toward the water, listening. As he watched, she scanned the waves for hidden signs, and she altered course an inch at a time as if she was reading the sea like a map. The sound of breaking waves grew louder. He gripped the side of the boat, but Hope seemed perfectly calm.
Feeling suddenly foolish Huntley crossed his arms. Clearly, his help was redundant so he settled back to watch. But if her physical appearance stirred Huntley's interest, her command of the sea sent heat surging through his blood. Here was a woman undaunted by the elements and so completely unafraid that Huntley felt an unaccustomed thrill of attraction. As a remedy, he decided to alienate Hope.
“I’m curious what sort of irresponsible father permits his daughter to run with smugglers.”
The triumph of his cutting remark melted away as she smiled sadly.
"A good man, whose heart was broken," she whispered. "I am not proud of what I do, but it puts bread on the table. Not everyone can afford your lofty morals."
Scowling, Huntley peered into the fog trying to gauge the wind direction. It crossed his mind to question the sanity of being alone with a known felon; she could hit him with an oar and push him overboard and no one would be the wiser.
"Damned fog is so thick, we could be sailing off the edge of the world."
"I shall get us safely in."
Indeed, as if by an unearthly power, she read the ripples on the tide, adjusting their course for no reason that Huntley could divine.
"Where are you heading?"
"The harbor."
Huntley hesitated. "Would it not be safer to ditch on a beach?"
"Trust me."
He snorted. "Clever."
"I beg your pardon?"
"By landing openly in the harbor, the locals will see my uniform."
"So?"
"And so word will get out and contraband will be hidden faster than you can say knife."
"What contraband?"
Huntley chuckled at Miss Tyler's sharpness.
The fog grew thicker still, licking his skin and weighting his eyelashes. Even the sound of the waves was distorted, muffled echoes which made no sense. Then he saw it—a crest of white foam running parallel to the starboard bow.
"We're entering the channel now."
He glanced at his Hope with renewed respect. Then it hit him like a punch to the stomach—since when had she become 'his Hope'?
Close to land the wind eased. It took skill to find the twisting channel and avoid the sandstone ledges. Seemingly unconcerned, Hope trailed her hand in the water. She had nerve, Huntley gave her that—an unsettling mix of boldness and honor. Perhaps she was right, they weren’t so different, she and him—just on their different sides of the law.
*****
The boat drifted into a narrow channel with land rearing up on either side. Hope sat upright now, letting the incoming tide sweep the skiff along as they emerged into a secluded body of water. Ahead, some half-dozen fishing boats sat at anchor in a natural harbor surrounded by hills.
Huntley memorised the landmarks—the water-powered mill and pretty stuccoed cottage, a floating goose house and low arched bridge—as Hope guided their craft to the quay. With barely a bump, the skiff drew alongside and Huntley jumped ashore to secure the boat. This time, when Huntley reached out for Hope, he was ready for the shock of her slender body pressed
against his. With a dry mouth he set her down on the path and stepped away.
"Which way now?"
"Over there." She gestured to the woods.
"Lead on."
Leaning heavily on her crutch, Hope set off down a narrow track. Huntley followed, taking careful note of their route. The trouble was, at this slow pace there was little to distract him from her slender figure and swaying hips. With a jolt of lust, he ached to pull her against him and taste her skin, to remove that ridiculous dress and press her body against his. He swallowed hard, fighting to regain his composure. These were not the thoughts of an officer in a position of trust. He conjured up an image of Bennett saying 'I told you so', and the heat cooled in his belly. He forced himself to breathe more steadily.
"How far is it?"
"Not very. A five, maybe ten, minute walk."
They continued in silence, Huntley trying hard to ignore Miss Tyler's pert derriere and the growing warmth in his groin, as they followed the path which peeled off into the woods. Barely a quarter-mile inland and the thick stands of ash, hazel and oak veiled the sea from view. Under other circumstances it would have been a pleasant walk with primroses peeking through leaf mulch and the scent of wild garlic. As they trekked uphill the gradient grew steeper.
"Do you need a rest?"
Hope shook her head. "No. Do you?"
"I was thinking of your ankle, this is not an easy walk."
"I'm fine, thank you."
Huntley scowled at her stubbornness. Another ten minutes slow walk and the ground levelled out. Higher now and through the thinning trees, Huntley caught glimpses of the misty sea far below. Emerging from the wood, brambles and hawthorn formed a hedgerow which lead along a country lane. A little way further and cottages sprang up, simple stone buildings with deep-set windows and low doors. Then the track widened and then without warning, opened onto a village green.
Two-up, two-down cottages lined two sides of the green, while along the top road was a modest coaching inn and two taverns. As they walked, Huntley fancied curtains twitched and he felt the weight of watching eyes. Hope limped past a terrace of red brick cottages. She stopped beside a low stone wall and pointed to the door beyond.
