Hope's Betrayal

by Grace Elliot

  "This is where I live." Hope stirred the grass with her foot. "I don’t suppose you would go now?"

  "We have an agreement, and—unlike you—I won’t be able to sail in this weather."

  "Of course." Her mouth tightened. "Come. You are welcome in my home."

  The skeleton of a wisteria framed a low wooden door, which with trembling hand, Hope pushed open. Over her shoulder Huntley glanced a dark hallway.

  "Hello?" She called, "Father?"

  She stood on the flagstone step, listening.

  "Father, are you there?"

  Huntley found his patience wearing thin with this man who let his daughter risk her life. "Perhaps he's out."

  Hope cast him a withering look. "I doubt it."

  Huntley had to stoop under the lintel to enter. In the dim hall there was no carpet, just a flagstone floor. Wooden beams and a soot-stained ceiling added to the impression of cramp and neglect. Using the wall for support, Hope shuffled to the front room.

  "Father?"

  The parlor was in darkness, the curtains drawn. It took Huntley a few moments to adjust as Hope drew back the drapes to let in such daylight as there was. What he saw surprised him. Yes, the room was small, but there were touches of homeliness; sea shells on the mantle, framed watercolors and dried flowers in a vase. The place smelt of beeswax and the sea, a family home.

  Hope bent over the armchair and it was then Huntley saw the man, slumped back against the wing-back. She looked up with eyes full of sorrow and pressed a finger to her lips, warning Huntley not to alarm him. Against his better judgement, Huntley nodded.

  "It's me—Hope." Gently, she rocked the man's shoulder. "Wake up, Father, we have company."

  The man stirred; even in the dim light, his skin appeared yellow. His face gaunt, he squinted at Hope and smiled in recognition.

  "Hope! Well there's a sight for sore eyes."

  She placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

  "How are you, Father?"

  He gripped the chair arm, but the effort of sitting upright seemed to exhaust him. "All the better for seeing you."

  "You look tired. Have you not been sleeping?"

  "Tusk, tis nothing. You know how it goes, up and down. Happen tomorrow will be better."

  "I've been so worried about you."

  "And I you, but I see you have been well cared for."

  Hope recalled their visitor.

  "How remiss, I forgot the introductions. Father, this is Captain Huntley. Captain, this is my stepfather, Mr. William Tyler."

  The withered man made to stand. Huntley felt wrong-footed—he had envisaged anger and threats from Miss Tyler's father, not this quiet courtesy.

  "No, please, don’t get up." Words of castigation melted away. On the mainland, he had heard Hope's explanation for her actions and yet not understood. Faced with reality, he felt humbled.

  Hope's fingers tightened on her father's shoulder, the older man laid his hand over hers. Gone was the brash Hope, her green eyes huge and transparent. Instead Huntley saw a vulnerable young woman who had done what she had to survive. A moment of understanding passed between them which sent Huntley's cosy world reeling.

  "My stepbrother does what he can, but the fishing was poor this winter."

  He wanted to touch her, to give simple human comfort, but years of military training kept him in check. "But to do what you did...to risk your life?"

  "And the other choices? The workhouse or starve." Her face pale as wax, all the fight went out of her. Huntley opened his mouth and shut it. She was right—compared to that, smuggling was good odds.

  "Next time when you're caught, I won’t be able to protect you." He spoke sincerely.

  There was no triumph in her voice, just calm acceptance. "I know."

  Huntley's blood chilled. Seeing how sick her father was, he knew she would not stop her illegal activities. By bringing Hope home, he might as well have walked her to the gallows. His mind raced. Hope was proud, she would not accept charity—but if there was something he could do perhaps for her father—an offer of work. But one glance at the slumped man in the chair and his heart sank.

  Hope turned back to her father, tucking a rug around his knees. Huntley thought furiously; it was as though there was an obvious answer, but he couldn’t remember what is was. A recent conversation—an offer declined. He nearly groaned aloud. How could he have been so stupid? His mother!

  Huntley's heart pounded afresh, this would take careful handling.

  "Mr. Tyler, you worry about your daughter. Surely, you can’t want to see her in danger? What if there was another way?"

  William Tyler's sunken eyes were full of guilt. "I begged her not to go out, but will she listen?"

  Huntley smiled, her stubbornness he understood. "But if there was a way to keep Miss Tyler safe and still provide for the family?"

  "I hope as you're not proposing anything indecent?"

  Huntley felt colour rising in his cheek. "Sir, I resent the insinuation."

  To her credit Hope looked equally aghast. "Father!"

  "Well, it had to be asked, doll."

  "No it didn’t, because I'm not leaving you."

  Huntley groaned inwardly. Even half an hour ago, if anyone had told him what he was about to suggest, he would have laughed in their face and called them a fool. On his honor, once the offer was made, it could not be taken back. And the cost? That was obvious —his command would be untenable, at best he'd be reposted, at worst he'd be court-martialed. He pushed the thought away to be dealt with later; his mother was right to remind him he hadn’t joined the navy to persecute the defenceless.

  Words came out of his mouth as if someone else was speaking. "Lady Ryevale, my mother, would like to offer your daughter a position at The Grange. I came to ask your consent."

  Hope seemed shocked. "You mentioned nothing of this to me."

  Huntley bowed stiffly. "It must have slipped my mind."

  "I'm not leaving. I can’t, not with Father like this."

  He began to feel irritated. Damn it but he was the one putting his career in jeopardy, the least the chit could do was be grateful. "And when you end up in jail, then who will help your family then?"

  Hope stood very still. "I'm needed here, this minute."

  Filling the small parlor with his bulk, Huntley started to pace. "With the position goes a salary, bed and board; so you can send your wages home to Mr Tyler." Damn it, he wasn’t going to beg.

  Hope weakened, glancing from her father to Huntley. Will Tyler gripped her arm. "You know I love you as my own, and I'll not stand in your way. You decide."

  Slowly she shook her head. "I will not leave you, Father. Not now."

  A pulse ticked in Huntley's temple; think of this as a military campaign like any other, so what tactic would best achieve his ends? Slowly, it came to him that it was necessary to fool the enemy into thinking you were retreating.

  With the appearance of regret, he bowed.

  "So be it. I see your mind is made up." He paced to the window and peered out. "It seems the mist is thinning."

  "Indeed."

  "Then my duty is discharged and I'd like to catch the falling tide. Miss Tyler, I'd be grateful if your brother could pilot me out of the shallows."

  "Of course, it's the least we can do."

  "Thank you."

  "Father, where did Tom go?"

  "Mending nets with Vinny, at his yard."

  "I won’t be long."

  She slipped from the room, leaving Huntley feeling as if a piece of him had gone missing. As soon as the heard the front door open and close, he pulled a chair close to William Tyler.

  "Quick man, we haven't much time. Answer me truthfully."

  "Captain?" Tyler's rheumy eyes opened wide.

  "If Hope continues to smuggle, it's only a matter of time before she's caught again. Truly, do you want her to hang?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Don't you see? She feels duty bound to stay. She will never go if s
he has to make the decision herself, guilt keeps her here." Huntley sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but if you want to save her, you must make her leave."

  "I don't see how."

  "Tell her to go! Order her! Do anything it takes to convince her she's not needed…or wanted here."

  "She can be very stubborn." Tyler’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure it will work.”

  “It has to!" Huntley pulled a fistful of coins from his pocket. “Here, call this an advance on her wages. Ensure Hope comes back with me and there’ll be more. Use it to buy food, get a woman in to clean the house—but don’t let Hope stay here and perish.”

  Tyler brightened. “I’ve an idea. How about you give me the money and Hope stays anyway.”

  Huntley glared at him darkly. “Are you asking for charity, Mr Tyler?”

  His host looked dubious. “Not exactly, but with improved circumstances, Hope will make a good match and her husband would keep her safe.”

  “Marriage?" Huntley felt a little giddy.

  “Aye. There’s many a lad hereabouts has their eye on Hope but she lacks a dowry.”

  Huntley turned to the fireplace to hide his disgust. The thought of anyone pawing Hope made him feel queasy.

  “No. Your daughter earns an honest wage or the deals off.” With a resolution he didn’t feel, Huntley called Tyler’s bluff. “Make no mistake, it's no odds to me. She can swing for all I care." He lied, "But make your mind up now—I hear footsteps, she’s back.”

  Hope entered with a sturdy young man at her side. A head shorter than his sister, Tom glowered at the visitor. His skin prematurely lined by sun and wind, bags beneath his eyes and a deep furrow between his eyebrows, he put Huntley in mind of a bulldog.

  “Captain Huntley, this is my stepbrother Thomas. He will aid you back into open water.”

  “Much obliged.” Huntley glared at Tyler, urging him to speak.

  William Tyler cleared his throat. “An' why would the Captain need Tom, when you can show him the way yourself?”

  Hope’s eyes narrowed, as she glanced from one man to the other. “I don’t know what’s been said, but I’m staying here.”

  “It came as a shock, that was all. Now I've had a think, I say you should go.”

  “No, Father, you need me here.”

  “An’ I say I don’t.”

  “Not five minutes since, you wanted me to stay.”

  “Well, I've changed me mind. We’ve managed this past month, haven't we, Tom and I? What makes you think we won’t manage again?”

  "Because, look at the dust, and the mud in the hall. The garden's a mess and…"

  "Hope, child, I don’t want you here."

  Hope grew pale and she rounded on the Captain. "What have you said? This is your doing."

  Defensively, Huntley held up his hands. "Listen to your father."

  "I've had a chance to think, and by my reckoning, Lady Ryevale offering you a position is too good a chance to miss."

  "Well, you might think so but I don’t."

  Tyler floundered so Huntley stepped in.

  "An honest day's work, I thought that's what you wanted? And think, you can send your wages home."

  Hope’s eyes shone with unnatural brightness. “I see.” She drew herself up straight. “And if I still say no?”

  “Oh, give it up child. Don’t be so stubborn.” Tyler interjected. “Can’t you see I don’t want yer here? I was trying to spare your feelings but if you want me to be blunt—you’re a burden, pure and simple. If you ain’t here then Tom and I will get along just fine."

  "Father!"

  Mr Tyler sneered, "Besides, you never fitted in here, with the airs and graces your mother gave you. She was just the same. Pretended to fit in but she never did with her cultured manners and reading. I don’t want pity from you and your kind. Go! Leave me with me own.”

  Hope gasped and a lone tear trickled down her cheek. “Father! How can you say that?”

  “Tis the truth. Blood will out. Your mother was too good for the likes of me—and so are you.” He folded his hands across his chest. “Now go, girl, before Captain Huntley changes his mind about that wage.”

  Her mouth worked but no sound came out. She turned to her brother. “Tom? What do you say?”

  With a shrug of his shoulder Tom looked dubious. “Well, I don’t see what the fuss is about. Got a chance of a better life. You should take it. I would if it were me. I'll take care of Father, you know that."

  Hope’s large green eyes stared into her brother’s, and slowly, she nodded.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Do it for me. Go with my blessing.”

  Tom echoed her nod and stepped away. Huntley felt the pain of separation between them and guarded his expression. Perhaps he should find a place for the lad as well—he seemed decent enough. But no, in order to justify Hope’s presence—Huntley grimaced—he had an interesting time ahead of him.

  The group stood awkwardly in the parlor, neither knowing quite what to do next. Tom took charge.

  "The tide is on the turn, Father. They best get going."

  With a grim nod, Hope reached to kiss her father's hollow cheek.

  “Goodbye, Father.”

  "I'll come to the jetty with you." Tom said.

  "No! Don’t do that, stay with Father." A tear slid down her cheek.

  Huntley turned away, "I'll wait outside while you say goodbye. Then we best be off."

  Chapter Six

  Hope watched the Island grow smaller, the shrinking outline blurred not only by mist, but by tears. As the distance increased, so the separation grew keener as she left her late mother's grave and everyone who loved her. Hope blotted her eyes on her sleeve. Tearing her gaze from the Island, she looked ahead. The mainland filled her vision now, her future rising up in the wooded hills around Sandehope.

  Huntley sat silhouetted against the landscape, his face rigid and unreadable. Hope shrank into herself, now was not the time to ask questions. She sat back and let the waves lull her sadness, thinking back to when, as a baby, she had made the reverse journey rocked in her mother's arms.The entirety of the journey passed in silence and when the skiff slipped into its mooring, Huntley jumped ashore. From the water, staring uphill, The Grange seemed more imposing that she remembered and Hope trembled.

  "Here." Huntley extended a helping hand. She glanced up; his expression grim with resolve—and resignation. Something flared inside, for she would not let him be a martyr because of her.

  "If I'm a burden, it's not too late to go back."

  "That night on the dunes, even then it was too late." For a moment his mask slipped and she saw such longing—that she felt weak. Hope started to speak, to say that he was a good man in an impossible situation, she saw that now—but her words fell on empty air as Huntley strode away.

  By the time she gathered her crutch, the Captain was a distant figure. Out of breath and on a painful ankle, she followed him to The Grange to find she didn’t know where the servant's entrance was. As she considered what to do, she was surprised to see the front door open and Jenkins, peer out.

  "Miss Tyler, this way, if you please."

  It was clear from the butler's expression he thought this a dubious request. Hope smiled wanly, knowing she'd have to get used to condescension.

  She found Captain Huntley pacing the hall and he acknowledged her with a curt nod.

  "Ah, there you are. I've sent for Mrs Brown. She will sort you out."

  "Thank you, Captain." Hope fidgeted. Captain Huntley filled her senses, making it difficult to act naturally. From his hawkish brow to that curl of hair behind his ear, he touched her deep inside. She swore he had trembled when he held her on the dock, and yet now seemed to despise her so. Never had she met anyone who confused her in such a way, with the ability to frighten and excite her at the same time. They waited for the housekeeper, awkward in each other's company.

  "We are a kitchenmaid short. Clothing and bed provided, wages paid quarterl
y." A dark brow arched in challenge. "I take it you are not above menial work."

  "Of course not."

  Huntley grimaced, "Good. Now, what's taking her so long? Couldn’t Jenkins find the blasted woman?"

  "George! Language, please!" In a rustle of silk Lady Ryevale descended the stairs. "Ah, Miss Tyler. There has been a change of plan?"

  "Mother, meet the new kitchenmaid."

  Slowly, Lady Ryevale shook her head. "George, what have you done?"

  "You disapprove? It was at your suggestion we offer Miss Tyler employment. So I did."

  "Oh no!" Lady Ryevale stood tall, looking every inch the imperious matriarch. "Oh no, I'm not having it."

  Huntley looked stricken. "You're not?"

  "Absolutely not. Miss Tyler is no maid." Her ladyship drummed her manicured fingers on the banister. "I will train Miss Tyler as my secretary."

  "Mother, such a position of trust is out of the question."

  Unperturbed, Lady Ryevale inclined her head towards Hope and smiled. "Sometimes my son forgets who's in charge here."

  Huntley spluttered. "Mother, this cannot be."

  "How so, dear?" She asked all innocence.

  "Because even having Miss Tyler as kitchenmaid puts my career in jeopardy. To have her privy to estate business…is…is unthinkable."

  "Hope has beautiful handwriting, is quick to learn and I'm sure will prove most conscientious and discrete."

  "That's not what I mean and you know it."

  Hope watched with alarm as Captain Huntley turned from red to puce. With cool disregard for her son’s outrage, Lady Ryevale continued.

  "For an age I have been asking for help with estate business. Charles shows no inclination, you are away so much and with Jack newly married—Miss Tyler is the perfect solution. You will agree, won’t you, Hope dear?"

  Hope drew in a breath but the black look in Huntley’s eye influenced her reply.

  “That is a kind and generous offer, Lady Ryevale, but one I must decline.”

  The Captain deflated.

  “Nonsense, why ever not?”

  Hope thought quickly. “My skills are limited…and my manners…unconventional. I lack…the refinement necessary to be your secretary.’