by Grace Elliot
With no time to lose, Huntley dived under the waves. The strength of the oncoming tide surprised him as it pushed him back toward the beach. Breaking the surface for air, he gripped the knife between his teeth, tried again—this time pulling himself along the trunk into the deeper water. He found the rope and forced the blade between the trunk and Hope's bonds. Working like a demon he sawed, straining every muscle to cut and hack. His lungs burned and his mind screamed for air, but he wouldn’t stop. He redoubled his efforts. Time stood still. Seconds stretched into minutes as he worked. He felt light-headed, no longer knowing which way was up. He worked on—for if Hope died—he had no reason to live.
At long last something gave, the tension slackened. With a frantic last effort, his lungs bursting, he pushed the rope away to free Hope. Pushing against the seabed, he broke the surface of the water to draw down great, greedy drafts of night air. The relief of escape from the watery grave was exhilarating. Gathering his breath, he turned to share his relief. Tendrils of Hope's hair rose to the surface, marking her grave. Her watery face shimmered, pale as a moon, beneath the waves. He was too late.
*****
With an anguished cry, George plucked Hope from the water. Her lifeless body hung limp in his arms as he staggered to dry land. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Collapsing onto the sand, with the last vestiges of his strength, he pushed Hope onto her side. He had seen sailors who'd fallen overboard having water pumped from their lungs. If only he could remember how to do it. He grasped Hope’s waist and tried to lift her, it stood to reason if her head were lower than her chest, the water may run out. He was rewarded with a gurgling, rattling cough. Encouraged by this success, he heaved her higher. She coughed some more and then fell quiet.
Exhausted and unable to hold her weight any longer, George sagged to his hands and knees. He leaned his cheek against her mouth to feel for her breathing. Nothing.
“I won’t let you die.”
Taking a deep breath, out of sheer pigheadedness, he resolved to blow life back into her. Her lips were icy cold and tasted of death, but he refused to give up. As he blew into her mouth, it gave him satisfaction to watch the rise and fall of her chest, it was almost as if she lived. He worked until he felt faint and was close to passing out. He sat back on his heels and stared at the stars, trying to tell which were real and which were spinning in his head. Never had he felt so alone, hovering on the brink of desolation. If Hope was dead he might as well walk into the waves, end it all now, for a lifetime without her would be worse than death. But a quiet choking sound interrupted his melancholia.
“Hope?”
In joyful disbelief he watched as she choked and spluttered.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
Her weak smile was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen and he felt like whooping at the heavens. Tearing off a piece of his shirt, he wiped the water from her eyes, nose and lips.
“That doesn’t help,” she whispered, as he leaned closer to catch her words, “it’s too wet to dry me.”
“My love, my treasure.” In a great release of emotion George sobbed, his tears mingling with the salt water and he cradled her head in his lap. Rocking her gently, he stroked the hair back from her face, picked up her hands and chafed them between his own, trying to rub warmth into her.
But his relief was short-lived as she started to shiver, trembling from head to toe, her skin as waxen as death in the moonlight. George looked around in desperation. His own clothing was sodden and no use for keeping her warm. His gaze fell on Choake.
“I’ll be back.” With a growl he stood.
Dragging his injured leg, George crossed the beach. The prone figure lay stretched out where he'd fallen. With a derisory poke of his toe, George turned the body over. Choake moaned.
“Hm.” George considered what to do. The overwhelming temptation was to retrieve the blade and plunge it deep into Choake’s still beating heart.
“I’m not going to let you off that easily.”
With grim satisfaction, George decided to strip Choake of his outer clothes and tie him up. This time there would be no escape for the prisoner, this man would stand trial and pay the price of his crimes.
Using the same rope which had bound Hope, George trussed Choake’s hands and feet together and dragged him up onto the beach to watch him. Choake seemed stunned, barely protesting except for the odd guttural groan as George manhandled him.
He returned to Hope. She had moved a short distance to the base of the cliff, trying to stay out of the wind by sheltering in a shallow gully. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, and George could hear her teeth shattering several feet away. Her sodden clothing plastered against her body made her seem fragile.
He stooped down beside her. “Here, take off your wet things and put this on.” She nodded, but her hands were too numb to work. Between the two of them they half-ripped, half-dragged off the waterlogged walking dress and shrugged on Choake’s thick outer coat. Exhausted by the effort, they both sat panting. The garment swamped Hope as she curled up inside it.
“Here,” she said through chattering teeth and lifted up her arm, like a mother swan lifting her wing “You too.”
With a nod, George sat as Hope spread the coat around them both. Huddled together for mutual warmth, George put his arm around Hope. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her body reverberating with shivers.
“What now?” She asked.
George considered the answer. With Hope barely able to stand, and his leg near useless, the path up the cliff seemed an insurmountable hurdle.
“We wait.”
Hope grew still. “For what?”
“Your brother Thomas. He’s gone to the Excise men, told them to launch a boat.”
They lapsed into silence. Too tired for talk, huddled together listening to the shush of the waves, the screech of gulls and Choake’s groans as he regained consciousness.
Warmed by each other’s heat, the feeling started to return to aching limbs. Pins and needles shimmied through Huntley’s hands as he clasped and unclasped them.
“Hope?” Her head was heavy on his shoulder. With alarm he wondered if she was asleep or unconscious. Sleep was too dangerous, she might never wake up. His numb hands felt for hers and chafed them.
“Hope, can you hear me?”
No response. He shook her shoulders—her head lolled like a ragdoll.
“Hope, wake up! Do you hear me? Wake up now.”
He took her by the shoulders and shook. With a jerk, her head came up.
“What’s the matter?” Her words slurred.
“Hope, you must stay awake.”
“Very tired.” She smiled dreamily.
“No!” he snapped. “No, stay with me Hope, don’t sleep.”
“So sleepy.” She licked her lips in the preamble to sleep, her eyelids closing softly. “Talk to me.” She mumbled.
Huntley cast around for a suitable subject, there was so much he wanted to say that the words came tumbling out.
“Hope Tyler, I love you and always have. That first night, I went chasing after you across the dunes…it was our destiny.”
“But you hated me then. Couldn’t look at me.”
“You’re wrong. I hated what you represented. I hated the injustice you made me face. That the government I serve…had got things wrong.”
“Hmmm, still sleepy.” She snuggled against his arm.
“Hope, stay awake.” He pushed her away, forcing her to sit upright, only she started to slump backward until he held her in his arms. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t serve both things—duty to country and love for you. They were at odds—that’s why I couldn’t admit my feelings for you.”
Her head fell against his shoulder. Huntley felt a sob rising within him, as reaching across, he cradled her chin, in the darkness angling her jaw the better to find her lips.
“Hope, I love you—mind, body and soul. There is more goodness in your little finger, than in the whole of
my being. I cannot live without you and I wish, more than anything, you would be my wife.”
Huntley grew still as he listened for her breathing, he felt her move, turn toward him.
“In time, you would see the woman who took the Navy away. You would resent me…”
“No, no I could never do that. Oh Hope, my naval days are over. I see that now.”
“So I am the consolation prize? It can never work.”
“I decided weeks ago that I’d had enough. Call it growing up if you like. It’s time I turned closer to home. Dickens is old and The Grange needs a manager. It’s time I came home. And I want you by my side.”
“I don’t know.”
“ Do you deny that you love me?”
There was a long silence before Hope answered. “I love you more than my own life, which is why I have to think.”
“Then don’t answer me now—take your time.”
Even in the darkness he was drawn to her. His lips found hers. The shock of the cold made him jump and yet after that initial contact, she pressed eagerly against him.
His tongue swept the softness of her lower lip as she welcomed his kiss. A tumult of emotions eddied inside him, from joy to despair, and elation to confusion.
“The one thing I would say.”
“Yes?” Huntley hung on her every word.
“I hope Thomas brings help soon, it's bloody freezing.”
Chapter Twenty
Two days later, in a parlor at The Grange, two figures sat either side of a blazing hearth, tartan blankets pulled over their knees.
"I don’t think I'll ever be warm again." Hope extended her hands towards the flames. Across the hearth rug, Huntley sneezed and clutched his strapped ribs.
"Bless you, Captain."
"Thank you." He sneezed again.
"I'd swear there are bumps on my goosebumps."
"Shall I ring for the maid to bank the fire?"
"No, that's not necessary, thank you."
They lapsed into companionable silence. Indeed, to the casual observer, their demeanor might have been that of an old married couple, but on closer scrutiny it was only the rugs and huddled postures that aged them.
Hope tucked the blanket more securely around her feet and glanced at the Captain. He was a reluctant invalid, and it was only when she threatened to do as he did, he agreed to stay home in the warm. Fortunately, apart from nasty colds, Huntley's cracked ribs, and Hope's chafed wrists, neither had suffered permanent injury.
In no small part, they owed their ultimate rescue to Tom, who had ridden like the devil was on his back to rouse the Custom Office. Any disbelief Bennett might have harbored was dispeled when he saw Nero, Huntley's mount, blowing heavily outside. A boat was readied and crew assembled, and although Bennett was in nominal charge, it was Tom with his smuggler's knowledge, who found the hidden coves in the dark, and coordinated the search.
For her part, Hope's memories after the descent into the cove were snatched impressions. She remembered remonstrating with Choake and being tied to the tree, but after that, nothing but fighting off unconsciousness and water filling her lungs. She vaguely recalled waking to a sense of contentment at being held by Huntley, who whispered wonderful things which made her glow inside—if only she could remember what he'd said.
Hope sat staring at the flames. Seeing Huntley with a rug tucked up beneath his armpits, dozing with an open mouth, touched her more than she cared to admit. When she thought of Huntley's generosity of late, she wanted to cry. Her father had indeed been badly beaten by one of Choake's hired thugs, but Huntley had arranged a surgeon to attend him, and once her father was well enough to travel he was to be brought to The Grange. Hope appreciated how much that cost Huntley, that any chance of a career was gone, and it humbled her that he would do that for her. She must have been dozing, because on the edge of her consciousness, a door creaked open. A man cleared his throat. Hope blinked and shook herself awake.
“Captain Huntley. Miss Tyler”
Huntley struggled upright in his seat, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Ah, Bennett." He made to get up and Hope's hands gripped the rug. Being around a Custom’s officer took some getting used to.
"Stay where you are, sir. I just came to update you on Choake. But firstly, how are you both?"
“Right as nine-pence,” Huntley glowered, “That’s why I’m tucked up like I’m in my dotage.”
“Ignore him, Officer, he’s just sore because I refused to stay warm unless he did.”
Bennett pulled at his collar. “Well, it is rather hot in here, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“That,” Huntley grinned, “is on account of you not having being immersed in seawater in the middle of winter. I assure you, if that had that been the case, you would find the fires of Hell quite chilly.”
“Oh, quite so, Captain.”
Huntley settled back into his chair.
“How fairs he?” Huntley asked, between sneezes.
“He’ll live long enough to face justice.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Huntley nodded with grim satisfaction.
Hope screwed up her courage. “And me? Are you going to arrest me?”
Bennett looked nonplussed. “I’m not sure I understand, Miss Tyler.”
“In my past I did wrong, as I’m sure Choake will testify. My father worked for his gang, and I helped my father. I too should face justice.”
Bennett exchanged glances with Huntley and started pacing. “The way I see it, you have reaped a form a natural justice with what you suffered at Choake’s hand. I would say what’s in the past is gone, and best left there.”
“That’s excellent news.” Huntley sniffed into a silk handkerchief, one of many on a side table at his elbow.
Hope swallowed hard. Could it be true that the shadow was gone at last? On her honor, if spared the gallows, she would find a way to look after her father and earn an honest living. It would be hard, but she loved Huntley enough to let him go—she refused to let the stain on her character ruin his prospects. Misery engulfed her and yet she hid it, unsure if she had the strength to resist Huntley's persuasion.
“Anyhow, I nearly forgot the other purpose for my visit.” A sheen of sweat shone on Bennett’s forehead and he fanned himself discretely.
“Which is?”
“It has come to my attention you have resigned your Naval commission.”
Hope gasped. “Is this true?”
“Yes, it’s true.” Huntley nodded.
“But why?”
“Any number of reasons, among which is that with a damaged leg, I would be a hazard to others at sea.”
Hope felt like a condemned woman, waiting for him to cite her part in ruining his career. But when he continued, she couldn’t have been more surprised.
“And also because I’ve grown up. There is so much adventure around here of late, I hardly see the need to seek it out.”
“Which brings me around to my proposition.”
“You’re talking in riddles, Bennett, spit it out.”
“Well, it’s like this, Captain. We reckon a firm hand is needed to keep order along this part of the coast. If you were available, then it would be grand to have you on board at the Excise Office”
Huntley narrowed his eyes. “You mean, join the Excise men on a permanent basis?”
“That’s right. On a formal contract of course. I've spoken to the powers that be and you would be the senior officer in charge of operations.”
Hope watched Huntley carefully. Clearly he was tempted, the steady tap of his foreigner against the chair arm gave that away. She wanted to be happy for him. If he accepted, then he had purpose, not everything was lost. So why then did she feel a jolt of bereavement. And then she knew. For if Huntley joined the Customs Service, then it was her duty to leave. She couldn’t jeopardise his second chance. If she’d learned anything over the past few days, it was that the smuggling network was spread wider than she’d ever imagined. Who w
as to say there wouldn’t be somebody else who would try to use her past to hurt Huntley? No, she couldn’t take the risk of having his name linked with hers. Painful though it was, she must sacrifice her own feelings to repay the debt she owed him.
She looked down at her lap and started tracing the threads of yellow in the tartan rug, anything but look at Huntley—because if she did she would cry. She would have left the room had she been able to speak to excuse herself, but if she opened her mouth she feared she would sob. Swallowing hard, she prepared herself for the inevitable. When Huntley accepted she would be dignified and congratulate him, no matter what the cost to herself.
“Bennett,”, Huntley looked a little lost. “this has official sanctions? It’s not just a whim?”
Bennett rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet.
“Absolutely, Captain. It has the Admiralty’s blessing, They consider it an ideal way of not losing a good man to pasture.”
“Well, that’s flattering to hear.” Huntley’s face was unreadable and the seconds ticked by.
“What do you say, Captain? Is it a yes?” Bennett glowed with excitement. “And if you’re wondering about working with me, I’m not a man to bear grudges.”
“That’s big of you, Bennett, thank you.”
Hope risked a glance a Huntley; a vein ticked in his forehead. Her heart leaped into her throat. Surely there was only one answer—for a man of action like Huntley, this job was a gift..
“It is a tempting offer, one I’m flattered to receive.”
“Well then?”
“But my answer is…no. I cannot accept this commission.”
Hope’s mouth dropped open and Bennett stared at him.
“Perhaps you need more time to think things through. It would be an ideal position.” His gaze flicked to Huntley’s leg. “Oh, I see.” His already pink cheeks gained more color.
“My decision isn’t based on my lameness, but other considerations.”
Huntley’s eyes met Hope’s. She stared into their aching blue depths and glimpsed a tenderness there which shocked her. Unable to look away, her chest seemed locked in iron bands. Emotion welled to the surface as she fought back tears.
