Devonshire

by Lynne Connolly

  I breathed in the fresh, green air of my native land, detecting the faint tang of the sea, not far away. “I liked Eyton much better. It’s smaller than Hareton, but the family rooms are much more comfortable, and it’s run like a great house of that kind should be.” I looked around. “I’ll miss this.” Devonshire was such a beautiful part of the world, but I was so used to it I rarely allowed myself to notice. The sky was bright blue, the grass intensely green, more so than anywhere else I knew.

  Everyone at Eyton had been kind, but I was still bemused by my fate, by the family welcoming me. I knew Richard’s family and his erstwhile lovers resented me and doubted if a country girl, who was until recently, firmly in the ranks of the gentry, would do for their son. However, if Richard’s father wanted an heir, he would have to accept his son’s choice of bride. Richard had made that clear to him.

  “Lord and Lady Southwood are somewhat taken aback by their son’s sudden decision after years of urging him to marry,” I remarked.

  Tom chuckled. “About as surprised as I was when you came back betrothed. All so sudden. I’d never have thought it of you, Rose.”

  I didn’t want to talk about it yet, and I wasn’t sure what to tell him, how to explain it. “The state rooms are beautiful, but not as—well, impersonal as the ones at Hareton. Actually, Eyton and Hareton aren’t that far apart. Fifty miles or so, no more.”

  I smiled when I remembered the short journey to Eyton and the relative privacy afforded by a travelling coach.

  Tom looked at me in puzzlement. “What is it, Rose?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Lizzie and Georgiana stopped at the top of the hill. They were staring at something, but we couldn’t see what it was until we caught up with them. We followed their stares.

  A solitary figure led a heavily laden packhorse; his gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. The man was dressed in a heavy serge coat, hat pulled low over his eyes. He was walking around the hill, heading for the land that belonged to Tom’s father, Sir George Skerrit, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

  I realised what the man must be about, but before I could stop him, Tom called out “Hi, you!” and after thrusting the reins of his horse at his sister, he plunged down the hill.

  Chapter Two

  I LIFTED MY SKIRTS and followed my friend as fast as I could. The ground was firm and dry under my feet and I kept up with him easily in my sturdy leather shoes. I was afraid for Tom. He could be impulsive and hot-tempered, and I didn’t want him to get into trouble now. The man he was about to confront was the kind we in Devonshire were used to ignoring because of the burden his horse carried.

  The man stopped his packhorse and waited for Tom. He would never have outrun him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Tom demanded, his voice loud and hard.

  “Peacock’s, sir,” came the gruff response, thick with the Devonian accent. When he looked up, I recognised him as one of the villagers from Darkwater.

  “Why are you going, Cooper?”

  The villager looked at me sharply when I used his name. “I been told to.”

  Tom indicated the burdened animal with one sweeping gesture of his arm. “What’s on the horse?”

  Cooper stared at the animal in surprise, as though he’d forgotten its existence. It looked back at him knowingly. “There’s some French wine and some tea, and some lace.”

  Tom cursed. “You know my father doesn’t take smuggled goods.”

  “Who said anything about smuggling?” The man smiled. “Just a present, is all. From my master.”

  The bird above us was still singing, not a care in the world, but the atmosphere below grew tense. This could be dangerous.

  “Lord Hareton is your master.” Tom straightened and despite his well-worn country clothes, he radiated authority.

  The man looked at me and bowed low, sweeping off his hat now he no longer needed it as a disguise. It revealed greasy black locks tied back in a parody of fashion. “My lady.”

  I put up my chin. “Lord Hareton wouldn’t send me smuggled goods,” said Tom. “So who are you calling your master?”

  The man didn’t take his eyes from my face. “I should say my employer. Mr. Cawnton.”

  “Cawnton.” The name was like a red rag to a bull to Tom. The Cawnton brothers ran most of the smuggling enterprises on this part of the coast. It was hard to ignore their presence, especially at the dark of the moon, but we usually managed it. “My father won’t receive anything from Cawnton, you know that.” Tom threw up his arms in exasperation and let them drop to his side with a resounding smack.

  “My orders is to deliver them,” Cooper reiterated, his accent broadening, every inch the stupid peasant—except that he wasn’t. His calmness threatened Tom’s agitation, and as far as I could see, he was winning the encounter, provoking Tom’s temper shamelessly.

  “It’s an insult.” Tom glanced at me. “You shouldn’t be here. I’ll deal with this.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Tom. It concerns me as much as you. James had a delivery yesterday.”

  The man turned smug, smiling broadly in his triumph, but Tom was perturbed by what I’d said. “What did he do with it?”

  “Gave it back. With thanks, but a refusal.”

  Tom spun around to confront Cooper again. “Why are you doing this?” A cry born more of exasperation than any desire for knowledge.

  The man said nothing, but met him stare for stare. The only sounds were Tom’s heavy breathing, the jingle of the harness and the stamp of the horse’s hooves. The bird was still singing. Its persistence irritated me.

  “My father won’t have anything to do with it, you know.” The new steadiness in Tom’s voice relieved me. The pause must have given him a chance to regain his composure.

  “That’s up to him. My orders is to deliver the goods.” The smell of unwashed humanity reached me and I was hard put not to wrinkle my nose. Those clothes he wore had seen more seasons than my grey gown, but far less soap.

  “I can give you our answer now,” Tom said. “We won’t let you run the goods over our land, much less use our storehouses and barns.”

  “Mr. Cawnton would be sorry to hear that.” A menacing tone entered Cooper’s voice.

  Tom took a quick breath, and his voice lifted again. “Are you threatening me?” The man’s insolence and Tom’s quick temper threatened to turn this encounter into something dangerous. I hoped my presence might deter them but I doubted it.

  The man moved as though shifting his position, but when he did so his heavy coat moved aside. We saw the two serviceable pistols stuck in his belt, and the heavy Navy cutlass slung around his waist. Tom stared at Cooper in silence. I held my breath, not daring to move. If Tom attempted any violence he would come out the loser. He was not armed and these men didn’t respect authority.

  Cold fear clutched at my stomach. “Come away, Tom.” I tried to keep my voice steady. Another fraught pause followed. “Your father will send a message to Cawnton.”

  “Dear God, I hate this.” To my relief Tom turned away from Cooper to me. “No, it wouldn’t be right to brawl with this man with you here. But understand this,” and he turned back to confront Cooper again, “you won’t get any joy from my father.”

  With a deliberate action that underlined his decision, Tom turned his back and strode away, leaving me to scamper behind him.

  The harness jingled as Cooper and his laden horse continued on their way, and we rejoined the other two. I breathed out in a long sigh of relief, which Lizzie saw. She raised an eyebrow in query. “So what was all that about?”

  “One of Cawnton’s men.” She grimaced. “He’s trying to persuade Tom’s father to lend him some barns, and let him move the goods over his land.”

  “I don’t know why he doesn’t,” Lizzie said. “They’ll do it anyway. And whom does it hurt? They’re just running a few bits and pieces ashore.”

  “A few bits and pieces?” Tom’s face was a mask of astonishment and fury, the heavy brows
beetling over his eyes. “Smuggling is the most lucrative business in Devonshire. They make more from one run than a year working in the fields. You must know how well organised they are, Lizzie, and what they do here.” His voice was louder than it needed to be, and I hoped the other man hadn’t heard. Sound carried a long way in the country.

  Lizzie shrugged. “People don’t complain.”

  “Naturally they don’t,” came the swift reply, but in a more normal tone. “They’re either well paid or terrorised into silence. That’s the part I don’t like. They shouldn’t have so much power they can rule a whole county. If the Cawntons aren’t stopped, it won’t be long before they have the whole of Devonshire under their control.”

  “You might be exaggerating there, Tom.” I took his arm and pulled him into motion. We walked towards the village below, in the opposite direction to Cooper.

  Tom took back the reins of his horse. “They’re clever. And quiet, but their influence increases every year. My father is worried about them, Rose. You’re lucky you’ll soon be away from here and all this.”

  I wasn’t sure. I would miss my home, even this less comfortable part of it. “You’re right, Tom, when you say that with smuggling wealth comes power. The Cawntons rival the local gentry, but they’re on the wrong side of the law.”

  He sniffed. “Parliament takes little notice of the Trade, and they send too few men of too little ability to combat it. Have you seen the latest excise officer in Exeter?” I shook my head. Tom made a derisive sound between his teeth, indicative of his opinion of the unfortunate man.

  We reached Darkwater and strolled up the long street. The village consisted of one long track made from centuries of trodden down dirt, fringed by cottages. Some had gardens at the front, some at the back. Villagers, busy cultivating their plots looked up from their business to acknowledge us.

  “James plans to renovate these, now he can afford it,” I commented.

  “They should be grateful,” said Tom, still miffed from our recent encounter with Cooper, “but I doubt they will be. If the Cawntons are using most of them they could probably afford to renovate their houses themselves.”

  The small cottages might appear picturesque, but I knew what they looked and smelled like inside. The aroma of cooking reached us from some of the open doors, no doubt from the large pot many of the inhabitants kept bubbling over the fire all day, only adding another chopped onion or some cabbage when the contents ran low.

  “Why should they?” I said. “James owns most of these cottages. Most of them are our workers.”

  “By day.” There was no persuading Tom out of his present mood, so I turned my mind to other things and walked on in silence.

  “Sorry,” Tom muttered after a few minutes. “It makes me angry, that’s all.”

  “You see more of it than we do,” I said. “With your land bordering the sea, you get more trouble than we do.”

  “Aye.” We stopped to let Trusty free himself from a shallow rut. Tom grinned, his cloudy mood dispersed as it had come. “They’re all talking about you,” he confided, as we acknowledged the greetings of people along the busy street.

  “Just me, or the rest of the family?”

  “Oh, all of you. But especially you. Copies of old newspapers have been circulating like wildfire. Your Lord Strang has quite a reputation.”

  I smiled. “I know. You’re not the first person to tell me that, you know. He told me himself, and his brother told me, and then Lizzie. It might have been a conspiracy to put me off, but he didn’t succeed. Richard has tried hard to live as dangerously as he can for the last twelve years.”

  We carried on up the long, straggling street. “I worry about you, Rose.”

  “You always did.” I shifted my basket to my other arm.

  An edge of concern entered his voice “I know this is a brilliant match, but he sounds dangerous. Rose, you’ve lived here all your life. You can hardly be said to be experienced in the ways of the world, but Lord Strang is.”

  “I know,” I said, not at all disturbed.

  “By society’s standards he’s a brilliant match; one of the catches of London.” Tom wasn’t convinced; I heard it in his voice. I glanced sideways at him; his mouth was set in a hard line and he stared straight ahead at the church at the far end of the village. “You can’t make a life with someone on a fancy.”

  When he’d heard of my betrothal to Lord Strang, Tom had declared himself delighted and embraced me warmly. He’d obviously been reading the newspapers since then. He stopped, pulling Trusty to stand behind him. Sighing, I turned to face him. He motioned his sister and Lizzie to walk ahead. “We’ll catch up with you.” Lizzie made a moue at me and kept walking.

  Tom took my hand in his. “Lord Strang’s had more women than I’ve ever met.” He watched my face closely. I kept my expression bland. “He has a reputation as a setter of fashion, and a raiser of ten kinds of Hades.”

  There was a reason for Richard’s wildness, but I couldn’t betray him by telling anyone, not even Tom. “He’s done that, yes.”

  “And you think you can reform him?” Tom jutted his jaw forward. “Rose, sweet Rose, no one can reform anyone else, unless they want to be reformed. Are you sure Lord Strang isn’t just looking for a mother for his children, someone to take care of his responsibilities while he rackets around London? I’d hate to see you reduced to that, however grand the setting.”

  I was taken aback—I’d never thought of Tom as the thoughtful type. Usually, if it wasn’t thrust in front of his face, he never noticed anything. It was clear that he’d been considering this at some length and it touched me. “Thank you, Tom. I love your concern for me. But I’m sure, really I am. Besides,” I added, in an effort to return to an everyday level, “I’d scandalise half society if I cried off now.”

  “I doubt it.” He turned around and continued up the street. “They’d just think you’d come to your senses.”

  It was as well he didn’t know I’d seduced Richard within a month of our first meeting.

  “Wasn’t there some scandal to do with his brother, as well?”

  “Yes, there was, but it was over long ago.” I skipped over a rut in the road almost without noticing it. The street was sadly in need of repair, but it had always been like that. I had no doubt it featured in James’s plans for improvement.

  Richard’s brother had confided the nature of the scandal to me, but the details were not generally known. I couldn’t tell Tom without Gervase’s permission. It wasn’t my secret to tell. “Gervase had to spend some time abroad, but he came back from India a rich nabob and all was forgiven.”

  “Well they sound like a pretty shaky family, rich or not.” Since anyone not born in Devonshire seemed shaky to Tom and his family, it wasn’t strange he should think that.

  I watched Lizzie and Georgiana, still walking in front of us, and I thought how pretty and out of place they both looked. Lizzie had made sure her mourning clothes were good quality, and Georgiana was dressed in a bright cotton print gown, far more appropriate to this bright spring day than my shabby grey woollen one. I might have passed for a well-off villager, from a distance.

  “They’re all talking about you, rich and poor.” I didn’t need Tom to tell me that.

  I thought I should try to explain about the Kerres, but then I knew I couldn’t. The situation wasn’t a simple one, not easily explained. “Let them talk,” I gave up. “I don’t care.”

  Tom stared at me in surprise. “That’s not like you. You were always so afraid of gossip.”

  “Perhaps I’ve discovered other things are more important.”

  When we reached Mrs. Hoarty’s, we parted. Georgiana elected to visit the old lady with us, and Tom promised to call back after his errand to collect her. We watched him walk by the side of the church, leading his horse. Then we went in.

  Mrs. Hoarty lived in a comfortable house on the edge of the village, near the church. The land had belonged to her husband’s family forever,
but this house was a new one. After they married, her husband rebuilt the house completely to suit his new wife. Now it stood foursquare, a white stuccoed house set back from the road but in good sight of it, like a swan among the ducks of the village cottages, most of which harked back to another age. Our house, the Manor, was larger, but it and Mrs. Hoarty’s house bracketed Darkwater like bookends supporting the frailer fabric of the little cottages.

  Mrs. Hoarty was a kind lady, but a garrulous one. She had one son, a lawyer in Exeter, unmarried as yet, who visited her frequently. She led a comfortable life. Moreover, if there were anything to be known, she would know it; from the front parlour window of her fine house she could see everything that went on in the village.

  The lady must have seen us as we approached, for her maid was at the door before we could knock.

  Mrs. Hoarty was sitting in the large room at the front of the house, where she could watch the comings and goings in the village. “Why, my dears, how nice to see you.” She didn’t get up to greet us, because she suffered badly from arthritis. I bent down to kiss her papery cheek and gave her the basket. “Why how kind of Lady Hareton.”

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Very well, considering.” She never complained of the pain she suffered, despite the illness that twisted her hands into disused claws.

  We gave the maid the basket of treats Martha had prepared, and settled down to satisfy her curiosity for as long as it took Tom to get his horse shod.

  “Such an excitement there’s been, dear Miss Golightly! Your nuptials will be the talk of the county for years to come.”