by Mira Stables
Her lips were stubbornly set. Unless he picked her up bodily and dropped her over the ledge, she wouldn’t go, and since such rough and ready methods would add considerably to the risks of the descent, he dare not use them. There was no time to waste in further disputation. He picked up the bar and set to work on the next stone.
“I thought you were going to do as you were told in future,” he grunted, as he flung his weight against it.
Nell didn’t answer. Having gained her point she was quite willing to let him have the last word. Meekly she busied herself with a demure, almost housewifely air, in placing the axe and the pistol conveniently to hand on the windowsill. There was her handkerchief, fallen on the floor, and she bent to pick it up. It was not her handkerchief at all, but a packet of papers. It must have fallen out of Charles’s pocket. She glanced up at him, but he was wholly absorbed in getting the greatest possible leverage on his frail crowbar, so she stuffed it into her ridicule, thinking to give it back to him later, and hung the frivolous little bag on her arm. Then she was ready—and another large stone fell away from the wall.
“That should do it.” And to prove it, he thrust head and shoulders through the gap he had created.
There was no further protest from the lady. She stood submissively under his hands as he dexterously knotted the rope around her waist and instructed her how to grip it once she was clear of the sill.
“Even so, I fear it will cut sorely,” he finished. “But it is not for long. And if you can keep your hands just so”—he showed her—“they will protect your face. I’ll lower you as steadily as I can, but there’s always the danger of bumping against the wall. There”—he tested the knots—“are you ready? Up with you then.”
He lifted her to the opening, bidding her kneel on the ledge facing him, and took two or three turns of the rope round his forearm. She felt him grip the rope girdle about her waist and lift her clear of the sill, so that her feet were dangling in space, and she tried not to think of the drop below, fixing her eyes on his intent face.
“Try if you can feel the wall with your feet,” he said quietly. She stretched out one foot obediently. The wall was comfortingly close. There was even a tiny projection that offered a toe-hold.
“Just try to imagine that you are walking down the wall,” said the calm voice, as though they had all the time in the world at their disposal, and his grip shifted along the rope until at last she hung suspended from it, leaning a little outward, her feet pressed against the wall.
“Good girl. Now, take hold of the rope as I showed you, and away you go. Don’t look down,” came the final injunction, and she felt herself being lowered steadily and slowly.
It was not so frightening as she had thought, though she found it impossible to keep her feet on the wall, and once or twice was jarred against it as she swung helplessly, like a spider on a thread, she thought inconsequently. Then friendly hands reached up from the darkness and caught her ankles, guiding them down till her feet touch the thwarts, and Jasie’s comfortable familiar voice was telling her to let herself flop down in the boat, or she’d have it over, like as not.
“Oh Jasie!” she gasped, suddenly close to tears, and clutching at his arm. Never had she dreamed that his gruff Sussex voice could sound so sweet in her ears.
“Nay, lass, give over, do. Sit thee still and let me come at they knots. ’Tis time Sir Charles was out of it, for it’s getting too warm for comfort.” His fingers tugged and fumbled at the knots which had naturally tightened under Nell’s weight. She turned her head to glance over her shoulder at the house above her, and gave a startled exclamation of horror. Flames were already leaping from one window of the living-room, and the others were lit by the lurid glow from the inferno that raged within.
“Oh do be quick,” she begged in agony, for surely by now the very floorboards must be alight and Charles in deadly danger. Why, oh! why had he let her down in such leisurely fashion, when he must have realised—Her own hands flew up frantically to wrestle with the intransigent knots, only to be smartly slapped away by Jasie’s horny palm.
“Will you hold still,” he growled, and perforce she subsided, though the task seemed to take him an interminable time.
“There’s no need to fret yourself to flinders,” he said more kindly. “This end’s not caught yet. ’Twill be just the smoke and heat. And we’ll soon have him out of it now,” as the last obstinate knot yielded and the rope fell away from her.
There was no lack of light now. Jasie cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled, “All clear below,” at the top of his powerful voice, but even so it seemed that it might not penetrate the roar and hiss of the flames. However, the slack rope was in itself message enough. He picked up the oars and backed off a little, so that he could see when Charles climbed out of the window and began his descent.
He slid down fairly swiftly when at last he came, setting the rope swinging wildly, so that his landing was not near so neat as Nell’s had been, one foot hitting the gunwale, which set the boat rocking and Jasie to cursing with vigour and enthusiasm until the newly arrived passenger managed to steady himself and roll into the bottom of the boat.
He picked himself up and shoved aside some spare gear to make a place for himself on one of the seats. “All aboard, Captain,” he announced cheerfully if a trifle breathlessly. “I hope that is the correct nautical expression. And now, if you please, we’ll make all plain sail for the other side of the bay. I expect Giles has chewed his fingers down to the knuckle by now.”
Jasie, correctly interpreting these instructions to mean that he was at liberty to proceed, shipped his oars and pulled slowly away. “Tide’s just about on the turn,” he said reflectively. “Time it’s up again, there’ll be nothing left of Crow’s Nest.”
As though to point his remark a section of the kitchen wall slowly collapsed outward and cascaded into the sea, and tiny flames spiralled gaily skywards around the naked timbers that had supported the roof.
It was an awesome sight, and the three in the boat watched in silence, broken at last by Jasie, who said in blunt matter-of-fact tones, “And a hem good riddance too. It’s been naught but a den of thieves and murderers these ten years past. You’re lucky to come out of it alive, Miss Nell, and that’s God’s truth.”
Nell acquiesced gravely, and then, suddenly, gave a sharp cry of horror. “Jim!” she said, to Charles’s startled enquiry. “Jim Cooke. Perhaps he’s still in there.”
A moment’s rapid explanation was sufficient to acquaint Jasie with the facts. He shook his head dubiously. “If he’s in the room at the far end there’s just a chance. Anywhere else there’s none. Try it if you think fit, but I can’t lay the boat alongside, not with the tide falling. You’ll have to swim for it.”
Charles stooped to pull off the rough country brogues that he had borrowed for his climbing. Then he took the pistol out of his belt and laid it on the thwart, while Jasie took the boat as close as he dared to the one bit of Crow’s Nest that was not yet ablaze.
In the event, very little swimming was necessary, for which Charles, by now beginning to feel rather more than weary, was duly grateful. A dozen powerful strokes, and he was stumbling over the rocks which came up to the wall of the house, with a foot or so of water purling about his ankles. To smash away the boarding that covered the window frame was simple enough, but his first attempt at entry was repelled by the choking smoke. Hastily he hauled off his wet shirt. Holding this improvised mask over his mouth and nose, it proved possible to effect an entry, and he had not taken three steps in the smoke-filled gloom before he tripped headlong over something which proved on closer investigation to be the body of a man. It was gagged and bound. It was still alive. It could only be Jim Cooke.
Fingers and brain having reached this conclusion, it remained only to haul the poor devil out of his present uncomfortable, not to say dangerous situation. This was not quite so easy as it sounded. The shirt, bound into position by its sleeves, hastily knotted, kept slipping dow
n, and it was quite impossible to work without it, and he found himself lamentably feeble when it came to heaving the dead weight over the window sill. But somehow it was done, and with a final effort he half-dragged half-carried his burden to the water’s edge.
There was a sizeable patch of shingle by now, and surely the fire could not touch them here. The boat was gone. Jasie, with characteristic good sense, having watched his protracted struggle at the windowsill, had crossed the bay to bring up the reserves. Soon he would be back with Giles. For the moment—blessedly—no further effort was required of him. Quietly, comfortably, with a facility developed over years of campaigning, Charles dropped his head on the unconscious man’s shoulder, and slept.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She sat up in her own bed at the Lamb and stretched out a hand for the cup of chocolate that Bella had just set down. It must be late, for sunshine flooded the room as the maid drew back the curtains. In this familiar comfort the dramatic events of yesterday seemed like a bad dream, but her own bandaged hands were evidence enough of their reality.
Bella twitched the folds of the curtains into prim symmetry and turned back towards the bed, obviously eager to linger and gossip. When Nell asked where everyone was this morning, the intelligent hand-maid wasted no time on reporting the whereabouts of irrelevant personages. “Sir Charles was here early,” she announced, “but he wouldn’t let us wake you. He had to ride over to Trevannions, he said, but would do himself the honour of calling upon you this afternoon.” She savoured the well-conned phrases with satisfaction and delight and relapsed comfortably into her natural style.
“Eh, Miss, such a set-out as never was,” she began eagerly. “Master was over Winchelsea way this morning, and they do say as Crow’s Nest be burnt right out. Only the walls left standing. And two dead men they found,” she went on with ghoulish enjoyment. “To think, if it hadn’t been for Sir Charles, Jim might have been burned to death! Wonderful brave it was, to go in after him with the place ablaze like that. Jim says he’ll never be able to thank him, specially after what ’e’d done. And then Mistress Woodstead sent me off after some of her cordial, so I didn’t rightly hear what that was. Jim’s still abed too, and mistress won’t let me next nor nigh him,” she ended a little resentfully, and then, bobbing her head shyly, explained that she and Jim were thinking of keeping company reg’lar like.
Nell expressed sympathetic interest in this budding romance and heard all about Jim having no family of his own, which had made Bella, one of the blacksmith’s large brood, feel ‘heart sorry for him,’ and these interesting confidences might have gone on indefinitely, had not Jasie been heard shouting for Bella, and enquiring where the dratted wench had got to this time. She fled, leaving Nell to finish her rapidly cooling chocolate in peace, and then to stretch herself luxuriously, revelling in the sensation of complete security as much as in the benison of the warm sunlight that was pouring over her. Her limbs were still stiff and sore, and she was surprised to discover a number of bruises that she had not even been aware of receiving. Her hands had suffered the most, but Emma had bathed them tenderly and bound them up with her own elderflower salve. There had been a scratch on her cheek, too, she remembered, and scrambled out of bed to patter across to the mirror to inspect it. She was so engaged, tentatively fingering the long purple weal, half bruise half scratch, and hoping it would not leave a scar, when there was a gentle tap on the door and Emma came quietly into the room.
“So you’ve decided to wake up, have you, slug-a-bed? And high time too,” she said with her habitual calm. “Now let that scratch alone, and it’ll heal just as it should. I came to help you dress, seeing as you’ll be awkward with your hands bandaged.”
She moved about the room, quietly and without fuss, pouring water into the basin, finding fresh underwear and stockings, and helping her nurseling with tapes and buttons that were difficult for bandaged fingers.
“I’ll send Bella up to unpack for you presently,” she said, as she was engaged in brushing out the silky dark hair, with caustic comment on its tangled state. “Jasie brought all your things over from the Fleece this morning, so you’ve no need to set foot in that place again. Dr. Hilsborough said you were to keep your bed today, but I knew you’d not be for doing that, so I’ve had a couch set in the garden, and you can rest there, where I can keep my eye on you.”
Nell met her glance in the glass and wrinkled her nose in a naughty little gesture of defiance, which swiftly changed to a rueful grimace as the scratch on her cheek made itself felt.
“Yes,” nodded Emma grimly. “You’ll do just as you’re told for once. A fine pickle you got yourself into, and all through going your own way from what I can make out. No. Sir Charles didn’t give you away. ’Twas Giles told me you’d disobeyed orders. Why, I thought ’twas some ragamuffin had strayed into my kitchen, with your dress all torn and soaking wet and your hair in this state.”
Nell composed her features into an expression of meek penitence, but inwardly her heart was singing. It was such bliss to hear Emma scolding in her own inimitable way. And this afternoon Charles was coming to see her.
Resolutely she shut her mind to this joyous thought. Even Emma’s kindly presence was an intrusion on the privacy in which it should be savoured. She asked instead how Jasie did after his share in last night’s adventure, and whether Jim Cooke was mending. Emma’s reports were satisfactory. She, too, had many questions to ask. The child had been in no case for talk last night. She had sat quietly, as though half dazed, during the painful business of having her cuts and scratches cleansed. “Yes,” she had said, she was very hungry. So Emma had brought her a bowl of bread and milk. And what was there about that to upset anyone? Yet she had scarcely lifted the spoon to her lips before it had splashed back into the bowl, and down went her head on her arms in such a storm of weeping as had quite dismayed Emma, so that she had been obliged to ask the doctor to mix a composing draught for Miss Nell when he had finished with Jim Cooke.
Whatever he had put in it had certainly had a beneficial effect, decided Emma rather grudgingly, for she set little store by doctor’s medicines, preferring rather to rely on the salves and simples that she brewed herself. She brought out her elderflower salve now, and having helped her charge into an enchantingly pretty dress of primrose jaconet with green riband trimming, unwound the bandages from the torn and battered little hands and proceeded to annoint them with the soothing balm.
It was pleasant to be installed on the couch beside the sundial, with a sunshade to protect her from the glare and Bella to run backward and forward to make sure she had all she needed, though not so pleasant to be restricted to the couch. Riding or driving, she accepted, would be out of the question till her hands mended, but Emma would not even let her stroll about the garden. Because of the bandages she could not sew, and even turning the pages of a book was surprisingly difficult. The hours which must pass until she could expect to see Charles seemed interminable. She lay watching the bees working busily over a bed of thyme, her eyes half closed, and stared in indignant disbelief when Emma roused her to say that she had slept long enough, and now she must take some nourishment. It seemed impossible that she could have slept the morning away, and she was much inclined to blame Dr. Hilsborough’s potion, but once awake she realised that she was hungry, and Emma’s chicken broth was delicious, with tiny tips of asparagus hiding in its velvety depths, while the raspberries and cream that followed would have tempted a sybarite—or a maiden in love. Certainly she was so far restored as to be able to give a rational account of her unpleasant experiences. Emma busied herself with some sewing, listened, asked an occasional question, and finally wanted to know how she had managed to get herself as wet as if she had fallen into the sea. “For that good green cambric is ruined, all stained with sea water as it is, let alone the ruffle cut off the hem, and it just new come from Miss Pemble’s hands.”
This innocent question seemed to touch a sensitive spot, for Nell blushed furiously and then
confessed that she had indeed jumped into the water.
“But only just at the very edge,” she offered in extenuation. “It was when we had brought Giles over to help lift Jim into the boat. I could see them both lying there, and I was so dreadfully afraid that he was dead. The boat was going so slowly and I just had to find out, though it made Jasie dreadfully cross. And after all he was only asleep.”
Strangely enough Emma seemed to find this tangled and inconsequent account with its oddly unrelated pronouns, both comprehensible and satisfactory, and merely said that it was a pity that she hadn’t chosen one of her older gowns to go stravaiging about the seashore. Nell accepted the mild rebuke meekly, thankful to be spared further enquiry, and at last summoned up courage to ask the question that had troubled her mind since Bella’s disclosures of the morning.
“Sir Nicholas—has anything been seen of him?”
Emma nodded gravely. She had been prepared for this. “He is dead. Though just how he came to die is something of a mystery, for Sir Charles says it must have been he who set the place on fire. Jasie thinks that he must have misjudged the state of the tide and reckoned on escaping by way of the passage, for it was there that the men found him when they searched the place this morning.”
The news was only what Nell had been expecting. If two bodies had been found, as Bella had reported, then the second was most likely to have been that of her uncle. She had feared and disliked him, and knew that in firing Crow’s Nest he had sought to encompass her death. It was a strange and rather solemn thought that in so doing he had brought about his own. Her thoughts turned for a moment to the unknown aunt in London and to the small son of whom Sir Nicholas had spoken once or twice. She pitied them sincerely. And she remembered the one occasion when she had been truly grateful to him.
