The Lonely Earl (8 page)

Part of her knew she should go back to the carriage. Perhaps even now the job horses were being put to, and they would be waiting for her. Then something about the boat grasped her attention, and she stood rooted to the spot.

The boat had stopped moving forward, and instead wallowed in the gentle sea. What were they doing?

The boat and its crew were behaving in a very odd fashion. First there was the strange circumstance of the boat losing, purposely, its headway. Then, while she watched, the second odd thing occurred. She was too far away to distinguish individual members of the crew on deck, but she could see clearly the odd maneuvers of the canvas.

The small sail, three-cornered, on the bow, dropped. Then it was drawn back up again, rather like a window shade in reverse — so thought Mary. But this maneuver, up and down, was repeated three — no, four — times.

Mary crept closer to the edge of the cliff in her total absorption. Then, suddenly, the boat, so to speak, came to its senses. It pulled up the sail, added a second one on its mainmast, made about, and sailed swiftly toward the channel.

Mystified, Mary watched it go, and then, deciding that it was not going to stop again to play, she turned to go. She was close to the cliff edge now. Here the short gorse was dwarfed by the constant wind, and slanted eternally, so that the small plants grew landward. She had not realized how close to the edge she had come. At her left hand she could see the break in the gorse that indicated the head of a path descending the cliff face.

She wished she had seen it before. Now there was not time to explore it. She stepped to the head of the path and looked down to the half-moon of shingle curving at the foot of the rock.

A man stood on the shingle. Ungainly enough as he stood there, when he inched along the beach she could see that he was crippled — his left leg twisted below the knee. He was staring out to sea, watching the ship.

She had already wandered too far from the Astley coach. More than highwaymen she feared the cutting edge of Helen’s tongue if she were kept waiting. 

Mary turned quickly to go. In her haste, her foot dislodged a pebble at the edge of the path, and the stone, dismayingly, leaped down the path cut in the rock.

The man below jerked in surprise. He sought the source of the falling pebble. As he looked up to the cliff top, she saw his face. A more evil countenance she had never seen. The sun shone fully on dark hair, dark skin, a face set awry, a white scar creasing his cheekbone and lifting his lip into a sneer.

Mary was not unusually sensitive, she would have said, but there was a Scottish great-aunt who was said to see things on occasion. Unreasoning, Mary thought that now was not the time to dispute the likelihood of second sight. Now was the time — and never more so — to leave the vicinity.

He started up the path toward her.

She could not believe he could move so rapidly, not with his crippled leg. Nor had she any doubt that he was coming after her. The man was evil — Mary knew it, as her great-aunt would have known it
She ran.

The tough branches of the heather caught her skirt and slowed her like grasping fingers. Modesty was thrown to the winds, and she lifted her skirts with both hands, the better to run.

The lace hem of her petticoat caught on the stiff gorse, and she tumbled. She fell heavily, the breath knocked out of her. She could not move. She heard, or fancied she heard, footsteps behind her. The irregular thump of boots on the ground, the boots of a man who limped.

She must run… She could not move. The hot dry smell of heather stung her nostrils. There was no sound except the curlews swooping dizzily, and, nearby, the hum of bees in the pink flowers.

At length she pulled her scattered wits together. He had not pounced upon her. Cautiously she raised herself to her knees and looked behind her, at first with care and then with surprise. She was alone.

How lowering to find that her fright was imaginary, and she had worked herself up into such a dreadful state of panic! For the man could have caught up with her if he were indeed the sinister ogre she had thought.

In the distance she saw — as the man might have seen — the coach at the side of the road that threaded the high moors. Now she could see that Peasley had returned with new horses.

She was suddenly aware of how she must look — torn skirt, russet hair escaping from a lopsided bonnet. Aubrey Talbot came to look for her. “No need to hurry so much,” he called when she was within reach of his voice. “It will be a little bit yet before it’s all sorted out. Why, you’re almost running! One would think the devil was chasing you!”

She nearly cried out: How did you know? But she said only, “I wandered farther than I knew.” She stopped to look back. The cliff top was untenanted. The man was nowhere in sight.

And now, with Aubrey Talbot at hand and Helen Astley waiting for her in the coach — a plethora of armed servants in the background — her adventure appeared to be the product of a disordered brain. She could almost believe she had dreamed the evil man on the beach, and she was sure she had read into the mysterious sail maneuvers a strangeness that could easily be explained by a sailor.

She turned to Aubrey with her sweet smile. “I fell, that is all.” She gestured at her soiled skirt. “I’m still a little shaken.”

In her comer of the seat, as the carriage resumed its interrupted journey, she shrank back, forcing her breath to come slowly, until the last trace of panic had vanished.

She told herself she had been prey to a fancy, because she was too tired. Her imagination was overwrought, because she had not slept much.

Forget it, she admonished herself, to good purpose. You’ve got better things to worry about.

When they drove through the vicarage gates in Trevan, the man on the beach and the boat on the bay were, alike, out of sight and out of mind. 

Chapter 7

Faustina’s usually even temper was suffering a severe strain. The day for the ball was almost upon them, and even though her aunt Louisa had indicated it would be a simple country rout, yet one could not simply open the front door at the time specified and allow guests to stream in, without preparing at least in a small way for them.

In addition, she was genuinely concerned about her young cousin. When Faustina had stayed with the Waverlys in Grosvenor Square, Julia had been sixteen. She should have been presented at Almack’s at least a year ago. But Julia had said that her mother was intent upon Captain Abernethy at that time, and the season had gone by, and even the little season, last autumn, and now she was in remote Devon when all the
ton
descended again in droves upon the environs of Mayfair.

Louisa was an unknown quantity — and that, Faustina acknowledged to herself, was the rub. Julia seemed to believe that her mother had only a broken heart to mend, and was setting out to divert herself by dangling her daughter before the earl.

But Faustina had some experience of her aunt’s ruthlessness in getting her own way — she shuddered when she recollected Aunt Louisa’s machinations on behalf of Mr. Denton — and she could easily see Lady Waverly in fact marrying off her daughter to the earl, to remove an adult daughter from society at a time when her mother could ill afford the comparison of age and of beauty.

Whereas Egmont, entertaining an active and lifelong dislike for his sister-in-law, would quite simply put nothing in the world past her.

Julia’s brow this morning wore the serenity attributable to untroubled sleep and what Faustina could only regard as irresponsible innocence. Julia, at loose ends, had wandered into Faustina’s sitting room. She watched her cousin, occupied at her tiny French desk, for some minutes. Surely nobody, reflected Julia, could resist Faustina’s gaiety, her great good sense, and that liveliness that — in spite of what Lady Waverly said — was delightful and not at all disgusting.

Faustina’s smile shimmered across the room at her young cousin. “I perceive your mother’s strategy,” she said lightly. “She says, ‘Let us have a ball,’ and then thinks no more about it until the night of the party.”

“She always does so,” agreed Julia. “But in London we have Peebles to manage for us.”

“No doubt,” said Faustina dryly. “But here, you see, you have only me. Already I have glimmerings of how it will be. Since it is her party, I asked her for her menu. You know what she said?”

“‘My dear, I’ll leave it all up to your good judgment,’” said Julia merrily, in an uncanny imitation of her mother’s voice.

“Exactly. Whereas my own good judgment would say, ‘Cancel the entire affair.’ ”

“ ‘And go back to London,’ ” added Julia. “I can’t say I blame you.”

A wistful look crossed Julia’s face, and Faustina’s heart smote her. Julia must be looking forward to the party as eagerly as any child, and Faustina shrewdly guessed that such entertainment did not come her way in London. Faustina resolved to go at the thankless chore with better grace.

“Dancing?” wondered Faustina aloud. “Do you?”

“Not at a real ball, you know. But I’ve been tutored by Miss Grimshaw, and I’d adore to try. Here in the country it doesn’t matter if I make mistakes.”

“Why is it,” complained Faustina, “that everyone thinks that the country doesn’t count? That only in London does the real world go on? I’d like to see London survive for two days without the country — fresh foods, wool, all of it!” After a silence, Faustina continued. “Cakes? What kind of punch?” 

“Mama should tell you that,” offered Julia, “since she is paying for it How else will you know what to order?”

Faustina objected. “But of course Aunt Louisa pays nothing. How would it look, to have her pay for an entertainment at Kennett Chase? I know Papa wouldn’t hear of it”

She frowned at the lists before her. At length, she made up her mind. “You’ve been a help, Julia. Now I see my way clear. If I am to manage the party, then I will manage it. But I must find Bucky.”

“You know best, Faustina,” her aunt had said. Well, Faustina thought crossly as she made her way down the stairs and into the morning room, her aunt only thought so if it were a matter of exerting herself or not. She had certainly told Faustina she was foolish to refuse the offers of marriage that had come her way in London.

And why had she?

She stopped short, her hand on the bell pull. Why had she indeed? There was something not quite right, something lacking in her life, and yet she knew well that the missing piece would not have been supplied by any of the men who had thrown heart and hand at her feet in Grosvenor Square. What was she waiting for? A white knight on a white horse to come riding and carry her off?

She pulled the bell savagely.

For the next couple of hours Faustina was secluded in technical discussion with Bone and Mrs. Cotter, the cook, who had been at Kennett Chase for more years than she liked to think about.

And, of course, dear Bucky.

After Bone and Mrs. Cotter had bowed themselves out, Faustina turned to her cherished friend. “What do you think, Bucky? Will it do?”

“Of course, my dear,” said Bucky matter-of-factly, rising with the intention of setting immediately to work. “Just give me your lists, you know. I’ll do the rest.”

Faustina, secure in the knowledge that all would go well under Bucky’s firm hand, wandered out onto the terrace. Vincent Crale lounged in one of the chairs, looking as comfortable as though he had been there for some time. Opposite him, demurely on the edge of her seat, sat Julia. And no one else! A frown touched Faustina’s face as she joined them.

“Vincent has been telling me,” said Julia brightly, “about the time he fell out of the apple tree.”

“Did he also tell you he had been forbidden to climb the tree in the first place?” said Faustina dryly.

Vincent appeared wounded. “There’s no fun in climbing a tree unless one is supposed not to.”

“It is more fun to do forbidden things,” murmured Julia, adding wistfully, “I can’t imagine having the courage to do something greatly not the thing. But someday I shall.”

Louisa appeared in the doorway. “I hope, Julia,” she said oppressively, “that your ideas of great daring do not go beyond climbing trees.” Lady Waverly gazed pointedly at Vincent until he scrambled to his feet.

Faustina was vexed with him. Had he so little sense as to antagonize Lady Waverly needlessly? And to forget his manners before a leader of the
ton
?

Louisa had no qualms about such nonsense as being a guest herself at Kennett Chase. “I do hope, Mr. Crale,” she said firmly, “that your brother does not endorse your manners or your presence at such an unseemly hour.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here, Lady Waverly.”

“I should hope not,” agreed Louisa heartily. “I suppose that Faustina must make exceptions, since you are such a close neighbor, but I must assure you that I shall not be as lenient.”

“Lenient?” said Faustina quietly. “In Grosvenor Square, perhaps, or at Beaufort. But here at Kennett Chase, Aunt Louisa, we set our own rules.”

Lady Waverly realized then that she had gone too far. She turned to Julia. “I am sure that Miss Bucknell will be more than happy to hear your French lesson, if you were to ask her.” And then, as her daughter was slow to move, Louisa added, “Now.”

Lady Waverly shepherded her daughter inside the house, leaving Faustina to glance ruefully at Vincent. To her surprise, he was unabashed. “What luck!” he said. “I didn’t know how I was going to get to talk to you alone.”

“Vincent, how very naughty!” Faustina stifled a giggle.

“I wanted to tell you what Hugh is doing.”

“It does not interest me in die least.”

“It should,” said Vincent with impudence. “It looks as though he’ll be related to you — cousin-in-law, I suppose.” “Vincent!” she cried, really outraged now.

Hurriedly he plunged into the burden of his complaint. “He’s going over the estate,” he told her. “He’s prying into every little thing. The fields, the crops. The tenants and all their petty whining. I told Jessop the roof would get fixed, but he can’t believe that. No, he has to take it to the earl himself, he says.”

Faustina set herself to soothe Vincent. It was by now an automatic reaction, since she secretly thought that Vincent had no more than half the right on his side, no matter what the complaint. “This seems reasonable to me,” she objected. “Why wouldn’t a man want his roof to be sound?”

“I said I’d get to it.”

“When did you tell him that? Months ago, I wager.”

The answer was clearly not one Vincent wished to dwell upon. “He’s talking about tearing down the old sheds. I heard him speaking to Pittock about bringing in some prime cattle. Though where he’s going to drive them, I don’t know.”

“Maybe in London?” suggested Faustina hopefully. “Not a bit of it,” said Vincent swiftly. “Maddox says…”

When he did not go on she prompted him. “Maddox says?”

“You wouldn’t be interested,” he said sullenly. “You’ve never liked Maddox, even though he’s the best friend I’ve got. But anyway, Hugh hasn’t been here for years, and now he comes back to make trouble. He has no right to call
me
to account.”

Now Faustina could judge the mainspring of Vincent’s protests of today. His brother must have been severely critical, as only he could be. She bit her lip in vexation. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “Why did he have to come back?”

Vincent showed no disposition to leave until Faustina said, “I have some errands to do in town for Bucky. But maybe you’d like to do them? It will give you something to occupy your mind.”

“That I don’t need,” Vincent said, aggrieved. “Hugh has already thought of that. Claims I idle my time away.”

Amused, Faustina said, “How unfeeling! He must have noticed your daily rounds!”

“You’re no help at all,” said Vincent. “Hugh insists on my going around with him today — him and Pittock. So I couldn’t do your errands anyway.”

*

A little later Faustina and Julia set out smartly down the drive in the curricle. Faustina was quite a good whip, and enjoyed the feeling of the horses’ strength through the reins, and the breeze brushing fast past her cheeks. She liked to drive herself, but agreed to have Samuel on the box behind.

Trevan was not crowded with shoppers, since the weekly fair was two days away. It took only a short time to purchase the set of ribbons to thread through her night shift, and the embroidery silks for Julia.

“Mama is set upon my accomplishing a fine piece of work before we return to London. And all my fingers are thumbs, and the needle feels like a piece of wood in my hands!” she wailed.

But Faustina helped her pick out the silks, in several shades of red and a vivid Persian blue, and then they continued down the list that Bucky had given them. At length they were finished.

“And about time, too,” said Faustina. “I feel that there must be nothing left in the village to purchase. I hope Samuel can find sufficient room in the curricle.”

“I’ll hold my own purchases in my lap,” offered Julia.

“Some embroidery silks? That will be a help!” Faustina laughed, and the two girls went down the street to the Green Man in high good spirits.

Betsy Kyd threw open the door leading into the parlor and bade them enter. “I’ll just bring you a glass of lemon squash, Miss Faustina, and will you want one too, Miss Waverly? I mind when you first came to visit at the Chase. No higher than a cricket’s knee, you were! I wasn’t there then, of course, having married my Ben and settled down here at the Green Man, and sometimes I wish, I truly do, that I had never set eyes on the Green Man, and that’s a fact. Which I will not bother you with, Miss Faustina.”

But after she had delivered the drinks, wiping the spotless table before setting them down on its polished surface, Betsy lingered.

This made it easy for Faustina to ask her the question Bucky had posed. “You know we’re going to have a party at the Chase?” began Faustina. Betsy nodded. “Miss Bucknell has asked whether you might be able to help out at the Chase that night. With the serving, of course.”

To her surprise, Betsy Kyd shook her head. “Hard as it comes to refuse you anything, Miss Faustina, I just can’t do it. I suppose the earl will be there?”

Surprised, Faustina agreed. “He might be.”

“Then that’s another reason why I can’t do it.”

Julia had finished her lemon squash, and, bored with the business conversation, she was diverted to see through the open door behind Betsy a small white blob that she instantly identified as a kitten, probably strayed from the box in the kitchen. Julia slipped through the door in pursuit.

Faustina closed the door behind her. “Now, then, Betsy, my dear friend, what is amiss? Surely there is nothing you fear to face the earl over?” Her tone was light, but her fears were not. Betsy was not one to fly up into the boughs over trifles.

“Not that, miss, but I do fear to face him, or I would do it myself,” she said cryptically. Not until Faustina insisted that she sit down to tell her story, and by adroit questioning, did she learn the trouble in Betsy’s mind.