The Lonely Earl (19 page)

“A riding officer,” explained Ned. “One of the excise-men from the post at Exeter. This night he will be watching the coast with his men.”

“Why tonight?”

“It is dark, you see. Cloudy. No moon. He thinks it a perfect night for the smugglers to try to set their cargo ashore. Whatever it is.”

“Whatever it is?” echoed Egmont, startled. “Then you expect… the cargo you spoke of?”

“Most probably. But he won’t escape, sir. That I promise you!”

Chapter 13

Ned was not quite so sure of himself at breakfast the next morning. Indeed, Egmont thought, he seemed unusually morose. He accepted another cup of coffee in silence.

Lord Egmont as a rule enjoyed his food, and today was no exception. After Devon ham, little biscuits with wild strawberry conserve, and two coddled eggs, he was willing to put his mind to his gloomy nephew.

“What was the catch last night?” he asked. “Unsatisfactory, I must assume.”

Ned grumbled, “In fact, we got not a thing!”

“We?” said Egmont, raising an eyebrow. “Were you out last night? After all that rain? You’ll catch your death!”

“No, no. I wasn’t out. I’d be no use in an ambush,” he said, clearly visualizing himself as a villain manqué. “Too late to start jauntering around in the dark, especially in country I don’t know. Better leave it to the professionals!”

“But you wish you had gone,” pointed out his uncle with a twinkle.

The light leaping in Ned’s eyes showed Egmont he was right. “It would have been such a lark!” Ned cried boyishly. “And you, sir, you would have enjoyed it above all things!”

Egmont said with mock austerity, “Perhaps I should have, once.”

“You can’t hoax me upon that score, sir!” exclaimed Ned, before the weight of his duty descended upon his shoulders once more. What had happened, he explained, was that the smugglers failed to land. “Didn’t come at all.”

“You mean along the section of the beach below Tre-van?”

“I mean as far as the estuary/’ said Ned, crumbling a biscuit unheedingly in his fingers. “We had a good deal of the coast watched. And not a sail showed.”

“Perhaps the wind was wrong,” Egmont offered.

“Perhaps,” Ned agreed reluctantly, “and then, perhaps, they were warned.”

“Warned?” Egmont stirred uneasily. “Probably your men moved into position with the secrecy of Hannibal’s elephants!”

“I suppose so. You can’t move many men along these country lanes without causing notice. At any rate, now it’s all to do over again.”

Ned sat long at the breakfast table. In fact, after Egmont had departed, Ned still stared, unseeing, while Faustina joined him, refilled his coffeecup, and ate her own huge breakfast.

Faustina herself watched her cousin warily. Egmont had told her nothing except to ask no questions. She merely said, after she deemed Ned’s silence had gone on long enough, “Maybe the earl will have his picnic today.”

She rolled her eyes significantly toward the ceiling.

“You mean you want another exhibition like last evening?” said Ned sourly. “I vow I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.” He contemplated his empty cup unfavorably, and Faustina promptly filled it.

At an apparent tangent, Faustina mused, “Papa has gone to inspect the cottages up at More.”

Ned looked up, puzzled. “So?”

“The farthest comer of the estate. He said we should not expect him back to lunch. And I would be surprised, myself, were he to return before nightfall. The cottagers have my aunt’s presence to thank for this attention!”

“Can’t blame my uncle,” agreed Ned. “But we must get through the day ourselves, and the picnic will help.”

The picnic, however, did not provide the panacea its advocates hoped for. Bucky, no lover of food alfresco, pleaded a headache. Upon being informed that the picnic was to take place that day, Lady Waverly sent word that she was too bruised in her feelings to enjoy herself. Faustina went up to plead with her. “You know, Aunt Louisa, that we cannot go unless you come along. It would be quite ineligible, you know.”

“So,” said Louisa, looking determinedly out of the window, “I am to be regarded merely as a duenna? I assure you, Faustina, that such a role is not at all to my liking.”

“Aunt, you look very fetching in your blue robe this morning,” said Faustina. “No one could possibly mistake you for anything other than a charming and delightful lady. The earl sent word,” she added mendaciously, “that he would not think it an amusing excursion without you.”

Lady Waverly allowed herself to be persuaded to put on her pale blue redingote of twilled silk, and her wide-brimmed bonnet.

For what she hoped was the last time, Faustina listened to her aunt say, as they came down the stairs, “I do not wish you will think I am throwing myself at your earl, Faustina. As your father was good enough to tell me,” she said with fine scorn. “I vow I had no idea of the depth of his envy.”

Julia and Ned waited below. Ned heard his mother’s remarks, and said bracingly, “Mother, do stop going on this way. You’ll spoil all Julia’s chances!” An unfortunate remark, since Julia said scathingly, “I do not need you to forward my interests,” at the same time as her mother was informing Ned in a quelling manner, “I hope I know my child’s interests better than you.”

At last they were ready to go. The pony cart was brought around, and Louisa flatly refused to trust herself in such a ramshackle vehicle. There was a delay while the caléche was readied and brought around. Faustina managed to say to Ned in an undertone, “I should think you would be ashamed to throw Julia to the wolves. It’s quite uncivilized!”

Ned regarded her with astonishment. “You mean Pendarvis? You must be mistaken, Faustina. He strikes me as deserving of respect, at least in some ways. I do not give him a total endorsement, of course. But as to women, I think he’s above reproach.” 

She turned away petulantly, unaware of his thoughtful gaze on her. Ned knew nothing of Pendarvis, and yet he presumed to give her the benefit of his opinion. He had known him once, of course, but people change, as she had learned to her cost. He could just keep his opinion to himself, she thought crossly. She knew what she knew.

The ride was only long enough for her to determine that she would deliberately ignore the earl, leaving him to deal with her aunt as best he could. The picnic, in her own mind, was planned for Althea’s pleasure, and she would make sure the child enjoyed every minute.

Rendezvous was made at the top of a cliff facing the channel, three miles beyond Trevan. It was a place Faustina knew well, a perfect spot for an outing. The clifftop was broad and windswept, but there was a broad and safe path cut in the cliff face from the summit down to the broad shingle, where only a very high spring tide rattled the stones, and one would rarely run the risk of being cut off by the waters of the bay. The shingle here was covered with sand, and safe. But far along the beach, nearly out of sight beyond a headland, ran a long finger of irregular rocks like stepping-stones for a couple of hundred feet into the bay, tide-covered twice each day.

The earl’s party had already arrived. When Hugh did anything, Faustina was about to learn, he did it in regular bang-up style. Two footmen unloaded hampers and spread blankets and tablecloths upon the ground. The earl himself took charge of a basket from which peeked long-necked wine bottles.

Althea ran to swing herself on Faustina’s hands, and attached herself to her friend like a limpet. The party from the vicarage arrived on the heels of the Kennett caléche. The earl proved to be, when he set his mind to it, a delightful host. Helen Astley said so, adding, “I had no idea, since I confess I am not prone to alfresco dining, that the earl’s idea would turn out so well!”

Faustina glanced indignantly at Hugh, who merely grinned in what she considered a very wicked fashion. So the picnic had not been Helen’s idea, after all! 

The vicar remarked that he missed Lord Egmont. Mary Bidwell received Althea’s open approval, as did Julia.

The picnic progressed from chicken through ham, and arrived at imported grapes and wine. Hugh pointed significantly to the excise stamp on the neck of the bottle as it was opened, and Ned smiled slightly. This time, at least, he was not drinking smuggled wine.

“I wonder why Mademoiselle should not feel it her duty to attend the child,” said Helen at last, raising her eyebrows. “Prudence is, I am sure, perfectly adequate as a nursemaid, but I should expect the woman who is charged with the responsibility not to shirk her duty. Lady Althea,” she added, turning to the child, “I am anxious to know how well your nurse does for you. Is Mademoiselle teaching you your letters?”

Lady Althea said, “No, ma’am.”

“Then what does she teach you? I suppose that she must be unwilling to venture upon teaching you your own tongue. I wonder she can speak it all. So many times these foreign servants never try to learn English correctly.”

Faustina was tempted to come to the rescue of the absent Zelle, but in truth she could not help but agree with Helen’s basic premise — that Zelle was worse than useless. She knew, besides, that the fastest route to the earl’s limitless store of scorn was to suggest that he might be in error, and Faustina waited breathlessly for Helen to be blasted by a lightning bolt from Pendarvis.

She waited in vain. Glancing sidelong at the earl, she saw his brow furrowed in attention. She drew a deep quivering breath. But Helen had not quite finished. “Lady Althea,” she said, “I think I must talk to Zelle about you.”

Faustina felt Althea’s small hand quivering in hers. Quickly she glanced down at the child’s pale face. She’s afraid, Faustina thought, and at once interrupted Helen.

“I for one feel like walking off this enormous meal,” she announced, rising and pulling Althea to her feet. “Come, Althea, will you join me? Please say yes. I don’t want to go alone.” 

Without waiting for an answer, Faustina strode toward the clifftop, hurrying Althea along with her. Behind her she could hear Helen saying, “The child needs supervision…” But the two of them had escaped.

Behind them, Hugh’s eyes glittered. His scheme to bring Faustina to her knees was not working quite the way he had planned. She had been polite this afternoon, but he did not feel that she was even aware of his presence. True, she had been quite silent, but then, so had Lady Waverly and Julia. He suspected suddenly that events had occurred at the Chase after his departure that had left its mark upon the inhabitants.

He was vaguely aware that Helen Astley was talking earnestly to him, but he could not have repeated a word of her speech. He watched Faustina and Althea running free over the gorse, and felt a strange urge to cast off all his duties and give himself over too to the exhilaration of running free before the wind, like a yacht.

He must, he thought fleetingly, buy a yacht. His father had sold the venerable
Gray
Goose
. But a new yacht lay — if he were not killed — in the future. Just now, he saw that Faustina and his daughter had reached the head of the cliff path and were almost out of sight down the path.

The group around the picnic spread broke up. Julia rose and began to stroll toward the spot where the other two had disappeared, and, as though drawn by a magnet, Aubrey Talbot followed her.

Ned stood up but did not move from his place. He smiled lazily at Mary Bidwell. “Miss Bidwell,” he bantered, “are you minded to join the
children
?”

She smiled shyly. “I think I should like to go. Are you going, Helen?”

Helen glanced at Hugh, who had the appearance of remaining fixed for hours, and reached for another bunch of white grapes. “No,” she said with kindly superiority, “to play in the sand is a childish amusement, and one that I have long left behind me. But if you wish to go, Mary, then I do not mind.”

Ned’s fists clenched and unclenched before he knew it. To treat Mary Bidwell in such a condescending manner struck him as grossly ill-bred. He said bluntly, “I think I had better see what my cousin and my sister are doing. Will you accept my escort, Miss Bidwell?”

To Helen’s ill-concealed dismay, Hugh sprang to his feet. “I feel like a child myself. All this brings me to recollect my boyhood again. I might even challenge you to a footrace on the sand, Ned.”

“I’ll race you anytime,” said Ned with enthusiasm, and the three departed toward the path.

Helen watched them go. In repose, her face took on a moody expression, almost pouting. Mr. Astley, knowing his daughter well, bethought himself of certain wildflowers that he wished to add to his collection, and soon Lady Waverly and Helen were left to their own devices. Lady Waverly was not long at a loss.

“My dear,” she began kindly, “I wish to tell you how fetching that new fichu is.”

“Oh,” said Helen absently, her eyes and mind still on the fast-disappearing earl. “Do you like it? I am so glad.”

“Another color perhaps would be better,” went on Lady Waverly. “At least, I myself would choose another color. And I fancy that there are those who would agree. I am quite noted, you know, for the fashions I wear in London. Nothing like what one would wear down here in the country, of course. I daresay the fashions I introduced last season might not appear in Devon for, say, another two years at most.”

Helen eyed her companion without favor. “Fashion,” she pronounced, “as the Apostle Paul says, soon passeth away.”

Lady Waverly was not daunted. Helen Astley, to her mind, was an overweening upstart, no matter how closely she was kin to the Hortons. And — she dismissed the Hortons with a mental wave of the hand — Helen was not going to interfere with Lady Waverly’s own plans.

“You must realize, of course, and I mean this most kindly,” Lady Waverly said, “that the earl is above your reach. I would not do you the injustice of believing that you do not already know this. I am sure you would not be so lost to propriety as to dream of making such a brilliant attachment.”