The Return of Lord Conistone. Lucy Ashford
thing more, milord’. Bentinck frowned. ‘As I was leavin’ just now, all quiet-like, to find my nag, I heard a bit of an argument between the girl—the beauty—and a servant. Seems as if there’s trouble down at the beach, Ragg’s Cove they call it, between the militia and some fishermen. And the girl’s gone hurrying down there to investigate’.
‘Not—on her own?’ Lucas’s voice was harsh. Incredulous.
‘Sounds like it, milord. Weren’t nothing I could—’
‘I know Ragg’s Cove’. Lucas looked grim. ‘There’s a path down to it from where the Wycherley gardens end at the top of the cliffs…’. He was making rapid decisions. ‘We’ll both ride quietly back towards the house, then you must keep yourself and the horses hidden. If I’m not back in half an hour—come after me’.
‘But—’
‘That’s an order. Understand?’
Bentinck sighed. ‘Understood, milord’. And followed.
As Verena hurried down the last few yards to the shingle beach, a hoarse cry of welcome rose from the half-dozen or so figures who cowered from the militia men’s pointed muskets. ‘Miss Verena! It’s Miss Verena!’
Drawing nearer, she recognised them: old Tom Sawrey, Billy Dixon, Ned Goodhew, and two others. Wycherley tenants, they farmed smallholdings and fished to supplement their income.
She also knew the officer in charge of the militia. ‘Colonel Harrap! Yes, it’s me, Verena Sheldon! I have no idea what you and your soldiers think you’re doing! French spies indeed!’
Colonel Harrap puffed himself out like a peacock. ‘I’m afraid you aren’t acquainted with the full facts, Miss Sheldon! Are you aware, for instance, that these scoundrels—’ he pointed at the Wycherley men ‘—made a signal—a fire, up on the cliff—to lure the enemy into land? And as a servant of his Majesty, it’s my duty to arrest them!’
Her heart lurched sickly. A fire. She looked sharply at the villagers again.
Fish weren’t the only haul they landed at night. Occasionally she and her family had received good French brandy, and sometimes even a bale of silk. Tonight—yes, tonight it was all too possible that they’d lit a fire to guide in a boat—to help not French spies, but French smugglers.
Then Billy Dixon stepped forwards, desperate. ‘We didn’t light that fire, Miss Verena, honest! We’d just been out fishin’ and we saw the flames while we were out at sea!’
‘A likely story!’ snorted Colonel Harrap.
‘It’s true! We rowed back in to see what it could be, but just after we pulled our boat in, that—that officer and his men came running down from the top of the headland and told us we was all under arrest! See, there’s our boat, look!’
He pointed to the big rowing boat heaved up on to the shingle, to the folded nets and baskets of glistening fish. Verena was just starting to breathe again.
But Colonel Harrap hadn’t finished. ‘Their word against mine, Miss Sheldon! And the lighting of a signal to the enemy amounts to treason, as I’m sure you know! This will go before the magistrates, I promise you!’
Verena gave him her best frosty glare. ‘I think the magistrates, Colonel Harrap, will require more evidence than you’ve just given me!’ she declared stoutly. Oh, Billy. You’d best be telling me the truth about this, or else.
‘We’ll see! If I should find proof that some French villains have indeed landed, there’ll be the devil to pay!’ blustered Colonel Harrap. And, after muttering ‘You’ve not heard the last of this!’ he led his men surlily back to the steep path that led up to the headland.
Verena drew her hand across her eyes, feeling a little faint. ‘Billy, Tom,’ she said, ‘I really hope you’ve been honest with me’.
The Wycherley men had quickly surrounded her, their faces shining with relief. ‘Oh, yes, Miss Verena!’ said Billy. ‘But—’ and he glanced at the others ‘—there’s somethin’ else you ought to know. Something we wasn’t going to tell old Harrap and his bunch of brass buttons!’
Verena’s heart sank anew. ‘Tell me, Billy’.
‘Well,’ said Billy, ‘we were out at sea, like I said, when we saw that fire lit. We saw nothing else. But when we landed, young Dickon—he’s Tom’s lad, he’s only thirteen—he’d been watching for us, to help us in with the catch, and he saw a boat come in, saw them land, three of them, and he said they were mighty quiet about everything, but he’s got sharp ears, and he said they talked real strange!’
Verena’s heart thumped. French. Oh, no. Maybe the villagers should have told Colonel Harrap this from the start. If he found out now, Harrap would jump on the chance to accuse them all of conspiracy. If I should find proof that some French villains have indeed landed, there’ll be the devil to pay!
‘Then tell Dickon to keep quiet about it,’ Verena said swiftly. ‘You must all keep quiet about it! As long as you are innocent…’.
‘We are, Miss Verena, we are!’ said Billy. ‘Should we go with you, back up to the house?’
‘No, Billy’. She knew they’d be anxious to get their catch in safely. ‘No, I’m all right. I’ll make my own way up in a little while’.
Thanking her again, they slung their baskets of fish over their shoulders and went trudging up the steep path.
She stood there, gazing out to the moonlit sea, the only sound the gentle rasp of waves on shingle. And her heart was heavy.
They’d escaped trouble for now, whether or not their story about the mysterious French boat was true. They thought life would go on as ever. Those villagers had worked on Wycherley land and fished from Ragg’s Cove for generations. And, yes, had landed smuggled goods from time to time as well….
But soon the Wycherley estate would have a new owner, and if the Earl bought it he would be a harsh and grasping landlord who would give bullies like Colonel Harrap a free hand. The old and easy ways of her father would vanish into distant memory. What could she do? Nothing.
She picked up her lantern and started to climb slowly back uphill. It was raining again; by the time she reached the top of the path, her bonnet and cloak were sodden. She could just see the lights of Wycherley Hall, dimly shining through the mist and rain.
The Earl. Lucas. She suddenly stopped and pressed her palm to her forehead. Why had Lucas come here today of all days? Had he come to gloat? To satisfy himself that he could still reduce her to a quivering, needy mess, by just being near her?
And—her face burned anew—she had let him think she might accept Martin Bryant’s proposal! Oh, what a foolish, stupid lie! Well, soon he would be going back to his London parties, to join his friends of the Prince’s set, with his loose-living companion Alec Stewart. She would never see Lucas again, and nothing could give her greater pleasure than his complete absence from her life!
That was a lie, too. The terrible ache in her heart told her so.
The danger erupted so suddenly. One moment she was quite alone. The next, three heavily cloaked men were crashing through the thicket beside the path towards her, with pistols gleaming in the lantern light. Something like a blanket was thrown over her face, so she could not see, could not breathe. The lantern was snatched from her. Hands were grabbing at her roughly, hurting her.
She remembered in those brief, terrifying moments the sensation of so often being followed, remembered the break-in at Wycherley Hall. Fight as she might, they were pulling her, hustling her towards the trees. Smugglers? But why attack her? And she thought she heard them muttering, ‘C’est elle. C’est la fille’. Her blood froze.
Then she heard a man’s voice roaring, ‘Verena!’
She