Smugglers' Summer (26 page)

Sir Tristram lingered long over his brandy, and came into the drawing room only to take his leave. He told Lady Langston that he was called away on business, and begged her leave to return to Cotehele when it was finished. This she granted, though she wondered at his not proposing again to Julia before he went. Not, she thought dolefully, that she had any reason to suppose her daughter now looked on his suit with favour.

Sir Tristram next stopped by the spinet.

“I am going to London for a week or two, as I told you,” he said to Octavia. “Our friends will take me to Plymouth on the midnight tide. You will remember what you promised to do for me?”

Her gaze on her clenched hands, Octavia nodded, unable to speak. She would do her best to stop Julia and James eloping, for their own sakes as much as his.

“Another mystery?” asked Julia in disgust. “What a pair of odious wretches you are, I vow!”

Chapter 21

“We ought to have told Sir Tristram!” wailed Julia, bursting into Octavia’s bedchamber at an excessively early hour the next morning. “How shall we smuggle James into the house? There will be no chamber prepared for him and all the guests will know he did not come with them and someone is bound to say something to Mama about him which will give everything away. We do not even know at what time Lord Edgcumbe will arrive!”

Yawning, Octavia tackled the last question first.

“They must arrive no later than the hour of high tide, so all we need to do is find out when that will be.”

“The tide! I declare I have no patience with these tides! Why cannot they be the same every day?”

“It is something to do with the moon. Never mind, we shall simply ask Mrs Pengarth, and about the chamber too. She is not like to demur after what James has done for her Jack.”

“Oh, yes, I had forgot. Is not James prodigious talented? It is beyond anything! But how shall we bring him into the house?”

“Hush, Ju. Let me think. And wrap yourself in my counterpane, you are shivering.”

Julia obeyed, and curled up at the foot of the bed, watching hopefully her cousin’s thoughtful frown.

Octavia sighed. “I cannot think of any way to smuggle him in at the moment of Lord Edgcumbe’s arrival.”

“We had best consult your Captain Day. He is a smuggler, after all!”

“I shall come up with something, only I must find out exactly when they will arrive. What time is it?”

“Just after six, I think.”

“Six! Heavens, Ju, even the maids will scarce have risen! I expect Mrs Pengarth will not be up for at least an hour. No wonder I cannot think straight. Go away and let me sleep!”

After breakfast, they found Mrs Pengarth in the housekeeper’s room, directing the preparations for the house-party. She was explaining her orders to Doris, the upper housemaid, in anticipation, Octavia guessed, of her move to Picklecombe Cottage. The prospect of marrying at last the man she had loved for twenty years made her look ten years younger.

Julia announced that they wished to speak to her privately, so she sent Doris off to supervise the other maids and closed the door. Octavia explained the problem.

“My Jack’s to be in the Great Hall when they arrive, miss,” she said. “Sir Tristram brought instructions from his lordship. They’ll be taking luncheon on the river, and they’ll get to Cotehele about two o’clock.”

“Perfect!” exclaimed Octavia. “I have a plan. Listen!”

She arranged everything with Martha Pengarth, and explained to Ada and Raeburn their part as reserve troops. Then the girls walked down to the Edgcumbe Arms.

A sea mist had blown up the river and enveloped the world in dripping greyness, in Octavia’s eyes a perfect day for curling up with a book. If James had been at the chapel still she would not have stirred, but she could not let Julia visit a common tavern on her own.

The shifting mist half hid the bustle of the quayside, and muted the sounds. Farm carts appeared out of nowhere with baskets and sacks of fruit and vegetables. Wharf labourers unloaded them, ready for the barges which would soon arrive on the tide. Kiln workers refilled them with lime for the fields, and they disappeared again into nowhere.

Julia tripped into the taproom as if she owned it. A few elderly men drowsed over their pints of cider or ale in the comfortable warmth of a smouldering coal fire. The landlady bustled forward, all smiles and curtseys.

“Ye’ll be come to zee the gentleman, miss? He’s in my own zitting room, miss, for there ben’t no private parlour. ‘Tis not fitting, but there, beggars can’t be choosers as the zaying goes.”

“Is he well?” asked Julia anxiously.

“Bit of a cough but nowt to worrit over. Land sakes, what a shocking business! Them free-traders is getting too big for their boots, as the zaying goes, but there, there’s not a man on the water don’t have a hand in it, zaving only them as works for the ‘Zise.” She ushered them into a tiny closet of a room, where James sat by a glowing fire with his nose in a book.

He looked up at once at the sound of Julia’s voice, his face brightening. Octavia turned from their enthusiastic meeting to request a pot of tea. When she turned back decorum was restored and he was explaining that Sir Tristram had brought all his possessions from the chapel last night.

Julia unfolded the plot to smuggle him into the house. He accepted it with a placidity that suddenly reminded Octavia of Lady Langston.

They went back to the house at noon, Octavia insisting that even her aunt would not believe they had taken a picnic on such a day. After luncheon, her ladyship retired as usual to the drawing room for her forty winks, taking Matilda Crosby with her. Miss Crosby had formed the habit of taking a few stitches in my lady’s embroidery in the afternoon, leaving my lady with the pleasant impression that she had been industriously engaged in sewing and not sleeping at all. It even looked as if the roses might one day be finished.

The girls returned to the tavern, where Octavia spent the longest and most miserably insipid afternoon she could remember. She tried to concentrate on Julia and James’s conversation, so as not to dwell on Sir Tristram’s absence.

Had he gone to inform Lord Langston of James’s inheritance, thus exposing his rival’s whereabouts to the incensed father? Or had he intended his departure to warn her that she must not refine upon a casual kiss? She ought not to have as good as told him she had enjoyed it! But what had he meant with his “devil”?

“Do you think Mama has sent for Mrs Pengarth yet?” Julia interrupted her unhappy thoughts. “Suppose she does not!”

“Then Mrs Pengarth will ask to see her. Do not worry so, goose.”

At that very moment, the housekeeper was mendaciously assuring her ladyship that the earl had made a particular point in his instructions of not wishing to disturb her by his arrival.

“You’ll not be wanting to sit about in that draughty Great Hall, my lady, specially if it’s a mizzly day like today. His lordship will come up to the drawing room to pay his respects."

Lady Langston said serenely that it was very thoughtful of his lordship.

“I shall go down, of course,” put in Miss Crosby, “to wait upon Lady Emma.

“Lady Emma’s not coming, miss,” said Martha Pengarth, not without satisfaction. “So there’ll be no cause for you to desert her ladyship.”

She left Matilda Crosby looking disconcerted, and went to tell Ada and Raeburn that she thought she had spiked the old maid’s guns.

“We’ll be ready to head her off if so be ‘tis needful,” promised Ada.

The next morning, Julia and Octavia fetched James up from the tavern to the cave. Julia was fascinated by the hiding place, and inclined to be highly indignant that she had not been shown it long ago. She also thought it a great adventure to meet Red Jack again now that she knew him to be a master smuggler, though she scolded him for the behaviour of his men. He grinned at her and agreed that it was a poor return for Mr Wynn’s medical assistance.

Shortly before two o’clock, all four repaired to the Great Hall. Jack Day, no longer “Red” nor “Captain” since he was turning respectable, walked slowly, his injured arm hanging limp at his side. His clothes hung loose on his haggard frame and his face was pale from his confinement, but he professed to feel very well and there was nothing lacking in the hearty embrace with which he greeted Martha.

Lord Edgcumbe arrived in due course. With him he brought a bluff, good-natured admiral and his wife; his lawyer from London, with wife and daughter; his chaplain, a pompous young man given to quoting Greek and Latin; and Lieutenant Cardin.

Octavia had to admire his choice of guests. Within minutes the admiral was swapping tales of the sea with Jack. The lawyer would take his part if there were any problems with the Excisemen. The chaplain could quietly marry him to Martha in the chapel in the house. For a moment the lieutenant’s invitation puzzled her, then she realised that he could hardly arrest a fellow guest of his benefactor, and his presence might serve to deter his colleagues.

His lordship accepted Mr Wynn’s presence without a blink. By the time the company met in the drawing room before dinner, the time for formal introductions was over and there was nothing to suggest to Lady Langston that he had not arrived with the rest of the party. Octavia breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that he and Julia would remember to act with circumspection.

Mr Cardin was clearly delighted at the opportunity of being with her daily. At Lord Edgcumbe’s request he had been given a week’s leave, and he meant to make the most of it. Octavia found herself treating him much as Julia had treated Sir Tristram when she first arrived at Cotehele. She tried to be kind though distant, but it irritated her almost beyond bearing when he always gravitated straight to her side.

The August days were sunny and warm, and the six young people often walked out together. After two days of being ignored or snapped at by Octavia, Mr Cardin turned to the lawyer’s daughter. She was a plain young lady, just turned twenty-one, with shy, gentle manners and fifteen thousand pounds. Octavia thought they suited admirably.

The chaplain became her usual escort. She soon discovered that he was perfectly happy with the sound of his own voice. Provided she murmured appreciation when he translated his quotations for her, he left her to her own thoughts.

He would have been excessively shocked had he known how often they ran on the word “devil!”

* * * *

The author of that “devil” had made record time to London, his spirits in a ferment of wonder at his own blindness and of hopes for the future. After a few hours’ sleep in Plymouth he left in the late morning, and spending freely to obtain the best post-horses, he arrived in town at noon on the third day.

Still in his travelling clothes, Sir Tristram went to see his lawyer. That worthy received instructions to set about two tasks: to set his client’s affairs in order in preparation for making marriage settlements; and to find out the address of a certain Surrey squire.

Sir Tristram repaired to his hotel, where he scribbled a brief note and sent it round to Bedford House. By the time he had bathed and dressed in clothing more suitable to an evening in London, a reply arrived. Lord John Russell, third son of the Duke of Bedford and Member of Parliament for Tavistock, was in town, happy to hear from his friend, and begged the honour of his presence at dinner that very day.

Lord John’s guests were all gentlemen and all politicians of liberal sympathies. Sir Tristram was interested in only two of them, Henry Brougham, one of the founders of the
Edinburgh Review,
and an MP by the name of Gray. To the former he mentioned his recent acquaintance with James Wynn, and heard in response a paean of praise of his genius at writing speeches.

To the latter he mentioned his recent acquaintance with Miss Octavia Gray, and requested permission to call on her parents with news of her.

After dinner he had a brief but highly satisfactory private interview with Lord John, a young man of delicate health and strong reformist principles. They shook hands on their agreement and returned to the rest of the company, where Sir Tristram retired to a corner and fell asleep.

The next morning, upon receipt of a communication from his lawyer, he rode out of town. He spent a pleasant day inspecting a neat small estate of about three thousand pounds per annum, escorted by its master, Mr Thomas Wynn, Esquire, of Surrey. On his ride back to London he pondered the unworldliness that would fail to utilise such a weapon, and shook his head.

On the fifth day since leaving Cotehele, Sir Tristram called in Chapel Street. Lord Langston was pleased to see him, sorry that he had not come to announce his betrothal, distressed at his withdrawal of his suit, astonished to hear him plead his rival’s cause, and bewildered at the news that that rival was no penniless scribbler but secretary to Lord John Russell at a goodly salary and heir to a comfortable estate.

The viscount’s emotional journey did not end there. He was saddened by his much-loved daughter’s misery on first arriving in Cornwall, angered by Mr Wynn’s appearance there, disturbed at their mutual joy and devotion, and greatly diverted by the story of the river jump. Finally, wearying of Sir Tristram’s insistence, he grew resigned to the unequal match.

“They need not think to have my blessing!” he growled, “but I am too fond of the silly chit to disown her.”

Sir Tristram chose to interpret this as permission. With a clear conscience he headed for Doctor’s Commons where, for a price, he obtained a Special License from a representative of the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was taking no chances of his lordship changing his mind.

His singing heart sustained him through a day spent with his lawyer. All his property was in excellent order, his tenants satisfied and satisfactory, his investments safe in the Funds. The lawyer ventured to enquire what marriage portion his chosen bride might be expected to bring.

“Nothing!” said Sir Tristram with a grin. “Or at least, she may have something but her parents are undoubtedly more in need of it than she will be.”

The lawyer tut-tutted, but added in a fatherly way that it was a pleasure to have a client who had no need to consider dowry when choosing a wife.