Smugglers' Summer (27 page)

The next day was spent in a tall, narrow house in Holborn. Mr and Mrs Gray’s civility soon turned to rapture, and they agreed eagerly to his every proposal. Due to the constant coming and going of family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, the consultations were barely completed by dinnertime. Though pressed to stay, Sir Tristram pleaded a prior engagement and escaped to his hotel, where he dined alone and retired early to bed, exhausted.

Rising betimes, he was on the road by eight the next morning. As stage after stage passed, bringing him ever nearer to Cornwall, he began to wonder whether he was taking too much for granted.

He had been so stunned to discover it was Octavia he loved that he had thought only of how to free himself as quickly as possible from his obligation to Julia. He had considered it dishonourable to declare his new love while Lord Langston still laboured under the illusion that he wanted to marry his daughter.

Octavia had no more reason to suppose that he adored her than he had to suppose that she adored him.

Did she care for him? He searched back over the weeks, looking for clues, and saw nothing but friendship. The adventures they had been through together had brought them close, but how zealously she had tried to forward his pursuit of her cousin!

At least he could take her away from that depressing house in Holborn. Even if she did not love him, that must be a point in his favour. He would persuade her that that and friendship were a firm foundation for marriage, for he was very sure he could not live without her. The only insurmountable obstacle he could imagine was if she had given her heart to another.

Unbidden, a vision of Lieutenant Cardin rose before him. The demon jealousy awoke.

He leaned out of the window of the chaise and shouted to the postilion to whip up the horses.

The chaise pulled into the Golden Hind Inn at Plymouth shortly after nine in the evening of the following day. Enquiring after the tides, Sir Tristram learned that he must embark by four in the morning to catch the flood upriver. He gave orders that he should be roused at three.

He woke to brilliant sunshine. Someone had not been told, or had forgotten, or had fallen asleep, or even had not liked to wake the gentleman when he looked so tired. He heard all these excuses in the next hour but since there was nothing to be done about it, he did not trouble to investigate the true reason for his oversleeping.

Since he had slept the clock round, he had only a few hours to wait for the next tide. He spent them searching the jewellers’ shops of Plymouth for a ring, but found nothing he considered good enough for Octavia. He boarded a private boat at two, and all the way up the Tamar he sat gnawing his knuckles and trying to compose a speech to do justice to his passion.

He arrived at Cotehele just in time to change for dinner. Impatiently throwing on his clothes, he hurried to the drawing room. He managed to conceal his surprise at the sight of Mr Wynn, apparently perfectly at home there, while he was introduced to those few guests he did not know. The gong sounded as he turned away from the lawyer’s daughter with a polite murmur. He found himself taking her down to the Great Hall for an interminable banquet during which Octavia studiously avoided his eye.

At last the ladies withdrew. Sir Tristram beckoned to Raeburn, who was setting out port and brandy.

“Ask Miss Gray to meet me in the chapel in a quarter of an hour,” he whispered. “I must talk to her.”

A few minutes later, he excused himself and made his way through the empty dining room to the chapel. Octavia came in a moment later, cast one apprehensive glance at his face, and lowered her gaze to her twisting hands.

“You wished to speak to me, sir?” she faltered.

He forgot all his speeches. Falling on one knee, he took her hands in his.

“Will you marry me, Octavia?” he asked simply.

She looked at him aghast.

“I am betrothed to Mr Cardin!” she wailed, burst into tears, and fled.

Chapter 22

As the days passed with no word from Sir Tristram, Octavia had become convinced that he had left to escape her. She quickly grew tired of the company of the chaplain and her own miserable thoughts.

Mr Cardin showed no disposition to resent her temporary defection, and she was soon on her old footing with him. She felt guilty at displacing the lawyer’s daughter from his side, until that damsel confessed that the lieutenant had constantly sung her praises.

“He admires you excessively,” she said. “How lucky you are! I believe he is the kindest gentleman I have ever met.”

Octavia began to consider the advantages of marrying the Customs officer. They would be poor, but she was used to that and had no desire to cut a figure in the world. With her thousand pounds and his pay and prize money, they might live comfortably if modestly.

She did not love him, but she was fond of him and felt sure he would be a considerate husband. There was nothing about him she positively disliked.

And the alternative was to return to London, to the dark, noisy house in Holborn that was rapidly becoming a cheerless prison in her memory.

On the day before his return to his duties, he proposed and she accepted.

“I ought to have spoken to your father first,” he said anxiously, after his first delight had calmed somewhat. “I won’t be able to get leave to go to London. I’ll have to write a letter.” He sounded daunted at the prospect.

Feeling utterly depressed and deceitful, she uttered a few words of encouragement.

“We’d best not tell anyone else till we have his blessing,” the lieutenant continued. “Will he give it, d’you suppose? He won’t refuse his permission?”

“I do not believe so. He let my sisters marry where they would. Your profession is respectable and you are bound to rise in it, with Papa’s influence as Member of Parliament added to Lord Edgcumbe’s support and your own abilities."

“If I do not prosper, it will not be for want of effort,” he promised, as pleased with her words as at the most fulsome compliment.

He went back to Plymouth the next day. She missed his cheerful presence, which made her feel happier about what she had done until, two days later, Sir Tristram arrived.

She was furious with him. If he had given her a hint, only a hint, of his feelings before he left, she would never have led on Mr Cardin to the point of making an offer, let alone have accepted it. How could she turn around now and disappoint that frank, good-hearted young man?

But how could she marry him, when she loved Sir Tristram and he, it seemed, loved her?

A rush of joy flooded through her. He loved her! She must think of a way to extricate herself from the bumble-bath she had fallen into, without hurting the poor lieutenant.

Until she had done that, Sir Tristram would have to suffer in suspense, as she had for the past ten days.

Too agitated to return to the drawing room, she retired to her chamber, where she fell asleep fully clothed.

In the chapel, Sir Tristram rose to his feet and sank heavily onto the nearest pew. He was too late: she loved Cardin.

And he had once thought how admirably those two would suit each other!

Unable to face the rest of the company, he retired to bed, where he lay staring blankly into the dark, picturing all the dreadful things he would like to do to the unfortunate lieutenant.

After a restless night, he rose late and went down to breakfast. Only Julia and James Wynn were there, huddled over a newspaper. Julia was in tears.

“Must you really go?” she cried as Sir Tristram entered the dining room.

“I must, my beloved. Sir!” He jumped up. “Have you heard of this shocking business at Manchester? Peterloo, they are calling it.”

“Manchester? There was some mention of the city the other day when I was at the Grays’, but I fear I did not listen for details. What has happened?”

“A massacre!” Julia told him. “And James says he must go to London at once."

“It was a meeting in St. Peter’s Fields. Tens of thousands come to hear Orator Hunt speaking, and the cavalry charged them. Women and children trampled down and sabred, dozens dead, hundreds wounded. Hunt himself was arrested and badly beaten. You see, I must go immediately.”

“Ye gods! Let me see the paper.” Sir Tristram scanned it rapidly. “Yes, I believe Lord John will need you, but do not act precipitately.”

“Lord John?” asked Julia. “Who is he?”

Sir Tristram nonchalantly explained that he had obtained employment for Mr Wynn with one of the foremost Reformist parliamentarians of the age.

“Of course there are scores of younger sons seeking a position with him,” he told the astounded young man. “He knew you by reputation, but what swung the balance was your medical training. His constitution is delicate, but he hates to be reminded of it. He dislikes having a doctor always in the house almost as much as having to send out for one. As his secretary and speech writer, you will be able to care for him unobtrusively. I hope you do not dislike the scheme?”

“Oh, no!” stammered James. “I have a great admiration for Lord John Russell and it will be an honour to work with him. But how can I thank you?”

“Hold your thanks until you hear the rest of my meddling! I went to see your father, Miss Langston.”

He described the result of that interview, and produced the Special License. Julia seized it, hugged him, and became suddenly very practical.

“Captain Day and Mrs Pengarth are to be married this afternoon in the chapel,” she said, “and the earl will take them with the rest of his guests to Mount Edgcumbe this evening. We shall be wed at the same time, James, and go with them. Then tomorrow we shall cross over to Plymouth, hire a post-chaise and leave for town. Do you go and explain to Lord Edgcumbe while I tell Ada to start packing, and oh dear! how am I to break the news to Mama? Does Octavia know, sir?”

“I have not told her,” he said with heightened colour.

“She went down to the valley garden. I shall need her support when I tell Mama. Would you be so kind, Sir Tristram, as to send a footman to find her for me? I never thought to be married in such a rush, I vow, but it is vastly exciting! James, my love, I shall see you in the chapel at half past two!”

She danced out, leaving the gentlemen breathless.

“I daresay you would like my support when you tell Edgcumbe,” suggested Sir Tristram, seeing James’s bewilderment. “If you do not mind waiting, I believe I had best go and find Miss Gray first. Excuse me.”

She was sitting in the arbour by the pond. The wren and its family had long since abandoned their nest in the thatch, water lilies had replaced the faded iris, but white pigeons still cooed on the roof of the dovecote and huge carp swam lazily in the still water. He watched her watching them, wondering what her dreamy smile meant.

She saw him. He bowed, and said the only words that came into his head.

“Your cousin has urgent need of you, Miss Gray, and begs you to go to her at once."

Alarmed, she jumped up and started up the path.

“Tell her you will go with her to Mount Edgcumbe tonight,” he said urgently as they hurried towards the house.

“To Mount Edgcumbe?”

“Please!”

“If you wish.” She glanced at him in puzzlement.

Ada ran round the corner of the house to meet them.

“I’m that flurried, miss!” she gasped. “Miss Julia sent me to fetch you. She’s all of a twitter how to tell my lady and there’s the packing to be done, and it don’t seem right with no bride clothes somehow. I’m to go to London with her.”

“Bride clothes? To London! Whatever is Ju up to now?” Octavia quickened her steps.

Julia poured the story into her astonished ears. It was difficult not to reciprocate with the news that she was engaged to Mr Cardin and that Sir Tristram wanted to marry her too. Today was Julia’s day, though, and she allowed her cousin to drag her to the White Bedroom, where Lady Langston was still abed. She was not certain she understood the details herself, but she did her best to explain to her aunt calmly and reasonably.

Not unnaturally, even that somnolent lady was roused to agitation by the news that her only daughter was to be married in a few hours’ time, with her father’s permission, to a gentleman she had thought a stranger. Or perhaps an assassin, she was not sure which. And then to dash off to London because there had been a massacre in Manchester! It was all highly irregular, and her ladyship collapsed in a most uncharacteristic Spasm.

Waving Julia away, Octavia set herself to soothing her aunt’s overwhelmed sensibilities. In this she succeeded so well, that at a quarter past two she settled Lady Langston in a front pew in the chapel, dressed in finery to suit the occasion.

“But I will not rush off to Mount Edgcumbe on such short notice!” her ladyship whispered, detaining her. “Let alone to London!”

“Of course not, ma’am. Miss Crosby will stay with you. I shall come back tomorrow and we will make plans to return at leisure.” She slipped away to attend the bride.

With all due ceremony, the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe gave away two brides that afternoon, the daughter of his friend Viscount Langston to a political scribbler of radical views, and his housekeeper to his relative, the free-trader. Known for his acting ability, he let nothing of what he was thinking appear on his face.

A magnificent wedding banquet followed, cut short only by the necessity of sailing with the tide. It was a merry group that floated down the Tamar by the light of flaring flambeaux and arrived at Mount Edgcumbe late that night.

Chambers were hastily made up for the unexpected guests. As the party dispersed to their rest, Sir Tristram pressed Octavia’s hand.

“We shall escort Mr and Mrs Wynn to Plymouth tomorrow,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “I must talk to you, and I have business there.” If he could not persuade her to marry him, to tell Mr Cardin that she was mistaken in her sentiments, he would set off for Gloucestershire at once. The prospect of returning to his peaceful, solitary life at Dean Park now seemed odious.

She looked up at him enigmatically. “Yes,” she said, “I must see my cousin safe on her way. Good night.”