The Rake Revealed (6 page)

Chapter Three

The next day was filled with domestic duties from the time Camille woke up, suffused with a new energy that was quite heartening, until after luncheon. She had taken it upon herself to hire a lady’s maid, asking the second girl Gillie, who had started at the Hall that morning (and who was quite the opposite of her silent sister in every way) if she knew anybody suitable. Gillie did indeed know somebody, her cousin, another member of what seemed to be a quite prodigious family and all of which seemed largely unemployed until Camille’s arrival. The loquacious Gillie was eager to help her new mistress in any way she could and within the space of an hour, Camille had all of the local gossip. It should have come as no surprise to her that Lord Tapscott featured in it. It was a small community and he appeared to have made an impression on most of it.

It was from Gillie that Camille learned what a popular figure his lordship was in the town. So pleasant to talk to. Such nice manners, even to normal folk. There were no airs and graces with his lordship, not like some. Obviously, the impressionable Gillie had been impressed by the handsome Lord Tapscott and Camille could only shake her head at the man’s popularity.

‘Mind you,’ the girl said cheerfully as she sorted linen, ‘he’s a proper lord an’ a likely one at that. His manners… Well, now. He do to like the chittys, or so I’ve heard.’

‘The chittys?’

‘The lasses.
You
know.’ Gillie giggled, obviously forgetting who it was she was talking to. ‘He’s got them all a yammering for him. Mrs. Poulter at the Crown n’ Anchor, Lady Fallston up at Kerrimere, ever so taken with him, she is. I’ve seen her mooning about the place. They’s all hanging after him. He’s a proper rake.’ She sounded quite proud, as if she herself were in some way responsible for producing such a outstanding specimen of rascal.

‘Is he indeed?’ Camille tried to sound repressive, she really did, but she could not help being a little interested in the gossip. It all seemed so normal and trivial and far away from what she had left behind and Tapscott was by far the most intriguing creature she had encountered since her arrival.

‘Oh, aye.’

‘I have heard that he is interested in an archeological dig somewhere?’ Camille knew she should not be chattering with the servants, but there was nobody about and it was nice to talk to somebody.

‘Down by Boggart Bay, just along the way,’ the girl replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘There’s all kinds of old bits n’ bobs there. I seen him, fair mucking about in the dirt, making a mash of things. I do think that once in a way the gentry are as mad as a box o’ frogs.’ This was said so artlessly that Camille had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. Considering her dinner the previous evening, it seemed to sum up the English gentry very well.

Gillie had been happy to supply the knowledge that her cousin Merry was looking for a place. Merry had the additional recommendation of already having been in service as a lady’s maid, although it had come to nothing when her mistress upped and ran away with a local lad only four months into Merry taking up the position. Camille said she would be delighted to interview the girl and the morning passed very pleasantly indeed.

After luncheon, Camille decided that she would blow away the cobwebs with a walk. There was no reason why she should not. She was a widow, not a young miss in the first blush of youth. A widow had some advantages, one of which being that she could step out without a companion and still retain her respectability.
And I am foreign
, she reminded herself, remembering her conversation with Tapscott from the previous night. Apparently pretty, foreign women could get away with anything.

The sea was an irresistible beacon on this fine afternoon, glinting gray-blue in the soft sunlight. There was only a gentle breeze, too, so she did not need to wrap up warm, but contented herself with her, by now, rather worse-for-wear amber walking dress and a light pelisse over the top. A bonnet would have been appropriate, but it was pleasant to feel the mild sunshine on her face. Camille had always enjoyed the outdoors. Once, she had ridden out most days on her favorite horse, a gorgeous sorrel stallion she had named Lionheart. Happier times, she reflected with a wistful twist of the heart. She had thought they would last forever. Perhaps she would find herself a decent horse again. Nothing could ever replace Lionheart, but there were many sound mounts to be had and it would be good to go riding. Only a little way behind Kirkham were a stretch of moors that would offer a horse an excellent opportunity to stretch its legs.

She made her way down the laneway, heading for the beach. Once there, she began to walk along it, her boots sinking a little way into the fine tan sand, while overhead terns wheeled and called out, their voices harsh as their wings caught the thermals so that they hovered over the water. The breeze, scented with brine, blew tendrils of hair back from her face as Camille walked on, enjoying the sensation of freedom. It was good to step out like this. It was good to be in England and stand on the edge of her new life. Here, she would build a small, safe world and she would begin to look back on the past with something other than sorrow. In time, she would focus more on the good things and less on the pain. Loss was a fact of life. If her twenty-four years had taught her anything at all, it was that.

After she had been walking for perhaps a mile or so, she saw something up ahead. The land had been curving around and she could see cottages further up, although the village of Lymstock, along with the pier and the fishing boats, lay in the other direction. Ahead of her, however, a little way above the sand the land leveled out into an even plateau and she could see structures of some kind. Old structures. Had she reached Boggart Bay and could this be Lord Tapscott’s Roman village? At the idea of encountering the man again, Camille’s heart beat just a little bit faster. She did not want to admit that she liked the idea of seeing him. To admit that would be to admit to an attraction and join the throng of female admirers that already surrounded him and that would never do.

Men like Tapscott were delightful, but they were not serious creatures. Although, perhaps in the past few years life had been too serious? Maybe she needed somebody to spend some time with somebody who was lighthearted, who was happier laughing than spending every moment dwelling on how difficult the world could be. Although, with a man like Lord Tapscott, there might be a great deal more than laughter involved. She could recall, all too clearly, how warm those blue eyes had been when they’d rested on her the previous evening and she had felt an instinctive, reciprocal warmth in turn. Which was absurd. Those engaging blue eyes probably rested thoughtfully on
any
woman who took his fancy. It would be all too easy to take a look like that the wrong way.

Despite her reservations about Tapscott, Camille was curious to know what had inspired all of his enthusiasm the night before and headed across the sand towards what looked to be some rudimentary excavations. The signs of Roman occupation were clear in the straight lines of the few buildings that still stood. Not even several centuries of wind had been able to erode that away. If the Roman’s had mastered one thing particularly well, it was their ability to build things straight. Perhaps it was how they tried to make sense of the new worlds they conquered, she thought with a smile. Straight equaled manageable. They must have built a small settlement down in this cove as a lookout of some kind. Behind it and to the left, a small cliff rose up perhaps a hundred feet high and she could see a narrow path that had been cut into it, winding upwards towards the top. While not really soaring, the stone face loomed over the remains below, a solid wall of rock.

Camille slowed a little as she neared the diggings. There appeared to be nobody around. If these were Lord Tapscott’s archeological remains, then he must be busy elsewhere and she relaxed a little and ignored the small pang of disappointment that his absence prompted.

The dig, if it could be called such, was not particularly interesting. Somebody had excavated around the stone works, revealing the outline and the bases of the remaining buildings. Piles of sandy dirt were heaped around, apparently at random. Camille had not known what to expect, but she decided that archeology was truly for those with a peculiar mental kink, for she found the place extraordinarily dull.

Moving forward, she perched on the low stonewall that must have once marked out the perimeter of the small settlement and studied the view, which was glorious. No doubt by tomorrow the capricious English weather would have changed again and it would be raining, but for the moment the vista before her was breathtaking.

‘It was a garrison station to keep an eye on the traffic along the beach,’ a voice behind her said conversationally. The unexpected voice made her jump, so much so that she almost lost her seat. A hand reached out and closed over her upper arm, holding her steady. Camille looked around quickly, straight into the laughing blue eyes of Lord Tapscott. ‘The main settlement was further along, above that cliff.’

‘
Mon dieu
! You startled me.’

‘I’m sorry. It was very unsubtle of me. I should have cleared my throat.’ He came around and sat beside her, looking out across the water. ‘At least they enjoyed a delightful view.’

‘How long have you been here?’ She was still unsettled by the suddenness of his arrival.

‘For thirty minutes or so.’ He grinned at her, a flash of white teeth. ‘I admit to being a little startled myself at the sight of you, sitting there. I did not realize that I had company.’

Camille rose to her feet and turned to look over the dig site. She had walked up and down the entire thing and had seen no sign of him. It was hardly big enough to hide a man who easily measured over the six-foot mark. ‘But where were you?’

‘I was inside the tunnels.’ He nodded is head towards the rock face that began about fifteen feet behind the old buildings. ‘Some of them wind back for quite a way.’

She looked down at him, arching an eyebrow, although the knowledge that there were tunnels was hardly surprising. She had already heard about the smugglers and their activities. Tunnels would surely be a given. ‘Did the Romans use the tunnels too?’

‘Probably. It would have been the perfect place to store foodstuffs to preserve them longer. I doubt they would ever become warm.’ He rose to his feet, lithe and leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world.

Camille looked him over. His lordship was dressed simply, but well in a coat of blue superfine, dun colored breeches and black hessians, unremarkable clothing that he looked very well in. It was the shoulders, she supposed. And the narrow waist and long, strong legs. Truthfully, men such as Tapscott made the clothes they wore, not the other way around. He would look well in anything. Deliberately, she turned her eyes back to the little settlement.

It was hardly enlightening. Camille eyed him for a moment and he returned her look blandly. ‘No,’ she said, after a moment, ‘I do not think so.’

His lordship raised an eyebrow. ‘You do not think so? What don’t you think?’

‘I do not think that this is a proper excavation. You have dug in the dirt and made piles here and there, yes, but I think you are really interested in the tunnels, my lord.’

The knowledge had come to her in a flash of insight. There was something strange here. From the moment she had set foot in the place she had been struck by the artful arrangement of things. A little too artful, perhaps. Where were the pans to wash the finds, all those tedious coins and tokens that archeologists became so excited about? The brushes, the pails of water, the endless array of oddly shaped shovels that would scrape the dirt away from broken crockery? It was a half finished scene and she was far from convinced.

‘My dear Lady Durham,’ Lord Tapscott looked pained. ‘I assure you, I am deeply interested in all things archeological.’ She stared at him and he stared back. ‘Really. It is a fascinating subject.’

‘If you say so.’

He shook his head, apparently in sorrow. ‘You appear to be a woman with a deeply suspicious nature.’

‘This from the man who appeared in my drawing room with a bullet in his shoulder,’ Camille returned dryly. ‘I cannot think why I should find your behavior, how shall I say it, dubious? You are all alone here today? No Mr. Morosett?’

‘Alas, as you discovered last night, he finds my interest in such things tiresome. If it wasn’t for the fact that it bores him so much, I would not dwell on it, but he does find it particularly tedious.’

‘You are a very odd guest, wishing to irritate your host.’

‘It’s true,’ Tapscott agreed, but without apparent regret. ‘I am utterly shameless. Would you mind if I walk you back home? While I am sure that the coast of Kent is a haven of peace and tranquility, I would like to ensure that you arrive safely.’

‘And why would I not? As you say, this is a very peaceful place.’ They headed down the incline to walk along the sand again.

‘It must seem so after some of the places you have seen, certainly.’ There was a subtle shift in his voice, gentleness replacing the more flippant tone. Once again, she was reminded that he had known Ned.

‘You knew my husband?’

‘I did. It was some years ago, when he spent more time in England. He was a fine man. The men he commanded held him in the highest regard.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed softly. Edward Durham had certainly managed to inspire great loyalty in everybody that had known him. ‘It is strange, but I have discovered so much more about him since coming here. In correspondence and pictures. Things about his family that we never had the opportunity to discuss. His time always seemed to be limited. I suppose I only ever knew him as a soldier. Since I have come to Kirkham Hall it is as if I am seeing him from a… from another direction.’