Smugglers' Summer Read online

  “How was James? Did you tell him where I am?”

  “He seemed unhappy. Does Sir Tristram continue to pursue you?”

  “He has not withdrawn his offer, but does not pester me with his attentions. Tavy, does James know where I am? Does he know I did not willingly abandon him?”

  “Sir Tristram is all that is gentlemanly! Does he stay here long?”

  “I don’t know and I do not care to know,” said Julia reproachfully. “Tell me about James!”

  “Mr Wynn knows that you did not leave town by choice. I did not inform him of your direction, but he knows that I am come to you, and if he has only the initiative to enquire of my parents, he may find out where I am. I told you Papa thought of a match between us. They know nothing of his infatuation with you and will certainly enlighten him.”

  “Infatuation! Do not say so! He has vowed eternal love and we are promised to each other. And if you dare suggest that he cares only for my fortune . . ."

  “No, no, I will not say that. His income may be small but he has no expensive vices that I know of, and he is always willing to contribute to Mama’s causes. But an adequate income for a single man with no pretensions to fashion will not do for a family, and even with the interest on your fortune you would not have more than three thousand a year, I daresay. You are used to spending that on your clothes, Ju!”

  “The wife of a politician does not need the wardrobe of a debutante. Only think how little my aunt spends on her attire."

  “You will not dress always in bombazine like Mama! You yourself said it was enough to give you the megrims. If you married Sir Tristram you would always have elegant clothes and everything else of the best.”

  Ada interrupted. “Your hair is nearly dry, miss. Did you want it braided up again?”

  “No!” cried Julia. “Since my cousin has so great a regard for the elegancies of life, you shall cut it and curl it as you do mine. And to show how little I care for dress, you shall alter to fit her everything I have that will suit her. Indeed, Tavy, you misjudge me if you think me so frivolous. I had rather live in a hovel with James than in Carlton House with anyone else.”

  Octavia clutched at her hair. It had never been cut, her mother considering it sufficient adornment to make up for every deficiency of attire. It fell like a dark cloak past her waist and her one vanity was to stand brushing it before the mirror. Then she thought of the hours spent braiding it, the heavy weight of the braids and how little they became her round face. She lowered her hands.

  “Yes,” she said. “Cut it, Ada, if you please.”

  “I didn’t mean it!” Julia was horrified. “Your beautiful hair! And what would my aunt say!”

  “It is beautiful when it is loose,” Octavia said dispassionately, “but I cannot wear it loose. It is thoroughly impractical. In town it would pick up the dirt, and in the country I daresay it would get caught in brambles or something. Cut it, Ada.”

  For all her brave words, she sat with her eyes screwed closed as the scissors snipped and long tresses fell to the floor. Her neck felt strangely chilly and her head so light she could hardly believe she had any hair left.

  “Well now,” said Ada in a pleased voice, “there’s a natural curl to it. But I don’t think it’s ringlets you want, miss. More sort of curly all over.

  “Like Lady Caroline Lamb?” asked Julia.

  “I don’t believe as I ever saw her ladyship, but I saw a picture, in Ackermann’s I think it was, as would suit miss to perfection. Not too short but kind of bouncy.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Octavia, eyes still shut. “Go ahead, Ada.”

  There was silence but for the click of the scissors, until Julia said thoughtfully, “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s perfect. And with that natural curl you will never have to sleep in papers, you lucky creature.”

  Ada removed the towel from her shoulders and brushed the back of her neck.

  “Come and look in the looking glass, miss,” she suggested.

  The reflection in the ancient mirror of burnished steel was so unexpected that Octavia half turned to see if someone was standing behind her. She had not realised how much thinner her face had grown, and surmounted by a fluffy cloud of feathery curls it was unrecognisable, belonging to some elegant stranger.

  “Ada, you are a genius!” she cried. “I never thought I could look half so pretty!”

  “Just wait till I’ve altered that canary yellow to fit, miss! If you meant it, that is, Miss Julia?”

  “I meant it. I’m sure I do not care if I go dressed in rags so long as James is not here.”

  “Aye, and mighty careful you was what you wore to meet Mr Wynn in the park!” Ada shook her head.

  “I’d not place the least dependence on his having noticed what you had on,” said Octavia. “Ada, do you think you could finish that walking dress by tomorrow? Otherwise it will be the lavender silk, and let alone that I am heartily tired of it, I think silk is not appropriate to the country.”

  “No one will see you,” Julia said gloomily. “There is not a soul for miles.

  “I daresay you are missing society in general as well as your James. Whereas I am looking forward excessively to not having to entertain for a few weeks. Oh Ju, are you sure you can spare that gown?”

  Ada had produced the canary yellow jaconet promenade dress with its pale green ribbons. She looked at Octavia measuringly, then nodded in approval.

  “It’s my belief, miss, as we won’t have to do much but turn it up, and maybe take in the seams a bit which is a sight easier nor letting out. You’ve fined down a tolerable bit since I did the grey. Stand still a minute while I take your measure, if you please, miss.

  “You are thinner,” said Julia approvingly. “I had not noticed it before but Ada is right. Tomorrow we must find some more gowns for you."

  Ada bore off the dress, promising to have it done by morning if she had to persuade Martha Pengarth herself to take up her needle. As soon as she was gone, Octavia turned to her cousin with a question.

  “You said Ada went with you when you met Mr Wynn clandestinely. How is it your parents have not turned her off?”

  “Papa was going to. He was in a great rage. But Mama said that she could not possibly find me another maid at such short notice and if he insisted on sending me away the very next day I must take Ada with me. In any case, he said I could not possibly be up to any mischief here at Cotehele. And he was right. Even if James should come after me, this horrid place can only be reached by water and there is nowhere within miles for him to stay."

  Octavia was beginning to think that Lord Langston had gone quite the wrong way about detaching his daughter from her unsuitable suitor. Here in the wilderness there was nothing to distract her from dwelling on his merits, his devotion and her own inclination. Removed as she was from the Fashionable World, worldly considerations held little sway. Even Sir Tristram’s presence might be a mistake, acting as an irritant rather than a counterbalance.

  Poor, faithful Sir Tristram! His absence might do his cause more good than his presence for the moment. Left for a while to the society of her cousin and her mother, Julia could not but regret the loss of his company and his admiration.

  “How long did you say Sir Tristram is fixed here?” Octavia enquired, interrupting a description of the impassable lanes, treacherous river, and uninhabited desolation surrounding Cotehele.

  “Mama has invited him to stay indefinitely. She prefers to have a gentleman in the house, and she thinks I shall give up and marry him if I see no one else. If Papa were not intransigent, I believe she would let me marry James.”

  “Not because she considers it a respectable alliance, but for the sake of peace! I know my aunt. But I know also how Lord Langston dotes upon you. It is for your sake he does not want so unequal a match, I am certain. The very thought of seeing you reduced to uncomfortable circumstances must distress him beyond bearing.”

  “Fustian! If he would but continue my present allow
ance we should have everything necessary to comfort if not elegance. The truth is he does not care for James’s political views; indeed he holds them in abhorrence!”

  “Even my father, who is a Reformer, considers Mr Wynn’s rhetoric extreme. He hopes that he will mellow with age, for he is a brilliant man and could do the cause no end of good would he but learn to compromise a little.”

  “He is brilliant, isn’t he?” asked Julia eagerly. “I am certain there is a great future ahead of him.” She fell silent, contemplating, no doubt, the stimulating life of a Prime Minister’s wife.

  It crossed Octavia’s mind that, with her love of company, Julia might make an excellent political hostess, on a par with Lady Holland or Lady Melbourne.

  “Tavy,” her cousin said suddenly, in a tortured voice, “have you noticed the tapestries in here? They are of Hero and Leander. You remember the story: he swam the Hellespont every night to see her until at last he drowned. I keep having a nightmare—no, not really a nightmare, for I am awake. You know how dreadful everything appears when you wake in the early hours of the morning? I see James swimming across the Tamar to reach me and I watch him drown and can do nothing to help.”

  “You had best move to another chamber,” suggested Octavia practically.

  “It is too late. The idea is in my head now and I cannot be rid of it so easily.”

  “Well, now I am here and in the next bedchamber, next time such horrid thoughts enter your mind you must come to me and we will talk until you are ready to sleep. You must not give way to such morbid fancies. I can think of few things less likely than that Mr Wynn should attempt to swim the river."

  “I know. Tavy, you are such a comfort to me. I am excessively glad that you came.”

  “Poor Ju. It will all come right in the end.”

  Ada came in.

  “Mr Raeburn just took in the tea tray, Miss Julia. Her ladyship is calling for you to pour. And it’s bed for you, Miss Gray, for I can see you’re still not in very plump currant."

  As Julia went down to pour the tea for her mother and her unwanted admirer, Octavia wandered back to the steel mirror. The stranger looked back at her again, still too unfamiliar for her to be sure if she liked her appearance.

  “Your dress will be ready this evening, miss. I’ll hang it at the end of your bed so you can see it first thing.”

  “Thank you, Ada. Thank you very much.”

  She would get up early in the morning and put on her new gown and go walking in the garden. How things had changed already from her London life! Octavia felt herself turning into a different person, and she just could not wait to see who she was going to be.

  Chapter 6

  Sir Tristram took a bite of ham and spread his fourth muffin with marmalade. A drip fell on the letter he was reading, which had just been carried up from the quay. It was from his bailiff in Gloucestershire, and the marmalade neatly obscured a vital figure.

  “Damnation!” he swore, just as the door opened and Raeburn ushered into the dining room a pretty, elegant young lady he had never seen before in his life.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said composedly, her lips twitching as he sprang to his feet with an apology. She watched his expression change from mild embarrassment to puzzlement to astonishment.

  “Miss Gray? No, I must be mistaken. I beg your pardon, ma’am, won’t you join me?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Miss Gray?”

  Octavia giggled.

  “I’ve had my hair cut, and this is one of my cousin's gowns,” she said frankly, taking the seat the butler held for her. “A cup of tea, if you please, Raeburn, and a muffin. I am sorry if my appearance was the cause of your imprecation, Sir Tristram.”

  “Not at all, ma’am. I had just spilled maramalade on a letter of some importance. I was cursing my own clumsiness and your arrival at that precise moment was an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “Allow me, sir,” murmured Raeburn, and carefully removed the offending piece of orange peel.

  “I expect you are not used to ladies at the breakfast table. Julia and my aunt are not early risers.”

  “It is a delightful improvement. I hope you mean to make a habit of it.”

  She smiled and her brown eyes sparkled. “I am longing to explore. This is my first day in the country, for you cannot count sitting in a stagecoach with rain pouring down outside, and I slept all day yesterday. I have never been in the country before.”

  “Never!” Sir Tristram looked stunned. “You are a Londoner, I collect, but have you never been even to Richmond or Hampstead?”

  “Hyde Park is the closest I have come to rural England. I have always been too busy to go further afield.”

  “You must allow me to show you around the gardens, Miss Gray. They are particularly fine at this time of year.”

  “You know them well? Julia mentioned that you are Lord Edgcumbe’s godson.”

  “And his heir William, the Viscount Valletort, was my intimate friend. I spent the greater part of my school holidays at Mount Edgcumbe and we came often to Cotehele.”

  Octavia wanted to know why he had not spent his holidays at home and whether Lord Valletort was not still a friend, but she managed to hold her tongue. She felt as if she had known him forever, but this was only their third meeting and she had no right to ask such personal questions. She sipped her tea thoughtfully.

  “Tell me about the house,” she said. “It is very ancient, is it not?”

  “It is essentially fifteenth century, though there are the remains of an older manor house. The tower is more recent—early seventeenth century. The Edgcumbes have owned it since 1353, but two hundred years later they built the great house at Mount Edgcumbe and since then Cotehele has been used as a dower house and summer retreat.”

  “Some rainy day I should like to explore the house, but now I am ready for the gardens. Oh, I forgot your letter. I daresay you wish to finish reading it, now it is de-marmaladed, and perhaps to answer it.”

  “It can wait.” Sir Tristram folded it and put it in his pocket, ruthlessly ignoring his bailiff’s pleas for prompt advice and the fact that his reply would miss the tide. “We must go while the sun shines.”

  Octavia looked about her curiously as they passed through the Great Hall, with its high timbered roof and grey stone walls hung with arms and armour. They crossed a courtyard, then through a passage beneath a battlemented gatehouse. Looking back at the façade, with its narrow, defensive windows, she was tempted to investigate the house first.

  A large figure emerging from a nearby gateway distracted her.

  “Captain Day!” she called.

  The huge smuggler approached, his eyes widening.

  “Miss Gray?” he asked uncertainly, doffing his cap.

  Sir Tristram laughed heartily.

  “A transformation, is it not, Jack?” he said. “Miss Gray is no longer the waif you delivered yesterday.”

  “I’m happy to see you recovered, miss.”

  “I must thank you for taking care of me. I was too exhausted yesterday to express my gratitude.”

  “It was nothing, miss. A fine earful I’d have had from Martha if I’d done anything else.”

  “And thank you for the package. I hope you brought another such for your Martha.”

  “I did indeed.” He grinned. “I must be on my way now, or the River Queen will leave without me.”

  “Take care, Jack,” said Sir Tristram meaningfully.

  “Aye, sir. Good day, miss.” Red Jack saluted and strode off down the drive.

  Octavia took the baronet’s offered arm and they turned in the opposite direction. “How is it you know Captain Day?” she asked cautiously.

  “He is well known locally. William and I used to go out on his sloop when we were boys.”

  She thought his answer evasive but did not press him. After a moment’s silence she burst out, “How Mrs Pengarth must worry about him!”

  “You know his occupation, then?”

  “If I ma
y trust the evidence of my own eyes!” She was going to tell him of the moonlight meeting between the River Queen and the Seamew, but at that moment they rounded the corner of the house. The view took away her breath.

  A lawn, a hedge, a wooded valley framed by two flowering magnolias and leading down to the river, which glinted between the trees. Rounding a hidden bend, the river stretched into the distance; the mists drawn from its surface by the morning sun made a mystery of the hills on its other side.

  Octavia became aware that Sir Tristram was watching her face, his own satisfied and slightly amused.

  “This is the country,” he said. “Does it meet your expectations?”

  “It is magnificent! I never imagined anything half so impressive.”

  “Magnificent? That adjective is usually reserved for scenery such as the Alps. We have here a pleasant panorama, charming if you will.”

  “You are laughing at me, sir, but indeed, having never seen the Alps, I consider it magnificent.”

  “It is worth going out of one’s way for,” he conceded. “The river adds a felicitous touch worthy of Capability Brown, in spite of being entirely natural! Should you like to sit on this bench and admire it or shall we go down into the gardens?”

  “Let us go down. I shall save my admiration for when I am tired of walking, and when you are not by to roast me for my choice of adjectives!”

  Crossing the lawn, they passed through a gap in the yew hedge and down a flight of steps. Turning left at the bottom, Octavia found herself entering a long, dark stone tunnel. It had a sinister air, even though she could see daylight at the other end. She stopped and looked back at Sir Tristram.

  “It runs under a lane,” he explained. “The way is quite smooth, but take my arm if you are uneasy.”

  She could not really claim to be nervous, but took his arm anyway, then hoped that he did not think her so gooseish as to fear a gloomy passage.

  When they emerged into sunlight, she could not repress a cry of delight. The valley was filled to the brim with flowering bushes. There were rhododendrons in every shade of pink and purple, scarlet and orange azaleas, yellow laburnum, all set off by the different greens of their own foliage and the taller trees scattered among them.