Ten

While Miranda delighted in the blue gown trimmed with Brussels lace that she wore, she also felt uneasy about taking anything from Sir James.

She couldn’t say what bothered her. She and Lucy had a comfortable existence in the home of a man who was generous, and obviously honourable in his intentions, for he’d proposed marriage.

Yes, he was more than twice her age, but was that such a bad thing, apart from the fact that he’d expect to bed her and get her with child – and he looked healthy and muscular, as though he might be rather vigorous in that pursuit. It was not that she was afraid of the union between man and woman, but rather that she’d wanted to give that particular favour to a man she loved.

The alternative was to leave. But where would they go, and how far would they get before they ran out of money? They’d already experienced what poverty was like, and the danger that came with it. The truth was, their lives had become a comfortable trap, more so for Lucy, who lived for the moment and was being given everything her heart desired. Miranda sensed danger in that, and knew that the longer she avoided making her mind up, the harder it would be for both of them to abandon a life they were rapidly growing used to.

Sir James was at the Dorchester assizes this week, presiding as magistrate.

Lucy was practising the piano. The notes floated through the house as Miranda pulled a shawl around her shoulders and tied her bonnet. She didn’t ask Lucy to join her for a walk, because she’d tell Sir James that Fletcher had been there.

Luckily, her creatively inclined sister preferred indoor pursuits. Lucy was writing a novel that featured a ghost, for she’d found a tattered, water-stained journal hidden behind a sliding panel in the window seat, which had sparked her imagination. The author of it hadn’t put her name to it. Lucy read short passages of her work out to Miranda. It was rather melodramatic, and Miranda marvelled at her sister’s fertile imagination.

She picked up a sketching block and pencil, in case anyone suspected her of motives other than walking. It struck her that she’d become suspicious of everyone else’s motives lately. There was no reason why she shouldn’t meet a young man to walk and talk with him.

And kiss him, a little voice inside her mocked.

‘There’s that, but actually he kissed me … I just didn’t stop him,’ she said quietly and grinned.

Caesar followed her down the stairs, his tail whipping dust motes into the air. She laughed. ‘Yes, you can come, too.’

The dog seemed to have attached himself to her, and followed her everywhere, much to Sir James’s amusement, for he’d said, ‘Caesar must have liked the taste of you when you first met.’

And, indeed, she had a scar on her thigh to remind her of that meeting.

Seeking out Mrs Pridie, Miranda told her she was going out to sketch wildflowers, and would take Caesar with her.

‘Will you be long, Miss Jarvis?’

She wondered if there was anything behind the seemingly innocent query, and then dismissed it as guilt over her secret assignation with Fletcher. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be more than an hour or two.’

‘Well, best you stay within the bounds of the estate. We can’t have you getting lost.’

‘I assure you, Mrs Pridie, I have quite a good sense of direction.’

‘Sir James doesn’t want you wandering around the countryside by yourself. There are too many felons abroad.’

‘He hasn’t said so to me directly. I promise you I’ll stay in the grounds. Besides, I’ll have Caesar with me.’

Mrs Pridie placed a work-worn hand on her arm when she turned to go. ‘Take care. Some people are not what they appear to be.’

Annoyance filled her. ‘Are you what you appear to be, Mrs Pridie?’

‘I’m what I have to be to survive. I promise you this: if you ever need to confide in anyone, and you might need to one day, you can trust me.’

Her voice was so sincere that Miranda softened towards her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Pridie; I’ll remember that.’

The afternoon was calm and quiet, the air warm and moist for spring. Disturbed by her passing, clouds of midges rose from the hedges and performed a frenzied dance in the air.

Despite the calm, everything moved. She jumped when she disturbed a grass snake soaking up the sun, mistaking it for a viper at first. It slid greasily off into the undergrowth. The sudden intrusion of the reptile into the territory of the hedge sparrows caused a noisy burst of agitation. They began to dive at it, chasing it off.

Everything settled back into calm. High in the sky, a hawk circled. Along the banks of the stream, wild arum and soft purple sliced through the undergrowth to join the golden lady’s smock.

Caesar ran on ahead, marking his territory and investigating the other scents. He backtracked now and again to check on her.

The cemetery stood in its own state of dilapidated quietude. There was no sign of Fletcher.

She swallowed her disappointment. Had he been flirting with her? Perhaps he’d had no intention of keeping their appointment. She blew a kiss towards the corner where her mother lay. The small patch of ground she occupied was no longer raw brown earth, but a bed of different coloured wildflowers that nature had woven into a small quilt for her. A tendril of ivy from the adjoining plot had stretched friendly fingers across to cling to her stone, as if welcoming the new neighbour.

She busied herself sketching flowers and the ancient headstones in the warm, hushed air.

After a while, her glance fell on the largest tomb. The rusty entrance gate still hung open on its hinges and the lamp was still there. Yet there was something different about it. Her gaze went back to the lamp. That was it – it had a new candle!

Why on earth would a tomb need a candle over the entrance? Bumps prickled up her arms and into her neck. There was something about that mausoleum and it seemed to call to her. She didn’t even know who was interred there. As she approached it, the world seemed to hush, as if holding its breath. She felt uneasy and her blood began to pound against her eardrums.

‘Don’t be silly; the dead can’t hurt you,’ she whispered, the sound of her own voice giving her a small amount of comfort.

The Fenmore name was etched into the lintel.

Three steps down and she was in a cold, clammy half-light. It was a large space that accommodated about fifteen stone coffins of various sizes, set in alcoves. Placing her drawing tablet and pencil on a coffin, she moved to read the names of the occupants. She could only just make out the writing on the closest stone coffins, which were nearer to the door.

Further inside were three more recent-looking ones. Bella Fenmore. Elizabeth Fenmore … then there was William Fenmore, beloved son of James and Bella. An empty coffin waited for Sir James, the lid leaning against the wall. She shivered at the macabre thought that this was a family gathering. Was the drowned Lady Marguerite, after whom the cove was named, buried here?

Her mind switched from one woman to another. Elizabeth Fenmore must be Fletcher’s mother. So why wasn’t she buried as Elizabeth Taunt?

There was a noise, like a faint whisper of voices and a sudden draught of air. The gates scraped a series of rusty discordant notes on their hinges as they swung together and latched, like a mouth closing around its prey.

Panic welled in her as her imagination took hold. What if she couldn’t get out and she was trapped, kept prisoner by grisly, grinning corpses?

Miranda sucked in small gasps of air, trying not to give in to a scream, expelling it in breathy squeaks when a shadow moved in the entrance and blocked the sunlight. Caesar gave a rattling growl, pawed at the gates and barked urgently at her, as if he’d picked up her panic.

There was a drift of sensation, a faint pressure, as if somebody had touched her shoulder in passing. There was something comforting about it.

The gate was latched on the outside. After all, which of the occupants had the ability to open in, even if they wanted to let themselves out? She managed to squeeze a finger through an elaborate scroll in the wrought iron and push the latch up, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. The gate opened.

When she scrambled into the fresh air, Caesar’s ruff was pricked up around his neck and ridged along his back. When she smoothed it down, he wagged his tail, looked past her and gave a bit of a huff.

‘All right, I’m here, Caesar,’ she said and, pulling the gates together, she latched them and turned.

Fletcher Taunt stood a short way away, grinning from ear to ear.

She yelped, and tripped over a tussock, her knees nearly buckling with the fright he’d given her. The giggle she gave bordered on hysteria. Was he real or an apparition?

‘Why is it that the sight of me makes you trip over your feet? Come here.’ Looking delightfully dusty and dishevelled, he put out an arm to steady her and gathered her close. ‘Christ almighty! You frightened me half to death coming out of the family plot. It’s not All Hallows’ Eve, is it?’

Instinct made her place her face against the steady beat of his heart. An apparition couldn’t be this warm. Then she remembered she hardly knew him and drew back.

‘Don’t move away, Miranda; it feels as though you belong there.’ Cupping his palm against her face, he gently pulled her back. ‘You and I both know how we feel about each other,’ and to remind her in the most practical of manners, he tipped up her chin and kissed her.

She was scared of the tumult of feeling rioting through her. How could she feel like this about a man she hardly knew? How did she know it was love? She just did. He laughed when she sighed in defeat and murmured, ‘Yes … I suppose I do know.’

‘I’m glad we’ve sorted that out. May I ask why you’re visiting my deceased relatives?’

‘Curiosity, I suppose. There’s a new candle in the lantern and I wondered why.’

‘Ah … I see. You have sharp eyes. Did you come up with an answer?’

‘Not yet … and then I began to wonder if Lady Marguerite was laid to rest here. The light was so dim I couldn’t read the names. I thought I heard voices, and there was a sudden draught. The gates squeaked and then closed by themselves. See, somebody moved the stones propping them open.’

His eyebrow arched and he chuckled. ‘You heard a ghost or two having a conversation? It was a gust of wind, that’s all, and it pushed the gates aside and they moved the stones. You made a good job of scaring the hell out of yourself as well as me.’

Gazing at the trees, she reminded him, ‘There’s no wind – the trees are barely moving. You didn’t close the gate to give me a scare, did you? It was eerie … It felt as though someone touched my shoulder.’

‘No, I’ve only just arrived and came along the cliff. The sea breeze has just started to come in. If you follow the ripples, you’ll see the water change as the breeze sweeps them before it. It was just a stray gust, I expect.’

Miranda felt much braver now Fletcher was with her, and she shrugged, ashamed of being so weak and willing to bow to his male reasoning. ‘You’re probably right. I allowed imagination to get the better of me.’

‘I’d expect nothing less from a young woman.’ Taking her hand in his, he drew her away. ‘Let’s get out of here. A cemetery isn’t a very romantic place for a private tête à tête. There’s a nice sheltered little spot back along the cliff near the copse. We can sit there unobserved and talk.’

There was a large boulder, and they sat with it against their backs and gazed out to sea, Caesar lounging at their feet.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just arrived back and haven’t been home yet; that’s why I’m so dusty.’

‘You weren’t very late.’

He gave a bit of a frown. ‘I would have been on time if my uncle hadn’t disallowed me access to my estate via his. He’s had a wall and gate built across the road, and there’s an armed guard. Using the long way adds another five miles each way to the journey.’

‘Isn’t it a public highway? I did see some traffic on it – wagons with stone on them – and I thought he was having the wall repaired. Why would he do such a thing as close the road?’

‘He wanted to buy Monksfoot Abbey cheaply, and intended to pull the house down. My offer was accepted instead, although, as it turned out, Silas Asher ended up leaving me everything when he died. But let’s not talk of my relationship with my uncle. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company.’

When he put his arm around her, she leaned comfortably into his shoulder.

‘I bought another clipper a couple of days ago. She’s little more than a hull and has been stripped of most of her fittings. She’ll be at a shipyard for repairs by the end of the month.’

His voice had warmed when he’d spoken of the ship, and she prompted him, ‘Will that be expensive?’

‘Yes … but it will be worth it and I got her very cheaply. She’s a young ship, but honest when stripped down to her skin. There is a grace and dignity about her that needs to be exploited.’ He gazed down at her, the expression in his eyes still warm and now laced with tenderness, so she knew his words were describing her. ‘I’ve named my new ship after you – Lady Miranda.’

She touched his face. It was a small caress, the only one she dared to offer him at this time. ‘I’ve never had a ship named after me before.’

He took her hand and placed a kiss in the palm. ‘I’ll take you to see your namesake when she’s trim and tidy and ready to receive visitors.’

Her smile faded and she idly traced a circle on the back of his hand. ‘I’m your uncle’s guest, Fletcher. He’s been good to me and my sister, and I don’t like deceiving him.’

‘Yes, I know, and my association with him seems to be growing worse, rather than improving. I’m going to do something to heal the breach between us, and have sent a message to say I intend to see him on Sunday after church. After all, we are business partners. Does he ever talk of me?’

‘He’s mentioned you on occasion.’

He engaged her eyes and looked amused. ‘But not with any great enthusiasm, aye?’

‘But not with rancour either.’

‘Thank you for that small kindness.’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Before I went to Southampton, I told you I was in love with you, Miranda. Do you remember?’

‘How could I forget, when only a few days have passed?’ she said, with a grin. ‘It was a totally impulsive act. But you were very dashing, and you nearly swept me off my feet. I told you to think it over. I hope you have, and have come to your senses.’

There was something boyish about his grin. ‘You laughed at me, and that was cruel, because it dented my feelings considerably. I just want you to know I have thought it over, as you advised. Nothing has changed. I still love you … only I love you madly now. There’s nothing like resistance to sharpen a man’s appetite.’

‘It’s too soon for … love. We’ve only met three times.’

‘I feel as though I’ve loved you all my life. Don’t be so sensible, Miranda. Run away with me.’

‘I can’t … I have responsibilities. I have my sister to consider as well as myself. Also, I don’t want to be involved in a scandal.’

‘You’re in the wrong place to avoid one, I fear. Your sister could run away with us. After all, it’s not very far to the next estate.’

‘I would prefer it if the argument with your uncle was resolved. I don’t want to spend my life on bad terms with the people around me. Shall I talk to him on your behalf and urge him to reconcile your differences. I needn’t mention that we’ve met.’

‘I’m not a man to hide behind a woman’s skirt, and would prefer to speak for myself.’

‘As you wish, Fletcher. You certainly have more than your fair share of arrogance.’

‘I can’t deny it.’ He ran his finger down her nose. ‘Are you very annoyed with me?’

‘No. I have something else on my mind.’

‘Ouch … I must be losing my appeal.’

To answer in the negative would be playing into his hands, so she ignored it. ‘Sir James is holding a supper party for me a week next Saturday. It’s my nineteenth birthday. Perhaps he’ll invite you.’

‘If he did, it would have an alternative purpose. My uncle is not what he seems, Miranda. He has two faces, and he has many informers. Just bear that in mind.’

‘Informers?’

‘He’s a magistrate, and he makes it his business to know what’s going on in the district.’

‘Is that so bad?’

He rose and, holding out his hand, pulled her to her feet. ‘We should avoid talking about my uncle … and you should keep your advice to yourself. You hardly know him, and certainly don’t know what he’s capable of. Curiosity can get you into serious trouble in these parts.’

‘So much for true love,’ she shot at him, and, jerking her hands away, she stomped off.

When she looked back there was no sight of him. ‘Don’t keep appearing and disappearing without notice,’ she shouted. ‘And it’s rude to part without saying goodbye.’

He was waiting for her at the turn-off to the road and held out his arms to her.

They closed around her when she went to him, and he spun her round.

‘I have to tell you something before you go, Fletcher.’

‘Is it that you love me?’

‘I can’t love you … not yet.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t control love; it’s something you feel.’

She ignored what she knew to be true. ‘Your uncle has proposed marriage to me, and I promised to let him know by the end of June. He wants me to provide him with an heir. I’ve already told him that he’s got one in you.’

He pushed her to arms’ length. ‘How deep are you in?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do, Miranda. Has my uncle bedded you yet?’

She suddenly remembered Sir James’s hands on her body and her cheeks flamed, but mostly from anger towards Fletcher.

When she lashed out at him, he caught her wrist, and although she tried to free it, he held it fast. His eyes looked wounded, but they gazed steadily into hers as if daring her to lie, when he said harshly, ‘Answer me.’

‘Your uncle has been a perfect gentleman towards both my sister and me. In fact, he spoils Lucy as if she were his own child. Let go of me.’

He removed his grip. ‘I believe you. Go ahead and hit me. I deserve it.’

‘Yes, you do. I’m angry that a man who professes to love me can think so little of me, and I allowed it to get the better of me. Just at this moment, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I thought it best that you knew what was going on, that’s all.’

‘Thank you for your honesty. It will help me to plan my campaign. Be warned … I’ll snatch you from his side at the altar if need be.’

She kissed him, a gently placed caress against the corner of his mouth.

He turned his head, stooped and captured her mouth. ‘You haven’t seen the last of me, Miranda.’

Thank goodness for that, she thought as he walked away from her.

Miranda felt uneasy again when she reached the road. Her back prickled, as though she was being followed.

Caesar didn’t seem to be alarmed, though he gazed back at her a couple of times to wag his tail. He was a nice-natured dog, despite his training to guard, and loved being petted. When she rounded the bend, she drew him back into the shadow of a hedge and waited.

She was surprised when Lucy came into view and she stepped forward, causing her sister to jump. ‘What are you doing here? Are you following me?’

Her sister’s hands went to her hips and a wounded look exploded on her face. ‘I certainly was not. I felt like a walk and I was looking for you. You could have asked me to join you!’

Guilt filled her. ‘Sorry, Lucy. You were playing the piano, and I know you don’t like being disturbed when you’re practising. I thought you’d be writing your book afterwards. Have you made much progress?’

‘Not in the writing, though I’ve finished the first chapter. Now I’m going to make a plan of chapters with scenes in. Making up stories is so interesting.’

There came the sound of a horse, and they both turned. It was Simon Bailey.

Caesar placed himself between herself and the horse and created an impressive rumbling brown growl deep in his throat.

‘Quiet, Caesar,’ she said and fondled his velvety ear.

Simon doffed his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Jarvis. Miss Lucy. A lovely day, isn’t it?’

Miranda nodded. ‘It certainly is, Mr Bailey.’

‘On your way back to Marguerite House, are you?’

‘We are.’

He dismounted. ‘I’d better escort you. It seems that a trespasser has been seen on the estate. It might have been a smuggler.’

Lucy’s eyes began to shine. ‘How exciting! Where?’

‘Near the cemetery; I’ve not long come from there.’

Miranda raised an eyebrow, though her mouth dried and her heart began to thump. What if he’d seen her and Fletcher together? ‘What was the intruder supposed to be smuggling? Bones?’ When he chuckled, she said, ‘Does it concern you so very much, Mr Bailey? This is, after all, Sir James’s estate. How do you know it’s a trespasser?’

‘Someone who saw him told me. Anything out of the ordinary that happens on this coast concerns me. That’s my job.’

They began to walk.

‘Ah yes … smugglers and such. I’ve never actually seen a smuggler.’

‘You wouldn’t know one if you did see one, but you need look no further than the adjoining estate. They’re a murderous lot, and you should keep away from there if you can. Now Sir James has closed the road, it will make it harder for them to convey the smuggled goods through his estate and that route will be blocked.’

Shock rippled through her. ‘Are you telling me that Fletcher Taunt is a smuggler? He’s Sir James’s nephew, and has only just bought the estate.

‘But he was on friendly terms with the previous owner, and Silas Asher was an out-and-out scoundrel. I’ll say no more.’

Despite declaring he’d say no more, Simon Bailey carried on talking. ‘I’ve been given no reason to believe he is, apart from rumour, which gave me cause to search his company’s ship, Midnight Star, on a couple of occasions.’

‘What did you find?’ Lucy asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

‘Unfortunately, there was nothing, Miss Lucy. If there had been, he’d now be languishing in jail. Silas Asher, who previously owned Monksfoot Estate, was the scum of the earth, and so are those who were his partners in crime … many of whom are still employed there.’

Lucy asked Simon Bailey the question Miranda would have liked to ask him, except she was reluctant to expose herself to any questioning regarding Fletcher Taunt.

‘Sir James can be awfully stern. He’d be cross if you arrested his nephew, though. What would happen to him? Would you give him a good flogging?’

‘It would depend on the magistrate. If he was found guilty and I recommended it, the man could be put to death by hanging or firing squad. It would serve as an example to other miscreants.’

Lucy shuddered. ‘That’s a horrid suggestion. In all conscience, how could you do such a thing?’

Miranda intervened. ‘Mr Bailey, I would suggest you remember that you’re speaking to a young woman of impressionable age. I do not want my sister exposed to such information.’

He coloured a little at the reprimand. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Jarvis … Miss Lucy. Perhaps it will put your minds at rest if I tell you that the usual punishment is transportation to a place where the felon can live an honest and useful life and learn practical skills. If Sir James’s nephew happened to be involved, I imagine their relationship would be taken into account before any charges were laid.’

As the house came into view, Miranda said, ‘Please don’t go to any more trouble, Mr Bailey. We can go the rest of the way unescorted, I think. We have Caesar to look after us, after all.’

‘It would only take one bullet to dispose of the dog. In any event, I’m going to see Sir James. We travelled back from Dorchester together and I said I’d report back to him after I’d taken a look around. I expect the intruder has gone by now, don’t you, Miss Jarvis?’

‘One would hope so.’

‘Perhaps it was a ghost in the cemetery. There must be hundreds of them floating about,’ Lucy remarked, and Miranda wished her sister would abandon her fascination with the wandering spirits of the dead.

They parted company in the hall. ‘I’m looking forward to your birthday party, Miss Jarvis,’ Simon Bailey said as they began to climb the stairs. ‘I believe Sir James has invited guests from as far away as Southampton.’

And she wouldn’t know any of them, and Sir James would expect her to act as host. Not only that. It didn’t seem decent to celebrate her birthday when her mother had died so recently.

Miranda almost felt sick at the thought.