Chapter Twenty

To Seth’s great relief there was no loss of life from his own boat, or from any of the others that had been out in the storm – just very tired and wet crews. He set to unloading the catch with his men – something he’d never done for his father, and everyone knew it, which had gone a long way to absolving him of any part in the smuggling.

‘Good catch, Mr Jago,’ Robbie Narracott said. ‘Kept fresh and all with the deluge.’

‘There’ll be an extra half-crown apiece in your pay packet,’ Seth said. He put his hand in his trouser pocket, pulled out a handful of florins. ‘But here’s something to be going on with for a round of drinks for the crew in The Blue Anchor.’

‘Thanks, Mr Jago,’ Robbie said, grinning broadly. He pocketed the money. ‘Best get this lot up to the sheds for sorting first, though. It’ll be another day before it’s done, else, if they get their ale first.’

There was lots of good-natured grumbling from the crew that they couldn’t start drinking right away but they got on with unloading the boats fast enough as they always did, Seth thought, given they must have been frightened for their lives out there in Lyme Bay with the storm raging around them.

The job done, Seth made his way to the Maunder home, praying his rescue attempt hadn’t been in vain and that Charles Maunder had made it through the night.

‘Heaven only knows why my husband went down to the harbour, Mr Jago, it was a reckless thing to do in the height of the storm. I shall have something to say to him about that when I visit him at the hospital this afternoon.’

‘He might have been making sure his yacht was secure …’

‘It was still a reckless thing to do,’ Mrs Maunder interrupted. ‘But I’m so grateful you were there, Mr Jago.You saved his life.’ She ushered him into the drawing-room.

‘I’m only glad I was able to,’ Seth said.

Mrs Maunder indicated for him to sit.

‘No, no,’ Seth said. ‘I can’t stop more than a few moments.’

‘My daughter should be arriving shortly,’ Mrs Maunder said. ‘This has come as a huge shock to her.’

Seth wondered how soon shortly was – five minutes, one hour? He had no desire to see Caroline again. And he’d bet every penny he had that she wouldn’t want to see him.

‘From Plymouth,’ Mrs Maunder said.

She looked, Seth thought, rather embarrassed, but whether it was because he seemed to have dried up and was having difficulty keeping a conversation flowing or because Caroline had been in Plymouth for whatever reason last night, he had no way of telling.

‘Caroline moved to Plymouth six months ago,’ Mrs Maunder said. ‘Against her father’s wishes, of course. They had a fierce argument, and she hasn’t been back since. I’m sure she’ll come now this has happened.’

So that was why he hadn’t seen or heard anything of Caroline for some while.

‘I’m sure she will,’ Seth said, and he sincerely hoped she would – Mr Maunder was a good man, well liked in the town.

‘Silly girl has gone to be a live-in companion to some titled lady for reasons best known to herself.’ Mrs Maunder dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. ‘And here’s me being so indiscreet. It’s the shock of what happened to Charles, of course. I trust you won’t repeat this conversation, Mr Jago.’

‘Of course not,’ Seth said, although he was fairly certain Caroline hadn’t told her parents the half of why she had gone to Plymouth.

But that was none of his business.

‘If there’s nothing I can do for you, Mrs Maunder, I’ll be on my way.’

‘No, nothing. Thank you. You must have had a long night. I’ll let you get on your way. But rest assured, I’ll tell Caroline what a hero you are. So unlike your brother, Miles … oh.’

Mrs Maunder put her hands to her mouth. To stop another indiscretion escaping? Why, Seth wondered, had she brought Miles’ name into the conversation? Not that he was going to ask. If he never heard his brother’s name mentioned again, it would be too soon.

‘Good day, Mrs Maunder,’ Seth said. ‘I can see myself out.’

‘Ah, there you are, Emma,’ Mr Smythe said, when Emma – now recovered from her faint – knocked on his open study door to tell him she was ready to resume her duties. She and Ruby had made the recovery stretch to four days, certain they’d be caught out in their subterfuge, but they hadn’t been. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you.’

‘It was a faint,’ Emma said. ‘I was tired. I’d been up most of the night. When Dr Shaw came he said I was run-down.’

‘Yes, yes, so he told me. I trust you’re taking the tonic?’

‘Yes,’ Emma lied.

She was never going to take that stuff – it tasted like she imagined boot polish would taste if she was ever stupid enough to eat any. She flushed a tablespoon of it a day down the lavatory, just in case Mr Smythe should check on her.

‘It’s not your recovery I want to talk to you about. I think it’s time you have a new frock to dance in. Something that sparkles as you will when you dance.’

‘Dance?’

‘You do know how?’

Not really, she thought. She’d only ever had that one, short, turn around the seat in the foyer with Matthew Caunter, and that had been almost two years ago.

‘I didn’t mean the knowing of it. I meant the dancing.’

The hotel had been hosting Friday night dinner dances for some months now but Emma had never been a part of it. Or wanted to be. Well, with no one to dance with, why would she?

‘I don’t need a new frock. To dance in or otherwise. My lilac one does me well enough for best, and besides, my amethyst necklace goes so prettily with it.’

‘Possibly, possibly,’ Mr Smythe said. ‘But I think a frock to dance in and some suitable jewellery, and shoes, in the circumstances – since we’re to be engaged shortly, once you are eighteen …’

‘I apologise for interrupting, but I haven’t said yes to your proposal,’ Emma said.

‘Not yet. I rather hope, once you become more a part of my life, that you will see my proposal as a good idea. I like to think I’ve been benevolent in affording you a safe haven, and that you are not unappreciative of that.’

‘I do appreciate it, yes. Thank you. But I’m not sure other people – your business associates I mean – will think the same if you are seen dancing with … with your daughter’s nursemaid unless I have your engagement ring on my finger …’

Oh God, what was she saying? That she wanted to wear his engagement ring? She wished she could swallow the words back but she couldn’t – they were out now, hovering between them in the air. She saw Mr Smythe’s lips quiver – the beginnings of a smile.

‘French tutor, Emma,’ he said. ‘As well as nursemaid, of course. But I can assure you they will consider it totally appropriate for you to join me in that capacity.’

‘I’d still rather not …’

‘You are an ungrateful little wretch,’ Mr Smythe said. ‘It’s not a lot to ask, is it – that you dance with me?’

‘Telling,’ Emma said. ‘You’re telling me. Ordering me.’

‘Would it hurt so very much?’

‘Yes.’

He’d probably buy her a dress that was cut low and would show an awful lot of skin, wouldn’t he?

‘You’ll come around to the idea, Emma, I’m sure you will. Where would you go if you went from here?’

And that, Mr Smythe, is emotional blackmail she thought, but even she wasn’t brave enough to say so. But his question was valid – where indeed would she go? She had savings, but nowhere near enough to last beyond a few months if she couldn’t secure another position straight away. Certainly she didn’t have enough to start a business, which was all she dreamed about – well, that and Seth.

‘I’ll try the dancing, Mr Smythe,’ Emma said. There was over a month to go before her eighteenth birthday – she’d save every penny, feather her nest as best she could before making her escape. But in truth, the thought of fending for herself completely was turning her blood to ice in her veins. She wasn’t quite ready to strike out on her own and pursue her dream of having her own business just yet. ‘Although I might not take to it …’

Against her better judgement, Emma was dressed, ready for her first Friday night dance. But she’d acquiesced – however unwise she’d been in doing so – to Mr Smythe’s request so she’d just have to get on with it.

Ruby came rushing into the room, holding Isabelle by the hand. ‘Madamoiselle here wanted to see you in all your finery,’ she said. ‘And blimey, what finery, Em.’

Emma smoothed her hands down over the fabric of her dress. A soft milky shade of satin embroidered with what looked like a million crystals. Mr Smythe had had Eve Grainger lay it on her bed as a surprise. No doubt the rest of the staff were downstairs now giggling about her and making up all sorts of stories about what she got up to with Mr Smythe if he’d spent that much on a dress for her.

She glanced at herself in the cheval glass, feeling naked and vulnerable without her mama’s amethyst at her neck, and in its place a string of pearls with a huge pear-shaped pearl dropper. And earrings to match. On her feet were cream leather court shoes with a strap – the only part of the whole ensemble she liked and would have chosen for herself.

‘Apart from the shoes,’ Emma said. ‘I look like a dowager.’

‘A come again?’ Ruby said.

‘An aged, rich widow with too much money to spend on fripperies and too much time on her hands.’

Caroline Prentiss came to mind with the word ‘widow’ – not that Mrs Prentiss was that old. In her mid-thirties at the oldest.

‘Well, you haven’t got none of that, maid,’ Ruby said. ‘Have you? Me neither.’ She scooped Isabelle into her arms, plonked her on one hip. ‘She looks a right treat an’ all, doesn’t she, Belle?’

‘Pretty dress. Belle want pretty dress. Dance with me, Emma.’

Emma pursed her lips. Ruby would persist in shortening Isabelle’s name and now even the child was calling herself Belle. But she decided now was not the time for an argument with Ruby because in all fairness Ruby loved the child.

So, Emma took Isabelle from Ruby’s arms and affected a polka with her around the room until the child’s cheeks turned pink with laughing and delight. Another glance in the mirror and Emma saw that her own cheeks were flushed, too.

‘Well, aren’t you the beautiful one,’ Ruby said, but there wasn’t a hint of jealousy in her voice. ‘My money is on Mr Smythe falling in love with you tonight, Em.’

Emma almost dropped Isabelle with the shock of Ruby’s words. Carefully she set the child down on the rag rug.

Such a short time ago she’d dreamed of working and living in Nase Head House. And of dancing on the tiled floor. If she’d known she’d be in the position she was now she’d never have entertained the idea.

‘Never,’ Emma said, making for the door. ‘His heart got buried with his wife.’