The boatswain reached Sir Julian. “Good morning to you, sir. This is indeed a happy coincidence, for you are the very gentleman we seek.”
“So it would seem. So it would seem,” Sir Julian murmured, looking past him at the launch, where Tansy and her box were now on dry land again. Amanda was being lifted out to join her, and then a third woman, older, and presumably the chaperone Franklyn mentioned in his letter.
Sir Julian could not help noticing how akin Tansy’s cloak was to the chaperone’s. Both garments were practical, plain, and clearly not expensive, whereas Amanda’s was richly decorated and had clearly cost a considerable sum. He could not help reflecting that his fears about the place Tansy would occupy in Franklyn’s household had been justified. Tansy was, and had no doubt been made to feel, the poor relation, but the shy smile she directed toward him now was a world away from the sulky pout on Amanda’s lips. Sir Julian knew which niece he was drawn to, and it certainly was not the countess-to-be!
But then his attention was snatched by the very odd sight of Ozzy scuttling up and down beside Tansy’s box like a thing demented. What in the world was the matter with the old ginger fool? The answer was forthcoming almost immediately, as another loud meow issued from the box. Ah, thought Sir Julian sagely, spring was in the air, and female feline company to hand.
Mr. Pettigrew spoke again. “I have an injured officer who is to be put ashore here, sir. He was shot while rescuing your nieces, and they wish him to recuperate at Chelworth instead of Portsmouth.”
“Injured officer? Rescuing my nieces?” The import of the words was borne in on Sir Julian.
“Rescuing
them? Oh, good heavens…. What happened?”
“They will no doubt tell you all about it, sir. Suffice it that they are now safe, thanks to First Lieutenant Martin Ballard.”
“Well, if he saved my nieces, then of course he is more than welcome at Chelworth.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly.” Mr. Pettigrew saw that Sir Julian’s attention kept wandering past him, and he turned to look as well. Ozzy was hardly able to wait for Tansy to open the tantalizing box. He danced around on tiptoe, ears pricked, tail so high a flag could have been hoisted upon it. The boatswain watched in surprise. “Well, will you look at that. He’s ready to make Miss Tansy’s tabby more than welcome!”
“So it would seem, Mr. Pettigrew. It’s most out of character. Where strange cats are concerned, Ozymandias is—”
“Ozy-what, sir?”
“Ozymandias. It’s another name for Ramses the Great, an Egyptian king.”
“Oh, I see, sir.” Mr. Pettigrew thought it a ridiculous name for an ordinary ginger tomcat.
“Ozzy is usually at the ready to see strangers off his territory; this time, however, he’s clearly delighted,” Sir Julian went on.
“Well, Cleo is as shipshape a little she-cat as I’ve ever come across. By the way, Cleo is short for Cleopatra, the—”
“Egyptian queen? Yes, I did know that,” Sir Julian replied, watching as Tansy at last opened the box. Cleo looked out cautiously, saw Ozzy, and jumped out to him. They touched noses and rubbed around each other like old friends; then they dashed away up the hillside and were soon lost in the fog.
Tansy looked earnestly at Hermione. “Oh, you do think Cleo will come back, don’t you? There hasn’t been time to put butter on her paws, and—”
“My dear, I don’t think you need to worry. She has attached herself to you and will not go far.”
Amanda was cutting. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I don’t know why you’re bothered. It’s just a horrid common feline!”
No one responded.
Sir Julian had watched Tansy with approval. He had always liked her, but now that he knew she loved cats, he approved more than ever. Amanda, however, had sunk further in his opinion. He already frowned upon her because of the letters she had exchanged with Randal; now it seemed she had no respect for cats.
Amanda chose that moment to run to him. “Uncle Julian? Oh, Uncle Julian, I have had a simply terrible time! Truly I have! I don’t know how I have coped!”
From being coldly contemptuous a few moments before, she was now all choked sobs and feminine weakness, but it did not fool her uncle at all. To his horror she burst into noisy tears, obliging him to press a handkerchief upon her. “Good heavens, child,” he murmured, observing the telling glances that passed between Tansy and the chaperone. So this was nothing new to them, he thought.
His response exasperated Amanda. “You don’t understand, Uncle! I was shipwrecked, kidnapped by pirates, almost drowned in the Nile, shot at, and— Oh, it was quite terrible!” She hid her face in her hands and dissolved into hysterical sobs.
Tansy and Hermione shared another look. Poor, dear Amanda must have suffered quite terribly when she was enduring such horrendous trials all on her own, they were both thinking.
Sir Julian, however, was shaken by Amanda’s revelations. He had realized from Mr. Pettigrew’s remarks that his nieces’ voyage had been hazardous, but he hadn’t for a second envisaged such a catalog of horrors. He looked askance at the boatswain, who nodded.
“It’s all true, Sir Julian, except that the two other ladies were there as well.”
“Yes, I rather imagined they were.”
Amanda sniffed, her face still hidden in her hands. “The leader of the pirates was going to sell me for the highest price he could. Because of my golden hair and beauty.”
Such modesty too, Sir Julian thought, but then felt a little guilty for his lack of charity. After all, she really had suffered all she claimed, albeit in a little less isolation than she liked to admit. So he patted her shoulder kindly. “There, there, my dear. You are quite safe now.”
She lowered her hands to look accusingly at him. “I do not think I will ever recover. No bride should have to cope with such adversities. What dear Lord Sanderby will say I cannot begin to imagine.” With that she resumed her whimpering.
Sanderby would not care less, Sir Julian thought. The bride and her fortune had survived, and that was all her fine husband would be interested in. But Sir Julian remained kindly as he conducted Amanda to a conveniently flat rock and bade her sit down to rest; then he went to speak to Tansy and the chaperone.
“Ah, Tansy, my dear, I’m so glad you are unharmed,” he declared, pulling her close and giving her a warm hug.
“I’m glad too,” she replied wryly, then smiled at him. “And I’m glad to see you again, Uncle.”
“And I you, my dear, and I you.”
“Please let me introduce Mrs. Entwhistle, who has been our excellent chaperone from Constantinople.” She presented Hermione, then excused herself to go to the launch, where she could see that some of the seamen were about to carry Martin ashore.
Behind her, Hermione smiled shyly at Sir Julian. “I am honored to meet you, sir.”
“And I you, madam.”
“My late husband was the Reverend Henry Entwhistle, with whom you may recall being in correspondence?”
Sir Julian gaped at her. So it hadn’t been Endpipe or Bluntwhistle! “Entwhistle is not a common name, madam, so I must wonder if your husband was by any chance an antiquarian with particular interest in Ancient Egypt?”
“He was, sir.”
Amanda’s whimpering grew louder as she perceived she was being forgotten, but Sir Julian took no notice as he beamed at Hermione. “Oh, your husband was an excellent fellow, madam, a truly excellent fellow. I do indeed recall corresponding with him.”
She returned the smile. “He was always full of praise for you too, sir. He especially agreed with your theories about hieroglyphs.”
“Hmm, then he must have been the only soul in creation who did,” Sir Julian muttered.
“Not quite, sir, for I also agreed with them.”
“Did you indeed?” She had his undivided attention. “Are you interested in Ancient Egypt, Mrs. Entwhistle?”
Amanda sobbed dramatically on her rock, but was ignored by everyone.
Hermione continued. “I am greatly interested in the land of the pharaohs, Sir Julian, and therefore trust that when you examine the antiquities we have brought with us, you will not exclude ladies from the proceedings?”
Sir Julian’s eyes lit up. “Antiquities?”
“We purloined them from the French. At least, Lieutenant Ballard did. The first of them have already been put ashore.” She indicated the launch, from which the crates were being lifted by the seamen.
Sir Julian was enthralled. “So
that’s
what the crates contain! I thought it was all your baggage,” he breathed. “Antiquities, eh? By the saints, fog or not, this is set to be a grand day! Of course ladies will not be excluded, madam. I would not dream of such an ungallant thing!”
Tansy waited by the launch as the stretcher was lifted ashore. “How are you, Lieutenant?”
“Well enough under the circumstances,” Martin replied.
For a moment she thought there was something in his eyes, a transient warmth that touched her like a caress. No, she was foolish to imagine such a thing. “It will not be long before you are in a proper bed, with a proper doctor to examine you,” she said, trying to show just sufficient concern to be correct.
“I think I am already on the path to recovery,” he murmured, indicating the figurine, which he still held firmly. “Your bronze cat has a very beneficial effect. Quite magical….”
Hermione and Sir Julian came over to them, and Hermione drew Tansy away so that Sir Julian could bend over the stretcher. “Lieutenant Ballard?”
“Sir.”
“Sir Julian Richardson, your grateful servant, sir. How are you?”
“Overdue for a proper recovery.”
Sir Julian nodded. “Well, sir, you shall have the very best care possible here at Chelworth, for I am in your debt. I gather you single-handedly saved my nieces from certain death?”
“Not single-handedly, sir.”
“Whatever the circumstances, I am grateful to you. Chelworth is at your disposal for as long as necessary, and we will get you to the house without further shillyshally.” Sir Julian straightened and went to Mr. Pettigrew. “Please instruct your men to convey the lieutenant up to the house without further ado.”
“Sir Julian.”
Within a minute the stretcher had been lifted again, but as everyone began to follow Sir Julian from the beach, Amanda got to her feet in dismay. “You mean we have to
walk
up that hill?”
“Yes, I fear so, my dear,” Sir Julian replied.
“Oh, but I cannot possibly do that! I’m too weak from all my trials. There will have to be a pony and trap at the very least.”
“ ‘Shank’s mare is all that can be provided, unless of course, you think Lieutenant Ballard should surrender his stretcher to you?”
Amanda flushed and said nothing more. His tone was an indication that she had done herself no favors since stepping ashore. Tansy, on the other hand, appeared to shine in his eyes. As, for some reason, did the odious Mrs. Entwhistle, with whom dear Tansy was now wont to speak on first-name terms. And they had
all
—including Martin—ignored her, Amanda, as she sat sobbing and distressed on the rock. Well they would pay for inflicting such a snub on the soon-to-be Countess of Sanderby. She would show them!
The fog did not last beyond midday, at which hour the March sunshine broke through and dispersed the gloom to leave a beautiful early spring afternoon. A lone horseman rode along the summit of the hill behind Chelworth and reined in beside the pyramid, around which the sea breeze sang quite pleasantly.
Randal would have much preferred the comfort of a carriage, but today had seen Liza driving off in style to Weymouth, to purchase a folderol to replace the so-called
chattie
scarf by which she set such ridiculous store. He had tried to wriggle out of his obligation, but she had moaned on and on about the damned thing until he could not bear it a moment longer. However, he drew the line at actually accompanying her. Be seen in fashionable Weymouth with a common whore on his arm? She was mad if she expected
that!
So he had given her a purse and told her to get on with it on her own.
Taking out his pocket telescope, he trained it upon the bay, where the
Lucina
was just setting sail. There was only one reason he could think of why a naval frigate would anchor at Chelworth, and that was to put something or someone ashore. Randal smiled as he closed the telescope again and replaced it inside his coat. If he was not mistaken, his bride had arrived, and the sooner he sought a private word with her, the better. It was as much in her interest to find the letter as it was in his.
He did not doubt that Amanda would be his willing accomplice, for he had more than gained her measure from the things she’d written. The lady was the sort who would stoop to anything, and in that respect at least she was a woman after his heart. Not that any woman was truly after his heart; there wasn’t another living creature worthy of such a place in his estimation.
Randal’s pale eyes were thoughtful. He had an uneasy feeling about all this, the sort of feeling that required every loose end to be taken care of
pronto,
as the Spanish said. First the disposal of the letter, then—as quickly as could be managed—the marriage. He had taken the precaution of securing the promised services of a crooked clergyman at the nearby market town of Wareham, who would not ask awkward questions about the haste and irregularity of the ceremony. He also had the absolute promise of the necessary special license, backdated with all the necessary details, there being an unfortunate fellow in the relevant church office with so much to hide that he did not dare refuse.
So before old Richardson could even blink, his niece was going to be deflowered in her marriage bed, and her considerable fortune made safe in her new husband’s grasp. Then, even if the worst came to the worst, and he lost his title and fortune, at least
her
inheritance would be secured. A nerve fluttered at Randal’s temple, and his lips grew pale as he pressed them together. But that would be at the very worst, for if he had his way, everything would be his.
He looked down at the rear of the house, where gardens and outbuildings were as formal and tidy as the land at the front was wild and bare. Daffodils nodded in flowerbeds, topiary bushes—sphinxes, of course—were precise and regimented, and there were paths, steps, ornamental pools, dovecotes, and a summerhouse that was modeled on the roofed and columned court of a small Nile palace. Randal supposed that the entire place was either beautiful, or breathtakingly hideous, depending upon one’s point of view. He leaned toward the latter, having encountered nothing but difficulty to everything he had tried to accomplish there. All he was doing was defending what he regarded as rightfully his, and the likes of Sir Julian Richardson had no business standing in his way.