‘Can you not cry off?’
‘I have no intention of doing so.’
‘Not even for me?’
‘Not even for you,’ he said firmly.
‘I shall go alone, then.’ She raised her chin and stared
defiantly into his eyes. ‘I know the way now.’
‘If you attempt anything so foolhardy,’ he answered in a level voice, ‘I shall put you over my knee and spank you!’
‘You sound like my father,’ she complained, hating to
acknowledge that he was being perfectly sensible.
‘Perhaps that is because you are behaving so childishly,’
he replied, with the conscious superiority of one who was
three years her elder.
In the end, she accepted the fact that their expedition
must wait. At least they were on their usual friendly terms: or almost so. Something had changed, though she was not
exactly sure what it might be.
* * * *
When the day arrived, Lydia was more nervous than her aunt, checking the clock and starting at every sound. She
told herself that she was being absurd. This was not the
first time she had accompanied John on such an expedi
tion. There was nothing to fear, was there?
Still, there was a feeling of intense relief when she
finally escaped from the confines of the cottage that night
and made her way to the same spot where she had met
John before. Since their journey to the wood covered the
same ground, descriptions are superfluous. The only differ
ence was that the moon was no longer full, and so their
vision was more limited than previously.
For some time their experience
was
drearily similar.
Lydia was no longer disturbed by the strange night sounds, and was very nearly about to fall asleep once more when a
sharp nudge from John’s elbow alerted her that they were
no longer alone in the woods. Almost simultaneously, she
heard a rustling in the underbrush, as if a large animal
were pushing its way unceremoniously through the trees.
Dried twigs crackled beneath heavy boots and muted
voices appeared to be carrying on patches of conversation.
She almost squealed - not from fear but from sheer excitement - before common sense came to her aid and kept her
silent.
There was a swoosh-swooshing sound, and Lydia saw
two white, billowing objects sailing through the trees. A
wailing sound accompanied them as they described a wide
arc in the darkness. They certainly were not birds. Any one
of the villagers would have sworn they saw a ghost; but
with the knowledge that other humans were in the woods, Lydia knew that the explanation for these apparitions was
a natural one.
A twinkle of lanterns through the trees made it fairly
easy to spot where their quarry was at any time. However,
it was as well that they were expecting them. A chance
traveller, or an inebriated gentleman, would very likely
have run like a rabbit in the opposite direction - which was
probably the exact effect which they intended.
At one point the shadowy figures with their small
lanterns were only two or three yards away from Lydia’s
and John’s hiding place. They hunched low to the ground,
knowing that if they were caught by these desperate men
they might share the same fate as the late Mr Cole.
‘D’ye see the entrance yet?’ one of the men asked gruffly.
‘Almost there, Ben,’ his confederate replied.
‘Nobody about tonight.’
‘Wasted a bloody good show,’ another said with a loud guffaw of laughter.
Then the voices faded, along with the lights. The stillness
was suffocating.
‘Shall we go now?’ Lydia whispered.
‘No,’ John whispered back. ‘They may return this way. We’ll have to stay here until we’re sure they’re gone. And
keep quiet,’ he added unnecessarily.
John was correct in his surmise. About an hour later,
another procession of lamps and voices passed by them in
the opposite direction, heading out of the woods. Only when
the last of them was well out of earshot did the two
watchers rise from their cramped position on the woodland
floor.
‘Oh John!’ Lydia cried at last. ‘We were right: there
are
smugglers in the woods.’
In her excitement, she threw her arms around his large
frame and hugged him tightly. Inevitably, he did the same.
But as she looked up into his face, barely visible in the faint
moonlight, she was quite unprepared for what happened
next.
John bent his head and pressed his lips to hers in what
was quite a tolerable kiss. Lydia was not certain what she
should do. However, since she found the experience very
pleasant, she returned it. Mama would almost certainly
have considered it improper, though her daughter could not
imagine why.
‘Why did you kiss me?’ she asked some time later, when they emerged from the wood.
‘It seemed appropriate,’ John said a little diffidently. ‘Did
you not like it?’
‘I liked it very much,’ she answered honestly. ‘I was just
surprised. That is all.’
‘Would you mind very much if I did it again?’
‘No indeed.’
He pulled her gently against him and repeated the
previous exercise. This time she was prepared for it, and
found it even more enjoyable than before.
‘I think,’ John said, raising his head, ‘that it is best if we
do not go into the woods alone together any more.’
‘I quite agree.’
They arrived at the spot where John’s horse was teth
ered and were soon riding back to town.
‘I will inform my father of what we have discovered, and we will get some men to come down here and flush out the
gang.’
‘I wish I could be there!’ Lydia cried, although she knew
that this was impossible.
‘It will be best if your name is not mentioned in relation
to this matter,’ John told her, frowning. ‘My father would be
quite scandalized - and rightly so.’
‘Fustian!’ Lydia protested. ‘But I know what you mean.
Aunt Camilla would doubtless swoon if she knew what we
had been about tonight.’
* * * *
Upon reflection, Lydia was not sorry that their adventure
had ended. While they were searching for the murderer of
Mr Cole, they had developed a degree of camaraderie. They
might almost have been brother and sister.
But although she had no brother, Lydia was very sure
that one did not kiss one’s brother the way she had kissed
John. In fact, she had never had the least desire to kiss any man in such a fashion. However, she now found that she
very much wanted to do so again: but only with John. This
was most disturbing.
It was now that she understood John’s remark at the
ball. He said he did not think of her at all. What he had
meant was that he did not
need
to think of her. She was
simply there. She was his companion and fellow adven
turer. She was his friend. There was no need to dwell on
any feelings he might have for her. In truth, she had felt
the same.
Things were no longer so simple. One might as well face
the fact that she now saw John in a very different light: as
an attractive young gentleman who might or might not
play a significant role in her future happiness. It was
obvious that his own thoughts were moving in a similar
direction.
It occurred to her that she would very likely marry him.
Thoughts of marriage had never entered her head before. She left such things to Louisa. How odd that her new acquaintance should have caused such a revolution in her thinking.
It was not that Mr Savidge was extraordinarily good-
looking. His countenance was pleasing enough, and he had
a fine figure. But there were other gentleman who could
boast better features and more address. Yet she felt an
affinity with him which was undeniable. She would not put
a name to this feeling. She would not define it as ‘love’
without further cogitation and perhaps several more
kisses.
Still, it was an interesting and unexpected development
- an adventure in its own right.
The next evening, Thomas Savidge dispatched a number of
armed men to Wickham Wood. Not many of the residents of
Diddlington were aware of this maneouvre, and most that did know were mystified as to its intent.
However, within twenty-four hours of this expedition,
the news was everywhere: a gang of murderous smugglers
had been apprehended in the wood. The praises of
Diddlington’s Justice of the Peace were upon everyone’s
lips. What genius! What foresight! What uncanny abilities
(hitherto unsuspected) the man must possess! The invalu
able contribution of his son and of Miss Bramwell were, of
course, completely unknown to the general populace.
‘Mr Savidge has certainly surprised me,’ Mrs Wardle-
Penfield confessed to Camilla and Lydia. ‘I truly did not
think he had it in him.’
‘I would not doubt,’ Lydia said demurely, ‘that he had
information from another source, which perhaps
contributed to the success of his venture.’
‘Indeed, I think you must be right.’
The saga of their battle with the bloodthirsty gang grew
richer with each re-telling. From a dozen desperate men,
the number of smugglers swelled to ‘near ‘bout a hundred’.
The flesh-wound which one of Mr Savidge’s men received
became a mortal injury from which only the hand of
Providence had saved the unfortunate fellow. It was there
fore left to John - who had been present on the momentous
occasion - to supply Lydia and her aunt with a more accurate account of the proceedings.
* * * *
Lydia persuaded Aunt Camilla to invite both John and
Monsieur d’Almain for tea one afternoon. It was some time
before she could convince her timid relation that it would
not seem at all
fast
for them to be entertaining two
gentlemen in their house.
‘Dinner, perhaps, might not be appropriate,’ Lydia
conceded. ‘But tea can surely give offence to nobody.’
In the end, the two men were gratifyingly flattered at the
invitation, and the four spent an enjoyable hour - or rather
more - together. If tongues wagged afterward among the
old tabbies of the village, that was only to be expected.
‘You must tell me all about it,’ Lydia insisted to John,
referring to the apprehension of the smugglers.
‘I would not wish to discompose your aunt, Miss
Bramwell,’ he protested.
Camilla had been gazing into the eyes of her other guest,
but managed to adjust her attention - perhaps because
d’Almain himself seemed very interested.
‘I assure you, I shall not be at all discomposed,’ she said graciously. ‘Now that they have been apprehended, I feel
that we may all rest easy in our beds at last.’
‘I rested quite well
before
they were apprehended,’ Lydia
remarked, causing the gentlemen to smile while her aunt
merely sighed at her lack of sensibility.
‘We - that is, I,’ John began with a sideways glance at
Lydia, ‘had determined that there might be some smug
gling activity in Wickham Wood. I lay in wait on Tuesday
evening, on purpose to discover whatever might be going
forward there.’
He described pretty much what they had witnessed
together, which Lydia already knew. She displayed far
more interest when he continued to tell how he had
informed his father of all he had heard and seen.
‘Whatever did Mr Savidge say?’ Aunt Camilla asked.
‘At first,’ John admitted, ‘he thought it all a hoax.’
‘He should have known you better than that, monsieur.’
The Frenchman shook his head decisively.
‘He certainly should have!’ Lydia seconded this assessment.
‘When I did manage to persuade him that it was no
Banbury story,’ John proceeded with his tale, ‘it was almost worse. He told me I was a young fool, with no more sense
than a billy goat.’