A Shadow's Bliss (28 page)

But his jaw set, and he thought, ‘Heaven help him if he tries!'

C
HAPTER
XII

The morning had dawned hot but the sky was overcast and the air heavy and oppressive. Haunted by the persistent sense that all was not well at home, Jennifer gazed through the open window of the carriage, and fanned herself absently. She had said her farewells to Lady Morris last evening. Caroline had been disappointed, at first protesting and then becoming petulant. My lady had been regally polite while making not the slightest attempt to detain her. It was worrying to think there might be a real rift between the two families. From earliest childhood Caroline had been one of her few friends, and she was fond of all the Morrises. If Lord Kenneth had approved of her, she might have been his daughter-in-law by now, but he had not approved, and dashing young Merwin Morris, her most ardent suitor, had been hurried off on the Grand Tour, with scarcely a chance to bid her goodbye. At the time, she had been hurt, but not really surprised. Now, she could only be grateful. She'd been fond of the handsome red-head, but she had never loved him, as she loved Jonathan …

Tilly was quick to note the softened expression on the lovely face opposite, and her lips pursed knowingly. She could not have been more pleased that their stay at Breton Ridge had been cut short. So superior did his lordship's staff fancy themselves, and so pleased they'd been to make fun because Miss Jennifer had brought a lunatic to act as her coachman. They'd changed their tune a bit when the looby had knocked down one of the stablehands, and there'd been less name calling after the boat business had given them something they could laugh about for months. Some of the maids even had the flutters over Crazy Jack, which just went to show what a silly lot they were, for all their high and mightiness. She would have plenty to tell dear Mr. Oliver Crane! The prospect brought a glow, but it was a brief glow, because her attempts to ingratiate herself with her mistress had met with a cold reserve. Miss Jennifer was in a huff, thought Tilly, because she likely guessed that her little trysts with the looby had been seen. Well, they'd been seen, all right, and it would be doing the poor dear no disservice were a careful hint dropped in the right ears at the right time. Crazy Jack's days in Roselley would be done then! Oliver Crane would be glad to see the back of him, and so would she. The very
idea
of the looby! As if it wasn't enough that he gave hisself such airs and graces, he'd dared to make sheep's eyes at Miss Jennifer! Bewitched her, is what he'd done, and got her sighing over one what wasn't fit to touch her little shoes!

On the box, Jonathan's thoughts followed a different course. Hibbard Green's pursuit of Jennifer was as relentless as it was crude. There could be no doubt but that he was a member of the sinister League of Jewelled Men, nor that his determination to acquire the Blue Rose Tin Mine was in some fashion connected with the activities of the League. Surely, in the furtherance of those interests it would have been logical for him to escort his chosen lady back to Castle Triad. That he had not done so was a blessing for Jennifer, but
why
he had not done so was a puzzle. Stable gossip had it that Lord Morris could barely tolerate Green, and that while his lady could always find a smile for the possessor of both rank
and
fortune, in the privacy of her own apartments she had once been heard to remark that Lord Hibbard Green had the charm, wit, and address of a maggot. Green also had the hide of an elephant, but his acquaintanceship with his host was too brief for him to regard Lord Morris as a friend. And if it was not affection for the Morrises that kept him at Breton Ridge, it followed there must be another reason, a very compelling reason, for him to cool his heels there while his lovely quarry rode away.

August Falcon was convinced that Green stayed to meet someone; perhaps another member of the League of Jewelled Men, or even its mysterious leader, the deadly “Squire.” By watching Green, he and Lieutenant Morris could, he hoped, learn the Squire's identity.

The hole in that plan, of course, was that the members of the League knew the identities of the men who opposed them. If Green were a member of the League, then he would be aware that Falcon and Morris were his enemies and was unlikely to take any chances while they were present.

He had pointed this out to Morris, who had admitted, “True, to an extent, dear boy. But I doubt if our Hibbard knows we've rumbled him. Fact is, we weren't sure at the start that he
was
a member of their slithery club.”

“Then—why did you follow him?”

“Didn't. Old August did, because Green had visited the home of a lady we know to be involved with the League.”

“A—
lady?
Jupiter!”

“No. Name's Buttershaw, actually. We'd been keeping an eye on her, and when Green kept trotting in, Rossiter set August to see what the fellow was up to. August followed Hibbard all the way to Cornwall, then lost him. Poor lad was probably biting those standing stones with frustration—dreadful temper has my future brother-in-law. He disguised himself and went about like a fugitive from a hermitage, trying to winkle out where he'd mislaid the dear peer. When he learned Hibbard was at Castle Triad, he sent word back to Rossiter. Since I have family here and might quite logically visit them, Ross sent me down. I collected August and tidied him up a bit, then brought him here, so that we could have a local—er, base, as it were. Last thing in the world we expected was that Green would pop up at my kinsman's home.”

“I see. Then when I told you about Green's figurine…”

“It did the trick, dear boy. Proof positive. With luck, Green thinks it pure coincidence that I should be visiting my family while he's here. If so, he might feel perfectly safe to go on with—whatever he's about.” Looking disturbed, Morris had muttered, “To say truth, I'm a shade uneasy. Don't much relish the notion the League might be after Breton Ridge…”

If the League of Jewelled Men had set their sights on the Morris estate, Jonathan thought they'd have their work cut out for them. One could scarce find a more proper and upright gentleman than Lord Kenneth, and if there were any skeletons in the Morris closets—

His introspection ceased abruptly as Roselley came into view. There seemed an unusual number of people about. He slowed the team. Heads were turned to them. Some of the men he didn't recognize, but those he did know were changed: the look of hopelessness was gone. Several people shouted a greeting to “Miss Jennifer” as the carriage passed. Mrs. Blary, known for her slovenly ways, was industriously sweeping her doorstep, and the prevailing air of optimism was unmistakeable.

They had passed Noah Holsworth's cottage and were splashing through the stream atop Devil's Ladder when Jonathan glanced eastward and muttered an astonished, “Be dashed!”

A small army of men toiled at clearing and levelling the ground for what appeared to be a new road leading from the cliffs to the Blue Rose Mine. Looking westward, he stared in disbelief. The long clean stretch of beach had been transformed. Some quarter-mile out, a large partially completed dock rose from the sands, several men hammering busily on the platform. The incoming tide lapped around the pilings. More pilings stretched in a long line from the dock to the beach, supporting a walkway that was under construction. A two-masted schooner, sails reefed, lay at anchor about a mile offshore.

The check string jerked imperatively. He opened the trap.

Jennifer called, “Stop, if you please. I wish to get out.”

He secured the reins, climbed down to swing open the door, and handed both ladies down.

Jennifer walked to the brink of the cliff, Tilly following.

Standing at the heads of his leaders, Jonathan thought that Green's engineers had chosen well. Clearly, they meant to link a new mine road to another flight of steps going down to the beach.

While he took in the practical aspects of the construction and wondered how it had all been done so fast, Jennifer saw only the destruction of the previously unspoiled coastline. Heartsick, she exclaimed, “But—Papa said he'd not allow it! Johnny, 'tis so ugly!”

Tilly's annoyed glance darted to him, and he answered woodenly, “Yes, ma'am.”

The enigmatic response was of itself a warning. Jennifer gathered her wits and returned to the carriage.

The horses leaned into their collars and soon they were winding up the rutted road to the castle.

Jennifer could only be glad she had come home. Her apprehensions had been justified. Whatever his reasons for having agreed to the erection of that atrocity on the beach, poor papa must be miserable now that he saw the result. Perhaps it was still not too late to prevail upon him to tear it down.

*   *   *

“Tear it down?” Sir Vinson Britewell mopped a handkerchief at his heated countenance and scowled at his daughter. Sultry weather always tried his temper, and his irritation was increased because here she was, looking cool and pretty in her full-skirted morning gown of fawn muslin with lace trimming the snowy fichu and edging the frill of her dainty cap. She had no business to have come so soon and to look so very like her dear mama. He didn't want her. He wasn't prepared. He sat down at his desk and grumbled, “Of all the cockaleery notions! But I suppose, being a female, you cannot even guess at the cost of such a structure.”

“I apprehend it must be costly, Papa, but I also know that it is far from what you like. You have always loved our beautiful beaches, and you told me how vehemently opposed you were to the very idea of such an eyesore being—”

All too aware that he had indeed made such a statement, he waved his handkerchief and interrupted irritably, “Must a remark made early in business negotiations be regarded as being chiselled in stone? Especially in the case of an extreme complex matter touching the lives of many. You must take me for a proper fool if you think I am above revising my opinions when it appears—er, wise to do so.”

“No, no, Papa! I was only surprised that— Well, when I left you were set 'gainst the scheme, and now I come home to find so much of the work has been done, and so swiftly. I could scarce believe my eyes when we drove through the village. Everything seemed changed and there were so many new faces.”

“Change is the path to the future. And they were happy faces, I'll warrant! The common folk have prayed for the mine to re-open. 'Twas to please them I gave way, and
they
find no fault with my actions, I can tell you!”

He was whipping himself up, which meant he was worrying about the decisions he'd made. She leaned forward in her chair and said cajolingly, “I do not find fault, dear Papa, if 'tis what you really want, but—”

“You cannot know how you relieve my mind. 'Faith, but a man is beset from every side! If you came rushing home from Breton Ridge only to take me to task for having reached a decision in a matter that is none of your affair, you had as well have stayed!”

He was all but shouting at her. Shaken, she drew back. “I would have stayed, sir, but when you did not come and sent me no word, I was afraid you might be ill.”

“I most certainly
did
send word! I despatched a groom to Lady Kenneth with my apologies. Was that not to your liking?” He stood, his chair scraping noisily across the floorboards as he thrust it back, his voice loud and shrill as he demanded, “Or is it that his high and mightiness has taken offence because I did not run to kiss his hand? Sent you packing, did he?”

“Of course not!” Coming to her feet also, Jennifer said anxiously, “Neither Lord Morris nor his lady was anything but courteous. I think they were perhaps a little surprised that you offered no word of explanation.”

“I fail to see why that should discompose you.” Sir Vinson marched to the window and stood glaring outside, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. After a moment, he said in a calmer, but rather odd kind of voice, “But perhaps 'tis as well you should have come home now, for we have something to discuss.” He turned and regarded her almost furtively, then walked to the fireplace. “The thing is…” He thrust both hands deep into his pockets, cleared his throat, and stared at the rug.

“Yes, Papa?”

“The thing is— You ain't getting any younger. No, I don't say that out of unkindness. We—er, we none of us can help that, can we?” He laughed too heartily but did not look at her.

She waited, saying nothing.

“The thing is,” he said for the third time, “you should be wed. Should have been wed long since. If anything should happen to me—” He coughed, and tugged at his cravat as though it strangled him.

Dreading what was coming, she argued, “You are a fine healthy man, Papa. I think you will be here to take care of me for many years yet.”

“One never knows, child, what may lurk just around the corner.” He looked stricken, suddenly, then went on, his words alternately halting then tumbling over one another, so that she found it difficult to follow them. “You should be in the care of a loving and—and comfortably circumstanced husband. I have told you so for years, but you paid no heed.”

“But—Papa, I—”

“Be silent, miss! I have therefore—er, come to a decision, and— In short, I have—I have accepted an offer for your hand.”

It seemed to Jennifer as if that terrifying pronouncement echoed and reechoed around the room. Her mouth was dry as dust, and her knees shook so that she sank into the chair again. She said in a thread of a voice, “I—cannot believe you would … would do so without discovering my feelings in the matter.”

He barked, “You know I have your welfare at heart. The gentleman I have approved for you is of—sufficient fortune that you will never know want, and—and he is—titled besides.”

She half-whispered, “Papa—in heaven's name—not—”