Lady of Spirit, A (7 page)

“Was that Tigg?”

“Yes. He has gone to tell Lizzie and Mr. Malvern, who are searching the upper floors for you, that we have found you.”

After a beat of silence, Maggie’s muffled voice came again. “I saw them kissing, Lady. Tigg and Lizzie.”

“Yes, I suspected as much. Did you hear what I said to him?”

“Yes. I—I lost my head and went down to the beach so they wouldn’t know I’d seen them. There’s a cave, Lady, and a stair that leads up here into the cellars.”

“Is there, now? Well, I am not surprised. Pirates once used the caves at Gwynn Place.”

“This isn’t a pirate cave. This one’s on purpose, with a quay and a big door in the rock and everything.”

“Is it in use?” Claire asked with some surprise. What would the Seacombes be doing with a boat landing in their cellar?

“I don’t think so. The bird droppings all over the dock have to be at least as old as Lizzie and me.”

“Dear me. I shudder to think of the state of your clothes, dearest.” Voices sounded behind her, and a glance confirmed that it was the boot boy and Mr. Nancarrow. “Here are the keys, Maggie. We’ll have you out of there in a moment.”

The butler, in trousers and shirtsleeves and none too happy about it, turned the huge key in the old lock, and with a well-oiled click, the door swung into the stair well.

And with a gasp of relief, a cold and disheveled Maggie fell into Claire’s arms.

“I simply cannot believe it of you,” Grandmother said at breakfast, for what had to be the third time. “No one but the fishermen’s children and sandpickers ever ventures into Seacombe Sawan.”

Which neatly relegated Maggie to that happy company—with whom, she thought rebelliously, she would much rather be at this moment.

“I think it was rather splendid of her, to go exploring and to make such a discovery.” Claude saluted her with his toast, liberally covered in apple jelly. “I had no idea there was a landing in the … what is it called?”

“A
sawan
is a cave in the foot of a cliff,” Grandmother said. “And we forbid you to go there. It is too dangerous, as Margaret’s thoughtless behavior has so amply proven.”

“Your family’s history began there,” Grandfather informed Claude as Maggie concentrated on her food, her cheeks burning from the reproof. “Two hundred years ago, Pendrake Seacombe discovered the
sawan
and the volcanic chute that led upward through the cliff. He modified it and built the house atop it, so that during the Civil Wars, our family not only had a means to freedom, but so did the royal family. King Charles I escaped to France while a guest here, you know, in a Seacombe ship—a fishing ketch.”

Grandmother took up the tale. “The
sawan
was also a means by which to import food from France so that the people in the country hereabouts did not starve. This is how our family and company crests came to be.”

“My curiosity is piqued with a vengeance.” Claude turned to Grandmother. “Please do not forbid us the …
sawan
. We will be careful, I promise.”

“Claude, you heard me the first time, and I do not repeat myself,” Grandmother said, though it seemed her tone gentled when she addressed him. “In any case, it is the Lord’s Day, and we do not go gallivanting about upon the strand, but attend church at ten o’clock. Dr. Pengallon comes to lunch after the service, and in the afternoon we rest or pursue the more gentle arts.”

“What would those be, Mrs. Seacombe?” Lady Claire inquired, cleaning up the last of her sausage and egg pie, which was quite the best thing Maggie had encountered in this house so far, saving only her mother’s letter and the sound of the Lady’s voice through the heavy door last night.

“I should think you would be well acquainted with them, Lady Claire,” was the pointed rejoinder. “I refer to needlework, the writing of letters, or perhaps a sketch in watercolor. One may also visit about the country, but you know so few people here that I fear you must make do with our company.”

“I can think of nothing I’d like better,” the Lady said smoothly. “Though the Misses Penford did encourage us to call.”

“Perhaps another day,” Mr. Malvern said quickly. “I do think a walk along the cliff-top would do me good. I have heard tell of a continuous path that stretches from the Lizard all the way to Devonshire. Is it true that such a thing exists, Mr. Seacombe?”

“It does,” Grandfather told him. “And you are welcome to take a stroll if you wish. But I should stay clear of the beach until you are more familiar with the tides. We Seacombes can practically feel the pull of them in our blood, but this gift is not given to all.”

“I could have used that ability last night,” Maggie ventured. “The tide turned and came in so quickly that if it had not been for the stair, I should have been in some danger.”

“My point exactly,” Grandmother said into her compote. She could have been referring to the tide. In fact, had it not been for that private conversation between her grandparents in the solitude of their room, Maggie might have thought so. But now, she clearly heard,
If you cannot feel the tide, then you are not a Seacombe, are you?

“I have no idea when the tide goes in or out, do you?” Lizzie said to Claude.

“None,” he said cheerfully, apparently quite unconcerned that he did not share the family heritage. “Never needed to know before, and don’t much expect to now.”

“Do not be so hasty, my boy,” Grandfather said, offering him the dish of compote. “When you are steaming over sea on a Seacombe ship, and later, running this company, you will find such knowledge useful.”

Claude, for once, was able to keep his thoughts on his future to himself, and in any case, there was no time to hear them if they were to be ready for church.

When they reached the stone church at the top of the high street in town, Dr. Pengallon greeted them at the door and escorted Grandmother to the frontmost pew on the right side, as though she were the first lady in the congregation after his wife, who sat with their children on the left side under the pulpit. Later, during an interminable meal when neither the good reverend nor his wife deigned to speak to her, but made a great fuss of Lizzie and Claude, Maggie was forcibly reminded again of what she had overheard. The wheat, apparently, was already being separated from the chaff.

But her grandparents had not reckoned on the Lady’s perspicacity. She, Mr. Malvern, and Tigg stepped bravely into the breach once the roast came in, and the conversation was distributed so equitably around the dining table that her grandparents hardly got a word in edgewise.

It was not until that evening, when they were saying their good-nights, that Grandfather brought up the subject again, saying to Claude, “You’ll come in to the offices with me tomorrow, eh? No time like the present to have a look round.”

“Tomorrow, sir?” Claude looked all at sea, as well he might, for this was the first they’d heard of it. “We had planned a picnic on the beach, and then a jolly ramble on the cliff-top, if we are not permitted the
sawan
.”

“I would have thought you had had enough of picnics and rambles after your friends left in the spring.”

“One can never have enough picnics,” Lizzie said gaily. “I do hope we are invited.”

“You are certainly invited to the Seacombe offices,” Grandfather told her, clearly unwilling to let his catch school together and escape the net. “You ought to know from whence your living comes.”

“I did not know I had a living.” Lizzie went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “But I should love to come, and so would Maggie.”

“We will talk of that another time,” he said gruffly, following Grandmother up the stairs. “Good-night.”

“What did he mean?” Maggie said once they were safely in their room. “Talk of me going along another time? Or of livings?”

“Livings, I expect,” Lizzie said. “Though I can’t imagine what he means, unless he plans to give us an allowance as he does Claude. Fancy that, Mags. An allowance!”

“The Lady gives us pocket money, and we have our investment money every quarter from the Zeppelin Airship Works.”

“But this is different.”

“I don’t see how. Besides, at this rate it’s not likely I’ll get anything.”

Lizzie dropped her shoe and turned, puzzled. “What do you mean? If I’m to get an allowance, then you will, too.”

But Maggie could not bring herself to chivvy the facts out into the open, or confide in Lizzie what she had heard her grandparents say. It was too humiliating, too ugly—and she did not want to change Lizzie’s view of her family. If she did not see their darker side, then Maggie would not be the one to shine the light upon it. She would just have to rise above it until her grandparents saw her for the lady she was, and welcomed her into the family circle for her own good qualities.

“They will break the bank giving us all an allowance,” Maggie said with a smile. “You and I together could not come close to what Claude spends in the course of a month!”

“Isn’t that the truth. Wait—you’re not putting on your night-clothes, are you? Aren’t you coming with us? You must, Mags—you’re our guide.”

Maggie’s fingers halted on the hooks of her corset. “Coming where?”

“Down to the
sawan
. Come on, toss on your boots and raiding rig. Claude is afire to see it, and now that the grands have gone up, the field is open.”

“Lizzie! You don’t mean to disobey them.”

“I do indeed. Oh, we’re not going in via the beach, as you did. We’ll simply slip down through the cellar and have a proper look.”

“But Nancarrow has the keys—how will you explain this to him when he was right there in the room to hear Grandmother forbid our going?” Lizzie smiled that mischievous smile that Maggie had learned to dread. “Lizzie. You didn’t.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring from which dangled the heavy iron key. “I did. It was easy as a wink.”

“But how—when—”

“When he was serving the coffee, and his hands were full with that big, heavy tray. When I bumped into him at the door, he barely kept it from falling, didn’t he? Oh, don’t look like that, Mags. They don’t serve spirits on Sundays, so I’ll have it back before he notices it’s gone.”

“Lizzie, your light fingers are going to get you into trouble someday.”

“They already have, and I survived, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you.”

“Oh, stop being a gloomy gumpus. We won’t be gone an hour, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll slip it under his door when we come back.”

Maggie forbore to remind her that this plan would guarantee that Nancarrow would realize it had been pinched, but there was no stopping Lizzie once she had the wind to her rudder. So Maggie pulled on her raiding rig—a practical brown skirt over a black ruffled petticoat and stockings, a wide leather belt with hooks and rings for equipment, and a cream eyelet blouse that was comfortable as well as pretty.

Moonglobes in hand, they crept downstairs and met Claude at the green baize door that led downstairs. His eyebrows rose at the sight of them.

“You look rather like pirates,” he whispered in admiration. “Were you thinking the grands would be hosting a fancy-dress ball?”

“Shh!” Lizzie pulled out the key and waved it. “Let’s be off!”

They located the stone stairway once again and slipped through the cellar door. Since Maggie was the only one who had been down here, she led the way, winding through stacks of barrels, and shelves constructed of apertures for glossy wine bottles.

Claude gawked about him. “I say, for a pair of old folks, the grands have enough spirits here to intoxicate half Penzance.”

“The result of a lifetime of collection?” Maggie hazarded.

“I’d say not. Papa used to keep a rather nice cellar, but the bottles he collected always looked so old and dusty I always wondered how the contents could possibly taste good. And look—this is a recent vintage.” He pulled a bottle from its sleeve and showed them a date of two years before.

“Never mind that,” Lizzie whispered. “How do we get through this door? Bother it! There must be a second key.”

“No, there isn’t.” Maggie abandoned the stacks of spirits and joined her at the door to the stone stair. “It’s a mechanical lock. See if you can pick it as easily as you picked poor Nancarrow’s pocket.”

“You never did!” Claude breathed in admiration. “Good show.”

“It was nothing,” Lizzie said modestly, then turned her attention to the locking assembly. “Hm. Well, my goodness. Whoever installed this wasn’t very concerned about keeping people out, was he?”

“Are you joking?” Claude frowned at the assembly. “I can’t make head or tail of it. And why put a mechanical lock on this door and not the one above?”

“Because the people in the house didn’t want whoever came in via the
sawan
to go any farther than the cellar?” This seemed the only practical explanation, in Maggie’s mind. “Not unless they were expected, I mean.”

“Here it is.” Lizzie pressed the old nail head and the assembly clicked into motion, its moving parts clicking and groaning and finally locking into the open position.

“Upon my life, you’re a tricky one, Elizabeth,” Claude breathed. “How did you figure it out?”

“A lucky guess,” she said airily, and leaned on the handle. “Come on, let’s go exploring.”

This time, Maggie counted one hundred and eighty-four steps down into the
sawan
, and when they emerged at the bottom onto the landing, she surreptitiously massaged her aching legs. Going down didn’t affect them quite as much as going up—but then, she’d been so frightened going up that it had probably made it worse.

Lizzie and Claude had ranged over the landing in moments—it was rather bare of interest, unless one enjoyed old packing crates—and jumped down to the damp sand. Maggie followed them to the stone archway and showed them the little shelf where the moonglobes were kept for those coming in from the seaward side.

“Can anyone’s blood tell us when the tide will turn?” she asked, gazing out at the waves, which seemed to be a safe distance off. “We don’t want to be cut off, and it comes in quickly.”

“We’re a good hour short of when we found you last night,” Lizzie said, “but I wouldn’t risk staying out here too long. We have to go up the way we came down or the doors will all be found open in the morning.”

“Show us the track up to the cliff-top, then, for future reference,” Claude said. “Was it difficult?”

“Not at all,” Maggie said. “This way.” She passed under the arch and emerged onto the sand of the beach. The boom of the waves sounded much as it had the night before, which some deep instinct inside her took as a warning. They didn’t have much time.

She skirted a granite outcrop and pointed up the cliff. “There. Do you see where the black stone turns to soil? The path is more a crack in the rock, but it’s wide enough for a person. I came down right here, though the tides have erased my footprints.”

Claude approached the rock. “Here?” He began to climb, and Maggie looked over her shoulder anxiously.

“Don’t go far, Claude. The sound of the waves is getting louder.”

“Nonsense. Look—I’m almost up.”

“Maggie?” Lizzie called, and Maggie hesitated, torn between anxiety for Claude—who could not have had much experience in rabbiting about cliffs at night—and the note of puzzlement in Lizzie’s voice.

“What is it?”

“What’s that, do you suppose?”

Oh, goodness. Claude was a man grown. He could fend for himself, and if he fell off, well, the sand was soft.

“What is what?” She joined her cousin at the water’s edge, which was definitely closer than it had been minutes ago.