The Miser's Sister (26 page)

It was half an hour before the basket touched down. Five minutes of that, the carter had spent berating all and sundry. Then he and the anxious naval officers agreed on a plan of campaign. The anchor rope was reeled in until the guy ropes were low enough to be reached and then, strictly coordinated, the shamefaced crew hauled the balloonists to safety.

The sailors seemed all the more eager to fly.

Oliver slipped away from the round of apologies, congratulations, recriminations, and explanations. It was nearly an hour since Ruth had left; anything could have happened. He wasted further time extricating the curricle from the throng of vehicles parked at random, to which more were still being added.

At last he reached the place where the track branched left to the castle. Rounding the bend, he pulled up for a moment and looked back. The balloon was once more in the air, and even as he watched it flew free from its bonds, ascended rapidly, and was soon a diminishing speck in the blue sky.

Oliver heaved a sigh of regret and urged his horses to a canter.

Penderric Castle was deserted. The front door was swinging in the breeze, creaking, and his footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone flags of the hallway. No one in the salon, no one in the library, no one in kitchen, bedrooms or stables.

No animals and no carriages in the stables, but there were signs that a horse had been there recently. Oliver stood in the centre of the mucky cobbled yard and shouted.

“Ruth!” His voice bounced back mockingly from stone walls, and empty windows looked down with blindly malevolent eyes.

“RUTH!”

No answer.

Not knowing what else to do, he returned to the curricle and drove back down the track. When he reached the intersection he paused.

She could not have returned to Brown Willy, he decided. She would have been waiting for him when he stepped out of the balloon after his narrow escape, or he would have met her on the way.

Uncertainly, slowly, he continued toward St Teath. Again he stopped, when he came to the road. Which way?

An old man was sitting on a milestone at the side of the road. Seeing Oliver’s puzzlement, he shambled over.

“Cam’ford,” he said, pointing north. “Wadebridge,” pointing south. “Been’t you Mr Polgarth’s frien’ fro’ Lunnon, zir?”

“Yes. I know the way, thank you.”

“Oh aye. Joe Carter zet me here to show the road.”

“Do you know Lady Ruth Penderric, by any chance? I don’t suppose you saw her come this way?”

“Oh aye. Her come by wi’ ‘s lordship an’ the rev’end a-follering. While zin’.”

Further interrogation could not elicit any closer approximation of the time that Ruth had passed. She had gone toward Boscastle, he must hope she had returned to Trevelyan House.

With a shilling and a word of thanks to his informant, he drove on.

Mrs Trevelyan was surprised to see her guest return so early, and alone.

“Has Lady Ruth come back, ma’am?” he demanded without ceremony.

“Why no, Mr Pardoe, and nor has Mr Trevelyan.” Oliver sank despairingly into a chair. “Whatever is the matter?” the old lady asked in alarm.

He told her the whole story, then rose to his feet.

“I must go and look for her,” he said wretchedly.

“I can see no possible advantage in doing so. Mr Vane is with them. I cannot believe Lord Penderric will try any dastardly deed in his presence. Besides, you have no idea where to look. Come, eat some luncheon, and the world will look brighter.”

Miserable at his inability to help Ruth, sure that she needed him, Oliver choked down a few mouthfuls. While he was eating, a breathless young fellow in Coast Guard uniform was admitted to the house. The butler unwillingly ushered him into the dining room.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he apologised. “The lad says he has an urgent message for the master, and with all the goings-on, I thought it best he should see you at once.”

“Thank you, Webster. Mr Trevelyan is from home, officer. Can you give me the message?”

Blushing with pleasure at being called “officer,” struck dumb by bashfulness, young Jackie shifted from foot to foot. Sergeant Miller had not given instructions for such an eventuality.

Then he recognised Oliver.

“Been’t you the ge’mun as shared out the prize money?” he blurted, turning still more scarlet at his own temerity, “after we catched the smugglers?”

“That’s right, lad. Who is the note from? You may safely deliver it to Mrs Trevelyan, you know.”

“Thank you, sir. Here y’are, ma’am. ‘Tis from a little lady up on the cliff. Terrible it were!” His eyes bulged at the memory of the fright.

Oliver seized the letter and ripped it open.

“Thank you, officer,” said Mrs Trevelyan. “Webster will take you to the kitchen for a bite to eat.” The minute the butler and his charge disappeared, she turned to Oliver. “Is it from Lady Ruth? What does it say?”

He passed it to her numbly, and she perused it.

“What a dreadful experience!” she exclaimed. “Almost as bad as the abduction.”

“She has gone back to the castle. I must go to her immediately.”

“Nonsense, young man. No doubt you will only miss her again en route. She will certainly not wish to stay in that ruin. I expect she will return with Mr Trevelyan.”

“Perhaps you are right, ma’am. I do not know what to do for the best. That she should have gone through such horror without my support!”

Webster reappeared with a bottle of brandy.

“Begging your pardon, madam,” he said again, “I thought that if the young fella brought bad news, Mr Pardoe might require a glass of spirits to fortify himself, so to speak.”

“Webster, you are an angel. Here, Mr Pardoe, take a drop of brandy and compose yourself.”

“Thank you, just a little. I am behaving like a nodcock, I am sure. It is so very frustrating to be able to do nothing.”

Oliver took the glass and began to pace up and down, holding it. Mrs Trevelyan regarded him with sympathetic disapproval.

“You must excuse me, Mr Pardoe,” she said at last. “I always take forty winks after luncheon and watching you walk is making me sleepy. Pray feel free to use the library or the drawing room.”

He nodded absently, and the old lady went to lie down, feeling quite exhausted.

Unable to settle down, Oliver wandered vaguely from room to room. He was reaching the point of desperation when he heard carriage wheels in the driveway. Rushing out, he found Mr Trevelyan descending from the trap.

The magistrate was appalled to hear the news the coast guard had brought, and most distressed that he could not ease Oliver’s mind as to Ruth’s whereabouts. Oliver quickly decided that he could stand inaction no longer and must ride to Penderric even if his errand seemed fruitless.

A horse was saddled while he changed into riding clothes. He was descending the stairs when a stableboy from the Trelawney Arms trotted up the drive.

“Missige f’m Mr Vane,” he called, seeing Mr Trevelyan standing on the steps. “Him an’ m’lady’s off to Launceston.” He winked knowingly and handed over a folded paper.

Oliver arrived on the double and tossed the boy a half crown. Mr Trevelyan passed him the note.

“She’s going to London,” he told him, “to her uncle. Vane asks that we forward her clothes thither.”

“No need,” said Oliver crisply. “If you will be good enough to have everything packed up, I shall take it. I am going after her at once. I hope you will excuse my rude departure under the circumstances. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for your hospitality and forbearance.”

Within half an hour, Oliver was on the road again. Relief and worry warred within him. On the one hand, Ruth was safe from her brother at last, and whatever Walter Vane’s part in today’s events, it seemed she had no intention of marrying him, or she would not be hurrying back to London. On the other hand, she had been through an extremely distressing experience. Why had she gone to the castle without him? Why was she so anxious to return to her uncle that she would not spend another night at Trevelyan House? Above all, why was she going without him, without even a word to him?

He drove in a brown study, avoiding the occasional vehicles he met without really seeing them. He was more than half way to Launceston when one of them forced itself on his attention.

“Hi!” called its lone occupant. “Are you Pardoe?”

“Yes,” he answered, jerked back to the present. “Who are
...
are you Walter Vane?”

“Correct, sir. Might I crave the indulgence of a few moments of your time? I am in possession of information that may conceivably be of assistance to you and that I must consider it my duty to impart.”

“Thank you, Mr Vane. I expect you know better than I whether I need hurry.”

The curate pulled out his watch.

“There is no urgency,” he assured Oliver. “The Exeter stage departs from the Duke of Cornwall on the stroke of seven o’clock. Lady Ruth has reserved a seat upon it.”

“My dear fellow, it is good of you to tell me.”

“Think nothing of it, Mr Pardoe, I beg of you. Ruth needs someone to take care of her. I had hoped
...
but it was not to be. My affection for her is sufficiently disinterested to allow me to wish you every success. I trust I am not mistaken in my assumptions?”

“Not where my intentions are concerned, sir. For Ruth I cannot speak. Do you know why she suddenly decided to go to London without notice?”

“You are aware of Lord Penderric’s demise, and his attempt to take his sister with him? It is my opinion that before he did away with himself, he told Ruth something that upset her very deeply. She was not herself when they left the castle, and then I saw them in conversation for quite five minutes at the top of the hill, before he whipped up his horse toward the cliff. They both raised their voices, though I did not catch their words, and then Ruth sat in the gig as though stunned. I venture to congratulate myself that it was my cry which induced her to jump from the vehicle before it was too late.”

“Mr Vane, I am deeply indebted to you, I can see. What happened when you returned to Penderric? She did not tell you what her brother had said?”

“No. We found a servant about to abscond with what he described as the last of the Penderric fortune. Some three hundred sovereigns in all. Then
...
then
...
I am sure I may trust in your discretion, Mr Pardoe. Lady Ruth rejected my offer as though she had put all thought of marriage behind her. I do not rate my merits excessively high when I say that it seemed to me that she felt that some obstacle stood in the way of her entrance upon the holy state of matrimony with whatsoever person.”

“It was not the loss of her dowry?”

“I intimated in plain words that I did not see that as a barrier between us.”

“Mr Vane, there are circumstances beyond your knowledge, and which I am not free to divulge, which make your supposition quite possible. If it is so, I am convinced that I can persuade Ruth that her scruples are over-nice and that she is free to accept or reject any man as she will. Sir, I am greatly obliged to you for your openness.”

“Not at all, sir, not at all. My sole concern is for Ruth’s happiness.”

“And mine, sir. And mine. I must be on my way. Good day, Mr Vane.”

The two rivals parted, with more good feeling on both sides than either would have guessed to be possible.

The sun was low in the sky when Oliver pulled up before the Duke of Cornwall. Its last, long rays lit on a small figure slumped on a bench against the inn’s façade.

With a tender, secret smile, he drove on into the yard. It took him no more than five minutes to order two bedchambers, a private parlour, dinner in an hour, and his chaise ready for the morrow. Another three minutes sufficed to ascertain that the landlady knew of a very respectable girl who would be glad of a free ride to London and who could be able to attend her ladyship in no more than two hours time.

“Her ladyship?” queried the bewildered innkeeper as his large customer strode impatiently out of the door.

“Keep a still tongue, Frederick,” advised his spouse. “Did ye not reckernise the little brown creetur as booked on the stage?”

“No,” he admitted, “and no more did you, Betsy, confess.”

Oliver sat down beside his beloved and looked at her long and lovingly. She was untidy, there was a rent in the hem of her dress, and her face was drawn with fatigue. Even in her sleep it shone with the innocent trust and indomitable spirit that had first drawn him to her. He bent over her and kissed her gently.

Ruth’s eyes opened.

“Oliver!” she murmured. Her arms went around his neck and she raised her lips to his.

Gradually it dawned on her that this was not a part of her dream. She moved away from him a little.

“I thought you had flown away in the balloon,” she accused.

“Did I not tell you I would not? See, I am here. Come, let us go in. You will catch cold, Ruth.”

Fully awake now she stood up, and stumbled.

“My foot has gone to sleep!” she exclaimed.

Grinning, he picked her up in spite of her protests, and carried her into the inn.

Epilogue

The private parlour was small but cosy. A pair of comfortable chairs faced the glowing fire, for the March evenings were chilly.

Oliver set Ruth in one of the chairs and pulled the other closer.

“My uncle and Walter would both be vastly disapproving if they knew I was alone here with you,” said Ruth with a smile.

“I am glad you are not of their mind, for I am sure you would not wish me to propose to you in the coffee room.”

“Oliver, pray do not. You must not!”

“Dearest, I have your uncle’s permission, and the earl will trouble us no longer.” He took her hand, but she pulled it away in agitation.

“How can I marry you, or anyone? My brother and
...
my father
...
were both lunatics and suicides! I beg you, Oliver, do not make it harder for me!”

“I have known for a long time now that they were both insane. It has made not a whit of difference in my desire to make you my wife.”

“I cannot
...
”