The Miser's Sister (6 page)

At last Oliver was able to speak.

“Ah,” he sighed, “now I feel quite human again. Allow me, sir, to express my gratitude for your reception. Lady Ruth is known to you, but I am a complete stranger and could hardly have appeared in less reputable guise.”

Mr Trevelyan, it seemed, was well acquainted with Robert Polgarth, and his hopes that Mr Pardoe senior might be persuaded to invest in his aeronautical ambitions.

“I had wished,” he revealed wistfully, “that I might join young Robert on one of his ascensions. However, Maria has persuaded me that I am past the age for such adventure.”

Reluctantly the magistrate abandoned the subject and turned to his duty. He listened carefully as Oliver described the ordeal he and Ruth had been through. Occasionally he made a comment or asked a question.

“Dear me, dear me!” he said, when the recital reached its end. “Whatever is the world coming to? This is very dreadful. Jem and Captain Cleeve, you say?” He wrote the names down.

“Should not someone be sent to see if they are in the cave still? I am quite recovered and should be happy to lead the way.”

“If, as you suspect, they are smugglers, then none of the village people will be of much assistance,” Mr Trevelyan explained. “Not one but turns a blind eye or a helping hand. Now if her ladyship had been hurt, it would be a different story. They’d not put up with that.

“I fear I shall have to call in the Preventives. They will not wish to climb down the cliff, and in any case, the tide is rising. It will be quite impossible to beach a boat.”

“Of course. And equally impossible for the ruffians to escape. Then, if there is no hurry, I must beg some paper and a pen. I must speedily assure my family that I am safe, and Richard Trevithick will be wondering where I am.” A thought struck him. “You had not heard that Lady Ruth was missing? That is curious. I would have expected her brother to comb the countryside.”

Mr Trevelyan tapped his forehead significantly and seemed to think this gesture an adequate explanation. Oliver, not so easily satisfied, continued to ponder the matter as he wrote.

He completed the letters and arranged for their dispatch. Suddenly overcome by weariness, he was sent to a guest chamber by his kind hostess, who assured him that Ruth was sleeping soundly. He slipped between the warmed sheets, and was soon dead to the world.

When he awoke it was dark, and there seemed to be a great commotion going on outside. He could see nothing, so he hurriedly put on his clothes, which he found lying clean, mended and pressed on a chair, and went downstairs.

Mr Trevelyan was holding court in the front parlour. Before him, guarded by Excisemen, stood Jem and Shorty, in a sorry state, and the old man. The third smuggler lay on a rough litter on the ground, looking even worse. Oliver identified them as his abductors, and they were quickly bound over to quarter sessions and sent off in chains to Bodmin Gaol.

The Customs lieutenant was grateful for Oliver’s information. They had known of the top cave and searched it periodically without finding the trapdoor, and the bottom cave had been considered inaccessible. There had been a reward offered for the discovery of the smugglers’ cache, and Oliver had earned it.

He won himself some new friends by suggesting that it should be divided among the Excisemen, and then had to turn to his host and confess that he had not a feather to fly with. Mr Trevelyan willingly obliged with a small loan.

That evening, Oliver was allowed a brief visit with Ruth, carefully chaperond.

“I know you spent two days alone in a cave together,” declared Mrs Trevelyan firmly, “but this is quite another kettle of fish and I’ll countenance no carryings-on in my house.”

Ruth, though drowsy, was very happy to see him. There was a tinge of pink in her thin cheeks and her newly washed hair shone with golden lights. Oliver wanted to kiss her but dared only squeeze her hand.

“We made it, my lady,” he said softly.

“Ruth.”

“Lady Ruth,” he compromised, grinning. “You are feeling more the thing?”

“Oh yes, Mr Pardoe. I shall be able to go home tomorrow.”

Oliver frowned. The idea displeased him. Before he could say more, he was swept away by Mrs Trevelyan and only had time to wink at Ruth over his shoulder as he was tugged through the door.

Outside, he consulted the old lady. “Will she really be fit to travel tomorrow, ma’am?”

“Why, I believe so. Not, perhaps, as strong as one could wish, but she is understandably anxious to return to Penderric as soon as possible. Mr Trevelyan has sent word to his lordship.”

Oliver made up his mind to escort her home, and let his father’s business go hang.

“There is another matter on which I should like your advice, ma’am. Do you think there might be damage to Lady Ruth’s reputation if it were to get about that she spent two days alone with me?”

“It is quite possible. Even in our out-of-the-way part of the world we have scandalmongers aplenty, I fear, Mr Pardoe.”

“Fortunately it is not now widely known,” he said thoughtfully. “And it cannot be necessary for her to give evidence when I can do so. I shall speak to Mr Trevelyan about it.”

“I also.” Mrs Trevelyan looked at him with approval, and he knew he had gained an ally.

Over supper, all was settled. The servants would be cautioned not to spread the word, and the Trevelyans were sure of their discretion. It seemed unlikely that the shepherd they had met above the cove was a gabblemouth!

Mr Pardoe went to bed more than satisfied with his day’s work.

* * * *

The next day dawned misty again, and this time the mist very soon turned to drizzle. To Oliver’s relief, Ruth was persuaded to spend another day recuperating. He was permitted to carry her down to the back parlour where, under Mrs Trevelyan’s watchful eye, he taught her to play at backgammon and coaxed her to try the tidbits that flowed in a steady stream from the kitchens.

Ruth was subdued. She had decidedly mixed feelings about returning home, though she felt it her duty to do so immediately. Since losing her mother, she had known nothing in the least like the cosseting she was now receiving, and she was far from certain that her brother would greet her with open arms.

Why had he not paid the ransom? He’d not have lost by it in the long run.

Also, she was reluctant to face the inevitable parting with Oliver. She had met him so very short a time ago, but the circumstances had been such that she already considered him her dearest friend. Wistfully, she wished that Walter were as understanding and reassuring, then chided herself for her disloyalty.

By the next morning, Ruth had entirely recovered her strength. Mr Trevelyan provided her with his carriage and his coachman, and to Oliver he lent his best hack to carry him to Camelford, where he might hire a horse to take him to Camborne.

Oliver and Ruth set off. As soon as they were out of sight of Trevelyan House, Oliver slipped the coachman a half crown, tied his horse behind the ancient chaise, and joined Ruth inside.

Careful not to take advantage of her situation, he sat as far from her as possible. While she appreciated his delicacy, this convinced her that his previous marks of regard had been solely the actions of a considerate and brotherly gentleman. How she envied his sister, Rose!

Their conversation seemed to both of them stilted and formal, yet neither quite knew how to return to their former easy companionship. Oliver began to consider the vast social gulf that many people would see between the daughter of an earl and the son of a mere banker, however wealthy. The thought daunted him, especially as Mrs Trevelyan had mentioned that, though penniless, the loathsome Walter (“loathsome” being strictly Oliver’s epithet) was distantly related to the Duke of Devonshire. Walter was beginning to assume the proportions of a formidable obstacle, and Ruth’s present lack of ease made him wonder if it was only in his imagination that she looked on him as more than a convenient rescuer.

They passed through Camelford, leaving the hack at the Trelawney Arms to be returned to Boscastle. To Ruth’s relief, she saw no sign of Walter Vane. She had been dreading the possibility of meeting him while driving with a gentleman unknown to him, and she did not feel up to an explanation in public.

Her relief was soon overshadowed by trepidation as the carriage approached St Teath. She fell silent as they turned off the road onto the track to Penderric.

Oliver was appalled to see the state of the land. Never fertile, it seemed to have been completely abandoned to the wild, though tumbled walls and choked ditches showed that it had once been cared for. They passed two ruined cottages, but he was quite unprepared for his first view of Penderric Castle.

Built of Bodmin granite by the first earl, the castle had started as an impressive, if gloomy, copy of one of the lesser chateaux of the Loire. Successive generations had added inappropriate turrets and battlements here and pillared porticoes there until it was a hodgepodge of styles.

Now, even from a distance, it was obvious that one wing was uninhabitable. Holes gaped in the roof, and windows gazed sightless at the tangle of greenery that was all that remained of formal gardens in the French style.

The other wing was less evidently desolate. There was glass in the windows still, though much of it was broken. Missing slates told their mute tale of a roof that had been leaking for years, and a side door swung loose on creaking hinges.

From the main body of the house, a thin trickle of smoke ascended, the only sign of life.

Aware of Oliver’s horror, Ruth looked at her home with new eyes and was ashamed. She had grown accustomed to living in the few rooms still furnished, had ceased to worry about shabby upholstery and decaying curtains, no longer noticed the damp chill of long unheated corridors and chambers where no fire had been lit since it snowed last January. What would Oliver—Mr Pardoe—think when he saw the interior?

The chaise drew up noisily before the huge oak doors. Oliver helped Ruth out. No movement was visible, no servants running to greet them, no warmly welcoming family such as he always found after his shortest absences from home. Glancing questioningly at Ruth—Lady Ruth—he pulled the bell.

Ruth was about to suggest that they go in at the side, when at last the great door groaned open.

“My lady,” bowed Tremaine, sour-faced as ever.

“Where is Lady Laetitia?” asked Ruth, “and my brother?”

“His lordship is in the library, and I believe Lady Laetitia is in her chamber.” The servant (butler? wondered Oliver) showed no signs of taking Oliver’s hat and coat, so he placed the former on a scratched and mildewed side table and retained the latter. In any case, it was colder inside than out.

“Pray come this way, Mr Pardoe,” requested Ruth, avoiding his eye. “I must make you known to my brother.”

Numbly he followed her. The roses had fled from her cheeks, and the carefully altered morning dress given her by Mrs Trevelyan seemed suddenly too large. His gorge rose at the thought of leaving her here.

She knocked on the library door and entered quickly without waiting for a response.

“Godfrey,” she said, “I’m back, and this is Mr Oliver Pardoe, who rescued me.”

The wizened man who glared at her looked closer to fifty-four than twenty-four. Oliver received an impression of a sort of overall greyness.

“I suppose you think I should have paid the ransom,” he spat out. “Well let me tell you, dear sister, that I never received a demand, just this letter saying you were off to Plymouth with old Annie Penallen. And so I told Letty, and your curate when he had the infernal impudence to come enquiring. So don’t you try to pin anything on me!”

Chapter 6

Ruth had not expected her brother to greet her with anything other than spite, and she scarcely noticed his words. In fact, she was quite happy to hear that Letty had not been frightened by the story of her misadventures. Her chief feeling was of embarrassment that Mr Pardoe should receive no acknowledgment for his heroic actions.

She did not, however, consider it worthwhile to elaborate on her experiences to Godfrey.

Meanwhile, Mr Pardoe was speaking.

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, my lord,” he said with forced civility. “Your uncle, Sir John Hadrick, recommended me to you. I daresay you had his letter.”

“Yes,” growled Godfrey, “and one from that interfering old nodcock Trevelyan. It seems that you are a veritable pattern card of perfection, Mr Pardoe, but you need not expect a welcome here, whatever my dear, domineering elder sister may desire.”

Ruth saw that Oliver was about to retort angrily in her defence. She laid her hand on his arm.

“Pray do not heed him, sir,” she urged softly. “Come and meet my sister, and take some refreshment.”

“You see?” shouted his lordship at their retreating backs. “Always laying down the law and trying to spend my money. I won’t have it!”

He made no attempt to follow them, to Ruth’s relief.

She led the way to a salon that showed signs of decayed grandeur. Gilt was peeling from the chairs, and the blue velvet drapes were full of moth holes. She begged Mr Pardoe to be seated and pulled the bell.

Again they had to wait. Ruth was grateful for his silence, feeling that anything he might say must be unpleasant to her. Eventually Mrs Tremaine appeared, wiping her hands on her dirty apron.

“Mrs Tremaine, please send Doris to ask Lady Laetitia to join us, and bring some luncheon for Mr Pardoe,” requested Ruth.

“Ain’t nothing but cold shoulder o’ mutton left.” She was as surly as her husband. “And Doris run off two, three days zince.”

“Then bring mutton, and bread and butter and cheese, and a jug of cider, if you please. I will fetch Letty.”

“Ain’t had time for to bake wi’ that good-for-nothing gorn, my lady.”

Ruth looked despairingly at Oliver.

“I am not hungry, Lady Ruth,” he assured her hurriedly. “Mr Trevelyan pressed a vast breakfast on me, and I must soon be on my way. I should like to meet Lady Laetitia, however.”

At that moment, the young lady in question was heard.