Ravished by the Rake Page 16

  ‘Or possibly you were a trifle weary for some reason,’ Dita suggested with some of the old spirit back in her voice as she came out of the hut to join him.

  ‘Could be that,’ he conceded. Now was no time to pursue this shattering argument; he needed to get her safe. ‘Now, that’s a good-sized island over there and that’s east, so, if I recall the map correctly, it must be St Mary’s, which is the biggest. Which makes this one Tresco, and if I’m right it has a fishing village at the northern end.’ He glanced down at her, but her face was averted. ‘It won’t take me long; you should rest here.’

  ‘I am coming,’ Dita said with an edge to her voice that warned him that she was close to the end of her tether.

  ‘All right,’ he said and began to walk. It was hard now he was actually moving. Everything seemed to hurt, he was desperately thirsty and shaken to the core over what Dita had told him. But she kept up with the slow pace he set, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, and he wondered whether any of the other women on the ship would have shown the same stoical courage. Averil Heydon, perhaps, but none of the other young women had the sheer guts. Probably they wouldn’t need them; thanks to Averil and Dita, they had gone off in the first boats.

  ‘I should have insisted you went off in an earlier boat,’ he said, following his thoughts.

  ‘How? By picking me up and throwing me into it?’ she asked in a valiant imitation of her best provocative voice. ‘You must learn you cannot order me about, Alistair.’

  ‘So you say,’ he snapped. It was bite back or take her in his arms and kiss her until her voice lost that little quaver that cut straight through his anger and shame and frustration. And he knew where that would lead. ‘Damn it, Dita, you must marry me.’

  Her silence was almost more loaded with anger than a retort would have been. Then after a few more steps she said, ‘I doubt I will ever marry. If a man asks me to marry him, despite the scandal, and I love him, then I will marry him. Otherwise, I will just have to stay a spinster. I am not going to marry you in order to ease your guilty conscience, Alistair.’

  They plodded on for a few more painful steps along the turf above the high-water mark. The sea was grey and choppy after the storm and he kept his body between it and her as much as he could. ‘So you propose a test if someone proposes—does he love you enough to marry you despite Doyle?’

  ‘I suppose so. I had not given it much thought; I just know that is what I would do.’

  Would he have passed her test? he had wondered. If, before this shattering revelation, he found he loved Dita Brooke and wanted to marry her, would the thought of one lover in her past make a difference? He thought of his one love, his past love. She’d had another lover, and that had broken his heart. But then, look who the man was—

  Love was a fantasy and a trap. Dita must agree to marry him whether she liked it or not.

  ‘I hear voices!’ Dita looked up, alert. ‘Over there, past those rocks.’

  They stumbled forwards, his arm around her shoulders, and, as they reached the low tumbled headland three men in blue came over it. Sailors. ‘They’ve set the navy to search,’ he said as the men broke into a run. ‘It is all right now, Dita, you’re safe.’

  ‘I was always safe with you,’ she said, her voice thready, then, as he held her, she went limp and fainted dead away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘… Several ships at anchor in St Mary’s Pool, so the Governor ordered off crews to all the islands to check along the shorelines.’ The confident West Country voice soothed Dita with the longed-for cadences of home.

  ‘How many survivors?’ Alistair’s voice rumbled against her ear. He must be holding her, she realised, coming out of the hazy dream-state she had been in. Hiding, she reproved herself. Coward. But she did not move. He was warm now, and it was not blanket she was snuggled against, but good woollen cloth. I love you, I hate you, I need you … Why couldn’t you have told me you loved me and made it all right?

  ‘Can’t say for sure, my lord. All the longboats that went off before yours got in to harbour—some to St Mary’s, some to Old Grimsby on Tresco. But an elderly man on one of those had a heart seizure and a lady perished of the cold, so I hear. There are injuries as well—I don’t know how serious. The crew all got off safe after your boat was swamped.’

  ‘There was a passenger left with the crew—any news of him?’

  ‘No, my lord, I’m sorry, I don’t know. But they’ll be picking people up all along the beaches, I’ll be bound. You’ll hear the news when we get you back to the Governor’s house. Not long now, this is a good strong crew.’

  The strange rocking motion made sense now, and the breeze on her face: she was in a boat. Dita opened her eyes and moved and Alistair’s hand pressed her cheek tighter against his chest. ‘Don’t be afraid. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ She shifted again and he relaxed his arms so that she could sit up straight on his knees. She wanted to move away from him, but there was nowhere to go. They were in a navy jolly boat with smartly dressed sailors at the oars, making good progress towards a rugged little jetty dead ahead. Opposite her a lieutenant with red hair and a crop of freckles looked at her with concern on his plain face. ‘I am sorry to have been so feeble,’ she apologised. ‘I think it was relief.’

  ‘It will be that, my lady,’ he said. ‘Lieutenant Marlow, ma’am. You probably don’t recall, but we took you to Mrs Welling’s cottage and she found you some clothes—not that they’ll be what you are used to. You’ll be wanting a nice hot cup of tea, I expect.’

  ‘A nice cup of tea.’ She quelled the urge to laugh; if she started she might not stop. Of course, a nice cup of tea would make everything all right. ‘Yes, that will be very welcome.’ It was an effort to speak sensibly—her frantic, circling thoughts kept pulling her away from the present. She wondered if she was going to faint again. Why did I tell him about that night? But I have to be honest with him. I love him.

  ‘Have this now.’ Alistair pressed a flask into her hands and she made herself turn to look at him. Someone had lent him clothes, too, and he had shaved and washed and combed his hair. If it wasn’t for a black eye and the scrapes and bruises, he might be any gentleman out for a pleasure trip. ‘It is cold tea and you need the liquid,’ he said prosaically, steadying her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, as politely as a duchess at a tea party, and took the flask. It was cold, without milk or sugar, and it slid down her throat like the finest champagne.

  When the boat bumped against the fenders at the quayside Dita made herself stand up and picked her way over the rowing benches to the side, determined to put on a brave face and not make an exhibition of herself in front of all these strangers. But curiously her fear of being in a small boat had gone and she stepped on to the stone steps without a qualm or an anxious look at the water slopping against the jetty. Perhaps after that great wave anything else was trivial, or else it was the emotional impact of that confrontation in the hut.

  There was a crowd at the harbour side: onlookers; small groups of sailors with their officers, apparently being briefed for the next part of the search; some harassed clerks with lists and men holding half-a-dozen donkeys.

  ‘It’s very steep up to the Garrison,’ Lieutenant Marlow said. ‘Best ride a donkey, my lady.’

  ‘Very well.’ She let Alistair take her arm as they walked to the animals. She knew she should be strong and not lean on him, not encourage him in his delusion that he was responsible for her, but his strong body so close was too comforting just now to resist. He boosted her up to sit sideways on the broad saddle. ‘Alistair! Look—there’s another boat coming in with people in it. Who is it?’

  ‘Stay here.’ He walked to the edge of the jetty and stared down, then came back. ‘Mrs Edwards, a merchant’s wife whose name I don’t recall, and one of the Chattertons. He looks in bad shape.’ He hesitated. ‘They all do. Best you go on up to the house; the Governor’s people will look after yo
u.’

  ‘See whether it is Daniel or Callum,’ Dita urged. ‘Find out how he is.’ It must look bad if Alistair was trying to get her away.

  This time he took longer, waiting as the three were lifted out of the boat and carried up the steps. None of them could walk. She saw Alistair bend over the limp form of the man as they shifted him into a cart, then he went to speak to the clerks and walked back, his face sombre.

  ‘It is Callum. He’s unconscious now and very cold. He must have dived in when we were overturned. They found him clinging to the upturned boat with the two women—he was holding them on. No sign of Daniel or Averil yet. The Bastables are all right, although she broke her arm or her ankle—the man isn’t sure—getting into the boat. And they found Dr Melchett clinging to an oar, alive and kicking. He’s a tough old buzzard.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness for those, at least.’ She bit her lip as the donkey was led away, Alistair walking by her side. ‘How soon will the news reach the mainland? I must write and let my family know I am safe before they read of the wreck.’

  ‘The Governor will have it all in hand, don’t fret,’ Alistair said as they wound up the narrowed cobbled street.

  He must be exhausted, Dita thought. He shouldn’t have to keep soothing me. ‘Of course, I should have thought of that.’ The final turn took them to the bottom of a slope so steep that even the sure-footed little donkey struggled before they came out through the gate in the castle walls and on to the wide expanse of grass and workshops that surrounded the strange little Elizabethan castle on the top of the promontory.

  The man leading the donkey turned left to follow the line of the battlements, past gun platforms, to a great wide-fronted house set back against the slope and commanding a view over Hugh Town straggling between its two bays.

  Footmen ran out to meet them, helped Dita down and ushered them into the warmth and the shelter of the Governor’s residence. It seemed bizarre to be walking on soft carpets, past works of art and gleaming furniture and to be surrounded by attentive servants after the cramped cabins of the Bengal Queen and the crude hut that had sheltered them last night.

  The Governor’s secretary was on hand to greet them, to note their names and who they wanted notified of their safe deliverance. ‘We are sending a brig to Penzance every day,’ he explained. ‘Anyone who is fit to travel can go in it and we send news to the mainland as we get it.’ He snapped his fingers at a footman. ‘Take Lady Perdita to Mrs Bastable’s room—I hope you do not object to sharing, ma’am, but I understand she is your chaperon? And Lord Iwerne to the Green Bedchamber—again, my lord, I trust you do not object to another gentleman in the same chamber? The house is large, but with so many to accommodate—’

  ‘What did you call me?’ Alistair demanded and the man paled.

  ‘You did not know? My lord, I must apologise for my tactlessness. The marquis passed away over a month ago.’

  ‘Alistair.’ Dita put her hand on his arm. His face was expressionless, but under her palm he was rigid. ‘Why do you not go to your room now? You will need to be quiet, a little, perhaps.’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled at her, a creditable effort, given the shock he had just received. ‘Will you be all right now?’

  ‘Of course. Mrs Bastable and I will look after each other.’

  He nodded and she watched him walk away, his shoulders braced as though to shoulder the new burdens of responsibility that were about to descend on them. Even less, now, should he think of marrying her, she thought. He needed a wife he loved to support him in his new role.

  Mrs Bastable, her bandaged arm in a sling, was tearful and shaken and Dita found relief that day and the next in helping her and attempting to boost her spirits. She had the happy idea of suggesting they nurse Callum Chatterton, who was confined to bed. He was almost silent, asleep—or pretending to sleep—for most of the time. But tucking him in, harassing the maids and bringing him possets kept the older woman’s mind a little distracted from her worries about Averil.

  By the next evening the Governor called together everyone who was able and read the list of those who were dead and those who were missing.

  ‘Every beach has been walked and every rock that remains above high water inspected,’ the Governor said, his voice sombre. ‘We must give up hope now for those who have not been found.’

  Dita sat quite still, the tears streaming down her face. They had not found Averil, but they had recovered Daniel’s body just two hours before.

  ‘I’ll go and tell Callum,’ Alistair said. He put out his hand as though to squeeze her shoulder, then dropped it without touching her and went to break the news. He had not touched her since she had mounted the donkey, she realised.

  ‘There will be a service tomorrow in memory of those who have been lost,’ the Governor continued.

  ‘I will attend that,’ Dita whispered to Mrs Bastable, who was mopping her eyes, her hand tight in that of her husband. ‘And then, dear ma’am, we will take the ship to the mainland the day after, unless Mr Chatterton needs us.’

  Callum, pale, limping, frozen, it seemed to Dita, in shock at the loss of his twin, still managed to attend the service at the church overlooking Old Town Bay. ‘I’ll take him home tomorrow,’ he told Dita as she walked back with him, her arm through his, trying to lend him as much warmth and comfort as she could. ‘Lyndon—Iwerne, I should say—has been like a brother, you know. No fuss, no prosing on, just good practical stuff, like finding a decent coffin and—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t speak of such things to you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Dita murmured, looking out over the sea and wondering where Averil was now. She had written to her friend’s family in India and to her betrothed, but even now, it still seemed impossible that she would not hear her voice again. ‘We cannot pretend it has not happened, and we need to speak of those we have lost. Daniel was betrothed, was he not?’

  ‘Yes.’ Callum sounded even grimmer. ‘And Sophia has waited a very long time for him. Now I must tell her that she has waited in vain.’

  Dita had thought she would be afraid to go on a sailing vessel again, but there was too much else to think about to allow room for nerves: Mrs Bastable, frail and anxious on her husband’s arm; Callum grimly determined to behave as though he was completely fit, to get his twin’s coffin home and to comfort Daniel’s betrothed; Alistair, who would not speak to her about his father and who was going home to a life utterly changed.

  And Averil. ‘I cannot believe she has gone,’ Dita said when Alistair joined her in the stern to watch the islands vanish over the horizon. ‘We were such good friends—surely I would know for sure if she was dead? It feels as though she is still there. Alive and there.’ She gestured towards the islands.

  ‘She’ll always be there for you, in your memory,’ he said. ‘Come inside now, those borrowed clothes aren’t warm enough for you.’

  He was practical and kind and firm with all of them and as distant as a dream.

  When they arrived in Penzance, Alistair took rooms at a good inn and then hired maids for both Dita and Mrs Bastable. He procured a chaise and outriders and sent the older couple on their way to their daughter’s home in Dorset and found a carriage to carry Daniel’s coffin and a chaise for Callum and dispatched that sad procession on its way to Hertfordshire.

  Finally, at dawn the next day, Alistair helped Dita and Martha the maid into a chaise before swinging up on to horseback to ride alongside.

  ‘Isn’t his lordship going to sit inside?’ Martha enquired. She stared wide-eyed at Alistair through the window. ‘He’s a marquis, isn’t he, my lady? Surely he isn’t going to ride all that way?’

  ‘He has been shut up on board ship for three months,’ Dita said. She, too, was watching Alistair; it was very easy to do. ‘He wants the exercise.’

  And doubtless he did not want, any more than she did, to be shut up together in the jolting chaise with all those things that must not be spoken off hanging in the air between them. He should be resting, of course, but
telling Alistair to rest was like telling a river to stop flowing.

  She let her fingers stray to the pearls and found some comfort in running the smooth globes between her fingers. She wore them outside her clothes now; he knew she had them, after all. The only thing of his I possess, she thought. If things had been different I might have a child of his. An eight-year-old child to love.

  ‘Those are lovely pearls, my lady,’ Martha remarked. She was proving talkative, Dita thought, not sure whether to be glad of the distraction or irritated. ‘I thought you’d lost everything in the shipwreck, ma’am.’

  ‘I was wearing them,’ Dita said and went back to staring out of the window. Alistair had ridden ahead and there was nothing to distract her now, just the small fields, the windswept trees, the looming mass of the moorland. Home. She thought about her family. Mama, Papa and her youngest sister Evaline, who would be coming out this Season, rather late because they had to wait for Dita to come home. Then there was Patricia, two years younger and already married to Sir William Garnett. Perhaps Dita was going to be an aunt and did not know it yet.

  And the boys, of course. Serious, tall George, the heir and a year older than her, and Dominic, sixteen now, and a perfect hellion when she had left. Had they changed? Were they well and happy?

  She thought about them all fondly for a while, then let her memory explore Combe, the old sprawling house that had been extended by generations over the years. It snuggled into the protection of the wooded valley that surrounded it and shielded it from the winds from the coast to the north or from the moors to the south.

  There were thick woods, meadows, small, tumbling streams and buzzards mewing overhead. She loved it, bone deep. Perhaps she could stay there until she could face life without Alistair.

  But, no, that would be selfish. She could not keep her family from London and Evaline’s Season, and she could not bear to be apart from all of them either. She must draw what strength she could from Combe and then she would go and face London and the gossip and the snide remarks and the men who would think she was fair game.