A Castle of Dreams (15 page)

He would keep enough to live on, find lodgings in Glentorran and concentrate on his art.

All his dreams of travelling abroad would have to be abandoned for the present.

But one day he was quite certain that he and Meg would have their own adventures and travel together to the South Seas.

Absently he now turned over the earliest pages of the sketchbook.

When Mrs. Livesey had found him a book to draw in, she had asked him to be careful as there were already sketches in the front of the book.

David had never looked at them before.

He had vaguely believed that they had been drawn by another visitor to the Castle and so had no interest for him.

Now as he turned over the pages, he realised he was looking at sketches of paintings.

How very strange and who would bother to sketch detailed drawings of someone else's art?

“But I recognise these!” he called out aloud.  ‘These are the paintings up in the Castle attics, the ones covered in dirt and dust.'

He flicked swiftly forward through the book to find the charcoal sketch he had made a few days before.

Yes, there were the same pieces of artwork, but he had only indicated a rough outline of the figures.  He had not even bothered to take off the dustsheets that covered most of the paintings.

He had liked the shrouded shapes and only detailed the one closest to him.

He had made a clearer sketch of the old Egyptian vase Meg had shown him, but it was not what excited him now.

These drawings were very clear and as he looked at them, he began to feel a shiver of excitement run through his body.

The colours – the shape of the figures – surely these had not been painted by an amateur.

These were wonderful paintings drawn, he was sure, by an Old Master of the Italian School.

David leapt to his feet and headed out of the door, calling for Meg.

He had to go up to the attics immediately!

*

When the storm eventually broke over the village, Viola was only yards from the inn, which stood back a little way from the quayside that ran around the harbour.

Waves were beginning to swell and crash over the sea wall casting their spray over a wide arc.

Luckily the fishing fleet was not in the harbour.

They were anchored out at sea.

Viola could understand why Fergus had decided to move his boat.

There was a small dinghy tied onto the harbour wall and every time the waves rushed in from the sea, the boat smashed against the unyielding stone sea wall.

Viola sheltered her eyes from the stinging rain and gazed across the harbour.

Through the gloom she thought she could just make out the shape of Fergus's boat, anchored safely away from the land.

Another roll of thunder made her flinch.

The storm was almost on top of the village now.

But even as she turned round to hasten into the inn, she knew that no amount of bad weather would ever make her love Glentorran the less.

‘But it isn't just the place itself I love so much,' she whispered.  ‘It is
Robert
, the life and heart of the estate.

‘Oh, Robert, I love you with all my heart.  You will never know how deeply I honour and respect you and how devastated I am that you think so badly of me.'

With hot tears mingling with the cold raindrops on her face, she turned once more to gaze out at the sea.

Just then a wild flash of lightning streaked through the overcast sky.

The brilliant light illuminated the dark quayside for a second and a movement caught Viola's eye.

Then the light was gone and gloom descended once more.

Viola hesitated.

She was so wet and desperate to reach cover.

But that movement had been odd – out of place.

‘Just a stray dog,' she tried to tell herself, straining her eyes to see through the rain.

But it had been far too slow to be a dog running for cover and too big for a cat or even a bird desperate to find shelter.

With an ear-splitting noise that made her wince, the thunder crashed again and the lightning flashed, zigzagging across the rolling clouds.

And to Viola's great horror, she could now see that the movement was a small boy, walking cheerfully through the rain towards the steps that lead down to the water from the harbour edge.

A very small boy, about three years old.

Gasping with fear, Viola now realised that it was little Ian Lyall, the Duke's Godson.

“Ian! 
Stop
!  Ian!  Oh, help, someone help me!”

But the village street and harbour were deserted, of course. The men all at sea and most of the women indoors or, like Heather, gone to the market.

Viola ran like the wind towards the child.

Where was his grandmother?

How had he escaped from her cottage?

But there was no time to think of such questions.

Even as she ran, she knew she would not be in time.

The little boy was clambering down the steps out of her sight.

With a sob Viola flung herself forward and skidded down the slippery seaweed-covered steps.

To her relief she saw that the child was not in the water, but had stepped into the dinghy she had seen earlier.

Babbling away happily to himself, oblivious of the pouring rain, he was playing at some silly game, obviously pretending to fish like this father.

“Ian – sweetheart – give me your hand,” she called out, trying to keep her voice calm so as not as to upset the red-headed infant.

She reached forward, trying to balance on the steps, but she just could not reach into the dinghy, it was bobbing around too violently in the rough water.

Ian turned and gave her a wide grin.

He was plainly not the slightest bit concerned and had no intention of climbing out of the little boat.

“Ian!  Come out of there at once.  Oh, what shall I do?  Where is everyone?”

Viola made up her mind.

No one was going to come to her aid.

Being careful not to slip into the water, she stepped into the dinghy.

She would have to pick up the little boy before she could climb back out onto solid ground once more.

The child laughed and clapped his hands playfully as she took a tentative step forward and then groaned as her foot slid on a coating of fish scales and she sat down with a bump.

For a second a sharp pain shot through her left foot as she struggled onto her knees and reached for Ian.

Just then the thunder rolled again, the storm sent a vicious gust of wind and the dinghy bucked and rolled like a wild horse.

Viola reached out and pulled Ian into her arms.

She turned to climb out of the boat and then gave a little groan of despair.

The last lurch of the tossing boat had loosened the rope that moored it to a large iron ring set into the harbour wall.

Even as she looked in horror, the rope end slipped through and splashed down into the water.

Like a horse freed from its tether, the boat turned right round and within seconds was yards away from land, heading out across the harbour and towards the open sea!

Viola moaned as the dinghy rocked violently in the rough water.

She hunted frantically for the oars, but realised that the little boat had none.

Waves were already beginning to slop in over the sides and young Ian was suddenly beginning to sense that his adventure was not so much fun any more.

Viola could see that his bottom lip was trembling and she was terrified that the child would start to panic.

Swiftly she leant straight forward and picked him up, cradling him in her lap, trying to protect him from the worst of the wind and rain.

“Hush, Ian.  Don't cry, sweetheart.  Everything will be all right.  Sit quietly, there's a good boy.”

She stared around in horror.

The dinghy was heading slowly but surely towards the harbour entrance, carried there by the turning tide.

Viola cast frantic glances back at the shoreline, but there was no one in sight.

Except – yes, through all the spray she could see a figure running headlong down the cliff path and, even as she watched, the rain eased for a moment and she could see it was a man.

It was the Duke
!

Even as she watched, the Duke flung off his jacket and without hesitating dived into the choppy grey water.

 ‘Oh, Robert!  Oh, my love!  Be very careful.  Oh, God
please
, please take care of him, in your infinite mercy, take care of Robert Glentorran!'

Viola prayed desperately as she had never prayed in her entire life.

She watched in growing despair as the Duke's dark head disappeared again and again beneath the water, until his strong arms lifted him up once again above the white crests of the raging waves as he battled on towards her.

She knew that she dared not even try to help.

It was all she could do to keep the boat on an even keel as it was thrown around by the waves.

And she had to protect Ian.

How could she ever face Heather and Fergus if she let anything happen to their precious son?

But, oh, Robert was in such danger.

How could she go on living if anything happened to him?

Then just as the Duke seemed to be losing his battle and she feared that the sea was about to swallow him up, an answer came to her prayers.

The black clouds broke apart – just for an instant – a beam of sunlight touched the sea like a golden finger and the wind dropped to a gentle breeze.

It was enough for the waves to calm and for him to make one last desperate surge forwards towards the little dinghy.

The Duke caught hold of the mooring rope floating behind the dinghy and with that to help him, he managed to edge himself alongside, his hands tightening over the side of the boat that contained everything he held so dear.

He looked up at Viola and to her astonishment, she realised he was smiling!

“Lady Viola, may I presume?  May I make so bold as to enquire, what is this passion you have for immersing yourself and your friends in seawater at regular intervals?”

“Oh, Robert, I was so frightened you were going to drown!”

The Duke grinned again, looking so very handsome with his black hair plastered against his forehead.

“In this harbour?  I don't think so.  Fergus and I used to race across it every time I came to Glentorran when I was a lad.  We even swam across here on Christmas Day last year when we had to break the ice!

“Now listen, Viola, I want you to sit on the far side of the boat and hold Ian very still.

“And you, young man, you just go on being a brave wee laddie and we'll soon have you back home.”

Viola edged carefully along the wooden seat and, as the sun vanished once more behind the clouds and the wind began roaring wildly again, the Duke heaved himself into the dinghy, his shirt sticking to his body like a second skin.

For a moment Viola forgot that she and the Duke were no longer friends and she reached out a hand to brush the soaking wet hair from his eyes.

At the same time his right hand was raised to do the same and their fingers touched and entwined.

Viola felt her breath catch in her throat as she gazed into those dark eyes she loved so much.

But this was no time for talking or to say what was causing her heart to feel so heavy.

The dinghy lurched wildly sideways as another gust of wind caught it in its grip.

She looked behind her and groaned in horror to see the harbour entrance coming closer and closer.

The sea was certainly rough enough here inside the sheltering arms of the cliffs, but what a brutal maelstrom it would be outside the harbour.

“Robert, what shall we do?  How are we going to get back to the shore?”

The Duke scowled.

“Look, over there – that's Fergus' fishing boat.  He always moors it in deep water when there's a storm.  He'll be on board.  If we can reach his boat, we'll be safe!”

“Dada!”

Ian shouted suddenly and pointed.

True enough, they could see Fergus standing by the rails, staring in anguish to where his son was being carried away by the wind and tide.

“If only we had oars!”

The Duke swore under his breath and then reaching forward, he smashed both his fists down hard on the other wooden seat.

Viola screamed as splinters flew in the air, but the wood, which was obviously half-rotten, broke away easily and he seized the plank to use as an oar.

His powerful shoulders sent the boat flying through the water towards Fergus.

“Robert, well done.  You have saved us!”

He shook his head grimly as he paddled furiously, trying to keep the dinghy on a straight course.

“Not yet, my darling girl, not yet.  Look!  You can see the currents swirling round the fishing boat.  The water is deep there and treacherous.  I fear we will only have one chance to get Ian on board.”

Viola's lips set in a firm line and she held the child tightly in her arms.

She recognised that they were in grave danger, but her heart was dancing because the Duke had called her his ‘
darling girl
'!

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Look now, Fergus has dropped a rope ladder down over the side.  As soon as we reach it, I will try and hold the dinghy still.  He will climb down as far as he can.  Hand Ian to him and then Fergus can help you up.”

“But what about you.  Robert, I am
not
leaving you.  I shall never leave you!”

His gaze pierced her through to her very soul.

 “Viola, my dearest, you must save yourself.  Trust me.  If you have any feelings for me at all, please do now exactly as I ask.”

“I will trust you for all eternity,” whispered Viola and then there was no more time for speaking.

The dinghy swung on the current and slid alongside the fishing boat.

There was Fergus, balancing himself at the end of the rope ladder with the skill of a man who spent his whole life at sea, holding out one arm.