Lady Allerton's Wager (15 page)

Mrs Morland had set out a simple meal for them of bread, cheeses and Somerset cider; and as Charlotte was still prostrate with the migraine, Beth and Marcus ate alone. Marcus seemed preoccupied and quiet, and when Beth looked at him she thought he seemed rather stern. The thought was quelling. Perhaps the delightful morning had been a prelude to something more unpleasant—perhaps Marcus had only been kind to her because he was about to spring on her the fact that he was prepared to fight her through the courts before he let her have Fairhaven…

‘Lady Allerton?’ Marcus’s quizzical tone recalled
her to the present. ‘There is something I wished to say to you. I know we agreed that we would not mention Fairhaven today, but—’

Beth jumped to have her suspicions confirmed so promptly. She closed her eyes to ward off the blow.

‘But I wanted to tell you that I will not oppose your quest to regain the island,’ Marcus continued. ‘You won Fairhaven in a just, if unorthodox, fashion…’ there was an undertone of amusement in his voice ‘…and I know it means a great deal to you.’

Beth realised that she still had her eyes closed and opened them now, to see that Marcus was watching her with quizzical humour.

‘Lady Allerton? Are you quite well?’

‘I…Yes, indeed…’ Beth floundered. It was the last thing that she had expected and it left her quite lost for words.

‘That being the case,’ Marcus continued, his tone steady, ‘I would still like to escort you to the island in order to arrange a smooth transfer of the estate. I trust that that will suit you?’

‘Oh, yes, of course…’ Beth knew she sounded totally bemused. She simply could not believe that he had capitulated in such a way.

‘Good!’ Marcus smiled, getting to his feet. ‘Please excuse me for a moment. I believe that Mrs Morland has a message from Theo…’

As he closed the door behind him, Beth sat staring at the panels, a lump of cheese still clasped unnoticed in her hand. Marcus’s statement had been so unexpected that she had not gathered her wits to question him properly and already the doubts were creeping in. Could he be in earnest or was this just another cunning ploy to set her off her guard? She had been
so certain that his tactic would be to try to persuade her to relinquish her claim and go home. Now she was thoroughly confused.

Beth nibbled the cheese absent-mindedly. Did she trust Marcus? He had played her false before. Yet she wanted to believe him. Her instinct told her to let go of her doubts and have faith in him, but that was dangerous, too dangerous for her to contemplate at the moment. It involved admitting to other emotions that made her feel totally vulnerable. Beth suddenly felt as though she was on the edge of a precipice where her own intuition was prompting her to step into the unknown but her natural caution was holding her back.

She sighed. If only Charlotte were not feeling ill she would go and ask for advice, but what was the point of that anyway, when she already knew what her cousin would say? Charlotte had never liked their escapade and would fall on Marcus’s suggestion with cries of relief. Her advice could not be impartial. And there was no one else whom Beth could ask.

Still mulling over the problem, Beth went upstairs to see how her cousin was faring. Charlotte was asleep, so Beth came back down again. Mrs Morland was just crossing the hall as she reached the bottom step.

‘Oh, Lady Allerton,’ the housekeeper said, ‘there is a message from the Reverend March. He anticipates being at Hoveton for the rest of the afternoon and begs your pardon.’ She smiled. ‘He especially asked that Lord Trevithick go down the wine cellar to select a particular claret to have with the dinner, plus a dessert wine and some more port! His lordship is down
there now, if you were wondering where he had vanished to, my lady!’

‘Thank you, Mrs Morland,’ Beth murmured. She watched the housekeeper hurry off back to the kitchens and wandered slowly towards the drawing room, still turning the problem of Fairhaven over in her mind. It was as she reached the drawing-room doorway, when she actually had her hand on the door frame, that she was struck by an idea; an idea so outrageous, so daring, that she was not sure that even she would put it into execution.

There was Fairhaven and there was Marcus. She might trust him, or she might not…

Beth tiptoed down the corridor to the wine cellar. The heavy oak door was wide open, the cellar steps yawning below into darkness. Beth could faintly discern the flicker of a candle flame far in the depths of the vault and she heard the dusty scrape of glass on stone. Marcus was evidently engrossed in the task that Theo had set.

Only the previous night, when Theo March had been extolling the virtues of his wines, Beth had heard him joke that there was only one key to the cellar to prevent envious friends sampling his collection. That key was now in the door…

Beth stared. She crept forward and swung the door closed. It shut silently on oiled hinges. Beth turned the key, extracted it from the lock, and put it in her pocket.

A strange kind of madness took her and she almost laughed aloud. She ran up the stairs—she had not unpacked her trunk completely and now she threw her possessions in at random, squashing them down and slamming the fastening closed. She paused only to
pen a hasty note to Charlotte and all the time she was listening intently, waiting for the inevitable shout from below that would show that she had been found out. None came. She hurried back down the stairs, her trunk bumping clumsily on every step, and shot out of the front door.

And all the while she was exulting in her escape and the fact that she had won.

It was only a step into Ashlyn village, but Beth hurried, glancing over her shoulder all the time, convinced that someone was watching her and about to ruin her plan. She had quickly considered and discarded the idea of asking Fowler to harness the carriage horses—that would take too long and be too noisy. Instead she was banking on the fact that there was a carter in Ashlyn who would be able to take her to Bridgwater.

At the forge she found exactly what she was looking for. An old cart was already standing waiting, half-loaded with sacks, the piebald cob chewing placidly on some hay whilst the carter chatted to the smith. Both of them looked up curiously as Beth hurried forward.

‘Excuse me, sir! Can you take me to Bridgwater, if you please? I can pay you well…’

The carter was an elderly man and he was not to be hurried. He looked at the blacksmith, who gave him a significant look in return. He took off his hat, scratched his head, and put his hat back on again. Beth was almost dancing with frustration.

‘Aye,’ he said, after a long moment. ‘I can take you there, missy.’ He threw her trunk in the back, climbed slowly into the seat, leant down to give Beth
a hand to scramble up beside him, then flicked the reins for the horse to set off. It seemed to Beth that the big cob was resentful of the sudden departure and moved with deliberate, agonising slowness.

‘I believe it is but five miles to the sea?’ she ventured, as they turned on to the road.

‘Aye.’

‘And we can go straight there?’

‘Aye.’

Beth glanced over her shoulder. The village was receding, slowly, and no one was running down the main street and shouting after her. She started to relax a little. After all, there was only Charlotte and the servants at the vicarage. Charlotte was so poorly that she would not wake up for hours and the kitchen was well away from Theo’s wine cellar. It could be some considerable time before anyone realised Marcus’s predicament and even then she had the only key. It was heavy in her pocket.

As the cart lumbered down the country lane, Beth sat back with a sigh. The moment of exhilaration had gone, leaving her feeling oddly empty. She told herself that it was only because she felt so nervous at venturing off on her own, but her heart gave her another answer. They had been in complete accord, she and Marcus. It had been such a perfect morning. He had told her that he would not oppose her in the matter of Fairhaven. But…she had not trusted him. And she had ruined everything with her impetuous flight.

Beth gritted her teeth. She had won now. That was the important thing. The Reverend Theo would not return for hours and, even if he did, the door to the cellar was stout and could not easily be broken down. Marcus was trapped and she would definitely reach
Fairhaven before him now. It did not matter if he had genuinely intended to give her the island or not, for she had won.

Beth swayed backwards and forwards with the movement of the cart and wondered what would happen next. In all likelihood Marcus would not even trouble to follow her. Probably he would never wish to see her again. Certainly he would never speak to her, unless to haul her over the coals for her appalling behaviour. And it had been appalling; Beth could see that, now that she had plenty of time for reflection. To have locked him in the wine cellar was bad enough, but to somehow betray the memory of their happiness that morning, to distrust him, that was her real offence. She reminded herself that she had finally outwitted him, but all she could think of was that the price had been so very high. She found that she was totally confused by her conflicting feelings and was almost in tears.

They lurched their way along the country roads towards the sea. It became clear to Beth that her idea of a direct journey and that of the carter was slightly at odds—he detoured to several farms on the way to unload his sacks and stood around chatting for what seemed like hours to Beth. After a while the sun dipped behind the clouds and a sharp wind sprang up, bringing with it the first hint of rain. Beth huddled down on the seat of the cart, but there was no shelter. She was cold, for her gloves, hat and scarf were in the trunk and the wind seemed to blow right through her coat. By the time the carter dropped her on the quay in Bridgwater it was getting dark and Beth felt more miserable than she had done for a very long time.

‘How could she do such a thing?’ Charlotte Cavendish wailed, pressing a small and inadequate lace handkerchief to her eyes. ‘I know that Beth can be rash and impulsive, but she has never behaved like this before! Never!’

‘Your cousin, madam, has all the self-restraint of a wayward child!’ Marcus said, through his teeth. He was trying to remove some clinging cobwebs from his jacket and was tolerably sure that it would never be quite the same again. Certainly it was no longer a glowing tribute to Weston’s tailoring.

‘It is this absurd obsession with Fairhaven!’ Charlotte lamented. ‘I fear that it has quite taken over Beth’s thinking! If only we could find some way to distract her attention—’

‘I will give her something else to think about when I catch up with her!’

Marcus’s gaze fell on Charlotte’s apprehensive face and his own hard features softened a little. Mrs Cavendish had only risen from her sickbed a half-hour previously, and to find that her cousin had abandoned her and locked him in the cellar into the bargain was a shock that might have justifiably sent her into a fit of the vapours. Yet she was quite resolute, if pale, and Marcus admired her for that.

‘Have no fear,’ he said, in a gentler tone. ‘I will find Lady Allerton and I will escort her to Fairhaven just as I had intended and I will also marry her! So you need have no concerns for propriety, Mrs Cavendish…’

Charlotte looked slightly winded at this rush of events. ‘
Marry
her! I cannot conceive why you would wish to do so, my lord—’

‘Neither can I at this moment!’ Marcus said feel
ingly. ‘But it is inevitable, I fear! Would you be so good as to pass me those scissors, ma’am? There are several loose threads…’

Charlotte snipped assiduously for a moment. ‘How did you remember the other entrance to the cellar, my lord?’

Marcus laughed. ‘A relic of my misspent youth, I confess, ma’am! I remembered Reverend March once telling us that there was a passage from the cellar to the icehouse in the garden and one day when I was about fourteen I had sought it out. This time it seemed much smaller!’

Charlotte shuddered. ‘Reverend March! Whatever will he say when he returns and finds the key to his wine cellar missing?’

‘I leave you to smooth that over, ma’am!’ Marcus said cheerfully. He looked up as Justin came into the drawing room. ‘Is the curricle ready, Justin?’

‘It’s waiting for you,’ Justin said, with a grin. ‘I’ve sent a messenger to meet McCrae in Bridgwater, so he will be expecting you and will also have started to instigate a search. Don’t worry, ma’am—’ he turned swiftly to Charlotte ‘—I am sure Marcus will find Lady Allerton before she comes to any harm!’

Marcus clapped his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Sorry to leave you so precipitately, old fellow, but I know you will deal admirably with Theo, and see Mrs Cavendish safely home.’ He did not miss the look of guilty pleasure that passed between the two of them and smiled a little to himself. ‘Mustn’t let the horses chill! Oh, and Justin…’ he paused in the doorway ‘…I’ll wager that Theo will be more distraught at being debarred from his own wine cellar than by aught else! Pray tell him that I will send his key back
to him as soon as I have wrested it from Lady Allerton’s grasp!’

Although it was late afternoon and growing dark, Bridgwater quay was still busy with traffic from the river. Beth picked her way between barrels of herrings and piles of coal, trying to ignore the curious stares of the sailors and their occasional coarse remarks. She had thought that it would be a relatively easy matter to charter a boat to take her to Fairhaven, but now she realised that she had no idea where to start. There were plenty of ships tied up at the quay, but she knew she could not simply pick one, go aboard and ask the captain if he would take her to Fairhaven Island. Her trunk was weighing her down and seemed twice as heavy as it had done earlier. Eventually, when she had walked all the way down the North Quay and was wondering what to do next, she came to a brigantine whose captain was busy coiling a huge jute rope whilst his crew unloaded a cargo of lemons in big panniers. The captain looked up, smiled at Beth and touched his cap; emboldened by his courtesy, Beth hurried forward.