Smugglers' Summer (6 page)

“I’ll never wear cotton stockings again!” Octavia promised herself. “At least not in the evenings.”

She inspected her purse: twenty-one guineas and a handful of silver and copper. There was a slip of paper on which she had detailed her expenditures as she made them. Studying it, she decided there was nothing on it she need hesitate to set to Lord Langston’s account, so she need only return twenty guineas and the change to her aunt. Her father’s guinea was still intact.

She felt rich.

A tray laden with asparagus soup, poached salmon, and strawberries smothered in thick Cornish cream did nothing to dispel her feeling of affluence. And an hour later, sitting before a dancing fire in Julia’s chamber while Ada combed her long, damp hair, she thought she had never been so comfortable in her life.

Scarce had a pair of bustling maids drained the copper hip-bath and borne it away, when the door was flung open. Julia swept in dramatically, flung her arms about her towel-draped cousin and burst into tears.

“Tavy, I’ve never been so miserable in my life!” she wept.

“Hush, love, hush.” Octavia stroked her hair. “Your nerves are quite overset! Pray compose yourself and tell me all about it.”

“Come now, Miss Julia,” said Ada, gently but firmly. “Come and sit down. Miss Gray’s had a long, weary journey for your sake and there’s no call to go acting a Cheltenham tragedy soon as she arrives.”

Julia sank to the floor, leaned against Octavia’s chair and hid her face in a lace handkerchief.

“I’m sorry, Tavy,” she sniffed. “When you came in this morning I was so disappointed not to be able to talk to you. I’ve been waiting all day for you to wake up. Are you quite recovered?”

“Yes, indeed. I was only tired. But tell me, Ju, what is Sir Tristram doing here?”

“Papa was not able to leave London so Sir Tristram offered to escort us into Cornwall. It seems Lord Edgcumbe is his godfather and he spent a great deal of time here in his youth. But tell me, have you seen James?”

“He dined with us the night before I left. How kind of Sir Tristram, when you had refused him!”

“How was James? Did you tell him where I am?”

“He seemed unhappy. Does Sir Tristram continue to pursue you?”

“He has not withdrawn his offer, but does not pester me with his attentions. Tavy, does James know where I am? Does he know I did not willingly abandon him?”

“Sir Tristram is all that is gentlemanly! Does he stay here long?”

“I don’t know and I do not care to know,” said Julia reproachfully. “Tell me about James!”

“Mr Wynn knows that you did not leave town by choice. I did not inform him of your direction, but he knows that I am come to you, and if he has only the initiative to enquire of my parents, he may find out where I am. I told you Papa thought of a match between us. They know nothing of his infatuation with you and will certainly enlighten him.”

“Infatuation! Do not say so! He has vowed eternal love and we are promised to each other. And if you dare suggest that he cares only for my fortune . . ."

“No, no, I will not say that. His income may be small but he has no expensive vices that I know of, and he is always willing to contribute to Mama’s causes. But an adequate income for a single man with no pretensions to fashion will not do for a family, and even with the interest on your fortune you would not have more than three thousand a year, I daresay. You are used to spending that on your clothes, Ju!”

“The wife of a politician does not need the wardrobe of a debutante. Only think how little my aunt spends on her attire."

“You will not dress always in bombazine like Mama! You yourself said it was enough to give you the megrims. If you married Sir Tristram you would always have elegant clothes and everything else of the best.”

Ada interrupted. “Your hair is nearly dry, miss. Did you want it braided up again?”

“No!” cried Julia. “Since my cousin has so great a regard for the elegancies of life, you shall cut it and curl it as you do mine. And to show how little I care for dress, you shall alter to fit her everything I have that will suit her. Indeed, Tavy, you misjudge me if you think me so frivolous. I had rather live in a hovel with James than in Carlton House with anyone else.”

Octavia clutched at her hair. It had never been cut, her mother considering it sufficient adornment to make up for every deficiency of attire. It fell like a dark cloak past her waist and her one vanity was to stand brushing it before the mirror. Then she thought of the hours spent braiding it, the heavy weight of the braids and how little they became her round face. She lowered her hands.

“Yes,” she said. “Cut it, Ada, if you please.”

“I didn’t mean it!” Julia was horrified. “Your beautiful hair! And what would my aunt say!”

“It is beautiful when it is loose,” Octavia said dispassionately, “but I cannot wear it loose. It is thoroughly impractical. In town it would pick up the dirt, and in the country I daresay it would get caught in brambles or something. Cut it, Ada.”

For all her brave words, she sat with her eyes screwed closed as the scissors snipped and long tresses fell to the floor. Her neck felt strangely chilly and her head so light she could hardly believe she had any hair left.

“Well now,” said Ada in a pleased voice, “there’s a natural curl to it. But I don’t think it’s ringlets you want, miss. More sort of curly all over.

“Like Lady Caroline Lamb?” asked Julia.

“I don’t believe as I ever saw her ladyship, but I saw a picture, in
Ackermann’s
I think it was, as would suit miss to perfection. Not too short but kind of bouncy.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Octavia, eyes still shut. “Go ahead, Ada.”

There was silence but for the click of the scissors, until Julia said thoughtfully, “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s perfect. And with that natural curl you will never have to sleep in papers, you lucky creature.”

Ada removed the towel from her shoulders and brushed the back of her neck.

“Come and look in the looking glass, miss,” she suggested.

The reflection in the ancient mirror of burnished steel was so unexpected that Octavia half turned to see if someone was standing behind her. She had not realised how much thinner her face had grown, and surmounted by a fluffy cloud of feathery curls it was unrecognisable, belonging to some elegant stranger.

“Ada, you are a genius!” she cried. “I never thought I could look half so pretty!”

“Just wait till I’ve altered that canary yellow to fit, miss! If you meant it, that is, Miss Julia?”

“I meant it. I’m sure I do not care if I go dressed in rags so long as James is not here.”

“Aye, and mighty careful you was what you wore to meet Mr Wynn in the park!” Ada shook her head.

“I’d not place the least dependence on his having noticed what you had on,” said Octavia. “Ada, do you think you could finish that walking dress by tomorrow? Otherwise it will be the lavender silk, and let alone that I am heartily tired of it, I think silk is not appropriate to the country.”

“No one will see you,” Julia said gloomily. “There is not a soul for miles.

“I daresay you are missing society in general as well as your James. Whereas I am looking forward excessively to not having to entertain for a few weeks. Oh Ju, are you sure you can spare that gown?”

Ada had produced the canary yellow jaconet promenade dress with its pale green ribbons. She looked at Octavia measuringly, then nodded in approval.

“It’s my belief, miss, as we won’t have to do much but turn it up, and maybe take in the seams a bit which is a sight easier nor letting out. You’ve fined down a tolerable bit since I did the grey. Stand still a minute while I take your measure, if you please, miss.

“You
are
thinner,” said Julia approvingly. “I had not noticed it before but Ada is right. Tomorrow we must find some more gowns for you."

Ada bore off the dress, promising to have it done by morning if she had to persuade Martha Pengarth herself to take up her needle. As soon as she was gone, Octavia turned to her cousin with a question.

“You said Ada went with you when you met Mr Wynn clandestinely. How is it your parents have not turned her off?”

“Papa was going to. He was in a great rage. But Mama said that she could not possibly find me another maid at such short notice and if he insisted on sending me away the very next day I must take Ada with me. In any case, he said I could not possibly be up to any mischief here at Cotehele. And he was right. Even if James should come after me, this horrid place can only be reached by water and there is nowhere within miles for him to stay."

Octavia was beginning to think that Lord Langston had gone quite the wrong way about detaching his daughter from her unsuitable suitor. Here in the wilderness there was nothing to distract her from dwelling on his merits, his devotion and her own inclination. Removed as she was from the Fashionable World, worldly considerations held little sway. Even Sir Tristram’s presence might be a mistake, acting as an irritant rather than a counterbalance.

Poor, faithful Sir Tristram! His absence might do his cause more good than his presence for the moment. Left for a while to the society of her cousin and her mother, Julia could not but regret the loss of his company and his admiration.

“How long did you say Sir Tristram is fixed here?” Octavia enquired, interrupting a description of the impassable lanes, treacherous river, and uninhabited desolation surrounding Cotehele.

“Mama has invited him to stay indefinitely. She prefers to have a gentleman in the house, and she thinks I shall give up and marry him if I see no one else. If Papa were not intransigent, I believe she would let me marry James.”

“Not because she considers it a respectable alliance, but for the sake of peace! I know my aunt. But I know also how Lord Langston dotes upon you. It is for your sake he does not want so unequal a match, I am certain. The very thought of seeing you reduced to uncomfortable circumstances must distress him beyond bearing.”

“Fustian! If he would but continue my present allowance we should have everything necessary to comfort if not elegance. The truth is he does not care for James’s political views; indeed he holds them in abhorrence!”

“Even my father, who is a Reformer, considers Mr Wynn’s rhetoric extreme. He hopes that he will mellow with age, for he is a brilliant man and could do the cause no end of good would he but learn to compromise a little.”

“He is brilliant, isn’t he?” asked Julia eagerly. “I am certain there is a great future ahead of him.” She fell silent, contemplating, no doubt, the stimulating life of a Prime Minister’s wife.

It crossed Octavia’s mind that, with her love of company, Julia might make an excellent political hostess, on a par with Lady Holland or Lady Melbourne.

“Tavy,” her cousin said suddenly, in a tortured voice, “have you noticed the tapestries in here? They are of Hero and Leander. You remember the story: he swam the Hellespont every night to see her until at last he drowned. I keep having a nightmare—no, not really a nightmare, for I am awake. You know how dreadful everything appears when you wake in the early hours of the morning? I see James swimming across the Tamar to reach me and I watch him drown and can do nothing to help.”

“You had best move to another chamber,” suggested Octavia practically.

“It is too late. The idea is in my head now and I cannot be rid of it so easily.”

“Well, now I am here and in the next bedchamber, next time such horrid thoughts enter your mind you must come to me and we will talk until you are ready to sleep. You must not give way to such morbid fancies. I can think of few things less likely than that Mr Wynn should attempt to swim the river."

“I know. Tavy, you are such a comfort to me. I am excessively glad that you came.”

“Poor Ju. It will all come right in the end.”

Ada came in.

“Mr Raeburn just took in the tea tray, Miss Julia. Her ladyship is calling for you to pour. And it’s bed for you, Miss Gray, for I can see you’re still not in very plump currant."

As Julia went down to pour the tea for her mother and her unwanted admirer, Octavia wandered back to the steel mirror. The stranger looked back at her again, still too unfamiliar for her to be sure if she liked her appearance.

“Your dress will be ready this evening, miss. I’ll hang it at the end of your bed so you can see it first thing.”

“Thank you, Ada. Thank you very much.”

She would get up early in the morning and put on her new gown and go walking in the garden. How things had changed already from her London life! Octavia felt herself turning into a different person, and she just could not wait to see who she was going to be.

Chapter 6

Sir Tristram took a bite of ham and spread his fourth muffin with marmalade. A drip fell on the letter he was reading, which had just been carried up from the quay. It was from his bailiff in Gloucestershire, and the marmalade neatly obscured a vital figure.

“Damnation!” he swore, just as the door opened and Raeburn ushered into the dining room a pretty, elegant young lady he had never seen before in his life.

“Good morning, sir,” she said composedly, her lips twitching as he sprang to his feet with an apology. She watched his expression change from mild embarrassment to puzzlement to astonishment.

“Miss Gray? No, I must be mistaken. I beg your pardon, ma’am, won’t you join me?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Miss Gray?”

Octavia giggled.

“I’ve had my hair cut, and this is one of my cousin's gowns,” she said frankly, taking the seat the butler held for her. “A cup of tea, if you please, Raeburn, and a muffin. I am sorry if my appearance was the cause of your imprecation, Sir Tristram.”

“Not at all, ma’am. I had just spilled maramalade on a letter of some importance. I was cursing my own clumsiness and your arrival at that precise moment was an unfortunate coincidence.”

“Allow me, sir,” murmured Raeburn, and carefully removed the offending piece of orange peel.

“I expect you are not used to ladies at the breakfast table. Julia and my aunt are not early risers.”