The Earl Next Door (11 page)

She nodded. ‘Kit at the time was only twelve and I was ten. To make matters worse, we hadn’t told anyone where we were going. But then we discovered the crack and found the cave behind it. After that, we came here regularly. I did wonder –’

‘Yes?’

She gave a twisted smile. ‘I did wonder, when he disappeared shortly after Christmas, if Kit had come down here. It was a favourite haunt when either of us was in trouble of any kind. I came to look for him as soon as I thought of it, but there was no sign of him. That’s when I accepted he’d really gone.’ She wrapped her arms round her knees, hugging them to her. Her cloak fell in loose folds round her, the swansdown lining not only helping to keep her warm but also helping to keep her dry. ‘But I’m still worried about him. And still concerned about Mr Windham.’

She had the feeling that he could say more about Mr Windham if he had a mind to, but at the moment he was keeping silent.

‘You said Mr Windham was vicious, and I felt it, too,’ she said. ‘But if he is not in the pay of the money-lenders, then who is he?’

He sat up straight, looking at her appraisingly, as if wondering what to tell her. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He threw down the piece of sea grass he had been toying with and looked her directly in her clear blue eyes. ‘Tell me, Miss Travis,’ he asked her, ‘what do you know about the Jacobins?’

Marianne was startled. ‘The Jacobins? What do they have to do with this?’

‘You have heard of them?’

‘Yes, indeed. It is the Jacobins who are behind the troubles in
France
. I know about them because my mother’s governess was French,’ she explained. ‘Marie-Anne taught my mama for many years. As Mama grew older the two of them became good friends. So that when Marie-Anne unexpectedly inherited a fortune and returned to
France
the two of them stayed in touch.’

‘Marie-Anne,’ said Lord Ravensford thoughtfully. ‘Are you named after her?’

Marianne nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘I did not know that.’

She looked at him curiously. ‘How could you?’

‘As you say,’ he remarked. ‘How could I? And so they stayed in touch?’

‘Yes. Mama and Papa used to visit Marie-Anne, and in time her new husband, the Comte de Trevourny, and their daughter Adèle. And when Kit and I were old enough, Mama and Papa took us on their visits as well. When Mama died we did not go to
France
for a while, but the Comte and Marie-Anne persuaded Papa that it would be good for us if the visits continued. There is nothing like spending holidays in
France
for picking up an authentic French accent, they said. Kit and I enjoyed the visits. Kit always loved playing with Adèle. She was – is, I hope – a very pretty girl. I often used to think . . . but that is all beside the point. The point is that I know all about the Jacobins, and unfortunately at first hand.’

‘You came across them when you were in
France
?’

She nodded. ‘It was in the summer of 1788, the last time we visited
France
. It was a strange summer for weather. There were hailstorms and drought and the harvest was spoiled. There was a lot of unrest. The poor people were suffering from rising bread prices, and they knew the bad harvest would make the problem worse over the winter. It was then the Jacobins began to meddle, whipping up feelings and stirring up trouble.’

‘The Jacobins wanted to further their own political ends,' nodded Luke. 'They wanted to overthrow the ruling classes and take power into their own hands. And they were happy to use the poor to further their own cause.’

‘Even so, things weren’t so bad at the time. It was more a case of the Jacobins whipping up feeling  than actually causing harm, but the atmosphere in the countryside was unpleasant, and the Comte warned us not to venture off the estate. After that, we returned to
England
, but we heard from Marie-Anne that things were growing worse. There were violent riots throughout the winter and before long the country was in a state of upheaval.’

Marianne fell silent for a minute. Then she sighed and continued. ‘It is such a shame. We hoped the trouble would have blown over by the following summer, but Papa received a letter from Marie-Anne telling him it would not be safe for us to visit them. There were riots everywhere, and the peasants were attacking the nobility, burning property and killing animals.’

‘Encouraged by the Jacobins,’ nodded Luke. ‘They are vicious people. Devious, underhand and evil.’

Marianne nodded. ‘Marie-Anne met one of the worst of them, a fastidious and ambitious man named Robespierre. She told us about him in her letters – that is, before her letters stopped. We were all very worried about her and her family. Then came the
Grand Peur
, the Great Fear. So many members of the nobility were killed or injured during that time. Many of them brought it upon themselves, but Marie-Anne’s family were decent people and it seemed unfair they should be in danger when they had done no harm. But fortunately they came through unscathed. After that, we hoped that affairs in
France
would soon settle down.’

‘But instead they got worse,’ said Luke.

Marianne nodded. ‘And now we have not heard from Marie-Anne and her family for over six months. At first we thought they were just having trouble getting a letter through, but since the execution of King Louis . . . ’ She shivered.

He put his hand over hers. To her surprise his touch was reassuring instead of searing. It seemed that he could control the effect he had on her; something which made her feel even more vulnerable. But for now she drew comfort from his touch.

‘Your hands are like ice,’ he said.

He took them between his own. His warmth flowed into her.

‘But why did you ask what I knew about the Jacobins?’ she asked, drawing her attention away from his firm, strong hands and trying to concentrate on their conversation.

‘Because,’ he said, ‘that is what
Windham
is.’

She looked at him in horror. ‘A Jacobin?’

‘Yes. His real name is not
Windham
, but Rouget. Philippe Rouget.’

‘But . . . what is he doing over here?’

She saw Luke looking at her intently. She had the curious feeling he was on the verge of telling her something important, but then he seemed to change his mind. ‘He’s trying to drum up support for the Jacobin cause.’

‘And why was he asking about Kit? Did he want to try and win him to the Jacobin cause, so that Kit would make sure that French nobles fleeing the terror could not land their boats in one of our coves?’

‘Yes, very likely,’ said Luke.

‘I hope he does not bother my father.’

‘I think it unlikely. The rumour is that
Windham
will soon be returning to
France
. Even so, it would be best not to speak to him if you should happen to see him again. If he tries to gain any information from you, about anyone or anything, then do not give it to him. He is up to no good, of that you can be certain. But now, let’s forget about him.’

He smiled, and she felt an answering smile rise to her own lips.

‘Agreed,’ she said. She stood up. ‘I think I’ll take a turn round the cave.’

‘A good idea.’

The sun had moved round a little, and the strip of brightness that ran along the centre of the cave had moved with it. Marianne stood up and walked up and down in the patch of sunlight. Before long it began to warm her through.

The cave was one she had always liked. Although there were other caves along the seashore, there were few with holes in the roof. They were dank and dark, but this one, with its access to sunlight and fresh air, was always pleasant. It held the tang of the sea, of salt and seaweed, without having a fishy smell. Its sandy floor was clean, and there was often some kind of life  – a gull that had waddled in through the crack and would leave by flying through the roof, or, as today, a crab that scuttled across the floor, sending the dry sand flying as it hurried along with its curious sideways gait.

But as she walked around the cave she was aware of Luke’s eyes following her, and was conscious of the harsh and disturbing admiration in his gaze. It was predatory; devouring. No gentleman had ever looked at her in that way - but then, Lord Ravensford was not a gentleman. It made her uncomfortable and restless. It also made her tingle from head to foot.

She fought down her disturbing sensations. But she could not stop herself from being very aware of Lord Ravensford. He reminded her strongly of a wolf. A ruthless predator who threatened her long-held beliefs. Men, she had thought, were one thing or the other: kind-hearted if bumbling like Jem; good company like her brother; or cold and frightening like Mr Windham. But Lord Ravensford was a disturbing mixture of parts; of light and dark, sun and shade. Dangerous and mocking on the one hand, but absorbing and compelling on the other. He was alarming and perplexing and difficult to understand. But when he looked at her as he was looking at her now, he was utterly magnetic.

‘I think I should see how far the tide has turned,’ she said, making an excuse to remove herself from a situation she was finding it hard to understand. She stood up and went down to the mouth of the cave, bending down to go through the small opening and standing up straight on the other side. The sea had receded, and most of the rocks were now above water, with only a trail of seaweed and a stranded starfish to show where it had been. It would not be long before they could leave, and she could retreat to the haven of Seaton Hall. Away from Lord Ravensford. Away from his lazy smiles and disturbing manner. Away from the searing intensity of his glances and the burning heat of his touch. Away from the dangerous air that surrounded him. Immersing herself once again in the safe, if boring, details of running her father’s estate.

‘She should ’ave been back long ago. Why ’ave you not sent Tom out looking for her?’

These were the words that Marianne overhead as she arrived back at the Hall, flowing out of the open door of the kitchen.

‘Why, bless you,’ came Trudie’s voice in answer to Henri’s worried questions, ‘Miss Marianne’s often gone an hour or more when she’s out for a walk. There’s no need to fret.’

‘But she may ’ave been attacked, or ’ad an accident.’

‘Marianne’s not the type to go round having accidents, and as for being attacked, why who would want to attack her on her own estate?’

‘There are bad people in the world,’ said Henri. ‘Me, I know it.’

‘The English aren’t like the French,’ said Trudie comfortably. ‘They don’t go round chopping people’s heads off. She’ll be back again soon, never . . . why, here she is now,’ she said as Marianne walked in at the door.

‘
Alors
! There you are!’ exclaimed Henri, neglecting to point out that the English had chopped off their own king’s head in the seventeenth century in his delight to see Marianne safely home again. He hobbled over to her and kissed her on both cheeks; a Gallic gesture which brought a look of horror to Trudie’s face.

‘There’s no call for that,’ she said.

Whereupon Marianne smiled. ‘It’s all right, Trudie.’

‘Oh, is it now?’ demanded Trudie. ‘You’re forgetting your place, my girl. Being kissed on the cheek by a servant indeed!’