The Reckoning (11 page)

One groom came down on foot, leading a carriage-horse
that was slightly lame, taking it down to bathe its legs in the
healing salt water. As he passed them, Rosamund called out
to him. He stopped and knuckled his forehead, and he and
Rosamund had a very satisfactory discussion of the condition
and its progress, while the horse, a friendly soul, blew into
Rosamund's ear and nibbled tentatively at the rim of her
straw hat.

‘
Shall we move on, young ladies,' Miss Rosedale said at last, having an eye to Sophie's boredom and the increasing
activity on the sands. Behind them, two water-carts had come
down to collect sea-water for the baths up in the town, and at
the top of the strand the first horses were already being
harnessed up to the bathing-machines. Sunshine had been in
such short supply this summer that everyone was making the
most of the bright morning with an early start.

They walked on, and the girls' conversation reverted to the
fascinating topic of the letter Sophie had received the day
before from her cousin Africa Haworth, with whom she had
gone to school for a time. Africa was the sister of Polly
Haworth, with whom Rosamund had been brought up. Rosa
mund had a keen interest in Africa's doings, for she lived a
life of such stunning adventure and excitement that even
Rosamund's mother's history paled by comparison.

Africa had been born in the middle of the Battle of the Nile, on board her father's ship, after which she had been named. Except for her brief period at school in Bath with
Sophie, she had lived on ship-board all her life, travelling
with her father wherever he went. She had been with him on the epic voyage twice across the Atlantic in pursuit of Ville
neuve's fleet; she had been present at the Battle of Trafalgar.

When she was younger, Rosamund had listened open
mouthed to the stories of Africa's adventures. She had been
wild with envy at the mere thought of living in a ship's cabin
and romping about the rigging with the jolly sailors; but of
recent years her interest in the life-style had been more acad
emic. For one thing, there were no horses at sea; and for
another, she liked comfort and luxury, and disliked dirt and
disorder. Sleeping on damp sheets and having your clothes
always sticky with salt did not appeal to her at all; and when
she thought of what the food must be like ...!
Captain Haworth had lately been raised to flag rank, and
Africa's letter came from Jamestown in St Helena, where he
had been appointed port admiral and station commander,
taking over from Admiral Cockburn. St Helena was a small,
rocky island in the middle of the South Atlantic, a regular
port-of-call on the Cape route, where ships took on water and
fresh fruit and vegetables. Fifty or more naval and merchant ships might be expected to be at anchor in Jamestown at any
one time; and there was also a small permanent squadron of
naval vessels guarding the island – which was the real reason
for the presence of a young and resourceful admiral. For it
was on St Helena that Bonaparte was imprisoned.

‘
I haven't met him yet,' Africa said in her letter, which had
been written in great excitement soon after their arrival, 'but
I saw him at a distance going by in his coach. He makes his
coachman drive hell-for-leather – I suppose to give him some
excitement in his life, for he must have very little to do now
he is a prisoner.

‘
Admiral Cockburn promises he will introduce us to The
Prisoner. He lives up on the top of the island in a house called
Longwood with his servants. He was down here in Jamestown
at first, but it was thought it would be too easy for him to
escape and slip on board an American ship – of which there
are always several here – so after a few weeks they converted
the farmhouse for him. I'm told it's very comfortable, but
also very well guarded – a hundred and twenty-five sentries
by day, and seventy-two by night. You see how they fear his resourcefulness! It makes me quite nervous about meeting him.

‘
Of course, Papa won't have direct care of The Prisoner –that's the job of the new Governor, Hudson Lowe – but the
naval defences are his responsibility. Papa says it's even more
nerve-racking than the blockade at Brest during the war, for
at least then you knew which were the enemy ships. The
inshore squadron has orders to fire a signal gun at the
approach of any ship, which means in clear weather when
they are still fifty miles off. As soon as the signal gun is heard,
the shore battery is manned as a precaution – five hundred
guns, enough to blow anyone out of the water.

‘
Admiral Cockburn says that General Bonaparte can be
charming, but he's very temperamental. His moods change
quickly, and he takes offence easily, sometimes at the stran
gest things. Papa says that's because he's quite mad. He says
all emperors are mad, and that if they don't start off that
way, being emperor makes them so. However, I am still
looking forward to speaking to the great man, and I shall
write and tell you All as soon as it has happened.’

The question of the incompatibility of imperial sovereignty
and mental health was being so warmly debated that none of
the three of them noticed the approach across the sands of
two tall gentlemen. They were brought up short with surprise
when their way was blocked, a tall hat was swept off, and a
voice said,

‘
Miss Sophie Morland – how very pleasant! Lady Rosa
mund, if I don't mistake? And the good Miss Rosedale! How
do you all do? How charming to meet you here like this.’

Even Miss Rosedale was too taken aback for a moment to
know quite how to reply; and it was Rosamund, the least
acquainted of the three – for she had not been 'out' when he
was around – who responded.

‘Mr Hawker, is it not? How do you do?' she said with cool
friendliness, holding out her hand. 'We have never been
introduced, but you are a sort of cousin of mine, by marriage
at least.'

‘
Indeed, ma'am, and of course I knew your mama very well
in Vienna at the time of my honeymoon. How is Lady Theak
ston?'

‘
Just the same,' Rosamund said shortly. She looked at
Sophie, who was blushing with a variety of consciousnesses.
Sophie had not been made a party to all the secrets, but of
course she knew there had been something strange about
Fitzherbert Hawker's marriage to her half-sister Fanny. His
name was never spoken except with revilement by Papa and
Uncle Ned, and so she didn't know whether she ought to
acknowledge him.

Hawker was smiling at her now. 'Come, sister Sophie,
won't you know me? You were at my wedding, you know.'
That was true. Sophie felt she could not do otherwise than
offer her hand, and he pressed it so gently and smiled so
kindly that she felt at once he must have been misjudged.
Hawker then turned to Miss Rosedale with a grave look.

‘
You, ma'am, I believe, were my poor Fanny's best friend.'
When she did not acknowledge his words, he added in a low
voice, 'You and I share the greatest grief. I loved her, you
know – no-one could have loved her more.’

His eyes, his expression, his voice were all perfectly sincere.
Miss Rosedale felt the sudden pressure of tears in her throat,
and found herself clasping his hand almost before she knew it.
But after all, she thought, as she recovered herself, it could do
no harm now. Poor little Fanny was dead; and it would be
better for everyone if there were never to be a hint that her
marriage was not all it should have been.

‘
What brings you to Scarborough, Mr Hawker?' Miss
Rosedale asked evenly. 'I would not have thought it would be
quite to your taste.’

He smiled disarmingly. 'Too slow, you mean – too provin
cial? Well, ma'am, I'm a little surprised myself to be here. It's
certainly a long way from Vienna! But I came here at the
urgent request of a friend, who is convalescing with the aid of Scarborough's noted air and waters.’

With a turn of his head, he brought their attention to the
man standing silently beside him. 'Might I have the signal
honour of presenting him to you?' Hawker went on; and
seeing Miss Rosedale's quick, slight frown, he added, 'I would not, of course, have the impertinence to request it, except that
he is a distant relative of Lady Rosamund's – and blood, they
say, is thicker than water. Lady Rosamund, may I present to
you my good friend Jesmond Farraline? He's quite respect
able, you know – his brother is the Earl of Batchworth.’

Rosamund did not consult Miss Rosedale's face, afraid that
she might find herself in the position of being obliged to
refuse the acquaintance. She didn't want to do that. For one
thing, she was growing just a little bored with Scarborough
and nothing but female companionship; and for another,
Farraline was the most staggeringly handsome man she had
ever seen.

‘
Mr Farraline,' she said, extending her hand. The tall,
graceful man swept off his hat, stooped, placed his own
elegant hand under hers, and brushed the air just above her
glove with his lips. His hair was so fair that it glittered almost
silver in the sunlight; as he straightened he looked down into
her eyes with a gaze so direct and so intensely blue that she
felt almost faint. 'In what way,' she heard herself asking, 'are
we related?'

‘
My mother was a Manvers before she married,' he said.
His voice was light and pleasant, caressive like a warm breeze
on the skin. 'In fact, I believe my grandfather and your uncle
were brothers, which must make us cousins.'

‘
My uncle Manvers is in fact my great-uncle. But still,
cousins of a sort,' Rosamund conceded. 'But if you are related
to me, you must also be distantly related to my cousin
Sophie.'

‘Indeed, ma'am. How do you do, Miss Morland?’

Sophie merely acknowledged the introduction with a nod,
overcome by so much beauty. Rosamund, a little defiantly,
completed the job by presenting him to Miss Rosedale.

‘
You are staying up at St Nicholas Cliff, aren't you?' Farra
line said.

‘
Where else?' Hawker murmured. It was the most expen
sive and exclusive part of Scarborough. 'These are ladies of
fashion, Jes.'

‘
I'm sure I've seen you coming out of Wood's Lodgings. I'm
staying almost next-door, at Hampton House, with my
mother. I often see you walking along the flagway past our
windows.'

‘With your mother?' Miss Rosedale said, surprise, relief and
approval vying in her tone. The presence of the Dowager
Countess changed everything. She would be answerable to
Lady Theakston if Rosamund got into bad company, but this immediately made it more respectable.