Virginia Henley (9 page)

She saluted her elegant image with the tip of her riding crop, clicked the heels of her riding boots together, and set off like a soldier on campaign. Her destination was Edenwood at Gravesend, and since she rode alone and need not pay lip service to convention, she set a bruising pace and covered the dozen miles in record time.

James Wyatt, his shirtsleeves rolled up, recognized her immediately and strode from the portico to help her dismount. “Lady Antonia, I hoped you would pay us another visit.”

She smiled up into his intelligent eyes with genuine admiration. “I’m drawn to Edenwood as if it were a lode-stone. What you are creating here fascinates me. I’ve even begun dreaming about it.” She dimpled.

She took back her hand and they walked together toward the mansion.

“I am vastly flattered, ma’am. Perhaps you can help me decide upon one or two things. Your dreams might just become realities.”

“’tis I who am flattered, Mr. Wyatt. I am brimful of ideas.”

He was utterly charmed by the rapt attention she gave him. “I would guess you prefer elegance to grandeur.”

“I do, sir, but I’d bet his last rupee Mr. Savage prefers grandeur. I believe Edenwood should have both and when
you think on it, there is no earthly reason why it should not,” she said gaily, planting her seeds.

He showed her the west front portico. The covered colonnade had classical columns that soared elegantly heavenward.

“Oh, it’s magnificent, but wouldn’t it be absolutely breathtaking if you extended it into a semicircular terrace with a stone balustrade? Dotted about the rail could be urns overflowing with flowers.”

“You paint such a vivid picture, I can see it,” Wyatt agreed. “I could use Norfolk stone with its soft, variegated earth tones.”

Antonia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Norfolk stone for the balusters and rail, but the terrace itself must be marble. Since you’ve designed a Roman portico, the terrace must be imported Italian—that exquisitely veined marble that comes in so many beautiful shades. I suggest a pale biscuit veined with a deep, tawny umber.” Though the cost would be almost prohibitive, the picture she painted was irresistible.

Inside the house Antonia continued with her ultraexpensive suggestions. “Italian marble of a different hue could be used in the front hall. Mr. Savage is a nabob and will no doubt wish to display his trophies in the entrance hall—elephant or Bengal tiger perhaps. I would suggest something dramatic. White with black veins or vice versa, perhaps.”

“I think you’ve convinced me,” James Wyatt said indulgently. “Come, I want to show you the plasterwork in some of the salons and bedchambers.”

Antonia stood gazing up at the exquisite plasterwork that encircled the room just where the walls met the high ceiling. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that fourteen-carat gold should be applied, but the pure classical beauty of the white-upon-white would have been ruined, if gilded. She bit her tongue and determined to find somewhere else for the expensive giltwork. Her eyes
widened as James Wyatt took her into what would be a bathing room.

“Bathing rooms were one of Mr. Savage’s few specific requirements.”

This one was next to the master bedchamber on the top floor. Light and sunshine spilled down through what seemed to be a glass ceiling.

“This is called a skylight. It has been designed into larger buildings like museums and palaces, but I don’t believe it has been used in a private home before.”

There was a sunken bath in the center of the room large enough for swimming, with steps leading down from two sides. Crates of tiles were stacked about the walls in a delicate shade between aqua-blue and seafoam-green.

“Oh! Only think how spectacular this room would be with the new Venetian mirrors across one wall to reflect the light that streams in. And wouldn’t it be opulent if some of these tiles were hand painted! There is a wildlife artist in Shepherds Market who does herons and other wading birds. Oh, James, you must commission him to paint some miniatures of waterfowl. Flashing kingfishers, egrets, flamingos, spoonbills, the choice is endless.” She was so enthusiastic, he caught her mood.

He now saw the house through a woman’s eyes and he knew if he followed her suggestions he could turn the stately home he was building into a spectacular showcase.

“We are so fortunate being close to London. We have the best artisans in the world on our doorstep. Why don’t you commission one of the great European artists who now live in London to paint some of the ceilings? And the vast fireplaces you’ve installed cry out to be carved by Adam.”

“There are four Adam brothers; I know Robert and James quite well. They won’t just carve a fireplace or the moldings of a room. They have a strict rule that they will only design an entire room right down to the door handles and including all the furnishings. They believe that everything
in a room should be in the same genre. The carpet must match the ceiling.”

“But, James, what a splendid idea. Commision Adams to do the main salon or the dining room and perhaps the gallery. You have only to please this nabob and the world will beat a path to your door.” Antonia blushed prettily. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wyatt, you are already reputed to be the best architect. I am being presumptuous to suggest you need attract clients.”

He smiled at her with indulgence. “I have clients aplenty, but they are not always paying clients like Mr. Savage.”

Antonia drew her brows together, quite prepared to be presumptuous again. “Whyever would you work for someone who didn’t pay you?”

“It is a little difficult to refuse royalty.” He smiled.

“Oh, I see,” she said, laughing at her own ignorance. “Then now is your chance to make up for your nonpaying clients. My guardian has bottomless coffers.” She flashed him an outrageous look from beneath her lashes. “If I get to meet William Kent, I shall persuade him to build elaborate walkways through the gardens with a lake and a stream and a Chinese bridge. Perhaps a tea pagoda or a grotto, or a Temple of the Sun. The possibilities are endless. And a long circuit through the park for riding and driving is an absolute must!” She put her head on one side. “Poor Mr. Wyatt, have I exhausted you?”

You have enchanted me, lady.
“You’re not leaving?” he asked wistfully.

“You are too polite, James. You should have told me to run along home hours ago.”

“Promise you’ll come again?”

“Fire, flood, and pestilence couldn’t keep me away,” she promised him.

At dinner she kept Roz entertained as she recounted her adventure at Edenwood. “I shall go again and again. You must help me think of new and unique ways to spend
his wealth. Oh, Roz, it’s quite addictive, this squandering money.”

Her grandmother was in total agreement. “It beats the hell out of moderation. If you are going to do something, do it with panache, I always say. That applies to everything, from painting your face to making love. Passion in all things. We seldom regret the things we do in life, darling, only the things we don’t do.”

“I pledge I shall take it for my motto: Passion in all things!” vowed Antonia.

On the other side of the world Adam Savage would have agreed with such a sentiment. The heat of the night enfolded him in the tropical paradise. There was no denying he would miss Leopard’s Leap, miss Ceylon and India. He had learned to live life to the full. One could only get out in equal measure what he put in. Only take back as much as he gave. It was a lesson he had had to learn the hard way.

When his father had died from the disease that went hand in hand with poverty, Adam had dedicated himself to making money. His first small, leaky trading vessel had smuggled Indian opium into China. He was soon richer than he had ever dreamed, but at what a price! To succeed in such a venture you eventually became a cutthroat. It all came down to one tenet, kill or be killed … destroy or be destroyed.

He would probably have gone on past the point of no return if it hadn’t been for the cargo they had offered him in a warehouse in Canton. Fifty prepubescent, delicate girl children for the slave trade. For him the choice had seemed easy. He would not damn his soul peddling child flesh. He agreed to trade the opium for the exquisite females, intending to sail them to freedom. How naive he had been to think they would turn over their priceless cargo. The thugs had sold these virgins a dozen times over
and they had not seen the light of day outside the warehouse for over half a year.

Freeing them had almost cost him his life. He had sustained a dozen knife wounds and carried the disfiguring scars on his gut and torso to this day. The Tamil boy he had hired to cook and scrub for his crew nursed him back to life. When Savage had offered him a reward, he had said, “When you go home to England, take me with you.”

Savage knew he had been given a second chance at life and this time he vowed he would do it right. He purchased the failing plantation in Ceylon from a Dutchman. He imported rubber plants from Burma and tea seedlings from Souchong. Then he had worked eighteen to twenty hours a day, every day.

He knew it was time to go home, but, oh, how he would miss the heat and sweat, the temple incense and spices, the dirt and the darkness. A rare smile touched his lips as he watched for the last time a leopard come down to drink. Tomorrow he would leave this land of fascination behind. Tomorrow he sailed for England.

The Southeast coast of England lay sweltering in the unusual heat of summer. Fashionable society left London like a mass migration of lemmings and headed for the sea at Brighton.

At Stoke the Lamb twins took their morning ride an hour early so their mounts would not suffer heat prostration. Anthony was teaching his sister to take the hedges as he did, without hesitation. Her mare often balked at stone
walls and Antonia feared too much for the horse’s legs to force her, yet Anthony never encountered difficulty.

“Tony, it’s not the horse, it’s you,” he told her. “You are reluctant and you transfer it to your mare. Don’t think of a wall or a hedge as a barrier. Think through it. Visualize horse and rider clearing any obstacle to the other side. It’s simple; it’s a trick of the mind.”

“Tony, you mean if I don’t think we’ll clear it, we won’t?”

“Exactly! Once you set your mind to it, you can accomplish it … well, to be truthful the horse accomplishes it. You just have to show her you have total faith in her.”

It had worked all week. Anthony had set a bruising pace and Antonia had kept up with him and today, for the first time, passed him as she soared over the park hedge into the garden of Lamb Hall. He came thundering after, clods of turf flying into the air. They drew rein, laughing.

Anthony wiped his neck. “God’s teeth, I’m sweating like a bull.”

“Poor old Neptune has worked up a lather too,” Antonia said, pointing to his mount. “Come on, I’ll help you rub him down.”

As they cantered toward the stables a sudden breeze blew Antonia’s long, dark hair about her shoulders, but Anthony’s tiewig was plastered damply to his head. “The breeze is picking up, let’s go sailing after lunch,” he suggested.

“Sounds good to me, Tony. In fact, why don’t we get Mr. Burke to pack the picnic basket? I’m going to wear a pair of those wide canvas knee-breeches. It’s too hot for skirts.”

“It’s too damned hot for wigs too. I’m just going to tie my hair back with a thong.”

“I’ll bring along those yellow oilskins I bought in London. We’ll see if they keep us dry like they’re supposed to.”

“It’s too damned hot for oilskins, but bring them along, it’s always a lot cooler out on the water.”

When they took the horses inside the stable Anthony said, “I’ll do this, you see about the picnic lunch.”

“I don’t mind seeing to my own horse,” she protested.

“This is man’s work,” Tony pointed out, “food is woman’s work.”

“That’s a beastly thing to say, Tony Lamb!”

He looked at her blankly, totally uncomprehending why she should complain.

Antonia sighed. He’d never understand in a million years.

When her grandmother saw Antonia descending the stairs dressed in what looked like a wool-knit undervest and canvas breeches, her eyebrows went up slightly. “I take it we are sailing this afternoon?”

“Yes, Mr. Burke has packed us a picnic lunch. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind? My prayers have been answered.” Roz winked outrageously. “Major Jeremy Blount is paying me an afternoon call.”

“Isn’t he the member of Parliament for Stoke? Since when did you develop an interest in politics?”

“Since I saw the bulge of the saddle muscles in his thighs, darling.”

“We’ll be gone hours and hours,” Antonia promised, tying back her dark hair with a leather thong.

Anthony joined them wearing identical clothes and Antonia tossed him an oilskin just as Mr. Burke came into the hall with the picnic basket.

Roz said, “Mr. Burke, I don’t know how you can look at them and keep a straight face.”

“’tis the height of fashion to be eccentric,” Antonia said lightly, seeing the amusement in Mr. Burke’s eyes.

Roz’s glance swept over the twins from head to foot. “You go beyond eccentric. I hope Sir Jeremy doesn’t see
you. He’ll think he’s having blue devils or double vision from the gin I plied him with last evening.”

In the boathouse the twins climbed aboard the
Seagull
and Antonia covered the picnic basket with the yellow oilskins. They each had specific things to check and certain maneuvers to perform before taking off from the boathouse.

Anthony took the sails from the sailbags while Antonia checked the rigging. A frown creased her brow as she noticed immediately that the lines were tangled. “The lines are fouled!” she exclaimed.

Anthony had total faith in her ability to cope with any hitch and replied, “Get the knots out quickly, I have the jib ready.”

Her nimble fingers unknotted the line and she only had time to give the jibstay a cursory check before Tony attached it and they pushed off from shore. She had no time to test the forestay before Anthony hoisted the jib and allowed it to flap while he turned the sloop head-to-wind so he could attach the mainsail.

“Damnation, Tony, why didn’t you see that the main-sheet was unfouled when we docked last week?” he asked impatiently.

“You know I always leave everything shipshape. I have no idea how these lines got knotted and tangled.” She uncleated the mainsheet and they both worked on the knots so they could hoist the mainsail. As a consequence they paid scant attention to the stays, shrouds, or halyards. The wind was really picking up now and the boat seemed to come alive instantly in the brisk breeze.

As Anthony headed from the mouth of the Medway into the sea, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Jibe-oh,” he cried, pushing the tiller away from his body, and in unison they ducked to avoid the boom.

Anthony tacked expertly, changing the
Seagull’s
course by turning into and through the wind. Antonia kept a
sharp eye out for other craft, as this was one of the main shipping routes for both navy and merchant vessels. Anthony adjusted the tiller constantly, guiding the
Seagull
over and around the small waves.

The twins positioned themselves close together just aft of amidships so the bow could lift and they headed out to sea on a dead run, sailing with the wind directly behind. The sun blazed down, the breeze played havoc with their tied-back hair, and the seaspray wet their faces with delicious, cool saltwater.

They came about, braced their feet, and leaned their bodies slightly windward for counterbalance, then opened up the picnic basket. Mr. Burke was a treasure. Everything he had packed was finger food. Cold chicken and partridge, thick wedges of cheddar, raw mushrooms and carrots and artichokes sat beside crusty rolls spread with chive butter. Tucked into the corners were russet apples and a slab of butterscotch toffee. Two covered, wide-mouthed jars of cider rounded off the meal.

Between them they did a creditable job of emptying the basket. Antonia turned her face up to bask in the sun. There was nothing on earth like being on the sea to make her feel free. Floating between sky and water freed her imagination, her mind, her very soul. Sailing was surely the most exciting, invigorating sport in the whole world. This was perhaps as close to Paradise as she would ever get.

She gazed at the horizon through slitted eyes and watched the shoreline disappear. They were riding at a terrific clip, but she felt no fear. A sailboat was safest at its optimum speed. She wanted to prolong the exhilarating afternoon and knew Anthony felt exactly the same.

They were on a reach, sailing across the wind, when suddenly Anthony turned a weather eye to the west and saw the sky was turning dark. “Get your oilskin on, we’re in for a squall.”

Before the words were out of his mouth there was a
sudden drop in temperature, and as they both reached for the yellow raincapes they heard the roll of the thunder. They shifted to windward to counterbalance the force of the wind.

The
Seagull
was heeling over now, so they leaned out as far as possible. Each felt a small curl of fear as they knew they would have to reduce the wind force to keep from capsizing.

Anthony worked the tiller until they were head-to-wind. He shouted his orders. “Ease the mainsheet, spill some of the wind. Don’t cleat it, hold it in your hands so you can ease it quickly.”

They both knew they should furl the sails and get them off the deck into sailbags in such a squall. “The sheet’s fouled, I can’t budge it,” she shouted back. Then she saw the spot that was so badly frayed, it would snap any minute. She kept the terrifying information to herself. Perhaps it would hold. She bravely resolved not to panic Tony any more than necessary.

Anthony did the only thing he could, feathering the boat just close enough to the wind to spill some of its driving force. The wind whipped the sea into a foaming froth. The roar became deafening. Antonia heard her own heartbeat inside her eardrums as fear rose up in her. She swallowed hard to keep herself from screaming.

“Find the bailing bucket, we’re taking on water!” he shouted.

Antonia’s eyes swept about the small sloop. “It isn’t here. I’ll use a cider jar.” But a wave had taken both jars minutes after they’d set them down.

“Christ, it’s only a squall, it’s not a gale,” he denied, trying to reassure both of them and give them heart. Then, as if he were lying in his teeth, Anthony let go of the tiller to tie a long line about Antonia under her armpits, then lashed it to the mast. When he grabbed for the tiller it separated from the rudder where it had been sawn through, and the boat went sideways into the wind.

In the next split second the mainsheet snapped and whipped through the air like a frenzied snake ready to strike anything in its path. With deadly accuracy it found its mark on Antonia’s cheek, opening a gash. Her face was numb from the cold and she felt only a sharp sting.

The
Seagull
was totally out of control, but the thing that was really terrifying was the loose mainsail, which swept back and forth with a crashing
whomp, whomp,
forcing them to duck and dodge so they would not be battered or knocked overboard.

Antonia bit her lips so she would not scream, but when the lightning hit the mast and they heard an ominous crack her mouth opened to let out the scream that built in her throat. The sailboat, completely unstable, heeled before the wind and the parallel waves until its rail was awash, then what each of them feared happened. The
Seagull
capsized.

In actuality everything must have happened in split seconds, but somehow Antonia’s perception was distorted. To her, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. She was almost sitting on the rail as it went down into the trough. Her eyes, now wide with panic, saw the mountainous wave rise above them, then come crashing down in a wall of icy water that forced her beneath the surface. She was being sucked down, down, and when she opened her eyes for a moment she learned the meaning of sea-green. Millions of tiny sea-green bubbles surrounded her and she was afraid they would get into her mouth and go up her nose. Then she realized they were coming out of her mouth and her nose and she realized it was her life’s breath leaving her body. When the bubbles stopped and her air was gone, her lungs felt as if they were about to burst.

Suddenly, like a cork, she was shooting up through the water. Everything stopped going slowly and accelerated to a dizzying speed. She whipped the wet hair from her eyes with numbed fingers, frantically searching for her brother
and the hull of the
Seagull.
She was attached by a safety line, but he was not. She saw him at the exact same moment that he spotted her and they stroked in unison to reach each other.

The twins stoically tried not to communicate their panic They had turned turtle once in calm seas just to prove they could right the
Seagull
and climb back aboard. Now, like two puppets, they desperately went through the motions necessary to get the sloop upright.

They both clung to the keel that stuck up from the water and tried to get a footing on the rail. Mercifully it rolled with their weight, and as the keel went under the water, they held it under with their feet and grasped the rail. Suddenly the keel broke away.

Antonia scrambled aboard to bail while Anthony stayed outside as counterbalance. When the boat began to right itself Anthony climbed aboard to help her bail. What was left of the
Seagull
was totally unstable. There was no time to talk, to pray, to think even, but when they found themselves back aboard they were both laughing and crying at the same time. They were soaked to the skin and cold to the bone. They were also hysterical and nearly mad with fear.

Another wave crashed across the deck. Antonia screamed, “Tony, hang on, where are you?”

Cold terror gripped her heart. “Tony! Tony! Tony!” she screamed over and over. She could see nothing but boiling seas. The visibility was almost nonexistent as gray rain slashed down in torrents. Antonia thought she would be able to spot her brother easily in his yellow oilskin, but she could not. A fear like she had never known in her life engulfed her. She did not fear for her own precarious safety, because her mind was totally focused on Anthony.

Lightning split the heavens with a blinding flash. Antonia smelled sulphur and knew that hell was close at hand. She saw the mast split and come down like a felled tree in the forest. She had forgotten she was tied to it. The next
thing she knew she was in the sea, gagging and retching on the saltwater she had swallowed.