Hope's Betrayal (32 page)

“Hope?”

In joyful
disbelief he watched as she choked and spluttered.

“Thank you!
Thank you!”

Her weak smile
was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen and he felt like whooping at the heavens.
Tearing off a piece of his shirt, he wiped the water from her eyes, nose and
lips.

“That doesn’t
help,” she whispered, as he leaned closer to catch her words, “it’s too wet to
dry me.”

“My love, my
treasure.” In a great release of emotion George sobbed, his tears mingling with
the salt water and he cradled her head in his lap. Rocking her gently, he
stroked the hair back from her face, picked up her hands and chafed them
between his own, trying to rub warmth into her.

But his relief
was short-lived as she started to shiver, trembling from head to toe, her skin
as waxen as death in the moonlight. George looked around in desperation. His
own clothing was sodden and no use for keeping her warm. His gaze fell on
Choake.

“I’ll be back.”
With a growl he stood.

Dragging his
injured leg, George crossed the beach. The prone figure lay stretched out where
he'd fallen. With a derisory poke of his toe, George turned the body over.
Choake moaned.

“Hm.” George
considered what to do. The overwhelming temptation was to retrieve the blade
and plunge it deep into Choake’s still beating heart.

 “I’m not going
to let you off that easily.”

 With grim
satisfaction, George decided to strip Choake of his outer clothes and tie him
up. This time there would be no escape for the prisoner, this man would stand
trial and pay the price of his crimes.

Using the same
rope which had bound Hope, George trussed Choake’s hands and feet together and
dragged him up onto the beach to watch him. Choake seemed stunned, barely
protesting except for the odd guttural groan as George manhandled him.

He returned to
Hope. She had moved a short distance to the base of the cliff, trying to stay
out of the wind by sheltering in a shallow gully. She sat with her arms wrapped
around her knees, and George could hear her teeth shattering several feet away.
Her sodden clothing plastered against her body made her seem fragile.

He stooped down
beside her. “Here, take off your wet things and put this on.” She nodded, but
her hands were too numb to work. Between the two of them they half-ripped,
half-dragged off  the waterlogged walking dress and shrugged on Choake’s thick
outer coat. Exhausted by the effort, they both sat panting. The garment swamped
Hope as she curled up inside it.

“Here,” she said
through chattering teeth and lifted up her arm, like a mother swan lifting her
wing “You too.”

With a nod,
George sat as Hope spread the coat around them both. Huddled together for
mutual warmth, George put his arm around Hope. She leaned her head against his
shoulder, her body reverberating with shivers.

“What now?” She
asked.

George
considered the answer. With Hope barely able to stand, and his leg near
useless, the path up the cliff seemed an insurmountable hurdle.

“We wait.”

Hope grew still.
“For what?”

“Your brother
Thomas. He’s gone to the Excise men, told them to launch a boat.”

They lapsed into
silence. Too tired for talk, huddled together listening to the shush of the
waves, the screech of gulls and Choake’s groans as he regained consciousness.

Warmed by each
other’s heat, the feeling started to return to aching limbs. Pins and needles
shimmied through Huntley’s hands as he clasped and unclasped them.

“Hope?” Her head
was heavy on his shoulder. With alarm he wondered if she was asleep or
unconscious. Sleep was too dangerous, she might never wake up. His numb hands
felt for hers and chafed them.

“Hope, can you
hear me?”

No response. He
shook her shoulders—her head lolled like a ragdoll.

“Hope, wake up!
Do you hear me? Wake up now.”

He took her by
the shoulders and shook. With a jerk, her head came up.

“What’s the
matter?” Her words slurred.

“Hope, you must
stay awake.”

“Very tired.”
She smiled dreamily.

“No!” he
snapped. “No, stay with me Hope, don’t sleep.”

“So sleepy.” She
licked her lips in the preamble to sleep, her eyelids closing softly. “Talk to
me.” She mumbled.

Huntley cast
around for a suitable subject, there was so much he wanted to say that the
words came tumbling out.

“Hope Tyler, I
love you and always have. That first night, I went chasing after you across the
dunes…it was our destiny.”

“But you hated
me then. Couldn’t look at me.”

“You’re wrong. I
hated what you represented. I hated the injustice you made me face. That the
government I serve…had got things wrong.”

“Hmmm, still
sleepy.” She snuggled against his arm.

“Hope, stay
awake.” He pushed her away, forcing her to sit upright, only she started to
slump backward until he held her in his arms. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t
serve both things—duty to country and love for you. They were at odds—that’s
why I couldn’t admit my feelings for you.”

Her head fell
against his shoulder. Huntley felt a sob rising within him, as reaching across,
he cradled her chin, in the darkness angling her jaw the better to find her
lips.

“Hope, I love
you—mind, body and soul. There is more goodness in your little finger, than in
the whole of my being. I cannot live without you and I wish, more than
anything, you would be my wife.”

Huntley grew
still as he listened for her breathing, he felt her move, turn toward him.

“In time, you
would see the woman who took the Navy away. You would resent me…”

“No, no I could
never do that. Oh Hope, my naval days are over. I see that now.”

“So I am the
consolation prize? It can never work.”

“I decided weeks
ago that I’d had enough. Call it growing up if you like. It’s time I turned
closer to home. Dickens is old and The Grange needs a manager. It’s time I came
home. And I want you by my side.”

“I don’t know.”

“ Do you deny
that you love me?”

There was a long
silence before Hope answered. “I love you more than my own life, which is why I
have to think.”

“Then don’t
answer me now—take your time.”

Even in the
darkness he was drawn to her. His lips found hers. The shock of the cold made
him jump and yet after that initial contact, she pressed eagerly against him.

His tongue swept
the softness of her lower lip as she welcomed his kiss. A tumult of emotions
eddied inside him, from joy to despair, and elation to confusion.

“The one thing I
would say.”

“Yes?” Huntley
hung on her every word.

“I hope Thomas
brings help soon, it's bloody freezing.”

Two days later,
in a parlor at The Grange, two figures sat either side of a blazing hearth,
tartan blankets pulled over their knees.

"I don’t
think I'll ever be warm again." Hope extended her hands towards the
flames. Across the hearth rug, Huntley sneezed and clutched his strapped ribs.

"Bless you,
Captain."

"Thank
you." He sneezed again.

"I'd swear
there are bumps on my goosebumps."

"Shall I
ring for the maid to bank the fire?"

"No, that's
not necessary, thank you."

They lapsed into
companionable silence. Indeed, to the casual observer, their demeanor might
have been that of an old married couple, but on closer scrutiny it was only the
rugs and huddled postures that aged them.

Hope tucked the
blanket more securely around her feet and glanced at the Captain. He was a
reluctant invalid, and it was only when she threatened to do as he did, he
agreed to stay home in the warm. Fortunately, apart from nasty colds, Huntley's
cracked ribs, and Hope's chafed wrists, neither had suffered permanent injury.

In no small
part, they owed their ultimate rescue to Tom, who had ridden like the devil was
on his back to rouse the Custom Office. Any disbelief Bennett might have
harbored was dispeled when he saw Nero, Huntley's mount, blowing heavily
outside. A boat was readied and crew assembled, and although Bennett was in
nominal charge, it was Tom with his smuggler's knowledge, who found the hidden
coves in the dark, and coordinated the search.

For her part,
Hope's memories after the descent into the cove were snatched impressions. She
remembered remonstrating with Choake and being tied to the tree, but after
that, nothing but fighting off unconsciousness and water filling her lungs. She
vaguely recalled waking to a sense of contentment at being held by Huntley, who
whispered wonderful things which made her glow inside—if only she could
remember what he'd said.

 Hope sat
staring at the flames. Seeing Huntley with a rug tucked up beneath his armpits,
dozing with an open mouth, touched her more than she cared to admit. When she
thought of Huntley's generosity of late, she wanted to cry. Her father had
indeed been badly beaten by one of Choake's hired thugs, but Huntley had
arranged a surgeon to attend him, and once her father was well enough to travel
he was to be brought to The Grange. Hope appreciated how much that cost
Huntley, that any chance of a career was gone, and it humbled her that he would
do that for her. She must have been dozing, because on the edge of her
consciousness, a door creaked open. A man cleared his throat. Hope blinked and
shook herself awake. 

“Captain
Huntley. Miss Tyler”

Huntley
struggled upright in his seat, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Ah,
Bennett." He made to get up and Hope's hands gripped the rug. Being around
a Custom’s officer took some getting used to.

"Stay where
you are, sir. I just came to update you on Choake. But firstly, how are you
both?"

“Right as
nine-pence,” Huntley glowered, “That’s why I’m tucked up like I’m in my
dotage.”

“Ignore him,
Officer, he’s just sore because I refused to stay warm unless he did.”

Bennett pulled
at his collar. “Well, it is rather hot in here, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“That,” Huntley
grinned, “is on account of you not having being immersed in seawater in the
middle of winter. I assure you, if that had that been the case, you would find
the fires of Hell quite chilly.”

“Oh, quite so,
Captain.” 

Huntley settled
back into his chair.

“How fairs he?”
Huntley asked, between sneezes.

“He’ll live long
enough to face justice.”

“Thank heavens
for that.” Huntley nodded with grim satisfaction.

Hope screwed up
her courage. “And me? Are you going to arrest me?”

Bennett looked
nonplussed. “I’m not sure I understand, Miss Tyler.”

“In my past I
did wrong, as I’m sure Choake will testify. My father worked for his gang, and
I helped my father.  I too should face justice.”

Bennett
exchanged glances with Huntley and started pacing. “The way I see it, you have
reaped a form a natural justice with what you suffered at Choake’s hand. I
would say what’s in the past is gone, and best left there.”

“That’s excellent
news.” Huntley sniffed into a silk handkerchief, one of many on a side table at
his elbow.

Hope swallowed
hard. Could it be true that the shadow was gone at last? On her honor, if
spared the gallows, she would find a way to look after her father and earn an
honest living. It would be hard, but she loved Huntley enough to let him go—she
refused to let the stain on her character ruin his prospects. Misery engulfed
her and yet she hid it, unsure if she had the strength to resist Huntley's
persuasion.

“Anyhow, I
nearly forgot the other purpose for my visit.” A sheen of sweat shone on
Bennett’s forehead and he fanned himself discretely.

“Which is?”

“It has come to
my attention you have resigned your Naval commission.”

Hope gasped. “Is
this true?”

“Yes, it’s
true.” Huntley nodded.

“But why?”

“Any number of
reasons, among which is that with a damaged leg, I would be a hazard to others
at sea.”

Hope felt like a
condemned woman, waiting for him to cite her part in ruining his career. But
when he continued, she couldn’t have been more surprised.

“And also
because I’ve grown up. There is so much adventure around here of late, I hardly
see the need to seek it out.”

“Which brings me
around to my proposition.”

“You’re talking
in riddles, Bennett, spit it out.”

“Well, it’s like
this, Captain. We reckon a firm hand is needed to keep order along this part of
the coast. If you were available, then it would be grand to have you on board
at the  Excise Office”