Lord Deverill's Secret (13 page)

It was very different to the group of people who had attended Maria’s soirée. They had been comfortable people with incomes large enough to provide them with all the usual luxuries of life, but these people were the most fashionable members of society. Their carriages were the smartest money could buy, a number of them being emblazoned with coats of arms. The ladies were dressed in silk and satin and though their gowns were simple in style, with high waists and long, narrow skirts, they were adorned with the most exquisite lace. Silk parasols with long tassels, bonnets decorated with ribbons and feathers, and gloves dyed in every shade completed their outfits, making Cassandra and even Maria feel positively dowdy.

“I’ve never seen so many jewels,” said Maria to Cassandra in a hushed tone.

“No need to whisper. They can’t hear you,” said Harry jovially, but even he was impressed with their company.

“What a thing! To be invited to one of Lord Deverill’s picnics!” exclaimed Maria. “The weather is perfect. Just look at that sky.”

It was an azure blue, with a few fluffy white clouds to break the monotony. From out of it shone a hot sun, made bearable by a cooling breeze.

As they continued on their way. Cassandra’s eyes were drawn to the front of the pro cession, where Justin was riding alongside a carriage full of young ladies.

“The Pargeter girls,” said Maria, seeing the direction of her gaze. “There are five of them, all heiresses, and all very handsome. I wonder if Mr. Kingsley will be here today?” she asked, changing the subject. “He seemed very taken with you.”

“I have no desire to marry him, even if he asks me,” said Cassandra.

“No, Lord Armington would be the better match,” said Maria comfortably.

“My dear wife, I despair of you,” said Harry.

They followed the coast for some distance until they reached a sheltered stretch of beach some miles out of town. There were no bathers and no fishermen. They had it entirely to themselves. The sea swooshed as it rushed in, and then retreated with a hissing sound, whilst the gulls cried above.

The servants were soon setting up trestle tables and spreading out rugs and cushions. Cassandra, Maria and Harry walked down to the sea, breathing in the fresh, salty air. The two ladies twirled their parasols to keep the sun off their faces, and Harry picked up a pebble to skim. He threw it across the water and watched it bounce twice before sinking beneath the waves.

“I can do better than that,” he said.

He picked up another pebble then discarded it, at last choosing a smooth, flat stone. He rubbed his thumb over it, feeling its shape, then turned sideways to the waves and skimmed it across the sea. One, two, three, four times it bounced before disappearing from view.

“Much better,” said Harry.

He bent down for another stone.

Cassandra let her gaze wander over the other guests. There were some thirty people in the party altogether. Some strolled by the water’s edge, some sat and gossiped on the rugs, and some were with their children, who were playing at one side of the beach, watched over by nurses and governesses.

It was a peaceful scene, thought Cassandra. The sea was calm, and the ladies looked beautiful as they twirled their parasols to keep the sun off their faces. The gentlemen amused them with light-hearted conversation, and there was an air of bonhomie. The guests were in a mood to please and be pleased. The weather and setting had affected everyone’s spirits, and conversation seemed to be flowing easily. If not for the shadow hanging over her, she would have thought the day was perfect.

She glanced towards Justin, but he was busy playing host and she guessed that it would not be until after they had eaten that she would have an opportunity to talk to him. Until then she could not be easy. She was glad that Maria was in a mood to be garrulous, for she could not concentrate well enough to engage in conversation.

“Just wait until I tell Aunt Julia about this!” said Maria. “She will be unbearable. She will brag about it to all her friends. It’s so dull for her, living in the remoter reaches of the country, especially now that her hip is troubling her and she cannot get out as much as she used to. But this will enliven her. She has been wanting to find a way of paying Mrs. Jamieson out, ever since Mrs. Jamieson bragged that her niece once entertained a baronet to tea, and this news will be as good as a present for her.”

Cassandra let Maria’s words wash over her. Harry grew bored of skimming stones and they strolled along the beach before returning to the rest of the group.

To Cassandra’s relief, Lord Armington was not one of the party. She did not feel equal to conversing with him, or to fending off Maria’s knowing looks.

The footmen had been busy in their absence, covering the tables with white cloths and placing sparkling glasses and abundant silverware on them ready for use. The food was being laid out. Potted mushrooms, artichoke pies and venison pasties were set alongside roasted hams, juicy pheasants and plump capons. There were dishes of buttered crab, dressed lobster and potted shrimps, and potato pudding decorated with puffed pastry. Large pyramids of fruit were arranged as centrepieces and beside them was an array of desserts, with syllabubs, tarts, macaroons and jellies. But Cassandra had no appetite, and Maria’s exclamations passed her by.

“This was a splendid notion of Deverill’s,” said Harry, as they took their places on a large rug. It had been spread out over the beach and then softened with dozens of cushions.

Cassandra agreed.

“There’s nothing like eating out of doors,” said Maria.

They were joined on the rug by a number of other people, none of whom Cassandra knew. She pulled her thoughts away from Justin and joined in with the conversation.

“May I fetch you something?” asked a gallant young man by the name of Percy Spencer.

“Thank you. I think I’ll have a little of the artichoke pie.”

“And some capon?” he asked her. “They look very good.”

Cassandra thanked him again, and before long found herself with a plate of food on her lap and a glass of champagne in her hand.

“Delicious,” said Maria, eating daintily by her side.

Cassandra agreed, but in reality she had little appetite. She could not help her eyes straying to Justin. He was moving amongst his guests, making sure that everyone was comfortable and having an enjoyable time. He glanced at her only once, but then his attention was reclaimed by a dashing dowager.

As soon as she had finished eating, Cassandra declared her intention of taking a walk along the beach. Maria and Harry were feeling too lazy to walk, and Percy had struck up a conversation with another young gentleman, so Cassandra went down to the water’s edge by herself. She began to walk beside the sea. The sound of it was soothing. The waves played beside her, forcing her to step away when they came too high, and tempting her to go closer when they ran away, leaving seaweed and small stones in their wake. Ahead of her, a gull waddled across the beach, ducking its head every now and then to peck at something that attracted its attention.

As she went on, the noise of chatter and laughter died away behind her. She did not know how far she had gone until she looked back and found that she had walked round the headland. The picnickers were no longer in sight. She was reluctant to go back, but at the same time she knew she must. She was in danger, Justin had said, and she should not be alone.

She had just taken the first step back when a figure came into view. It was Justin. He continued to walk towards her and then stopped just in front of her.

“At last,” he said.

His words were so heartfelt that she knew he had been frustrated by their lack of opportunity to speak as much as she had. He offered her his arm but she declined. She was not sure of herself when she was touching him. Something about him sent her thoughts spiralling down new and uncertain channels, and she did not want the disturbing sensations to distract her.

They began to walk along the coast together.

“I have been trying to talk to you all day, but every time I thought I’d extricated myself, someone else claimed my attention,” he said.

“Yes. I saw.”

“But now we are alone, and at last we can talk.”

“Yes. We can.”

She stopped. He said nothing. Then she began. “You said yesterday that I was in danger,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “I think you are. Or perhaps it’s better to say that I think you might be in danger.”

“But I don’t understand. Why should I be in danger?” she asked. “Who could possibly want to hurt me?”

He stopped and looked out to sea. “There are some things it is better not to know,” he said. “It is better simply to know that you are in danger, and take precautions because of it.”

“You’re being very mysterious,” she said, stopping beside him.

He turned to face her. “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?”

“That I would like to protect you, if I can.”

She nodded. “You promised Rupert you’d do so.” She paused. “When I overheard you talking to Mr. Standish, you said you didn’t want to tell me about my danger because you didn’t want to destroy my peace of mind.”

“That’s true. I don’t.”

“But it has already been destroyed.” She met his gaze. “If someone is trying to harm me, then I need to know who it is, and why. It sounds absurd,” she went on, looking about her at the peaceful scene. “I cannot understand why anyone would want to do such a thing. I have no enemies. And yet I’ve had two…accidents, for want of a better word…and you must have some reason for believing them to be more than that.”

“Yes, I have.”

She searched his face.

“What ever it is, I need to know,” she said.

“Very well.”

“Does it have something to do with my brother?” she asked.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because he said he had done something terrible. I can find no trace of it, but I think you have been protecting me.” She saw by his face that what she had said was true. “If he had done something terrible, then it might explain why I am being attacked. Does it? Does it have something to do with Rupert?

He spoke reluctantly. “I believe so.”

“But why? Is it revenge? Did he harm someone, and are they now trying to harm me, as he has passed beyond their reach?”

“No. It is more complicated than that.”

He looked down at his boots. He did not want to say more, she could tell, but she had to know.

“I don’t know for sure, but I believe someone is trying to kill you because they think you know something that can harm them,” he said at last. “I think they suspect that Rupert told you something that would put them in danger.”

“What do you mean? What kind of thing? Was there foul play in a race, or something of that kind? Was someone spotted cheating at cards? Did they perhaps win a fortune, and fear that Rupert saw them cheating? Is that, in fact, why Rupert died?” she asked, as the thought hit her. “Did they kill him so that he could not tell anyone what he had seen?”

The thought seemed terrible. And yet, as she saw his swift glance out to sea, she realized the truth was worse. It did not have to do with racing and gambling: it had to do with something far more serious. She felt suddenly afraid. She followed his gaze and looked outwards, over the ocean. On the other side was France, a country that had recently torn itself apart with revolution, and which was now waging war with its neighbours.

“Does it have something to do with the war?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes, it does. Stop here, Cassandra. I would rather not tell you anything further.”

“I can’t stop. I have to know.”

He searched her eyes, then nodded. “Very well.”

He took something out of his pocket. He glanced at it and then handed it to her. She took it and looked at it. It was a print. In the centre of the picture was the English Channel, with France to the left of the picture and England to the right. Over the Channel flew a number of balloons, across it surged a fleet of rowing boats, and under it was a tunnel, with troops moving through it.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” he asked.

“Yes. I saw something similar when Rupert came home for a brief visit. He brought it with him. I asked him about it, but he said it was nothing. Just something he’d picked up at a fair.”

“It’s more than that. It’s a plan of action. Not in the details—without a way to steer them, balloons are no threat, and a tunnel under the sea is just a fantasy. But Napoleon’s built a fleet of ships, and last year he was ready to invade. Fortunately he did not manage it.”

“But you think he will try again?”

“Yes, I do. He has been distracted by other matters recently. There was a plot against his life, and after that he had his coronation to think of, but our intelligence tells us he’s still determined to go ahead.”

“But what has this to do with me?” she asked, handing the print back to him.

“Nothing, directly. But indirectly…”

“It had something to do with Rupert,” she said, looking at him for confirmation.

“Yes, it had.”

She felt the cold touch of dread. But she had come this far. She would see it through. She waited for him to continue. He did not seem to know how to do it. He walked away from her towards the sea. Then he turned round.

“Napoleon is determined to invade England if he can. But it won’t be easy for him. First of all he has to get his ships across the Channel. They’re unsuitable, and they won’t survive rough weather, but if luck is with him and the weather is fine then they might make the crossing. Then he will have to evade the navy. It’s unlikely, but again it’s possible. Then he will have to land. There are not many places along the coast that are suitable, and the likely spots are well guarded. Brighton has soldiers camped here, ready to fight any invasion. But if something happened to the soldiers, if their wine was drugged, or if their horses were stolen, or if there was an uprising inland that demanded their presence, or if the camp was set on fire, or if all those things happened together, then the French could land virtually unhindered.”

“But that wouldn’t be likely to happen—would it?” she asked.