Moon Cutters (17 page)

So matter-of-fact, and without any pity for them at all. What kind of man was he?

Sir James usually had guests for dinner at the weekends. Tonight was no exception. There was a local corn merchant called Harold George, and his rather dull wife, and Sir James’s legal representative, Andrew Patterson and his wife, Mary, whom they’d met before.

They were assembled in the drawing room when a servant entered and whispered something to Sir James. He smiled. ‘Tell him to come in.’

Nothing could have surprised Miranda more than Fletcher’s entrance.

He wore a black evening suit over a burgundy-hued waistcoat threaded through with gold thread. A high-fastening shirt with bow completed his outfit and his dark, crisp curls sprang about his head. He was a handsome, strong-looking man.

Her body became aware of him, of the caress of his glance, the unruly curl of darkness against his ear lobe, the long sweep of his lashes on his lean and hungry-looking face. Desire tore through her like a flood, sending pulses of moisture to lap like an incoming tide at the secretive centre of her. She wanted to run to his side, throw herself into his arms, and kiss him over and over again. She nearly called out his name.

His glance ran over the assembly and then lingered on her for the moment it took for him to smile. He turned to Sir James and inclined his head slightly. ‘Uncle … you are well?’

‘As you see. To what do I owe this honour, Fletcher?’

‘I wanted to discuss business, but I see you are about to eat.’

‘You’ve always known the time we dine. In fact, I’d swear you were dressed for the occasion.’

‘I was hoping to be invited, since I haven’t tasted cooking as good as Nancy’s for quite some time.’

Sir James nodded to the servant. ‘Set another place for my nephew. You know almost everyone here, don’t you, Fletcher?’

‘He doesn’t know me,’ Lucy said and smiled at him. ‘How do you do, Mr Taunt. We have your portrait hanging on our bedroom wall, so I feel as though I know you. I’m Lucy Jarvis, and this is my sister, Miranda Jarvis.’

He took Lucy’s hand in his and kissed it.

Sir James said, ‘You’re supposed to wait to be introduced, Miss Lucy.’

Lucy giggled. ‘I know, but you were taking such a long time about it that I thought I’d help things along. That’s the first time anyone has kissed my hand, Mr Taunt. I shall write it into my story.’

‘Miss Jarvis.’ Fletcher’s mouth brushed lightly across Miranda’s knuckles and his eyes engaged hers. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I’d heard my uncle had house guests, so I found an excuse to come and see for myself.’

‘What excuse is that, Fletcher? Let me hear it.’

The air was suddenly charged with tension.

‘Can it not wait until we’re alone?’

‘I think not, since it seems to me that we’ve waited long enough. If we are to reconcile, we must make things clear on where we stand. I’m sure my guests won’t mind.’

Miranda wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she’d picked up that Sir James was out to humiliate Fletcher. ‘I think I’d rather not be a witness to this.’

‘I’d prefer you to stay, my dear, since it won’t take long.’

Fletcher drew in a deep breath. ‘Two years ago, we had an argument over the
Midnight Star
, which got out of hand. You accused me of cheating at cards, I recall. I was drunk at the time. If I did cheat, it was unintentional, and I’ve regretted the barrier between us ever since. For that I offer an apology.’

A man of pride and position who was able to offer a public apology with so much grace and aplomb was admirable. At that moment, Fletcher won both Miranda’s admiration and her heart.

Sir James patted his nephew on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps I was a little hasty at the time. We will sort this out privately between us a little later on and see what can be done to remove this barrier. Let’s go in for dinner now, lest the food spoil. Fletcher, you may escort Miss Lucy in.’

Miranda felt a moment of disappointment when she found herself seated as far away from Fletcher as she could be, though he was well in her line of sight. But perhaps it was just as well, she thought; otherwise she might give herself away. Just knowing he was near would make dinner an agony.

After a delicately flavoured leek soup, a saddle of lamb was served with roast turnips, potatoes, and peas with a delicious aroma of wild mint. There was a pudding of custard tart, served with strawberries and cream, and garnished with chocolate flakes.

The ladies were eager to gossip about Fletcher when they returned to the drawing room.

‘I’d forgotten how handsome Fletcher Taunt is,’ Mary Patterson said, claiming the earliest acquaintance. ‘He was such a flirt, and that hasn’t changed.’

‘And charming,’ Mrs George murmured. ‘What do you think, Miss Jarvis?’

‘Yes, I imagine he is, but we hardly spoke during dinner.’

‘Nevertheless, he couldn’t take his eyes from you.’

‘I don’t think that’s quite true; if so, I didn’t notice.’

Lucy offered, ‘He was charming to me. He told me my eyes were pretty, just like Miranda’s, and that made my face go all red. Then he said I needn’t worry about blushing because it happened to every young lady of my age, and when I’d grown up properly and was used to receiving compliments from men, it would stop. Of course, he was teasing, and that made me blush even more. But he was such fun.’

Mrs George engaged her eyes. ‘Do you really have his portrait on your bedroom wall, Miss Jarvis?’

‘Yes … but the room was used by Sir James’s sister, Elizabeth Taunt, and Mr Taunt is a child in it, though he seems to have changed very little.’

‘Ah … I see. Mr Taunt is very much like Sir James—’

The door opened and the men came in. Into the sudden silence, Sir James said, ‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’

‘I was just saying how alike you and Mr Taunt are. You look more like father and son than uncle and nephew,’ Mrs George twittered.

‘Which is a comparison made on previous occasions, Mrs George. There is more than a passing family resemblance, I admit. That would have come through my sister, unless you have another theory to explain it. Goodness knows, many have been bandied about. Isn’t that right, Fletcher?’

Mrs George lowered her glance to her hands and, sounding distressed, she murmured, ‘I meant no offence.’

Stepping forward, Fletcher relieved the tension by taking her hands in his. ‘No offence was taken, Mrs George. My father was the ne’er-do-well Adrian Taunt, who was killed abroad, I’m given to understand.’ Lowering his voice, he looked around and whispered loudly. ‘The family is littered with villains and my father is just one of them.’

Miranda stepped into the lighter mood he’d created. ‘Who are the others you mentioned? Yourself and Sir James excepting, of course, since it wouldn’t do to incriminate yourselves.’

That brought laughter from everyone, and it was Sir James who answered, ‘I think we’ll let sleeping dogs lie on that. Miss Jarvis, I hear you’ve been sketching flowers. Please fetch your sketching block so we can see them.’

Her heart sank. ‘I seem to have mislaid it … Besides, my sketches are not very accurate.’

Sir James beckoned to a servant. ‘Tell Mrs Pridie to go to Miss Jarvis’s room and look for her sketching block.’

Fletcher stopped the progress of the servant. ‘You might want to look on the hallstand first. I recall placing my hat on top of a sketching block.’

Within a short time, the servant came back with the block and handed it to Sir James.

Miranda sent Fletcher a smile that thanked him for getting her out of that particular hole. ‘You have sharp eyes, Mr Taunt. I seem to be getting absent-minded, and I’m certainly too embarrassed to show anyone my poor sketches.’

‘Nonsense,’ Sir James said, riffling through the pages. ‘This sketch of a briar rose is excellent. And, see, it has a message underneath on a ribbon … “Love never dies”. For whom was this sentimental message intended?’

It was intended for her, because Miranda hadn’t sketched the rose; Fletcher must have.

Now Fletcher gazed over his uncle’s shoulder and rescued her again. ‘That rose rambles over one of the graves, I believe. The message is inscribed on the headstone, so it must be intended for the person who occupies the grave, which isn’t named. It’s probably a woman buried there.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘The fact that there’s a rose planted on the grave. It’s a woman’s flower with a female name. And up to fairly recently, it’s been pruned regularly. Perhaps it was someone of Silas Asher’s acquaintance.’

Sir James threw a frown his way. ‘I must take a look at this grave and go through the family records. It’s more likely someone who disgraced the family and was punished in death by being buried unnamed.’

Lucy’s eyes were as round as saucers. ‘How wonderfully mysterious! You will tell me when you find out, won’t you, Sir James?’

‘You’re as curious as a cat sometimes, missy. One day that nose might get you into trouble.’

Lucy blushed at the mild reprimand and retreated to her chair.

‘There’s just one small mistake as far as I can see, Miss Jarvis; it’s the wrong time of year for roses to bloom.’

Fletcher took up her defence. ‘Miss Jarvis did say her sketches weren’t accurate. Obviously, she preferred the plant to look as though it were blooming. It’s a pretty little picture, Miss Jarvis.’

‘I appreciate your comments, Mr Taunt. Next time I draw, I’ll try to please others instead of myself, and be more accurate in my application of pencil to paper. Goodness, what a fuss about a small drawing. What will you make of my poppies, I wonder?’

His eyes engaged hers. Mischief danced in their depths like glimmers of sunshine on the surface of a mossy pool. ‘I imagine your poppies will be a delight, Miss Jarvis.’

Sir James smothered his laughter with his handkerchief.

Miranda only just managed to keep hers under control, but she wasn’t quite as successful with her blush.

The others crowded round to admire her work, and someone tickled the palm of her hand. She didn’t look to see who it was; she didn’t need to.

Sir James drew Lucy back into the fold by saying, ‘What are you going to entertain us with tonight, Miss Lucy?’

‘Some Mozart, I think.’

After the entertainment, the guests drifted off to their allotted rooms. They were staying the night and knew better than to linger when Sir James had already indicated he had business to attend to. Reconciliation seemed to be on the agenda.

Fletcher didn’t feel easy about it, as though his absence had created a divide between them that couldn’t be breached without a large dollop of hypocrisy to oil it.

Sir James poured them a brandy apiece, and they took a chair on either side of the fireplace and contemplated each other – just like they used to, for old habits died hard, Fletcher thought.

The clock ticked steadily, the leaping flames crackled in the fireplace and the shadows danced on the wall. The brandy was one to be appreciated, smooth when savoured against his tongue.

His uncle broke the silence. ‘Now, then, Fletcher, how shall we go about resolving our differences? Do you have anything to redeem yourself in my eyes after cheating me out of my half of the
Midnight Star
?’

‘I believe you agreed you may have been hasty over that.’

‘I’m willing to be convinced.’

‘I destroyed the note you signed that gave me your half of the ship in settlement of your gambling debt.’

‘I had no idea you’d done that. Why didn’t you tell me then?’

‘Because, in your usual bloody-minded way, you locked me out and sent me packing before I could tell you. The ship is still a company asset, and that company is in both our names. Moreover, the money your half of the ship has earned in the past two years is in a separate account in your name. You could have examined the books any time you wished by contacting Sir Oswald. What stopped you?’

‘The same issue that stopped you from contacting me; you call it bloody-mindedness and I call it pride. You made it perfectly clear the shipping business would be managed by you alone. I had no intention of going cap-in-hand to consult with Oswald, a man I dislike.’

‘But you said you didn’t want any part of managing it. The shipping company is doing well, and will do even better in the future. I’m proud of it.’

‘Very well, I’ll allow you that. Now about the Monksfoot Estate. You stole that from under my nose.’

‘I didn’t steal it. Silas said he’d never sell it to you. He was fond of the place, and he knew you’d pull it down. He seemed to have some sort of grudge against you, and suggested that he and I might be related.’

‘Did he, by God!’ James spluttered. ‘The arrogance of the man! You look nothing like him. You’re a Fenmore through and through.’

‘Didn’t the Taunt family have some hand in it?’

‘We’ve been through all this before. Let’s change the subject. What are your plans for Monksfoot?’

‘As well as the seaweed trade, I intend to run the estate as a farm.’

‘It’s good soil, I admit.’

‘Eventually, I’m going to put a stop to the illicit trading in smuggled goods. The authorities are strong now, and are backed up by the navy on occasion. It’s too close to home and only a matter of time before they catch up with us.’

‘Silas was always a bit flagrant about his business. He liked to flaunt it under the noses of the authorities.’

‘There have been running battles. I’ve got no desire to get a bullet in my back or dance a jig at the end of a rope. That tame customs man of yours has caused me some annoyance, boarding the
Midnight Star
. He’s already damaged some sails and the company’s reputation.’

‘It was not at my urging. Simon Bailey is a law unto himself. He’s a hard man to fathom. One day he’ll get a bullet in his back.’

‘Not from me. The shipping company is a legitimate business that fills both our coffers, and that ship is the only asset.’ Fletcher hesitated about mentioning the
Lady Miranda
, and decided not to – not until she was ready for sea and had a cargo lined up. ‘I’m worried Bailey will do something stupid that will jeopardize the lives of the crew. The last time he boarded, he held a gun to my head.’