Sandra Heath (19 page)

Kit turned quickly to Jane. “We’re wasting precious minutes, my love! With the snow so deep, she will have to leave soon if she is to be sure of reaching St. Tydfa’s in good time. We must follow. Maybe we can even find a way to use our powers not only to stop her, but to sink the
Légère
!”

Jane gathered her skirts to hurry to the door with him, but Henrietta called after them. “Wait! I want to come too!”

Kit shook his head. “No, Henrietta, it’s far too hazardous. Nothing can happen to us, but you could be harmed. Besides, if Amabel sees you, she will realize something is amiss.”

“I promise to keep well out of sight.”

“You’ll stay here,” he commanded. “Leave this to us. If we have the chance to do anything, we will. If, on the other hand, we only discover their intentions, we will relay any information to you. You may depend upon us.”

Her lips parted to argue, but then she acquiesced. “Very well, if that is what you wish.”

Without the formality of opening the door, the phantoms hurried away, and as soon as they’d gone Henrietta dressed in her warmest clothes, raised her cloak hood and hastened to the empty room from where she herself had been observed by Marcus. From the window she would be able to see Amabel going for a horse.

Marcus spoke suddenly from behind her. “Turn around very slowly or I will take great pleasure in squeezing this trigger.”

She turned in dismay and saw him leveling a pistol at her. His face changed as he realized who she was.
“Henrietta?
I
thought it was the intruder again!”

She glanced anxiously outside, but there was nothing to be seen. The kitchen garden was deserted and there was no sound from the stables.

“What are you looking at?” Marcus demanded, putting the pistol away and coming to join her.

She knew she had to confide in him. A little anyway, since she had no intention of mentioning the ghosts. “Marcus, it’s Amabel. She’s not only been trying to kill me, but is most probably the person who is signaling to the
Légère.
I believe she’s about to go to St. Tydfa’s to keep a rendezvous.”

He stared at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Never more so.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

“There’s no time to explain now, just believe that I’m telling the truth.”

“Why should I trust you?”

She flushed in the darkness. “Now is not the time to carp about the past, Marcus. You can think what you wish of me, for to be sure I will do the same of you, but since we’ve been thrust together now, I think it best if we call a truce for an hour or two,” she replied.

His gaze moved over her cloak and to the sturdy boots peeping from beneath the hem. “I take it you are intending to follow her?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t permit it.”

She raised her chin. “And how do you propose to prevent me? By locking me up?”

“Henrietta—”

“Don’t argue, Marcus, for I will not listen.” She looked out again and this time saw Amabel, cloaked and hooded, but still recognizable, hurrying toward the wicket gate. Jane and Kit were at her heels. “She’s leaving now!”

Suddenly he decided. “We’ll
both
follow her, and you can tell me all about it as we ride. I’ll just get my outdoor clothes.”

“Do hurry!”

“I will.”

Chapter Twenty

The night air was bitter and light snow began to fall as Marcus and Henrietta rode out beneath the archway to the cliff top. Snow lay so deeply that the horses could not move swiftly, but they had the comfort of knowing Amabel’s mount was similarly handicapped.

Marcus pressed Henrietta for more explanation, and she related a version of events that was entirely devoid of phantoms. It proved surprisingly easy. She told him how she had providently poured away a poisoned cup of chocolate, and had then nearly fallen asleep. She claimed to have sensed something sinister in Amabel’s attitude, and to have had the presence of mind to continue to feign sleep, so that Amabel, thinking her to be succumbing to the effects of curare, felt at liberty to taunt her with the full truth.

Marcus accepted what she said, for he could believe anything of the beautiful but deadly Amabel, from betrayal of her long friendship with Henrietta to the unbelievable callousness of letting Major Renchester take the blame for her actions, and then administering curare to kill him.

There was no sign of Amabel or the ghosts as Marcus and Henrietta left the cliff top and entered the woodland, where the trees were very still, and deep snow continued to crunch beneath the horses’ hooves. The icehouse was barely visible in the winter undergrowth, and when they reached the edge of the town, everything was silent except for the stirring of the horses in the livery stable as the two riders passed by.

St. Tydfa’s was barely visible against a leaden night sky. Amabel’s horse was tethered by the lych-gate, but of Amabel herself, or the ghosts, there was still no sign. The bay below was silent and mysterious, seeming to stretch into infinity, and Mulborough harbor was cloaked in darkness. Snowflakes brushed Henrietta’s face as she gazed up at the church tower. She half expected to see a light flashing, but there was nothing.

They dismounted well short of the church and left the horses in a field entrance, where a large holly tree afforded a little shelter. An owl hooted, and Marcus spoke softly. “I wonder if the Mulborough bogle is out and about tonight?”

“The bogle isn’t here anymore,” she replied without thinking.

He glanced curiously at her. “It’s only a legend. There aren’t really such things.”

That’s all you know, she thought.

He shivered. “Dear God, it’s getting colder by the minute. If this continues ...” He glanced back toward Mulborough.

“If this continues—what?” Henrietta prompted.

“The harbor has been known to freeze over. I was thinking of the
Avalon
.”

“I’m sure it will take much more than this.”

“Maybe, I just have a feeling ...”

Henrietta looked toward the church. “What shall we do? Wait here, or go up to the church?”

“If we go up to the church we risk being seen. Better to stay here, where the uncleared bushes offer some concealment if necessary.” He took out his pocket watch. “If two o’clock is the appointed hour, it is almost that now.” As he spoke, a light began to flicker in the church belfry.

Henrietta’s breath caught and she turned sharply to look out into the bay. Nothing happened, but then there came a faint flash about a quarter of a mile offshore.

“Well, it would seem the lady is indeed spying for the French,” Marcus said.

After a while the signals stopped. Time seemed to hang, and then a figure appeared in the church porch with a lantern. It was Amabel, and as she began to hurry down the church steps toward the lych-gate, she was followed by Jane and Kit, although only Henrietta knew they were there.

As anxious to keep out of the phantoms’ sight as well as Amabel’s, Henrietta ran to the nearby bushes with Marcus close behind. They ducked safely into hiding as Amabel emerged into the road. Stray snowflakes were illuminated by her lantern as she crossed to the very spot where they had been standing a moment before. She was too intent upon the bay to notice their footprints in the snow. Jane and Kit were at her shoulder, and Henrietta saw the grim expression on Kit’s face. She suddenly knew what he was thinking. Amabel was at the very edge of the cliff; all it would take was the swift use of his power, and just like the cup of poisoned chocolate, over she would go. But not yet, not yet, for the ghost wanted the
Légère
as well!

Amabel swung the lantern slowly from side to side. An answering light did the same in the bay, but from much closer than before. A boat was coming ashore! Amabel began to descend the old smuggling path, still holding the lantern up so that the approaching Frenchmen could see exactly where she was. Without hesitation, Jane and Kit followed her.

Marcus and Henrietta emerged from behind the bushes and went to look over the cliff. They could see Amabel’s lantern and hear small stones she dislodged as she descended.

“What now?” Henrietta whispered, pushing her hood back. Snowflakes touched her skin like tiny cold fingertips.

Marcus drew a long breath. “I’d dearly like to see and hear exactly what happens, but if we follow, she’ll hear us, and so will anyone she meets. I have no desire to confront a party of armed French cutthroats on a steep, narrow cliff path, have you?”

“Hardly.”

“So we remain here.”

“Marcus, we’ve come here on the spur of the moment, without any plan.”

“What plan is needed? Let us first see what unfolds.”

“But shouldn’t we at least alert the town?”

“And cause such a clamor that the French are warned? No, I think not,” he replied firmly.

“But—”

“Henrietta, please be calm. The French aren’t going to capture us.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He looked at her in the darkness. “Because we will hear them climbing up, and have sufficient time to get away.
Then
we can alert the town if necessary. Not that it will avail the French of much even if they succeed in reaching the icehouse, because the gold isn’t there anymore. Russell had it secretly moved to the abbey cellars late last night.”

“What made him do that?”

“A timely sixth sense, I suppose.”

“But Amabel was at the abbey, too, so surely she must know.”

“Amabel happened to be occupied with me at the time.”

Henrietta stiffened. “With you?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I see.” Fresh hurt struck through her.

“Do you?”

“I think so.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Oh, Henrietta Courtenay, what a suspicious mind you have. All we did was play billiards.”

She was suddenly vulnerable, doubting the ghosts’ reassurance that Amabel had pretended the entire affair with him. Maybe Russell had been right after all!

He felt the change in her. “Henrietta, if I say we were at billiards, you may be certain it is the truth, although why I should feel obliged to explain my actions to you, I really don’t know.”

“Is billiards all you’ve ever played with her, sir?” Henrietta couldn’t help the question.

“No, it isn’t, but that was in the past, before I met you, though I do not deny she has offered her favors since.”

“And you, being noble, refused?”

“Yes, as it happens, I did.” He was angry. “One thing is certain, madam, I should have taken
you
to my bed when I had the opportunity!”

“There was
never
an opportunity!” she breathed.

“Oh, yes, there was, and you know it.”

She gazed furiously at him. “You flatter yourself!”

His voice remained level and quiet. “And you delude yourself. Admit it, Henrietta, you were within a heartbeat of succumbing. Indeed you would have given your all if I had not been gentleman enough to call a halt.”

It was a truth that was painful enough to admit to herself, let alone be taunted with by him. “I despise you,” she muttered.

“Do so, madam, and content yourself with knowing that the virtue you would so gladly have surrendered in my embrace will now be given up to Sutherton instead! I hope the exchange proves worth the trouble, and that he doesn’t compare you unfavorably with dear Amabel!”

“Oh, how gallantly said, sirrah, how gallantly said,” she whispered.

Deploring himself, he looked away. Gallant? It had been as base as anything of which she’d accused him in the past.

She spoke again. “Well, it is of no consequence how low our opinions of each other may be, because in the morning I shall be leaving, and if good fortune smiles upon me, I shall never see you again.”

There was a sound from somewhere below on the cliff and the bitterness was temporarily set aside as they both looked over the edge. Through the scattering of snowflakes, they could see Amabel’s lantern, but only Henrietta saw the two ghosts caught in the swaying light. Jane and Kit knew nothing of the watchers at the cliff top, for their attention was solely upon Amabel and the approaching gig, which was now so close that the silhouettes of the rowers were revealed by the lantern held by a man at the stern. Amabel had almost reached the flat rock at the edge of the tiny inlet, with the ghosts close behind her, when suddenly the splash of the oars and the lap of the idle sea overwhelmed Jane. She halted at the very foot of the path and caught Kit’s arm. “I—I can’t go any further. I’m afraid.”

“My dearest, we’re ghosts now, and cannot be harmed. Besides, nothing can happen to us here on dry land.”

“The Goodwins seemed like dry land too.” Jane swallowed, recalling how everyone thought they had found salvation upon the hard golden sands that stretched for miles like an island. But then the tide turned, and the sands shook and turned to liquid as the sea roared fiercely in and engulfed them all.

Kit understood and drew her tenderly into his embrace. “We’ll observe from here,” he said gently.

Meanwhile Amabel had picked her way across the seaweed-strewn rocks to the water’s edge. She put her lantern down and waited as the gig glided the final yards. The man in the stern stood up. By the light of his lantern he was shown to be young, and very Gallic, with a patch over his left eye. His cloak parted a little, to reveal a uniform of sort beneath—a blue coat tied at the waist with a wide red sash. A cutlass hung at his hip. He called out softly, saying her name in the French way, with the emphasis on the last syllable.
“Amabelle?”

Amabel answered, also in French.
“Charles! Mon tout cher frère!”

At the top of the cliff, Henrietta’s lips parted. “Her
brother
? She said she’d lost touch with him!”

Marcus had been gazing at the man. “Well, she was hardly going to tell everyone he was captain of the
Légère,”
he murmured dryly.

“He’s the captain?”

“Yes. I once saw him only too clearly in the Caribbean. I’d know Charles Lyons anywhere.” He pronounced the name in French, as in the city.

“No one here had any idea who the
Légère’s
captain was. Maybe if we had . . . You see, Lyons was Amabel’s maiden name.” Henrietta used the English pronunciation of the name.