The Miser's Sister (21 page)

“Yes, yes. Do you intend to stay there?”

“I was to go to Port Isaac, but in this case I think I had best stay in Boscastle.”

Sir John rose from his desk and paced up and down.

“I feel it is very remiss of me not to attend to the matter myself. I cannot like embroiling you in the affairs of the family.”

“Sir, I have embroiled myself. I had already intended to see Lord Penderric to ask for his sister’s hand in marriage.”

The baronet stopped pacing and looked hard at Oliver for a moment.

“I see,” he said abruptly, sitting down. “I had wondered if that were the way of things. Oliver, there is something I must tell you that I had thought never to divulge to a living soul, not even to the man Ruth will marry. I tell you for your father’s sake. I know not a word will pass these walls.”

Oliver waited in sudden, silent dread for Sir John’s words.

“My sister Millicent,” the older man began, “Ruth’s mother, was a girl of high principles. Her only fault was that her nature was too trusting. From that came her one mistake for which she spent the rest of her life atoning. She trusted the man she loved, a naval officer, and he betrayed her. He told her that he would take her to Plymouth to meet his family, and she went with him.

“I must shoulder a great part of the blame. She was only eighteen, ten years younger than I. I was her legal guardian, both our parents being dead, and already then I was much involved in politics. I should have found a gentlewoman to keep Millicent company, to teach her the way of the world and introduce her to society. I delayed until it was too late.

“It was two months before I found where she had gone. He had already abandoned her, and she was living in misery, expecting his child. My only consolation is that he was lost at sea shortly after.

“I found her a husband, God help me. Even then, Penderric would do anything for money. I sold our estate to pay him and have only recently made good that loss, thanks to your father, Oliver. Had I guessed how he would treat her, I’d not have let him have her if he had paid me the same sum. They were wed six months before Ruth was born.

“Ruth is my dear niece, but she is not a Penderric.”

Oliver rose to his feet and laughed in angry relief.

“Is that all?” he cried. “I should want Ruth if she were born of a whore in Tothill Fields! It is her I love, not her ancestry, and whether a faithless sailor is any worse than the Penderrics, I beg leave to doubt.”

Sir John had buried his face in his hands. Oliver took pity on him.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said in a calmer voice. “I was so very afraid that you were going to reveal some real obstacle to our marriage. Ruth has her mother’s trusting nature, but she has put her trust in me, and she will never be betrayed. Does she know this story?”

The baronet raised his head to show a ravaged face.

“No. I have told no one, and Penderric was sworn to secrecy. Twenty-six years ago, Cornwall was yet more remote than it is today, and no whisper of a rumour ever reached London.”

“After that time, who would remember? Ruth was born in wedlock. Everyone knows all Lady Oxford’s children have different fathers, yet all are received everywhere. How should it matter to me?”

“You will not tell her?”

“Sir John, I begin to think you have a poor opinion of me. A revelation of such a nature could do nothing but hurt her. If you think me such a villain, you had best forbid me to see Ruth ever again.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Sir John humbly. “My wits have gone astraying.”

“No, sir, it is I who must once more beg yours. It must have been excessively painful to speak of your sister’s unhappy fate, and I appreciate the kind thought which prompted you to enlighten me. Allow me to ring for some brandy to settle your nerves, and mine, too. We must decide just how we are to tell Ruth about the arrest of Captain Cleeve.”

Chapter 19

Ruth was finishing a late breakfast with Lady Pardoe and Rose, when Bartlett entered the morning room.

“Sir John Hadrick is here, my lady,” he announced, “and wishful to have a private word with Lady Ruth in the library.”

“Pray excuse me, Lady Pardoe.” Ruth wondered if her wish had come true and Oliver had spoken to her uncle instead of waiting to see Godfrey. When she entered the library and found Oliver there, too, she was momentarily certain that he had asked for her hand, then she saw that both gentlemen looked worried. Her uncle, in fact, did not appear to be at all well.

She hesitated on the threshold. Sir John, who seemed to have aged overnight, was huddled in a chair by the fire. He gestured to Oliver, who came and took her hand.

“Come and sit down, Ruth,” he said gently. “We have news for you, whether good or bad is hard to tell. You remember how in the cave at Boscastle the smuggler Jem referred to a Captain Cleeve, from whom he was taking orders? The captain has been taken up and is in gaol at Bodmin.”

“Surely that is good news? Why are you and my uncle so agitated?”

“Unfortunately, Mr Trevelyan has decided that your presence is necessary when the man is questioned. He wants you to travel to Cornwall and confront the villain.”

“It sounds like an unpleasant business, but I am not given to fainting when there is need for action, as you surely know, Oliver. If it is considered necessary, of course I will go.” Ruth was certain that he was concealing something from her. She had rather not meet Captain Cleeve, but this was no great calamity.

She was about to tax him with her suspicions, then realised that her uncle must also think it best to hide the full story from her.

“I know your spirit well,” Oliver was saying warmly. “And I shall be there to support you.”

Sir John rose and moved to sit beside her on the sofa.

“My dear,” he began apologetically, “I fear I cannot accompany you as I would wish. Important business keeps me in town. Oliver has kindly offered to escort you to Mr Trevelyan’s house, but if you feel unable to accept his offer, I can easily find someone else to take you.”

“Oh no, uncle, I shall be happy to travel with him.”

“I shall, of course, send a maid with you, as you have none of your own.”

“Surely that is not necessary, sir. I came all the way from Cornwall before without a maid. And I daresay the Trevelyans will not like to have an extra servant turn up.”

“Ruth, your sister was with you in December. I must insist that you take a maid.”

“We may send her home from Launceston,” suggested Oliver. “The stage runs regularly, and it is less then twenty miles from our destination so there can be no impropriety. I daresay it will not be difficult to hire a companion for the return journey.”

“I suppose that will be unexceptionable,” Sir John agreed dubiously. He straightened his shoulders in an evident effort to dismiss his fears and doubts. “Well, since that is settled, I will leave you both to make your preparations. I will send a maid over later, Ruth. I must get to the House at once.”

He kissed his niece’s cheek, and she was glad to see that he was once again his usual active, preoccupied self. In the end, the problems of the nation far outweighed his personal troubles, and thinking of her aunt, she knew why. It was a form of escape, just as Lord Theodore’s diplomatic career had been, if less obvious.

She bade her uncle farewell, thanking him for his concern, then turned to Oliver.

“I shall be able to watch Mr Polgarth’s departure!” she exclaimed gaily. “The captain chose just the right moment to get himself arrested.”

Oliver had to agree. He hoped that both the balloon flight and his sister’s rapidly approaching wedding would distract her from the dreadful revelations that awaited her in Cornwall. For a moment he wondered if it was right to conceal the worst from her. No, every day she passed in ignorance of the truth, or rather of Captain Cleeve’s allegations, was a day to be thankful for. He would break it to her gently before the confrontation, so that it would not be too shocking a surprise.

On Friday morning it was apparent that March had had enough of behaving like a lamb. Ruth, woken early, looked out at torrential rain; every now and then a gusty wind flung it clattering against the windowpane. Only urgent business could persuade anyone to travel in such a downpour. With a sigh, she supposed that her business was urgent, dressed quickly, and went downstairs.

Oliver was already eating, and wonder of wonders, Rose and her mother had dragged themselves from their beds to see the travellers off.

“Eat plenty,” urged Lady Pardoe, as Rose stifled a yawn. “It will fortify you against the weather, my dear. I hoped to persuade Oliver to put off your departure, but he says it is impossible.”

“Sorry to drag you out in a cloudburst, Ruth,” apologised Oliver cheerfully. Whatever awaited at their destination, he was looking forward to spending several days in her company, though he would gladly have dispensed with the maid. Sir John had sent a girl who had never been west of Hyde Park and was now sitting in the hall, moaning softly to herself about the horrors of going among “them savages.”

Oliver had hoped to complete the journey in three days, but it soon became obvious that it was out of the question. They started out on the Bristol road, making fairly good time. It was well kept, being one of the busiest routes in the kingdom, and the rain had not yet had time to undo the work of two weeks of sunshine.

They spent the first night in Hungerford and then turned south. It was still pouring without letup and the roads soon became a muddy quagmire. Two exhausting days brought them into Exeter on Sunday evening, with near sixty miles still to go.

Ruth had started out in fine spirits, but the weather and the company of the dismal maid oppressed her. As they drew nearer to Cornwall, she began to wonder what horrors Oliver and her uncle were concealing from her. Oliver’s efforts to cheer her up only made her more anxious and she started having nightmares about the unknown Captain Cleeve.

They left Exeter in drizzle. By the time they were well into Dartmoor there was blue sky ahead, and before too long the last clouds passed over and the sun set everything sparkling. The air was fresh and clear, there were lambs gamboling on unsteady legs, the world seemed newly created.

“Isn’t it extraordinary how the sun changes one’s outlook on life?” Ruth said to Oliver. “Only this morning I felt I had rather die than go any farther, and now I am ready for anything.”

Even the maid stopped grumbling. Very soon now she would be on a coach back to civilisation. A thousand guineas, she vowed, would not persuade her to leave London ever again.

Oliver and Ruth were glad to be rid of her. They left the chaise and the coachman at the Duke of Cornwall and hired a curricle to take them on to Boscastle.

Here, in the south, spring was firmly ensconced. The hedge-rows were full of flowers, and birds flew twittering from bush to bush, busily constructing their nests. Ruth knew all their names, learned at her mother’s knee and never forgotten, and she taught them to Oliver, pleased to find something she knew that he did not.

As they descended the hill into Boscastle, the sun was setting between the headlands. The channel was full of boats tacking seaward for the night’s fishing, and such an aura of peace hung over the village that it seemed incredible that they were so close to the smugglers’ sinister caves.

The Trevelyans welcomed them heartily. Ruth was taken upstairs to rest before dinner, and Oliver requested a private word with his host.

“I suppose Captain Cleeve has not recanted his accusations since you wrote, sir?” he asked hopefully, sipping at a glass of sherry.

“I fear not, Mr Pardoe. What a terrible business! I can scarcely credit it, but naturally I cannot ignore what he says. Is poor Lady Ruth greatly distressed?”

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about. Her uncle and I decided it was best not to reveal the whole, so all she knows is that Cleeve is caught. I should like to tell her the rest before she sees anyone, to prepare her. In the meantime, I hope you will be so good as not to let drop any hint.”

“Of course, of course, my dear sir. No one shall breathe a word. The business is set for Thursday, as we were not sure when you would arrive. Besides, young Robert is to make his ascension on Wednesday, which I would not miss for the world. I fear you will have to forgo your flight.”

“Yes, for my sister’s wedding if not for the villainous captain. However, I intend to go up while the balloon is still tethered. That is another thing I have not yet told Lady Ruth, for fear of worrying her. Nor my family, I might add.”

“How I wish I might join you in the basket! I promised Mrs Trevelyan I’d not climb in even on the ground.” The old gentleman sighed. “I expect you will want to help Polgarth with the preparations tomorrow, Mr Pardoe?”

“If you will not think it rude of me to go off. I think he is counting on my help to set up the apparatus. I should like to take Lady Ruth, too, if she wishes to come. She is interested in scientific experiments, and she is fond of Bob’s Auntie. By the way, do you happen to know Auntie’s real name, sir?”

Mr Trevelyan looked all around, put his finger to his lips, and beckoned Oliver closer.

“I took my oath years ago never to reveal it,” he whispered. “I only disclose it to you because I have the utmost faith in your discretion. Auntie was christened Hanoveria, in compliment to the Royal Family. Then she was of an age in Forty-five to form a romantic attachment for the Young Pretender, so you see
...
And what is more, her second name is Hephzibah, and her surname, Mudd.”

“Poor Auntie!”

“She was the eldest daughter, so she was generally Miss Mudd, but even that got to be too much for her.”

The two supposed gentlemen snickered quietly over their sherry for a few minutes, then went to change for dinner.

After the meal, Oliver had a word with Ruth.

“We shall see Captain Cleeve on Thursday,” he told her. “Put it out of your mind until then. I am driving over to Port Isaac tomorrow. Should you like to come with me?”

“Oh, yes. I must pay my respects to Auntie.”