when the enemy was expected to invade. Some had believed it was the first fire of the same revolution which had brought the Terror to France.
How Richard would hate and loathe such an outbreak in his own command. Would blame himself for not having been there when the seeds were sown.
A total responsibility. And a punishment to him, also.
Lafargue said, “Now, the other matter we discussed. The lease of the property has become available.” He watched her hand at her breast, the glittering pendant moving to betray the heightened pulse. “The owner of the lease, an earl impoverished by bad luck or over-confidence at the tables, was more than willing to exchange deeds. Expensive property, madam. And occupied.”
He knew; of course he knew. She said, “By Lady Bolitho.” She glanced down at the ruby ring on her hand, which he had given her in the church at Zennor on the day Valentine Keen had married Zenoria. It wrenched at her heart. They would all be waiting for her in Falmouth: the admiral’s lady, or whore, as the mood dictated. “It was my decision. I intend to lower the cost of the lease.” She looked up suddenly, and Lafargue saw the other woman in her eyes, the woman who had braved the sea in an open boat after shipwreck, who had captured the hearts of all who knew her. Now, in her face, he could see that everything he had heard of her was true.
She added, “And I intend that she shall know it!”
Lafargue rang a small bell, and his senior clerk, with one other, appeared as if by magic.
He stood up and watched Spicer preparing the documents, a fresh pen already placed by her hand. He looked at the ring, assessing the cost: it was of rubies and diamonds, like the pendant she wore, which was in the shape of a fan. He thought of his wife and wondered how, or even if, he would describe his day to her.
Spicer said, “Here and here, my lady.”
She signed her name quickly, recalling the small, untidy lawyer’s office in Truro, which had handled the Bolitho affairs for generations. Chairs filled with files and dog-eared documents, far too dusty to ever have been used. Not surprisingly, it had been the portly Yovell who had guided her there when she had told him what she had heard from Seville. From Spain, where she had left childhood behind.
Untidy, yes, but she had been received there as if she had always belonged. As John Allday would have described it, one of the family.
Lafargue said, “We are accustomed to such transactions, my lady. A head so beautiful should never be troubled by affairs of business.”
She looked up at him, and smiled. “Thank you, Sir Wilfred. I value your skills as a lawyer. Flattery I can have at any time from a Billingsgate porter!”
She stood, and waited while Lafargue took her hand, and after a small hesitation held it to his lips.
“It has been an honour, my lady.”
She nodded to the two clerks, and saw the smile on the impassive features of the one named Spicer. It was a day he would remember, for whatever reasons of his own.
Lafargue made a last attempt. “I noticed that you arrived in Lord Sillitoe’s carriage, my lady…” He almost flinched as the dark eyes turned toward him.
“How observant of you, Sir Wilfred.”
He walked beside her to the double doors. “An influential man.”
She regarded herself in a tall mirror in passing. Her next visit was to the Admiralty, and she wondered if Bethune would eventually tell her about the attack on York and the mutiny.
“With respect, my lady, I think that even Lord Sillitoe would regard you as a challenge.”
She faced the lawyer again, her heart suddenly heavy. Wanting not to be alone: wanting Bolitho, needing him.
“I have found that a challenge can so easily become an obstacle, Sir Wilfred. One which may need to be removed. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Back at his favourite window, Sir Wilfred Lafargue saw the liveried coachman hurry to open the carriage door for her. One of Sillitoe’s hard men, he thought, more like a prize-fighter than a servant. He saw her pause to watch a clutter of sparrows drinking from a horse-trough’s overflow. Distance hid her expression, but he knew she did not see or care for the passers-by who glanced at her.
He tried to arrange his impressions rationally, as he might marshal facts and arguments in a law suit, or with an opposing brief. But all he could find was envy.
The Old Hyperion inn at Fallowfield was crowded on this warm June evening, mostly with workers from the surrounding farms, enjoying the companionship of their friends after a long day in the fields. Some sat outside at the scrubbed trestle tables, and the air was so still that the smoke from their long pipes hung in an unmoving canopy. Even the banks of tall foxgloves barely quivered, and beyond the darkening trees the Helford River gleamed in the fading light like polished pewter.
Inside the inn every door and window stood open, but the older customers, as was their habit year round, gathered by the great fireplace, although it was empty but for a tub of flowers.
Unis Allday glanced from her parlour door and was satisfied with what she saw. Familiar faces, thatchers from Fallowfield, and the carpenter and his mate who were still working on the local church, where she and John Allday had been married. She repressed a sigh, and turned to the cot where their child, little Kate, lay sleeping. She touched the cot: another reminder of the big, shambling sailor who was so far away. He had even made the cot with his own hands.
She heard her brother, another John, laughing at something as he drew and carried tankards of ale. A one- legged former soldier of the 31st Foot, he lived in a tiny cottage nearby. Without his company and support, she didn’t know how she would have managed.
She had had no letter from Allday. Over four months had passed since he had walked through that door to take passage to Canada, with the admiral he served and loved like no other. Lady Catherine would be feeling much the same loneliness, she thought, with her own man on the other side of the ocean, even though she had travelled far and wide herself. Unis smiled. She had never been further than her native Devon before coming to live in Cornwall, and although she had settled in well, she knew that to the local people she would always be a foreigner. She had been attacked on the coast road on her way here, by men who had attempted to rob and assault her. John Allday had saved her that day. She could even talk about it now, but not to many. She touched some flowers on the table. The stillness, the warm, unmoving air was making her restless. If only he was back. She tested the idea. For good and always…
She looked once more at the sleeping child, and then walked out to join her brother.
He said, “Good business today, love. Picking up.” He watched an unwavering candle flame. “There’ll be a few ships’ masters cursing and swearing if they have to lie becalmed all night in Falmouth Bay. It’ll mean they’ll have to pay another day’s wages!”
She said, “What about the war, John? Out there, I mean.”
He said, “Soon be over, I expect. Once the Iron Duke forces the French to surrender, the Yankees’ll lose the stomach for a war on their own.”
“You do think that?” She remembered John Allday’s face when he had finally told her about his son, and how he had died in the fight with the Americans. Was it only last year? When he had come home and had taken their child, so tiny in his big hands, and she had told him she would not be able to carry another, would never give him another son.
His reply was still stark in her mind. She’ll do me fine. A son can break your heart. She had guessed then, but had said nothing until he was ready to tell her.
“Someone’s on the road.” He looked toward the window, and was not aware of the sudden fear in her eyes.
She heard the sound of a single horse, and saw the men around the empty grate pause in their conversation to stare at the open door. A horse usually meant authority out this way, so close to Rosemullion Head. The coastguard, or revenue men, or some of the dragoons from Truro, searching for deserters or hunting down footpads.
The horse clattered across the cobbles and they heard someone hurrying to assist the rider. Her brother said, “That’s Lady Catherine. I’d know her big mare anywhere.”
He smiled as his sister straightened her apron and her hair, as she always did.
“I’d heard she was back from London. Luke said he saw her.”
