Hope's Betrayal (7 page)

“Because,” Lady
Ryevale looked up sharply. “Because, Miss Tyler trusts me.”

“Cooper died. 
And unless I get answers, she will hang.” Why, oh why, was he the only person
trying to help?

“ I’m so sorry
Mr Cooper's dead, but Hope didn’t shoot him.”

“I know that,
but smuggling is a serious offence. Miss Tyler knew that when she got into the
boat that night.”

“Oh, but George,
the hardship that girl has endured—it’s heartbreaking.”

“She spun you a
story and you fell for it. Mother, you are too softhearted.”

Huntley felt
wretched as his mother withered. His nails bit into his palm and he felt weary
and helpless. This was his fault.  “I’m sorry, Mother. Miss Tyler should never
have been brought here. It was wrong of me.”

“Wrong? She
would have died in jail had it not been for you.”

Huntley glowered
at the starched tablecloth as if it was the most hateful thing in the world. 
“This has distressed you unnecessarily…”

But to Huntley’s
surprise, his mother's face brightened.

“George, I have
a solution.”

“Yes?” He
elected to humor his mother.

“Running the
house and the estate is such a drain, and with Dickens not getting any
younger…”

“I shall have
another word with Charles.”

“No dear, that
isn’t what I meant. Hope reads well and she's quick-witted…”

“No! No, I see
where you are going Mother, and it’s out of the question. Hope is a
felon."

"You are
the senior officer and haven't charged her yet."

"A mere
oversight."

"Did you
actually catch her with contraband?"

"No."

"So she
could have just gone for a boat ride that night?"

"Mother,
you are being ridiculous."

"But if she
stayed out of trouble? What if I offered her a position?"

"No! It's
out of the question.”

“Not even to
help me?”

“Miss Tyler
cannot remain here."

A vein ticked on
Huntley’s forehead; with Bennett’s accusation of his attraction to Hope ringing
in his head, this was unthinkable!

“Hear me out,
George. She’s had a harsh life. She needs help, not punishment. If I offered
her a position she could send money home to her family. Dilemma solved.” His
mother was not a woman easily deterred.

“Out of the
question.”

“Perhaps even
train her as my secretary…”

“What! Are you
insane? Have you any idea how that reflects on me?”

Lady Ryevale
crumpled," I don’t ask much of my boys. Goodness knows you have your own
lives to live. But just this once, I ask this one thing and you refuse.”

“I’m sorry,
Mother. I chose my words poorly, but it just can’t be.”

 Just don’t let
her start crying, Huntley prayed, as he stood and stiffly patted her shoulder.
She stared up at him with wide, disappointed eyes and he felt uncomfortable
with what he saw.

“I sometimes
wonder if you've lost sight of why you joined the Navy—to do right—to set an
example, but now you would hang a young woman to protect your pride. You never
used to be like this—once you would have stood up for what you thought…no
matter the cost.”

“Mother…”

“I had no idea
you could be so mean-spirited…”

“Mother,”
Huntley squatted down and reached for her hand. “You mistake my intentions. I'm
not going to let Hope swing—last night I had a battle royal with Bennett over
just this point. I think as you do, that Hope is not to blame, but poverty
drove her to it. As soon as she can walk, I’m taking Miss Tyler back to the Island, back home."

Pride shone from
her eyes. "That's my boy. I knew you had a soft spot for her."

Huntley groaned
and shook his head, wondering if there was anyone who hadn’t misunderstood his
motivation for helping Miss Tyler.

On an overcast
March morning with the tide on the rise, two figures made their way down to the
sea. The taller of the two, a man in naval uniform, strode on ahead; his companion,
a slight woman, walked with the aid of a crutch and limped some distance
behind.

Captain Huntley
reached the private jetty and turned to watch Miss Tyler's progress. He drummed
his fingers against the railing. Impatience was not his problem, but the urge
to help Hope as if she were a gentlewoman. But to offer her his arm was
unthinkable. If word got back to his men, his credibility would be destroyed.
So instead, Huntley set to inspecting the twelve-foot skiff riding lightly in
the water.

The boat dipped
beneath his weight as he jumped aboard, keeping his balance with ease. He let
out a breath, happy to be back on the water. Huntley glanced up; even at a
distance Hope looked so pale that it made his heart ache. After a month of good
food she was still painfully thin, her face all shadows and angles, with hollow
cheekbones and a pointed chin. Miss Tyler puzzled Huntley; scrawny as a stray
dog and yet she alone had the ability to make his pulse race.

He shook his
head and fell back to checking the ropes and tackle. Some minutes later, he
felt eyes on him and looked up to see Miss Tyler, watching warily from the
jetty. It occurred to him that having so recently been an invalid, even this
short walk had stretched her endurance and he felt hollow inside. Huntley
stared. Not even the borrowed dress and old woollen shawl could detract from
her lively green eyes. With her hair blowing in the wind and the defiant tilt
of her chin, she seemed the essence of a free spirit. His breath caught.

Hope nodded down
at the boat. "I'll need help."

"Pass the
crutch."

Stowing it in
the bottom of the skiff, he held out a hand to Miss Tyler. She shuffled to the
edge of the jetty. He saw her problem, to step into the boat meant putting
weight on the injured ankle.

"Place a
hand on each of my shoulders."

Tight-lipped,
she did as instructed. 

Reaching up, his
hands closed about her waist—such a tiny waist, lithe as a willow. Beneath his
touch she felt so vital and alive, like a force of nature in human form. She
leaned over the water and he swung her aboard.  Her hair brushed his cheek and
an agony of desire played across his skin. He caught her scent, a heady mix of
fresh air and salt, and he swallowed hard.

She weighed no
more than a cat and gently he set her down. They stood in each others arms,
neither letting go, on the pretext of keeping their balance. Lost in the opal
depths of her eyes, like staring into a clear sea on a sunny day, he felt her
tremble and her hands slid away from his shoulders.

"I'm fine
now, thank you."

 As if suddenly
finding himself holding hot coals, Huntley's hands flew away from her waist.

"Sit out of
the way."

She shuffled
along the hull and sat forward of the mast. Huntley cast off, and pushed the
boat away from the jetty.  Seated at the oars, he rowed away from the shallows
into deeper water. Then Huntley set the mainsail and let it to catch the wind.
With a satisfying thud, the canvas ballooned and the skiff skipped and jumped
forward.

 The bow sliced
smoothly through the water, the deck bobbing and bucking. It felt good to be at
sea once more and Huntley allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. They
followed the coastline towards Sandehope and then picked up the main channel.
From there it was a matter of bearing southeast across the Solent to the Isle of Wight. 

"Thank
you."

Absorbed by the
wind direction, Captain Huntley had almost forgotten his passenger.
"What's that?"

"You got
into trouble for helping me and I wanted to thank you."

Huntley's heart
pounded against his ribs; really, her tilted eyes were as changeable as the
sea—one moment translucent green, the next dark as a stormy sky.

"We're not
so different, you and I."

Huntley narrowed
his eyes. "I wouldn’t say that."

"We both
stand up for what we believe."

"With me on
the right side of the law and you on the wrong." 

She seemed not
to hear. “I couldn’t sit and do nothing while my family starve, and you can’t
bear injustice—even if that means breaking rules.”

The swell
increased, tugging at the tiller. The wind changed direction, causing the boom
to snap about. By the time Huntley corrected their course, Miss Tyler seemed to
have no further wish for conversation and sat with her head tipped back
savoring the breeze.

With her
attention elsewhere, Huntley studied Miss Tyler. She swayed from the hips,
riding the waves like a true sailor. With eyes closed and parted lips, her
tongue darted out to taste the salt water spray—a creature in her element. It
occurred to Huntley that whereas some women have a natural seat on a horse, Hope
was at home on the sea. The thought brought a lump to his throat.

Away from the
shelter of land, the sea breeze grew stronger. His mood lifted. Huntley loved
the freedom of the surging sea and racing wind, only there did he feel fully
alive. Nothing else stirred his blood in quite the same way—that was until he
met Hope Tyler. He grimaced.

But his
attention soon wandered back as she stared across the sea. Her hair in thick
tendrils down her neck and around her shoulders—so vibrant and alive. Huntley
shook his head, perhaps Bennett was right and he was blind to reason. But
whatever the truth, he hadn’t the appetite to snuff out such a life. And so
here they were—and he was glad. Except that his soul grew heavy, because to
justify her release, he'd had to set spies on Miss Tyler.

Huntley studied
the sky which was watery shades of grey. He frowned. Clouds blanketed the sun,
growing thicker by the minute as the weather closed in. A lone seagull bucked
and swooped, making for land. Out of nowhere a rain squall appeared, a curtain
of shimmering droplets bright in the air, then just as suddenly it stopped.
Huntley worked to recapture the breeze. Glancing around, he noticed Hope
staring at the pennant like a seasoned sailor. He smiled, she reminded him of
himself.

"Halfway
there." He called out, for no reason.

Behind them the
tree covered hills of the mainland had become an indistinct smudge, while some
distance ahead, chalky cliffs rose out of mist. Huntley stirred uneasily. With
each passing minute the Island grew less distinct as fog rolled off the island.
They were sailing into a bank of mist, a steadily thickening veil over the
land.

"Over
there." Hope pointed toward the distant ruin of St Helens church, the
whitewashed bell tower still visible on the cliff top. Huntley nodded and
adjusted their course.

The mist
thickened to fog. Such sea mists were notorious around the island. Nothing
could predict them, and they claimed many an unwary ship, smashed to pieces on
the rocks—the Islanders only too happy to salvage whatever harvest the sea
brought. He squinted, looking for landmarks as even St Helen's tower
disappeared. Fear squeezed his heart. The coast hereabouts shelved out for
miles, the flats and shallows notoriously treacherous, it took special
knowledge to navigate them blind. Knowledge he didn’t have.

"Damn."
He muttered. "We'll have to turnabout."

Hope's
disembodied voice penetrated the mist. "I can see us safely in."

"What?" 

"Tis no
great matter for me to see us into harbor."

"Ah!"
His laugh echoed in the fog. "I forgot you navigate these waters after
dark." The timbre of the sea changed as waves rolled across concealed
shallows.

"Do you
want my help, or not?"

Huntley weighed
the options. The Excise men still wanted to charge Miss Tyler, this was her one
and only chance to get away. Then came the sound of shingle close to hand,
rolling along the shoreline and he made up his mind. A squall caught the sail,
tilting the skiff to an alarming angle. Huntley pulled the boom around to
settle the shifting craft.

"Do
it." And added for his own benefit. "I'm as eager to be rid of you,
as you are to be gone."

"Then
again, we are of one mind." The boat rocked as Hope slid along the hull, a
ghost materialising by his side. "Give me the tiller. And when we land, I go
on alone."

Huntley caught
the flash of sea-green eyes and an iron band tightened around his chest.
"No. We agreed conditions. You are still in my custody."

He wondered if
she was thinking she could not outrun him, and it saddened him, that she had
not agreed out of honor.

"Very
well."

Hope tipped her
head toward the water, listening. As he watched, she scanned the waves for
hidden signs, and she altered course an inch at a time as if she was reading
the sea like a map. The sound of breaking waves grew louder. He gripped the
side of the boat, but Hope seemed perfectly calm.