Playing with Fire (15 page)

As he disappeared into the gloaming, Sir Julian winked at Ozzy. “Phew, that was close, eh, old chap? Reload in this light with my eyesight? Pigs will fly first. Come on, you are due some more cream for that truly splendid display of feline fortitude. Most impressive. Most impressive indeed.”

He turned to go back into the library, preceded by a highly delighted Ozzy, who knew the word
cream
when he heard it.

Fourteen days later, on a March morning suddenly darkened by fog, the
Lucina
inched toward Chelworth. Torches flared and smoked, and the sea was as smooth as a millpond as the ship’s boats hauled the frigate into the bay. At last the anchor was dropped, and preparations began to put ashore her injured officer and lady passengers, and their sea trunks and antiquities. Not forgetting one small tabby cat.

Further out to sea, the booming of warning guns could be heard from other vessels caught up in the sudden fog. The atmosphere was rather eerie, and not at all what Tansy would have wished for her arrival back in England. She shivered as she stood on deck with Amanda and Hermione. Cleo was in her arms, and a carrying box made by the ship’s carpenter was on the deck by her feet. It was complete with a sturdy handle and a lid that could be closed with hooks and eyes, so the cat couldn’t leap out from the launch and fall in the sea. For the moment, however, Tansy just wanted to cuddle her much-loved pet. The cat figurine from Tel el-Osorkon was in the inside pocket of her cloak. It was heavy and felt a little uncomfortable, but she had forgotten to pack it with her other things; indeed, she had almost forgotten it altogether, and had been obliged to hurry back to the great cabin for it.

In these chilly northern climes the three women were very well wrapped indeed. The cold of England was different from that of the Mediterranean, for it seemed to seep through to one’s very marrow. Nevertheless, she was glad to be home again—if Dorset could be termed home. Tansy had never been to the county before, having spent all her childhood and early youth in Northamptonshire. Uncle Julian had always paid visits to her, never the other way around, so Chelworth was unknown to her. Would it soon feel like home? “Oh, how I wish I knew the answer to that,” she whispered, raising Cleo to rest her cheek against the cat’s soft fur.

Another question to which she would have liked an answer was why she had to be so unfortunate as to fall in love with Martin, for whom that wonderful kiss was not even a memory. He had lost consciousness in her arms and had been carried back to his cabin. When next he awoke, Amanda’s name had again been first on his lips. The Church Mouse was of so little consequence that he didn’t seem to know she had remained at his bedside since boarding the
Lucina;
instead it was Amanda he credited with having nursed him. Of course, that artful madam now went out of her way to prove the point by spending as much time with him as she could. It really was second nature for her to inflict hurt upon Tansy, and she gleaned a great deal of spiteful delight from the knowledge that the Church Mouse cried about it in secret.

Tansy did all she could to hide her feelings, thinking it would help to bring the heartbreak more quickly to an end. She tried to tell herself that any man foolish enough to fall for Amanda was simply not worth bothering about, but it was one thing to think this, quite another to act upon it. First Lieutenant Martin Ballard
was
worth it. He was worth everything, everything in the world….

She was determined not to think about him as she gazed at the swirling vapor that now enveloped everything. The land was lost from view, but visibility had been good until the bank of fog rolled in so suddenly. Sir Julian’s Egyptian-style house overlooking the bay had reminded her so forcibly of Tel el-Osorkon that she felt an almost childish urge to rub her eyes and pinch herself to be sure of not dreaming. On the hilltop behind the house, piercing the skyline like a huge arrowhead, was the pyramid Martin had mentioned. It was a very dramatic sight. Everything about Chelworth was dramatic, and very, very beautiful.

Two teams of seamen had been alerted to lower the ship’s launch, which had been loaded with the sea chests and the first consignment of antiquities, including the intriguing slab of basalt. Martin was to be placed aboard on a stretcher before the launch was swung overboard, because he was far too frail to manage the rope ladder that everyone else would use.

Tansy heard voices and footsteps coming on deck from the wardroom, and turned to see two men carefully carrying Martin up from his cabin on the stretcher. His face was ashen and sculptured, seeming almost beautiful in its fragility, and his eyes were sunken and set in shadows. There was still a bandage around his forehead, he remained desperately weak, and he was much thinner, but at least he no longer slipped in and out of consciousness. He wore his uniform beneath a heavy naval greatcoat that hung against his body because he had lost so much weight. His tricorn hat rested beside him.

The launch still wasn’t quite ready, so the stretcher was laid carefully on the deck. Tansy saw how his hands trembled just from the effort of having been dressed. She wanted to go to him and put her arms around him, to make him believe he would get better, but she knew that was not possible. Besides, Amanda was ever vigilant.

In a rustle of costly cloak, her golden hair shining in the peculiar morning light, Tansy’s spiteful cousin rushed to kneel beside the stretcher. Her lovely face was so saintly with concern as she clasped his hand and gazed down into his eyes, that Tansy had to look away. Please let him see how false it all was!

Cleo stirred suddenly in Tansy’s arms. The cat had been staring toward the land, her ears pricked and alert as she heard a sound that was too faint for humans. A cat was calling, an uncanny, wavering cry that gradually became louder until everyone on the frigate could hear. The crew exchanged uneasy, superstitious glances, and even Tansy shuddered, but then Cleo responded. The tabby threw back her head and gave vent to an earsplitting yowl that made everyone start, especially Amanda, who jumped so much that with a squeal she lost her balance and toppled backward on the newly scrubbed deck. Her legs and petticoats were revealed to all and sundry, and the two sailors looking after Martin stepped hastily forward to assist her up again. It was all very undignified, and it quite ruined the image Amanda had conjured a moment or so before. Her face flushed crimson with mortification as she angrily shook herself from the sailors’ attentive hands and then made a silly fuss about straightening her clothes.

Tansy was secretly overjoyed and had to keep her head bowed to hide the broad grin that now lit her face. There was some justice after all! She could sense Hermione’s concealed mirth, although the chaperone was careful to keep her back toward her difficult charge. What Martin thought was anyone’s guess, for his face gave nothing away at all, but Tansy imagined he was filled with heartfelt sympathy for poor, sweet, kind, adorable Amanda.

Mr. Pettigrew deemed the launch to be ready and Martin’s stretcher was lifted into it. As soon as this had been accomplished, the order was given for the teams of seamen to haul upon their ropes. Another chantey was required as they slowly winched the heavy boat over the frigate’s gunwales, and then down to the smooth, gleaming water. The oarsmen swarmed down the rope ladder to take their places.

Tansy bent to put Cleo in the box, then closed the lid securely before allowing another seaman to take it down to the launch. Then she followed Amanda and Hermione to the ladder. Amanda, of course, made a great noise about having to clamber down something so precarious, nor did she like it that a common rating was assigned to assist her. She thought she should have had an officer at the very least, so she demanded to know why she too could not have gone in the launch. In vain did Mr. Pettigrew point out that it was always a risky business to have people in a boat that was being launched, and Captain Castleton was very set against it unless in exceptional circumstances. Martin’s injuries necessitated special consideration, but when the sea was as flat as a baby’s bath, a rope ladder was perfectly safe for everyone else, including ladies.

Amanda was not best pleased by the insultingly patient manner the boatswain adopted for his explanation, and she would have complained to the captain, except she knew Mr. Pettigrew had been too subtle for her to harbor any real hope of having him punished. As she stood in the swaying launch, debating whether or not to say anything more, her annoyance was heightened when the boatswain made a point of personally assisting Tansy and Hermione. How dared the others receive help from him, while the future Lady Sanderby only warranted the lowest ranking seaman of all!

So, just to be difficult, she sat down in the first available place in the launch, thus obliging Tansy and Hermione to clamber around her. Only when it was too late did she realize that this display of petulance meant that Tansy was able to sit next to Martin. So Amanda seethed silently, her back straight as a ramrod, her chin raised.

Martin smiled at Tansy. “I trust you will forgive me if I do not get up to greet you, as a gentleman should?”

“Of course I forgive you, Lieutenant,” she replied, then shifted awkwardly as the figurine dug into her a little.

“Is something wrong?” Martin asked.

“No, just uncomfortable,” she answered, taking out the figurine to show him.

“Is it part of the booty?”

“No, it’s what Amanda tripped on.” She told him about the incident. “I rather like it, so I’ve kept it ever since,” she finished.

He reached up to touch the cold bronze, and then they both gasped as a searing heat seemed to pass through it. Tansy’s fingers burned so much she almost dropped it, but then the heat seemed to settle to a comforting warmth. At least, it did to Martin; to Tansy the bronze was suddenly quite cold again, as she observed to him. “I really don’t understand why the bronze gets hot and then cold. It’s very odd.”

“Cold?” He touched it again, and felt its warmth stream into his fingers.

“Yes.” She regarded him. “Well, it’s cold now, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s very pleasantly warm; in fact it feels good. Almost restorative.”

“Really?” Quickly she pressed it into his hands. “Then you must have it. No, I insist, Lieutenant. Please keep it.”

Nothing more was said as the ropes were cast off and the launch pushed away from the ship. Soon the only sound was the gentle splash of the water and the rumble of the oarlocks. But as the launch glided through the fog toward the shore, Martin felt noticeably stronger than he had only minutes before. The heat from the figurine seemed to fill him, and the tiredness he felt now was more a comfortable need to sleep than the enervating lack of strength that had beset him before. And he had the most uncanny feeling that the figurine was vibrating slightly, for all the world as if it were purring….

* * * *

When Ozzy first started to call out on the terrace, the noise brought Sir Julian quickly out to see what was wrong. He found Ozzy again seated at the top of the steps, staring toward the fog-swathed bay. The tomcat had taken to sitting there recently, gazing out to sea as if waiting for something.

“What is it, old chap?” Sir Julian murmured, bending to stroke his pet. Then he straightened sharply as Cleo’s loud answering yowl carried up through the fog, closely followed by a woman’s squeal. Little realizing that the last was only Amanda sprawling unbecomingly on the deck of the
Lucina,
Sir Julian gasped. “Good heavens, is murder being done?”

Ozzy’s ears twitched, and he looked up at his master as if to chide him for being so foolish.

Sir Julian gazed down the hillside, and then thought he heard something. Yes, he could hear men singing as they lowered a boat from a larger vessel. Alarmed, he wondered if some particularly impudent smugglers were making use of the fog, or worse, if the French invasion had commenced at last! But then he realized that the chantey was not only very British, but was one associated with the Royal Navy. Curiosity got the better of him. “Come on, Ozymandias, let’s go down to investigate!” he declared, and set off down the steps.

Ozzy got up to stretch, then yawned and followed.

Sir Julian could hear the steady rhythm of oars as he reached the beach, and he strained to see through the fog. Ozzy sat at his side, his ears pricked attentively. At last a ghostly silhouette emerged, at first a pale indistinct gray, but gradually becoming more clear until both Sir Julian and the cat could see every detail of the naval launch as it glided toward them.

The man standing at the stern saw the figure on the beach and called a challenge. “This is Uriah Pettigrew, boatswain of His Majesty’s frigate
Lucina.
Identify yourself!” he called.

Sir Julian was taken aback. Identify himself on his own property? He’d be damned if he would!

“Your name, sir?” Mr. Pettigrew prompted.

“Sir Julian Richardson, owner of this land!” Sir Julian replied irritably.

Amanda stood up and waved excitedly, making the launch roll from side to side. “Uncle Julian? Oh, Uncle, it’s me, Amanda!” she cried.

“Amanda?” Sir Julian’s jaw dropped, for he had been awaiting word of his nieces’ whereabouts, and had expected to send his traveling carriage to collect them from one of the ports. Instead the navy had brought them to his very door! And they seemed to have sufficient baggage with them to provide for half a dozen women, he thought, observing the crates that were piled on the boat.

The seamen shipped the oars as the launch slid onto the sand; then some of them leaped out to haul the craft clear of the water. As they then prepared to help the three women, Mr. Pettigrew jumped down and strode toward Sir Julian. He was passed in the other direction by Ozzy, who rushed toward the launch with almost indecent haste. The tomcat was mewing excitedly, and his calls were being answered with equal excitement from Tansy’s box.