Trevennor’s Will, page 6
Isabel longed to sleep but fought her fatigue to stay alert. She did not want her wits dulled. Nick was taking long fast strides and she was jolted continually against his chest. She wondered if he found her heavy, but if he did she did not care. It was his fault she had fallen and he had no right to take her on such an arduous journey in the first place. There must be an easier, more comfortable way of giving her his protection and keeping her out of sight of other people.
Ten minutes had passed when he stopped walking and put her carefully down on her feet, holding her until he was sure she was steady. They were very close to the edge of the cliff. Far, far below, Isabel saw a small sandy beach where two massive slaty rocks stood side by side like the walls of a semi-demolished house. A channel of raging sea surged in and out between them. One rock was attached to the main cliff wall, the other was topped with a jagged edge. Isabel had a fearful image of a luckless person plunging down and being impaled there.
‘Is it down there?’ she gulped nervously. ‘Where you want us to climb down?’
‘About halfway down, but ’tis a brave drop,’ Nick replied, for the first time making a point of looking at her when he spoke to her.
‘I’m frightened,’ she admitted in a small voice.
‘There’s no need to be. ’Tis risky but not dangerous if you know what you’re doing.’
‘But I don’t know what I’m doing and it’s nearly dark,’ she said desperately. ‘Oh, please, please, can we go somewhere else?’
Nick took her arm and guided her several feet away from the cliff edge. He heard her long deep sigh of relief.
‘See there?’ He pointed to a deep depression in the scrubby ground. ‘If you don’t know the cliffs as we locals do you would plunge to your death walking over that. The gorse and rough grass have grown over the shaft of a disused copper mine. That’s how we’re going down to the cave.’
‘You mean we don’t have to climb down the cliff? We can arrive at this cave by climbing down a disused mine shaft?’
‘Aye, it’ll give us shelter for the night.’
‘But isn’t it just as dangerous?’ Isabel felt the jitters bite at her insides again.
‘’Tis easy as hell,’ Nick assured her grimly. ‘We’re going to climb down inside the cliff to the cave. The cave has always been there, the miners tunnelled out from the shaft to meet it to provide ventilation. It’s been used as a smugglers’ hide ever since, even when the mine was a working concern. The goods are landed by rowing boats that meet a ship out in deeper waters. Then they’re unloaded on the beach and hauled up on ropes into the cave, which is roughly halfway down the cliff. The goods remain dry, hidden and safe until they can be brought up the shaft.’
‘That’s incredible,’ Isabel said, impressed. She knew about smuggling – it was every other Cornishman’s second occupation – but she had no idea it was so well organized.
‘’Tis a welcome place for us to sleep in tonight,’ Nick said.
A sudden thought seized Isabel. ‘You don’t mean to keep me down there until Richard arrives back in Cornwall, do you?’
‘Who’s Richard?’ Nick asked, without real interest, as he crouched himself down to light the lantern he had taken out of the canvas bag.
‘Captain Richard Grenville, my fiancé.’
‘No,’ Nick answered. ‘The cave will be used long before that happens, there’s a good deal of free trading going on along this stretch of the coast. And how you do forget. I’m taking you to Crantock, remember?’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She hated the way she appeared to be so foolish before this uncompromising man.
With the lantern lit, Nick pulled aside a huge mat of gorse to reveal a gaping black hole. Just visible below its rim were the top rungs of the first of many wooden ladders that went down and down.
‘I’ll go first and light the way. You’ll be quite safe if you hold on tightly. The ladders are kept in good repair. Take each step slowly and don’t look down.’
Another fear beset Isabel and she clutched Nick’s shoulder. ‘What if there are smugglers down there now? What if someone wants to smuggle something in tonight? I’ve heard they do not like to be disturbed or recognized.’
Nick pushed her hand away. ‘’Tis not likely. Charlie knew of no run coming in tonight and even if there is, they’ll know me.’
He turned and lowered himself into the hole until his feet located a rung. He climbed down until only his head and shoulders were visible. Then he called for Isabel to follow him.
She glanced around the cliff scenery. The sky was dark blue with only a strip of light on the horizon over the sea. She felt as if she was about to volunteer her early presence to her tomb. Taking a deep, deep breath, she turned as Nick had done, lowered herself onto her knees and, clutching at the harsh grass, fearfully let a foot down inside the shaft. When it made contact with a rung, Nick called to her that she was doing well and to try the next foot. Although her heart seemed to be in her mouth, she knew there was no room for argument, nowhere else to go. She obeyed and shakily made a few steps down until her hands were gripping the top rung of the ladder. Nick had not moved and she felt a little safer to be cocooned by his body and have the lantern level with her face.
In this way they climbed down and down and down, stopping often to rest so Isabel could keep a firm grip on the ladder and not tire out. Exertion and fear of falling brought her out in a cold sweat. Nick was impressed by her courage and made every effort to make the long descent easier and less frightening for her. He had assumed he would have to bully her down; in fact, having seen men run away in pure fear of the terrible depths and the blackness of the underground, he had thought he might even have to knock her out and carry her down unconscious.
After what seemed like an eternity consisting of thousands of rungs, Nick stopped and spoke quietly so as not to startle her into a precarious movement. ‘Look over to your left and you’ll see a wooden platform jutting out from the rock. It leads straight to the cave. I want you to move your body across and step onto it. Don’t worry, I’ll hold you so you won’t fall backwards. First, put both your hands on the side of the ladder. Can you do that?’
Isabel nodded. By now she was so fatigued, her head so light she felt as though she was in a weird dream. Instinct alone took over and told her if she obeyed this strong male voice behind her head she would soon be on firm ground again, safe and able to sleep. How she longed for precious, dark, silent sleep. Very slowly she edged her taut hands across the rung she was gripping and transferred them to the side of the ladder.
‘Good, good,’ Nick encouraged her. ‘There’s a hook just here which I’m going to hang the lantern on and I’m going to put my arm round your waist. I want you to reach out with your left foot and step onto the platform then move your other foot beside it. I’ll hold you tightly while you swing across and you’ll only have to walk forward and be perfectly safe. You have nothing to fear. I won’t let you fall.’ In any other circumstances but these Isabel would have been petrified or become hysterical. But she trusted the husky voice and did as Nick told her. An instant later she was walking into the cave after passing through a few feet of low tunnel, with Nick behind her lighting the way. The cave’s mouth was a roughly circular hole about five feet in diameter through which a bitterly cold draught poured and chilled her to the marrow. Isabel was disappointed that the wide expanse of the cave’s belly was empty; she had expected to see tubs of rum and brandy and bales of silk, and hopefully warm blankets to wrap herself up in for the sleep she wanted so desperately. The roof of the cave was a bare inch above Nick’s head.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘there’s a turn to the right along here where we can get out of the cold wind.’ He held the lantern high and led the way.
‘Do you know this cave well?’ Isabel asked, her eyes rooted to the uneven ground lest she trip. ‘Do you take part in this smuggling business?’
‘Nothing that I’d admit to,’ he answered gruffly. The turning led to an area that showed signs of use: coils of thick rope so high and wide they could be sat on, tarred torches set high in nooks and crannies of the walls, empty wooden crates, a discarded broken clay pipe and a piece of a man’s scarf. Isabel sat down wearily on one of the crates and rearranged the shawl so the cold wet part that had fallen into the stream was not touching her arm. The muscles at the top of her legs ached and twitched wildly. On her face she felt a welcome heat and a prickly tingling feeling from the barrage of the wind. Her heart thumped in her chest and pounded in her ears.
Nick, too, was relieved the climb down the ladders was over. He had lied about it being easy. It was a long way down and certain death if you fell; he had seen more than one man plunge to his doom, left at the bottom of the shaft to rot, during the occupation of a smuggling run. Now they were safely in the cave he realised it would have been foolhardy to have attempted to carry Isabel down if she had refused to cooperate. He wiped the sweat from his face and put his bag and the lantern on the crate next to Isabel. He lit two of the torches and blew the lantern out.
‘You hungry?’ he said, over Isabel’s bowed head.
She looked up and thought he was actually smiling at her. She blinked and his face was as stern as ever. His question made her realize she was very hungry.
‘Yes, I am,’ she replied softly.
‘Charlie put some food in my bag for us. Don’t know what it’s like though; his wife was a good cook and always insisted on filling my pockets with hunks of bread and hevva cake. He doesn’t do any baking but has kept up his wife’s habit of giving me food when I call on him. I’ll get us something else in Portreath tomorrow.’
‘Anything would be welcome at this moment,’ Isabel said truthfully.
‘You may not say that when you see what it is,’ Nick said, remembering the piece of stinking mackerel Charlie had offered him. He unstrapped the bag and put his hand inside and pulled out a large packet wrapped in a red handkerchief. ‘Hope this is clean,’ he said doubtfully, unwrapping the cloth, then, ‘Bloody hell!’
‘What is it?’ Isabel asked, half afraid to be told and frowning at his bad language.
‘A pasty. ’Tis a beauty too, nearly a foot long. Well, I’ll be damned. Charlie must have gone into Portreath himself earlier today. This is one of Mundy Cottle’s I’d reckon and her baking is legendary.’
‘It was very kind of your friend to give us his food. He must be so terribly poor, living as he does in such squalid conditions. I hope he won’t be going hungry for our sakes.’
Nick eyed Isabel with deep suspicion. Except for Laurence Trevennor, all the wealthy people he had come across cared little or nothing at all for the poor, but Isabel’s expression seemed sincere.
‘The pasty smells good,’ she said, wetting her dry lips in anticipation.
Nick held the pasty under her face so she could see it. There’s no need to be concerned about Charlie. Like me, he lives the way he chooses, but when I get the chance I’ll repay him for his help.’ Isabel was staring longingly at the pasty. ‘I’ll break it in half,’ he said.
‘No you have a bigger part of it,’ she said, looking up and meeting his eyes.
He raised his brows. ‘Why? Why on earth should I do that?’
‘Because men need to eat more than women do. Mrs Sweet, who cooks for Uncle Laurence, always says so.’
It struck Nick as a child-like thing to say. ‘Well, Wenna Sweet is entitled to her views as the best cook in Gwithian, but tonight we’ll have equal shares.’ He broke the pasty in half, gave Isabel hers in the kerchief and sat down on the next crate. She thanked him and ate a mouthful, chewing it slowly, then gazed at it solemnly.
‘Mr Nancarrow?’
‘Mmmm?’
‘Is… is my Uncle Laurence really dead?’
Nick swallowed what he was chewing and answered softly, ‘Yes. Apart from his concern for you, his last moments were painless and peaceful.’
With her body hunched over and the pasty gripped in both hands, Isabel cried quietly.
Nick glanced at her then looked away. She seemed so small. ‘Eat up, you’ll feel better.’
Isabel ate in painful gulps then folded the cloth which Nick put back in the bag. A great weariness overtook her and she longed for sleep, to shut out the muted noise of the ocean and escape her tortured thoughts, her aches and pains and troubled future. The slats of the crates were too widely spaced to sleep on; she moved stiffly from the crate and sat on the cold hard ground that was to be her bed for the night. Pulling the shawl over her head she leaned back against the crate and closed her eyes. Nick watched her and came to kneel in front of her.
Tour feet are swollen and bleeding,’ he said. ‘You’d better take your shoes off.’
Isabel was too tired to care and made no protest when he did it for her but she gasped to see the pebble-sized blisters and the skin rubbed raw from the edges of her shoes. Nick pulled off his neckerchief. Tearing it in two he carefully bound each foot in turn.
‘That should help,’ he said, glancing at her under his long fair lashes as though he required her approval.
Isabel was cheered that his mood had finally softened but when he raised his head and looked at her fully, his handsome face held all of its usual harshness.
‘It does, thank you,’ she replied, looking at her feet bandaged in plain blue cloth, then closing her eyes again.
‘The best way to keep warm for the night is to huddle together.’ He thought this would provoke a barrage of protests. But Isabel was too worn out to feel any sense of impropriety and in her wretchedness she welcomed the prospect of being close to another person, even this dreadful man who it would seem hated her for no good reason. At present he was the only source of warmth and security in her nightmare world. Thoughts of right and wrong could be left until tomorrow when she would feel fresh and have regained her strength and full senses.
Nick sat close beside her and drew her towards him so she was resting comfortably against his chest. Instinctively she nestled in closer, the sound of his heart beating drowning out the sound of the sea, his warm unique smell taking the place of the odour of the clothes she wore. She was deeply asleep before she could feel the strong capable arms he put round her.
Chapter 5
Nick gazed down at Isabel’s sleeping face. Hers was a child’s face at that moment, soft, warm and slightly flushed, framed with tiny damp tendrils of honey-brown hair. She looked absurdly young and Nick could see why Laurence Trevennor had thought her young for her age. She had said some rather naive things yesterday, yet she could argue and order like a self-assured adult. Nick traced her soft red lips with a light fingertip and wondered what would come forth from them when he woke her, the tired vulnerable femininity of last night or her usual self-righteousness and indignation. Her breathing was regular and deep, her body warm and pliable against his. He liked the feel of her in his arms and thought it a pity she didn’t possess a more pliable nature. Then the task of lugging her across the cliffs and through the villages and coves to Crantock would be less cumbersome.
Picking up one of her hands he rubbed his thumb over the edges of her bitten-off nails and marvelled at the neat job she had made of it. He decided not to wake her yet and lowered her gently onto the cold hard ground, then made his way to the cave’s mouth to see what weather the early morning had brought. As he stood there in the cold light of day he found it difficult to believe in Laurence’s worries over Isabel’s safety. The more likely danger was that Edmund Kempthorne would try to sweet-talk her out of her inheritance. And given that the coach accident was almost certainly caused by Gyver Pengelly, who was a greedy man and valued no one’s life, only their possessions, it was probably a coincidence. If he wanted no witnesses to his misdeed alive, however, then Isabel’s life was in danger from him and it was better Pengelly thought she was dead for the moment.
Isabel began to come to, instinct warning her that she had lost her source of warmth and protection. She woke with a terrible start and found herself looking up at the damp cave roof. Horror engulfed her as she realized her worst nightmare was real but she quickly forced it aside. With a struggle she got up on her heavy legs and sore feet. Her fear that she had been abandoned and left trapped a hundred feet below ground dissolved when she saw Nick’s bag lying on the crate. She sat next to it and considered her feet and whether her shoes would fit over the makeshift bandages.
She bid Nick a good morning when he reappeared but he shrugged it off as an unnecessary pleasantry.
‘There’s a heavy mist coming in from the sea spreading over the cliff so we should be able to slip into Portreath unnoticed.’
‘Will we find the way there in the mist?’ Isabel said, concern making the dimples on either side of her mouth more pronounced. ‘We might lose our way and fall over the edge of the cliff.’
‘When will you learn to trust me?’ he said tartly, but wondering why he had not noticed her enchanting little dimples the day before. ‘’Tis a mist, not a fog. The cliff path will be quite visible as we tread the way and I know my way over the North Cliffs blindfolded.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ Isabel responded mildly, determined that from now on she would ignore his ill humour. After all, he was no more than an ignorant common oaf.
‘I have been thinking. I want you to take me to the estate of Menadarva which is set a little way back from the cliffs in this area, or if you insist that we go to Crantock, I want you to take me on to Trewinton. The Bevilles there will gladly give me refuge.’
‘Not in those clothes they won’t. They wouldn’t let you in even by the back door. They’d probably set their dogs on you.’ He threw the bag over his shoulder and said at her angered face, ‘Let’s get things straight once and for all, Miss Isabel Hampton. I promised Laurence I’d take care of you until your wedding day and unless I can see that no one anywhere offers you any danger, that’s the way it’s going to be. Do you understand that? Have I made myself perfectly clear this time?’
