the pirate's hoard 6 cliffie bonus

 

6

 

“I... I don’t know what to say,” said Lucy, in hushed awe. “One full of silver coins, one of gold coin and items, and one of what I suspect are uncut emeralds, as there are a few that are cut.”

“Shut the lids; it’s making me giddy,” said Arabella. “I found a pair of worn velvet curtains in the linen press which I believe were about to be discarded for being too worn to mend, and made over into cushion covers. There’s enough cord with them as trim, with a pillow put over each of these, and a circular top cut with a ruched frill falling from it, they will look quite different.”

“Yes, you are wise, Arabella,” said Lucy. “No wonder Luke was prepared to be so ruthless, if he suspected this!”

“The difference being, my darling Lucy, that you would not be ruthless to deprive him of it if the tables were turned,” said Henry, dryly. He had taken Lucy’s hand. “I am glad I already asked you to marry me, so you know my feelings are not dependent on all... all this excess of bijouterie.”

“What a good way to put it,” said Lucy. “I know you aren’t marrying me for pirate treasure. It’s all very much too much.  I’m inclined to take enough of it to make the estate good, and put the rest back, and the commonplace book, and leave for another member of the family in the future.”

“Or hard times,” said Henry. “I think that’s a good idea; but not until you have unequivocally won the house.”

“I will stay to my room, though,” said Lucy. “If Arabella will bring meals to me, so Mrs. Henderson can tell Luke she has not seen me; she might even believe Arabella to be covering for me being missing.”

“And I can attest that you are not,” said Henry. “And perhaps I will send Henderson up; he has a shrewd idea which of you will do best by him!”

“I think I will have to eschew my hot bath, however,” said Lucy. “Still, I am less stiff for having moved about, but I believe I will seek the comfort of a feather mattress and a pile of pillows to rest my aching legs whilst sewing.” She grimaced. “It will keep me occupied whilst I play least-in-sight. Arabella, if you will cut out one, I can be sewing whilst you cut out others, and secure pillows over the trunks.”

“Indeed, and then I can come to help you finish up,” said Arabella.

“If you ladies are busy at that, I will fetch and carry meals,” said Henry. “Unlike a good servant, however, I will knock.  I can also carry the slop bucket down to the Bramah closet.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jermyn,” said Arabella.

Henry went one better, and brought up a hot brick for Lucy, tucked under one arm, a pot of tea and some bread-and-butter for both of them on a tray,  and he produced from his pocket a paper poke of chestnuts to roast on the shovel.

“I’ll just pop down for more wood and coal for the fire to make it hot enough for the chestnuts,” he said. “I’m glad there was enough to get it going.”

Lucy lay back on a pile of pillows in bed, and sighed in happiness.

“Henry, you are the best of fiancées,” she said.

Henry laughed.

“Can I beg some chestnuts, then?” he asked.

“Roast them for us, and I think we’ll say yes,” said Lucy. “I know it’s most improper for you to be in my bedroom, but we are going to be married, and the circumstances are extraordinary.”

Henry ran off for fuel, and came back with a big hod of coal, and a sack of logs.

“I think we have enough here to sit out a siege over Christmas,” said Arabella.

“That was rather the idea,” said Henry. He got a nice glowing centre of coals on which to balance the shovel, and used his penknife to cut off the sharp, pointed ends of the chestnuts before setting them on the coal shovel.  “If you put a hole in them, it stops them jumping into the fire from the pressure of water vapour expanding within, or exploding,” he explained.

“So much for the St. Catherine’s eve divination games,” laughed Lucy. “Nothing to do with true love if two nuts named for lovers jump closer, or jump apart, or explode from passion, only steam power.”

“The best way to divine about one’s future true love is to list what things one has in common, and what things one does not like, and if you have three or more of the first and no more than one of the second, then you have friendship at least to work with, which is more durable than sudden infatuation,” said Henry. “I hope that is not too prosaic for you, Lucy.”

“Prosaic is a man who knows where to search for someone abducted, and then procures her a hot brick and chestnuts,” said Lucy. “I like prosaic. And pirate treasure may be romantic, but I look at those pieces of eight, and I see the hiring of men to manage the north wood, and plant new trees to replace old, the mending of the farm buildings of the lower farm and getting in tenants to till the land, and pensioning off the old couple in the home farm, with younger tenants to run it, and letting the old folk have a cottage and a cottage garden for their own needs as well as a pension.”

“I am glad we do still think on the same lines,” said Henry. “You have a passion for this land, as I do.”

“Lucifer was a pirate bold, but he came home to the land,” said Lucy. “He sailed the furrows of ploughed land for his final years.”

“Beautifully put,” said Henry, softly. “I may be prosaic, but I can appreciate a poetic thought.”

 

 

Henry carried up dinner when it was prepared, which was a fricassee of chicken with rice, onion soup, and raised pies.

“Mrs. Henderson said she hoped I and the former governess would not go hungry with so much between us,” he said.  “She knows Lucy was supposed to be kidnapped. Henderson is bringing wine so he can say he has seen you... ah, here he is.” Henderson scratched at the door and came in. His sly fensman’s face broke into a broad smile.

“You ain’t missing, Miss Lucy!” he said.

“No, Henderson, Luke left me and plainly expected me to stay where I was left,” said Lucy.  “But I didn’t, and I was met halfway home by Mr. Jermyn and Miss Bellington looking for me. But I am not going to show myself to Mrs. Henderson, and perhaps you would say nothing – in case Luke tries to kill me.”

“Gawdelpus, miss, I do-ant say as how he mightn’t,” said Henderson. “Poweful unhinged he can be, when things do-an’t go his way.”

“Exactly,” said Lucy. “I expect he will come on the morrow to try to solve the puzzle of the sundial, and he’ll be out of luck as the key is in my reticule, and he thinks I am six miles away, and my reticule with me.”

“He’ll be in a taking when you ain’t,” said Henderson.

“Which is why I am staying in my bed with a cold,” said Lucy.

“And why I am carrying a pistol from Mr. Fenwick’s collection,” said Arabella.

“Arabella! Do you know how to use it?” gasped Lucy.

“Oh, yes,” said Arabella. “I am a governess because my father was a gambler and a duellist, and he made Britain too hot for himself. But he did teach me to culp a wafer at a dozen paces.”

“That makes me feel much better,” said Lucy.

 

 

oOoOo

 

Lucy and Arabella were eating a rather late breakfast, having slept in after a late night sewing,  when the doorbell tolled through the house.  Arabella was dressed, but Lucy wore a dressing-gown over her nightdress, to add verisimilitude to the story of being unwell, in case Luke did force his way into her bedchamber.

“Luke,” said Lucy.

“I had better receive him and act cagey about you being indisposed, and indignant if he wants to see you in your bedroom,” said Arabella.

“At least we finished the chest-dominos,” said Lucy.

“The what?”

“Well, they are masquerading as footstools; and if you can’t think of a clever costume for a masquerade, you wear a domino-cloak,” said Lucy.

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Arabella, standing, and brushing a few toast crumbs from her dress into the fireplace. Both women had been curled up in comfortable chairs which Henry had brought into the bedroom, with an occasional table between them for the chinaware needed to make tea, the urn standing on the hearth, on a trivet, so that there was room to put the teapot under its tap. They had partaken of coddled eggs with thin bread-and-butter in ‘soldiers,’followed by kedgeree, and toast and jam to finish up. Arabella picked up the tray.

“I’ll leave the teapot, but take the rest down,” she said.

She met Henderson on the stairs, and he relieved her of the tray.

“It’s Mr. Luke, Miss Bellington, I put him in the boudoir,” he said.

“Thank you, Henderson,” said Arabella. She tripped into the boudoir, and dropped a neat curtsey to Luke Fenwick.

“Mr. Fenwick, I fear you find Lucy indisposed and in bed with a nasty cold,” she said.

“Indisposed? That’s a good fiction for her not being here to win the inheritance,” said Luke, sneering slightly. “So, you’re her dresser now? A long fall in consequence, Belly.”

“I never answered to that ungentlemanlike soubriquet before, Luke Fenwick, and I will not now,” said Arabella, tartly. “My name is Miss Bellington; and Lucy is most certainly here. You can ask Mrs. Henderson about the meals she has eaten.”

“To be sure, to be sure; but food can be burned, or two portions eaten,” said Luke.

“What a waste of good food,” said Arabella. “I would invite you to see Lucy for yourself, but of course it is most ineligible for you to see her in her bedroom. Meanwhile, you had come visiting for a reason?”

Luke sneered.

“I intend to be on the roof of the porch at midday, to see the fall of shadow,” he said. “And if Lucy is not there, I will know she is not in residence.”

“She is not well enough to go gallivanting about outside up ladders,” said Arabella. “I, however, as her witness, will accompany you.”

He snarled.

“I suppose that damned solicitor will complain if I do not let you,” he said.

“Assuredly; and hark, the doorbell; that will be him now,” said Arabella.

 

Mr. Death joined Arabella and Luke in the boudoir.

“Are we ready for an excursion to see where the key goes?” he said.

“Yes,” said Luke.

Henry, as gardener, had hauled ladders round, and Arabella, not without some trepidation, had followed Luke and Mr. Death up onto the roof.

The day was providing some hazy sunshine, and Arabella had to admit that even so thin an illumination showed the holes for the wards fairly dramatically.

“Ah!” cried Luke. “Give me the key, woman!”

“I don’t have it,” said Arabella, calmly.

“What, is it still in the secret panel?” demanded Luke. “I know it exists, I found it!  I should have kept it!” he hastened down the ladder and ran into the house.

Arabella opened the door onto the gallery.

“Please come with me and ascertain Miss Fenwick’s presence in the house,” she said, leading Mr. Death to Lucy’s room. “A solicitor, like a doctor, is a privileged person.”

Lucy had gone back to bed, and was reading a novel.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Death. “I am sorry to see you laid up on so exciting a day, Miss Fenwick.”

“I was abducted, yesterday, by Luke’s agents and taken to an old cottage, where he expected me to stay,” said Lucy, calmly. “I escaped but at the expense of aching legs and a chill.”

“Good G-d!” said Mr. Death. “Unbelievable!”

“Nevertheless, true,” said Lucy. “I doubt it can be brought to his door in law, though. But such dirty tricks do not surprise me.”

“But my dear girl! He is about to attempt to get the treasure and steal a march on you!” said Death, upset. “Your uncle wanted you to be the one to find it!”

“Who says I haven’t done so already?” said Lucy. “Let Luke play out his hand.”

“I cannot like it,” said Mr. Death.

“I didn’t like it myself,” said Lucy. “But perhaps you will stay in a guest room whilst Luke foists himself upon us?”

“Indeed, yes, I believe I might,” said Mr. Death.

Arabella ushered him out, and into a guest room.

“I will see to lighting a fire, and seeing to a warming pan,” she said.

“Most kind!” Mr. Death was gratified, and followed her downstairs, where Luke seized her by the wrist, and shook her. Arabella screamed.

“Where is it? What have you done with the key?” he demanded.

“Mr.Fenwick! let go of my client’s companion at once!” said Mr. Death. “Do you want to be had up for assault?”

“She’s taken the key! It isn’t where it should be!” yammered Luke.

“Of course it isn’t,” said Arabella. “But you never gave me time to tell you where it is.”

He looked at her, eyes bulging in their sockets, a tic in the veins of his forehead.

“Well, then, where is it?” he hissed.

“It’s in Lucy’s reticule; she does not let it out of her sight,” said Arabella.

“Hell!” said Luke, and ran out of the house.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Death. “Where do you suppose he has gone?”

“To find Lucy in the derelict cottage where he left her, I suppose,” said Arabella. “Perhaps you will come to the library; I have something particular to show you, and then we might bespeak a light nuncheon.”

“Very well,” said Death.

 

Ten minutes later, he was drinking one of Lucius Fenwick’s fine old brandies, to recover from the display of bijouterie disguised as footstools.

Miss Lucy had pulled it off, though she still had to stay the requisite time.

 

the pirate's hoard 5

 

5

 

Henry brought the gig round and helped Arabella in, and they set off at a spanking pace. They came to the junction with the main road, with two other roads off it, on the other side, slightly staggered, as Arabella described it, and as it was known locally as ‘Fiveways.’ Henry tossed the reins to Arabella, and got out.

“What are you doing?” asked Arabella.

“Looking for signs of the passage of a carriage – and there’s a rut in the light snow and frost that goes across the main road, which I think must be who we are looking for; and fresh horse dung, too, cold enough to have stopped steaming, but not yet covered in frost,” said Henry. “We’re half an hour behind them, and that’s three or four miles start they have, and Feathers capable of catching up, but any number of lanes off the one they’ve taken, and we’ll need to check each one for signs of them turning. And if they come back, and recognise you, we might be in trouble.”

“Pass me up the bag of oats we keep for Feathers, and I will take off my outer shawl, and nurse it like a baby, and slouch like a tired farmer’s wife,” said Arabella. “It is market day in Fenwick, I believe; a good day for us to visit, of course, but also ensuring that any local possible witnesses are out of the way.”

“Well, I’m dressed appropriately for that, and your brown pelisse does not scream quality,” said Henry.  “Feathers is a quality horse, but more a heavy horse than a traditional carriage horse, and the curricle is shabby enough. An independent couple out for a good time more than needing the market, which is going to be most at this time of year.”

“As I recall, there’s an old woman who makes barley sugar twists, and gingerbread men for Christmas,” said Arabella. “She does most of her trade for the year with those sweetmeats, and others, and ekes it out over the year. Lucy always visited her stall.”

“Good,” said Henry, who was only half listening as he concentrated.

 

oOoOo

 

      Lucy strode out briskly without pushing the pace too hard. She found a stout stick pulled from a tree by some high vehicle, and trimmed it with her pen knife to give her an extra hold on the often slippery ground, using a notch at the top as a thumb stick.  It made life easier, and she felt more confident. She wanted to move briskly enough to avoid cooling down too much, but not sufficiently briskly to start sweating, which would freeze on her and prove fatal. And would risk her footing.

The glutinous dark mud of the district was slippery when wet, and as slippery when frozen. And perilous as the sun rose far enough to effect something of a thaw, since the pressure on ice was enough to move the mobile mud beneath, for an even more treacherous footing.   But Lucy knew the conditions, and was careful. She might not expect to cover more than three miles in an hour by such care, but that was better than fetching up wounded from hurrying. She doubted that she could rely on anyone to rescue her; for how would they know where to go?  Therefore, her efforts must be her own. She set herself targets of three bends in the road, and then stopped to get her breath, and rest her legs, unaccustomed to the country roads and poor conditions, to drink from the bottle she had filled with water, and eat a little bread and cheese to keep her alert. By these efforts she reached the end of the meandering lane on which the cottage stood, and came onto a wider, if not better, road. She thought she had come about a mile and a half. The next mile and a half would be easier, for being a better road, but after that, her legs would be on fire from trying not to slide, and the second half of the journey would be agony. Lucy grimaced, but set off, steadily.

 

oOoOo

 

“There’s a carriage coming the other way which looks like the one which snatched up Lucy,” said Arabella, bending over her shawl-wrapped bundle.

They closed quickly on the carriage to their right, whose driver sang out jocularly, in the unlovely tones of Bermondsey.

“That’s a dandy pace, Farmer, afraid the missus will wet the seat?”

“Dew yew go mount a corporal an’ fower, yew Beau nasty,[1]” replied Henry, in a mix of the local vernacular and cant. Then they were past.

“What did you say to him?” asked Arabella.

“I ain’t about to tell you, ma’am,” said Henry, going dull red. “It was lewd , but I thought I ought to let him know my disapprobation in suitably low terms.”

“So long as they do not think us suspicious and turn, I do not care,” said Arabella.

They spent time stopping and starting, checking for signs that the carriage had turned off.

“And now that short shower of snow’s stopped, and the sun is melting the frost, the sign is less clear,” said Henry, grimly.

“Where is Luke likely to direct them? Where does he know best?” asked Arabella, when they came to a stop at a staggered crossroads, with arms to the hamlets Gossey, Chetwath, and Fulreth.

Henry considered.

“He had a pet of the fancy down here to box the local champion,” he said. “And made an old servant of his father’s put the man up; the old man had a cottage in Chetwath.”

“It’s as good a way to make the decision as any,” said Arabella.

They turned for Chetwath; and had not been going long when Henry gave a shout.

“There! That’s Lucy trudging along, bless her! She’s escaped!

Arabella opened her mouth to say that Lucy wore a blue cape and hood trimmed with white fur, not a shapeless grey-brown cloak, but a riffle of wind blew the blanket Lucy had added to her apparel and the blue was visible underneath.  Feathers picked up the pace.

“Good morning, ma’am, would you like a lift?” asked Henry, raising his hat.

“Henry! Arabella! Oh, I am glad to see you,” said Lucy,  in relief. “I had just calculated I could manage another mile before I would have to fight fatigue and pain.”

“Well, you shall go to the house, Cendrillon, in style, and not a pompion in sight. And Feathers offended at being called a mouse,” laughed Henry.

“There isn’t room for me,” said Lucy.

“No, but Miss Bellington will drive, I am sure, and I will walk home,” said Henry.

“There’s a kind of rumble seat at the back, I use it for parcels,” said Lucy. “If you can hang on there, we can all go together. I am unharmed but angrier than a nest of hornets poked with a stick.”

“Of course you are, my love,” said Arabella, helping Lucy up as Henry got down. “Mr. Jermyn, will you lead Feathers in a turn before climbing up? He can make a tight turn but he needs to be led, or he assumes he’s pulling a gun limber in an obstacle race and starts to run.”

“Of course,” said Henry.

The turn accomplished, he squeezed himself onto the small rumble seat and thought it a better proposition than walking back.

  “Can we smuggle me in quietly?” asked Lucy. “There’s a back entrance for delivery carts, if we go in that way, any watchers won’t see me, and Luke will think I am still sitting it out in that nasty little cottage. And if we then go onto the porch roof   now the sun has come out again, it’s a day short, but I want to risk that, and see if we can find the treasure before Luke goes looking.”

“If you ask me, it should be easy enough,” said Arabella. “We are looking for a singular depression to take a circular key.”

“And to my mind, and taking into account that the sundial is out of alignment, the wards, if extended, would make a figure nine, IX, in Roman numerals, which would mean it would fit into the eleven, XI, for being backward,” said Lucy.

“You always could readily see things in mirror image, my love,” said Arabella. “I remember you writing in mirror writing as a rebellion when made to thank that awful aunt of yours for a gift of her underlinen as her contribution to your clothes chest for the two years you did at school.”

“Ugh, yes, and so old it had washed grey with a few suspicious stains,” shuddered Lucy. “Papa was wrong to make me thank her, I think; but I suspect he did not properly understand the insult it constituted. And he hoped she would leave me her money, an expectation I never had, so was not disappointed when she left it all to her companion, who probably deserved it for putting up with the old woman.”

“Yes, that poor woman makes me appreciate all the more the excellent situation in which I find myself, especially if you do have a husband indulgent enough to permit me to stay in the household.”

“I would,” said Henry. “Er, I mean, I haven’t asked, Lucy, but you are resourceful and sweet natured and clever, and I would like to marry you.”

“That has to be one of the strangest proposals ever given, and yes, I’d love to marry you, Henry, and you can kiss me later,” said Lucy.

“My heart filled to see you trudging along, pluck to the backbone,” said Henry. “Turn right here, Miss Bellington, that will bring us round to the back way, rather than going straight across Fiveways.”

 

 

Lucy cried out in pain as she dismounted from the curricle, having stiffened up.

“My love, you need a hot bath!” said Arabella.

“No, I need to find Pirate treasure, and then I need a hot bath,” said Lucy, grimly. “I want to make sure to cheat Luke of his scheming.”

“Quite right, too,” agreed Henry. “I’m stiff myself from that rumble seat, but eager to find treasure.”

“I want to divest myself of the extra blanket petticoat, which makes moving awkward, but I was afraid of getting cold walking,” said Lucy.

“I’ll see to Feathers while you do that; meet on the landing?” said Henry.

“That makes sense,” said Arabella.

 

Half an hour later, as noon approached, the three met by the figurehead, and Lucy revealed the secret of the snake, hiding in the carving of the panel. They all stepped out onto the porch roof.

“Glassed in, it would make an excellent forcing house, for things like flowers out of season or cucumbers,” said Henry.

“If the roof will take the weight of dirt in pots,” said Arabella.

“Have you never looked at those massive beams in the ceiling of the porch?” scoffed Henry. “Old Lucifer could have balanced his ship on it. Well, a considerable weight, anyway,” he amended.   “Not that this is germane to the point, sorry.”

“I’m aiming to keep the house; so thinking of the future is germane to me,” said Lucy. “If you would be happy to move here, that is.”

Henry possessed himself of one hand, and kissed her fingers.

“To my mind, there can be no question; I always loved staying here,” he said. “It’s larger than my family’s house, as well as having more character. The lands march with mine, and together make a useful little estate, something we have to consider. Uncle Lucius let the land fall into disuse, but it could be opened up.”

“Especially with some pirate treasure to invest,” said Lucy, whose heart hammered from the admiring look he gave her almost as much as the thought of pirate treasure.

“Don’t get your hopes up too much,” said Henry. “It may have been found by some previous ancestor who just did not mention it; and it may not be worth much, even if not found before.”

“I know,” said Lucy.  “Oh, Henry, are we going to have to have a coroner rule on whether or not it is treasure trove?”

“No, because there is a clear intent, as I understand it from  Uncle Lucius, in the old pirate’s commonplace book, to hide it as part of his willed goods for whichever of his descendents was clever enough to find it.”

“Yes, I looked at the commonplace book, and Arabella said I would have to ask a husband about what the poems mean,” said Lucy. “But it did say, ‘I storeth up treasure on earth and knoweth not who may find it, but zounds! Thou, who art my descendent, who hath wit and will, deserveth it, as my son, who hath neither pluck nor cods, doth not.’”  

“Harsh,” murmured Henry. “And it is reiterated in Uncle Lucius’s will where he says you shall have the house and its contents. And that plainly refers to the treasure.”  He looked at Lucy.

“Midday; and you were right in your guess, it’s close to being on the eleven. And I see some deeper shadows.”

Lucy gasped, and retrieved the false piece of eight from her reticule; and examined it, in order to line it up with the carven figure eleven, with the now visible deeper grooves. She pushed it home, and turned the key.

With a grinding sound, the stone which was the sundial swung open like a door.

“I... I think there are three chests in there,” said Lucy.

“I will retrieve them; you can rescue me if the door shuts,” said Henry. “It’s a funny shape in here,” he added, and then gasped. “Why, I do believe this is inside the figurehead on the prow, mounted inside! So it does go right through!” He dragged out the three small, but heavy chests. “Shall we shut up the door and take these inside to examine?”

“Yes,” said Lucy, decisively. “Although we cannot readily carry them downstairs.”

“My love, if we take them onto the mezzanine of the library, which opens off the gallery, and we sew industriously to make covers for them, they can look like footstools for the chairs there for reading,” said Arabella. “That should hide them in plain sight from Luke and from Mrs. Henderson.”

“But we will look at them first,” said Lucy.

It took some effort to carry the chests, two being needed to carry each, and Lucy pointed out that their locks used the same key.

“I will unlock each and we will each open a lid,” she said.

She unlocked them and then counted down.

They flung open the lids.

“By Jove!” said Henry.                     

 

---

[1] Nowadays it would translate to the equally coarse ‘Go jerk yourself off, you punk.’

the pirate's hoard 4 cliffie bonus

 

 

4

 

“That’s... uncanny,” said Lucy, wishing that the hairs on the back of her head had not stood on end at the horrible wailing, squealing noise.

“Pig’s bladder,” said Arabella, calmly.

“Excuse me?” said Lucy.

“Someone has inflated a pig’s bladder and is letting the air out slowly through the tube which is pinched enough for that horrible noise to issue,” said Arabella. “I was governess to a small boy before you. He tried many times to play the ghost to frighten me. I did not rise, though I confess the first time I heard the music of the pig’s bladder I felt most disquieted.”

“I do love you, Arabella, and your stoicism,” said Lucy. “‘Most disquieted,’ indeed, not, ‘frightened.’ You are so sensible.”

“I admit to a moment’s fear,” said Arabella, austerely. “However, in a household with a small boy, or, indeed, any resourceful child, noises in the night can usually be trusted to be traceable back to human sources. The same child used a comb and paper to make uncanny wailing noises, punctuated with odd and horrible whimpers which proved to be his giggles.  He asked me in the morning, with exaggerated concern, whether I had had a good night.  I said, ‘Oh! Yes; the water pipes kept me awake for a while, making strange noises, then the ghost of a grey lady came out of my closet, with a ewer, and washed her hands in a bowl I don’t have, and passed on into the nursery, presumably to tuck up a former charge. She didn’t bother me, so I didn’t bother her.’ He got very quiet, and then he burst out, ‘If I’m very good, will you stop her so she doesn’t come to me?’ and I said, ‘Of course!’ and I had no more real trouble.”

“Arabella, what a bouncer!”

“I know; but sometimes, you have to establish dominance in a household,” said Arabella. “And speaking of which, shall we establish dominance by getting some sleep?”

“Good idea,” said Lucy. “Oh! What did Mr. Jermyn say about the gardeners’ cubby hole?”

“He’d forgotten about it,” said Arabella. “He’s going to have a look.”

With which comforting thought, the two women curled up and went back to sleep, ignoring any other wails.

 

 

“Did madam and Miss Bellington sleep well?” asked Mrs. Henderson, setting out a breakfast of devilled kidneys, bacon, black pudding, poached eggs, and fried mushrooms, with toast a-plenty in a rack.

“Yes, thank you,” said Lucy. “A few odd noises, but nothing to be exercised about.”

“I think it was some tenant’s child,” said Arabella, buttering toast and adding poached eggs.  “No adult would play so puerile a trick, after all.”

“No, indeed,” said Lucy. “Is that all you are having, Arabella? Can I help you to anything more? Some mushrooms, at least, surely?”

“Oh, very well, you tempt me; Mrs. Henderson, you are to be congratulated on how well you dry your mushrooms, that they plump up so well.”

“Oh, well, there is a knack to it,” said Mrs. Henderson, pleased. “The secret is in doing it as slow as you can without them going mouldy.”

“A clever compromise,” said Lucy. “Your own black pudding?”

“No, I do buy that in, Bert Jenkins, the butcher, having a way with it,” said Mrs. Henderson. “He  don’t overdo the breadcrumbs like some do.”

Lucy waited for Mrs. Henderson to leave to speak to Arabella in a low voice.

“I want to take advantage of the sunshine today to see where the gnomen shadow is at noon; I found the door out, which has a handle to get back in, fortunately, as I shut myself out there.”

“That was foolish, my dear, to venture out without anyone there.”

“I know,” said Lucy.  “But let us go for a walk, this morning; it will give us the excuse to be in outdoor clothes, and when we go back upstairs, we can go out and look at the gnomen’s shadow, and it should not be far off. If the false piece of eight is to act as a key, there must be a keyhole, and whilst it may well show up best when the shadows fall in a particular way, by feeling and looking carefully, we may find it anyway, which will be useful if it is grey again tomorrow.”

“A very good thought,” said Arabella. “And what is more, we shall take a tinder box and kindling, so we may light a fire to attract attention if anyone locks us out.”

“Oh, very wise,” said Lucy. “Were you going to eat any bacon?”

“No, and you will become plump.”

“I do too much to put on weight,” said Lucy, snagging the last rasher of bacon, and buttering another piece of toast.  She spent some time seeing the books with Mrs. Henderson, who was a good manager, and honest.  Lucy agreed to a joint of pork and various raised pies with vegetables of the season for dinner, before she was able to escape and dress up warmly to walk out with Arabella.

 

“Where shall we walk?” asked Arabella as they set out down the drive, the hard frost crunching underfoot. Fieldfares on the front lawn scattered, and a robin scolded from the branches of an overhanging sweet chestnut tree.

“I thought we might go down to the village,” said Lucy. “Make ourselves known to everyone, or rather, remind them.”

“Yes, a good idea,” said Arabella. “You will be lady of the manor and they need to know you.”

“And my companion,” said Lucy. “Arabella, dearest, you didn’t think I’d send you back to sew bonnets in penury, if I win this, did you?”

“I didn’t dare hope there would be room for me,” said Arabella.

“There will always be room for you,” said Lucy. “You took me in when it would have been awkward for Uncle Lucius to do so, and when Papa managed to die with so many debts.”

“And your uncle did send you an allowance which you so generously shared, which made life a great deal easier.”

“We do better together,” said Lucy. “Look, aren’t the common weeds made things of beauty with a tracery of frost on them?”

“They are, indeed; I will try to sketch them in my commonplace book when we get back. I wonder if one might make a winter decoration for a bonnet with Queen Anne’s lace in white, and skeletons of leaves.  But you are changing the subject.”

“Not really; but I was diverted by the frost icing on the plants,” said Lucy. “I thought the subject was settled, and you will not need to think about bonnets and such things.”

“Yes, but you will want to marry,” said Arabella. “I believe Mr. Jermyn is not indifferent to you.”

Lucy blushed.

“I am not indifferent to him,” she said. “He rescued me from Luke, many times.”

“And he has turned up to help you,” said Arabella. “Wearing a ridiculous false ring-beard and wig to fool Mrs. Henderson.”

Lucy giggled.

“He does have a sense of melodrama,” she said.  “I wonder whose carriage that is.”

Arabella frowned.

“I do not know all your neighbours,” she said. “Though I conjecture that the enquiry was purely rhetorical.”

“Totally,” said Lucy.

The coachman turned to say something through the communication hatch, and the coach door opened.

“Excuse me!” called a voice, “I believe I’m lost.”

Lucy hastened forward to the coach’s open door, and stood on the step to better see the piece of paper the man inside was showing her. And then, to Arabella’s horror, she was quite yanked inside, the door pulled to, and the coach went off at speed! Arabella lost her footing on the icy ground and fell, fortunately into a bank of weeds with only a few nettles, and was up again in a trice.  But it was too late; the carriage and Lucy were quite gone.

Arabella made her way back to the house as fast as she could with the thick hoar frost, no longer appreciating the beauty of the frost-touched plants, in her haste to reach Henry Jermyn.

He was tidying up the beds again, near the driveway, when Arabella almost threw herself on him, half sobbing.

“Miss Bellington? What’s toward?” asked Henry.

“Lucy! Some men, dragged her into a carriage!” cried Arabella.

“This will be some plot of Luke’s,” said Henry. “I’ll go put up the horse and gig, if you are ready to drive out in pursuit?”

“More than ready,” said Arabella. “But there is a five-way junction the way they took.”

“Then we shall investigate each in turn,” said Henry, grimly.

 

oOoOo

 

“What is this? If you think I am an heiress, you are mistaken – or only if I stay in my uncle’s house another nine nights,” said Lucy.

“Ha, my fine dimber mort, there’s someone who doesn’t want you staying there, see?” said the man who had pulled her in. “OW!” Lucy had kicked him in the shins.

“I don’t know what a ‘dimbermort’ is, but you may not call me it,” said Lucy.

“It means a beautiful wench, an’ if you makes trouble, I’ll tie you up,” growled the man. “I ain’t a gonna hurt you so long as you behave; just goin’ to keep you outa that house over St. Thomas’s day, see?”

“I see,” said Lucy. “I did not understand your words; I am sorry. I will be tractable. I am sure you could make things much worse.”

“Well, miss, yes, we could,” said her captor.

Lucy sat down, and tried to compose herself. There was no point fighting, but perhaps if she gave the impression of being meek, she might have a chance to escape.

They drove for an hour or so; and in the difficult conditions, Lucy did not suppose this could be more than about six miles. The carriage stopped at a rather run-down cottage.

“Here you are, miss,” said her captor. “Your new home for a couple of days.  Someone will be along to rescue you day after tomorrow.”

“Luke Fenwick, I suppose,” said Lucy. “I trust there is drinkable water and food?”

“There’s a pump in the kitchen and’ bread an’ cheese,” said the man. He touched his cap to her, and got back in the carriage, which drove off.

“Most singular,” said Lucy, with distaste.  “How like Luke.”

The cottage was a two-roomed affair with a chimney through the middle of it, and a room of sorts in the roof. It was thatched, though much of the thatching looked poor and loose. There was an air of being abandoned.

She went into the cottage, where a fire was laid in the kitchen grate; no closed stove in here. Lucy lit the fire, as she was cold. She went into the other room which had a bed against the chimney. There were no extra clothes in the press, but Lucy brought through two woollen blankets.  She might look a quiz, but that was better than freezing. At least she had on two pairs of stockings with good boots, and she found a length of twine in the kitchen. Folding one blanket over it, she managed to pull up her skirts, and tie it around as an extra petticoat. The other wool blanket needed to be pierced , and plaited twine passed through each hole to make a rough cloak and hood, in case the weather got worse.  Lucy cut bread and cheese to eat, and wrapped the rest to put in her reticule, to keep her going. Then she raked out the fire, and set off.

Luke was a fool if he thought she was going to stay put tamely; but then, Luke was  a fool, in assuming girls and women were feeble and useless. He had no idea how fit Lucy was, and that she would make no bones over a six-mile walk in normal circumstances. This would be harder.

 Lucy had a working knowledge of most of the neighbourhood over which she had ridden, and, knowing the general direction taken, she was fairly sure she knew her way home.

She set out, as it began to snow fitfully.

“I hope Luke comes to a bad end,” muttered Lucy, to herself, forced to keep to the highway to have any chance of making progress, without a horse.

It would probably take her three hours to get back to Fenwick Hall, she thought, and watched her step carefully, not wanting to turn her ankle on one of the frozen ruts on the road.