Hope's Betrayal Part 5

"Yes, but first, I've to write a report on tonight's fiasco."

It took into the early hours for Huntley to write an account of the foiled raid. By the time he was ready to leave, the wind had dropped. He found his horse, Nero, dozing in his stall, tacked up the cob and lead him out into streets washed clean by recent rain, the air crisp and sharp. Sensing his master's dark mood, the horse decided against playing up and trotted along, meek as a child's pony.

Huntley left the narrow, winding streets of Sandehope behind and took the coastal road. With the sea to the left and hills to the right, the Captain found the shushing waves soothing on his rattled nerves. He let the reins hang slack, trusting Nero to follow the familiar route back to The Grange. The rhythmic pace of Nero's stride helped Huntley to think; the trouble was, the more Huntley dwelt on Bennett's words, the more sense they made. It irked him to admit it, but it seemed possible Hope might have overheard something and then warned her comrades. Exactly how he had no idea. Frustration cloaked him like a shroud. And if Bennett was right, then Miss Tyler had taken kindness for weakness...

Half an hour later and streaks of crimson lit the dawn sky. As horse and rider crested a hill, The Grange's grounds unfolded before them, swathed in mist. Drawn by the promise of a waiting stall, the great black horse picked up pace. Following the sweeping drive, the mist thickened into fog, and tracking around to the back of the house, Nero's hooves echoed around the stable yard. Huntley swung clear of the saddle and landed gracefully on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Hooking the reins over his shoulder, he led the cob to his stable.

Rather than wake a stable lad at this unG.o.dly hour, Huntley untacked Nero and brushed the horse down himself. With broad, strong strokes he burnished Nero's coat until it shone and only after feeding and watering the cob, Huntley thought to address his own needs.

The house was still locked and shuttered, so Huntley skulked around to the kitchens. His sudden appearance like some mud-stained phantasm, startled the scullery maid. She dropped the coal scuttle and shrieked.

"Beggin' pardon, Captain." Panting, she dropped a hasty curtsy. "You made me jump."

Huntley stalked past into the pa.s.sageway, leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the clean floor, which set the maid scowling after his back. In the grand hallway, with a faint smell of beeswax and hyacinths, Huntley caught his reflection in a mirror-disheveled and filthy. He pushed back his hair and examined his unshaven state. He needed a bath but remembering there was only one maid as yet on duty, he decided to get drunk instead.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the Captain sought the solitude of the library. The fire had long since burned out, but a full decanter was all the warmth Huntley needed. Settling deep within a leather armchair, he poured out a whisky, stared into the ashes of the dead fire and drifted into an uneasy sleep In his dreams he ran through quicksand, his limbs leaden, lungs burning with the effort. But the harder he tried to run, the deeper he sank. First his feet, then ankles, then knees engulfed by the greedy sands. He resisted, pulling out one leg, only to have the other submerged. Then the bog gripped his waist, the dampness chilling his skin as he wrenched free. He was woken by the clatter of the poker he'd sent flying as he kicked out.

Now fully awake, Huntley blinked in the watery morning light. A maid had set a coal scuttle in the hearth but not set the fire, presumably for fear of waking him. Instead, he found his legs weighed down beneath a rug. Suddenly aware of the smell of frying bacon, his stomach growled like a caged bear. Rising stiffly, he decided on breakfast first and a hot bath second, and followed the smell of cooking.

On any other day Huntley found the breakfast room cheering; chosen for its sunny aspect even in dull weather with its sunny yellow wallpaper. Portraits of Huntley children, of favorite pets and his late father's hunter, hung on the walls, but today, their carefree presence seemed to mock the Captain. The only pleasing thing was that he was alone, for he wasn't in the mood for small talk. Before his grumbling stomach woke the whole household, he made for the sideboard. Lifting one cloche then another, he piled his plate with bacon, sausage, fried eggs and salmon fillets but when he turned to take a seat, he nearly dropped the lot.

"Good morning, George dear."

Neatly dressed in a lilac morning dress, a lace cap crowning her greying hair, Lady Ryevale greeted him.

"Mother? You're up early."

"Yes dear. I wanted to see you were home safe."

"Well, as you see, I am in one piece." Huntley didn't mean to be curt, but did she think him a child? But if his mother noticed his bad humor, she chose to ignore it.

"What is the terrible smell?" Her nose wrinkled. "Phew! Like...bad fish. And you look dreadful."

George took a seat. "Apologies, Mother, if I appear a trifle unkempt. I was working all night, not attending a soiree."

"There's no need to take that tone. Do I take it the raid was not a success?"

"An understatement! It was an unmitigated disaster."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The last thing Huntley wanted was to recount the humiliation, and yet, better she heard it from him than servants' chatter. His shoulders slumped.

"We were tricked."

"How so?"

"The smugglers' subst.i.tuted fish guts for brandy. I was so certain of our source, that I made the Excise men empty each barrel..."

Lady Ryevale looked thoughtful. "Your information was good. What else could you have done?"

"But that's the rub. Because of my shortcomings, the smugglers made us a laughing stock. Once word spreads, my reputation is in tatters."

"I don't follow."

Huntley's hand tightened on a fork. "Someone found out our plans and warned the smugglers."

Lady Ryevale stared blankly. "So? Treachery is a hazard of the job."

"Oh Mother, don't you see. It was Miss Tyler!" He wanted his mother to laugh and say, 'how ridiculous', yet she did not.

"Are you certain?"

"No, but it seems the most likely explanation."

"And you are surprised?"

Huntley looked up, startled. It was a good question.

"Not so much surprised, as disappointed." He said slowly, realising it to be the truth.

"How so?"

"I suppose I a.s.sumed she had a sense of honor. That by treating her kindly, she would respect my position."

"And if you were in her place-what would you have done?"

Huntley sighed deeply. "I see where you are heading."

"And remember you brought Miss Tyler here, to keep her alive long enough to be interrogated. In her mind she owes you nothing."

"Aye, that's true." He pushed his hands through his hair. "In reality, it's whoever talked in her hearing that is responsible."

"Hope is a decent girl. I'm sure whatever she did was for good reason."

"Mother, are you taking her side?"

"No, but I'm just saying, if you talked instead of bullied her, you find she's an intelligent young lady with a lively mind."

Huntley rolled his eyes. "Phish! Next you'll be saying she's accomplished on the virginale."

Lady Ryevale bristled. "You shouldn't scoff. She's a highly capable girl who speaks a smattering of French and is educated in the cla.s.sics."

"Indeed Mother, exactly how much time have you been spending together? I must caution you not to get attached."

"She's not a puppy, George! If you listened to her..."

"Well therein lies the problem-she won't talk to me. Clams up tighter than a duck's...well, very tight."

"Then try again."

"It's too late."

"Oh, do stop talking in riddles."

Huntley sighed, duty heavy on his shoulders. "Bennett says the men are agitating for Hope's arrest. Only the arrest of the leaders will placate them. Truly, if you care for Hope, find out who finances that gang."

Lady Ryevale grew pale. "I...I...cant." She dropped her gaze, unable to look her son in the face.

"Why not?"

"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 d.i.c.kens 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.

Chapter Five.