The Admiral's Daughter Page 4

  ‘You sail this way often, then?’ Helena was surprised by the shuttered expression that came across his features at this innocuous question.

  ‘Occasionally,’ Adam said shortly. ‘We will arrive in the Scillies in about four hours. Look!’ He pointed over the side. ‘Porpoises chasing herring. See…’ He took her hand and led her to the rail. Helena, entranced by the leaping, arcing creatures, was unconscious of his arm around her shoulders as he steadied her when she leaned out, the better to see them as they played in the bow wave of the Moonspinner.

  For the rest of the morning Adam devoted himself entirely to Helena’s entertainment, pointing out seabirds and another school of porpoise, spinning her yarns about mermaids and sea monsters and patiently answering her stream of questions about life at sea.

  ‘…of course, my father used to tell us about life on a King’s ship—at least everything that he considered fit for my ears!—but I am sure things must be very different on a ship like this. How John would love this! He is to go as a midshipman with his uncle the Commodore just as soon as he is old enough.’

  ‘After the loss of your father, I wonder your mother allows her only son to go to sea.’

  ‘Mother is a realist—and she comes from a naval family herself. She knows that John would run away to sea if she did not let him go; at least she knows he will be with my uncle.’

  The time seemed to fly past and Helena wondered how she could ever have felt uncomfortable in Adam’s company. Then there was a cry from the masthead.

  ‘Land ho!’

  All at once the deck became a bustle of activity with sailors climbing to the rigging and two men in the bows preparing the lead line for testing the depth. Adam’s attention was no longer on her and for a few minutes Helena thought he was as preoccupied as his crew in navigating the rock-strewn waters.

  But by the time she could make out the cluster of islands clearly and the leadsman was calling the sounding regularly, she realised that navigation was not what was preoccupying his lordship. The crew, it seemed, were more than capable of steering the winding course through the mass of islets and rocks; Adam himself was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Biggal Rock on the starboard bow, sir!’ the lookout shouted and the bosun ordered a change of course to the north-west.

  ‘Billy, here, lad! Run and tell his lordship we’re entering the Crow Channel now.’

  The lad ran below and reappeared at Adam’s heels, a leather pouch in his hands. Adam’s expression was stern and distant, like that of a man about to give bad news to someone, and Helena puzzled over what could have caused this transformation from the relaxed and amiable man who had been at her side all morning.

  Lord Darvell took the pouch from the boy and extracted a folded letter, opening the crackling folds in a scatter of scarlet sealing wax and conning the contents rapidly. If anything his expression darkened, as if whatever he read there gave him little pleasure.

  Helena, seeing the falling wax, realised the letter could only recently have been opened, perhaps just now below decks. It was as if Adam was opening sealed orders, like a naval officer reaching a certain latitude before reading the Admiralty’s directions. Which, of course, was ridiculous, for Adam was a civilian…

  She drew back against the rail, well out of the way, and watched the weed-covered rocks as they drew towards the harbour of Hugh Town on St Mary’s. The semicircular anchorage was fringed on the northern edge by rocky islets and the long, curving harbour wall jutted out, sheltering a handful of sailing vessels within its lee. The little town straggled up from the harbour to the walls of a small fort from whose topmost turret a standard flapped in the strong breeze.

  ‘That’s Star Castle, ma’am,’ a sailor remarked chattily as he stood close by, coiling a thick rope in his hands. ‘So called on account of its shape and built in the time of Good Queen Elizabeth to keep off the Spanish scourge.’ He spat over the side at the mention of the old enemy.

  They dropped anchor with a rattle and a splash and the men began to swing out the skiff. Adam was obviously about to descend the rope ladder—and without a word to Helena. ‘My lord!’ she called and he paused astride the rail. ‘May I not come ashore with you?’

  Adam looked at her with the expression of a man seeing her for the very first time. ‘I had clean forgot you,’ he said without a trace of apology in his voice. ‘No, I am going on business; stay here, you will be safe with the crew.’

  Helena, stung, protested. ‘My lord! I want to see the town and feel dry land beneath my feet again. I promise I will not impede your business.’

  He smiled at her, but without humour. ‘Indeed you will not, for you will remain, as I ordered, on Moonspinner.’

  ‘But…’

  Adam appeared to relent slightly. ‘I will take you ashore this evening, Miss Wyatt. We can have dinner at the Godolphin Arms. It is a respectable place and Mrs Trewather keeps a decent table.’ Seeing that she was about to protest again, he added, ‘Until then, I would be obliged if you do as you are bid and stay here.’ With that he swung his leg over the rail and climbed down the rope ladder into the waiting boat.

  She stood glowering at his unresponsive back as the skiff’s crew dug the oars into the rippling water and pulled for the quayside. Infuriating man! Why, what harm could there be in her going ashore? If the Godolphin Arms was a reputable hostelry with a respectable landlady, she could have requested a private room and a hot bath. She pulled the sticky, tangled hair off her neck with a grimace. The thought of dining with Adam looking such a fright was unendurable!

  Her annoyance hardened into defiance. After all, Adam Darvell was neither her father nor her husband. He might be the master of this ship, but that did not give him any rights to command her! The sailor who had earlier spoken to her as they had entered port was just passing by and she arrested his progress with a devastating smile.

  ‘I should very much like to take a walk ashore. Is there anyone who could row me across?’

  The sailor, basking in the warmth of her smile, and the unfamiliar sensation of being addressed so pleasantly by a lady of quality, could see no reason not to hasten to oblige her. On previous voyages his lordship’s other lady friends had always come and gone as they pleased and there seemed no reason why this one should not be able to stroll along the harbourside on this sunny afternoon.

  ‘Of course, ma’am. I’ll row you across directly myself if you’re not minding the little rowboat.’

  ‘You are very kind.’ Helena completed his enslavement by bestowing on him yet another dazzling smile.

  In no time at all, Helena was being handed out of the skiff onto the steps of the curve of the harbour wall which encircled the new port like a protective arm. For a few moments the stone pier seemed to move under her feet, so used was she to the movement of the waves, and her first few steps were uncertain until she regained the equilibrium of once more being on dry land.

  The dark roofs of the houses and businesses of Hugh Town gleamed in the warm afternoon sun as Helena walked towards the main thoroughfare. It was surprisingly populous, with an air of bustling prosperity. Helena strolled past the Custom House, an ale shop, two butchers and a grocer’s. Several neatly dressed women with the appearance of tradesmen’s wives were walking with baskets over their arms, smiling and nodding pleasantly as they passed her.

  The Godolphin Arms occupied a wide frontage on the main street and was indeed a fine-looking hostelry, with sparkling clean windows and flowers on the ledges. Certainly it was the sort of place she could enter alone without misgivings, Helena thought, as she pushed open the door into the wide, sawdust-strewn entryway.

  She stood blinking in the cool gloom, her eyes not yet adjusted from the sunlight. Several doors led off the passage, but all were closed, and she was making up her mind which to try when the one at the end opened and a potboy with two tankards emerged. ‘I’ll be with you directly, ma’am,’ he said before pushing open the entrance to a private parlour to one side and walking throu
gh.

  Over his shoulder Helena saw two men sitting, heads together, at a small table. They were deep in talk but broke off immediately when the lad appeared. One of them, Helena saw, was Adam, and it was he who swiftly gathered up the litter of papers on the table and stuffed them back into the leather pouch she had earlier seen on board.

  Instinctively she drew back into the shadows, not wanting to be ordered back to Moonspinner. But even as she did so, Helena realised that that was not the only reason she did not want to be seen. There was something in the way the men were talking, something in the set of their shoulders and the way they had fallen silent, which spoke of secrets, of intrigue.

  ‘Yes, ma’am? Can I help you, ma’am?’ the potboy was asking.

  ‘Er…yes. I would like a word with the landlady, if you please?’ Helena asked. But her mind was still on that quiet room. What was Lord Darvell about, deep in secretive dialogue with a swarthy rogue who looked as though he would cut a throat for two pence?

  Chapter Three

  ‘Good day, ma’am! And how can I be of service?’ A bright-eyed little woman stepped forward as the potboy opened the door through to a small parlour at the rear of the inn.

  ‘Mrs Trewather?’ Helena enquired, pulling her wandering thoughts together.

  ‘Indeed, ma’am.’ The landlady dropped a small curtsy.

  ‘I have just come ashore from a ship and wonder if it would be possible to engage a room for an hour or so to take a hot bath and wash my hair?’

  ‘Why, of course, ma’am. We have hot water a plenty on the range! Matt!’ The potboy reappeared, only to be sent running to carry the bathtub up to number seven. ‘And fill it up, boy! Don’t keep the lady waiting.’ She turned to Helena. ‘If you’ll just take a seat for a few minutes, ma’am, I’ll get our Jinny to find soap and towels. Would you like some refreshment? A nice cup of tea and a drop scone with my best gooseberry jam?’

  ‘That sounds heavenly. Thank you, Mrs Trewather.’

  Half an hour later Helena was luxuriating in the streams of hot water Jinny was pouring over her soapy hair while she sat hugging her knees in the shallow tub. Feeling clean again was bliss, she reflected, rubbing the lavender soap into a lather.

  ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?’ Jinny enquired as she helped her out of the tub and into a smother of soft towels.

  ‘A comb and a mirror, if you please! I must do something with my hair if I can!’

  ‘I’ll comb it out for you, ma’am,’ the girl offered as Helena fastened her dress and pulled on her stockings.

  It took their combined efforts, and much wincing on Helena’s part, to tease out the tangles and leave the wet hair rippling down her back in waves.

  ‘I cannot leave until it is dry—I will sit in the sunlight by the window,’ Helena decided. Even in a town where she was not known, it would be hoydenish behaviour to walk on a public street with wet hair.

  ‘I will ask Mrs Trewather if you could sit in her garden, ma’am. It is quite private.’ The girl ran off to fetch the landlady, leaving Helena with the sudden recollection that she had not a penny piece to her name and an account to settle. She had just decided to explain all and ask for credit until they came ashore for their evening meal when a mischievous impulse overcame her.

  ‘…so if you could just add it to his lordship’s reckoning for this morning, Mrs Trewather,’ she said calmly as she was ushered out into a pleasant enclosed garden, fragrant with herbs and pot marigolds and enclosed on all sides within the walls of the inn.

  ‘I’ll do that with pleasure, ma’am. His lordship always settles up on the spot, being a very thoughtful gentleman. He says, you never can tell when he might have to up-anchor sudden like, what with the weather and all.’

  Helena sat and combed her fingers through her drying hair and smiled at the thought of Adam’s feelings when confronted with the account for her bath! He would have known as soon as he saw her and she asked for the money that she had been ashore against his adamant instructions, but to be surprised with the bill and in a place where he would have to accept it with the appearance of equanimity would try his temper sorely. He would see Miss Wyatt was not a young lady to be ordered about with impunity!

  She touched her hair, finding it still damp at the roots. The afternoon shadows were lengthening quickly within the walls of the inn and she shifted along the bench the better to catch the last of the sunshine. The action brought her closer to one of the thick-paned windows. She could not discern the room within with any clarity, but it was ajar and, through the crack, the sound of men’s low voices just reached her.

  Naturally Helena was too well-bred to eavesdrop but as she sat quietly in the warm garden the cadence of their speech caught her ear. It was not English, nor the local patois, but French, and spoken with the rapidity and ease of natives. She knew she ought not to listen, but Helena edged closer to the crack, straining to hear. Doubtless it had some natural explanation, but it was disturbing to hear the language of Napoleon, of her country’s enemies, spoken in such a conspiratorial manner.

  Her schooling—and the influence of her mother—had left Helena with a good command of French but, despite straining to the utmost, she could not catch any sentences complete. What she did catch, though, was Adam Darvell’s unmistakable tones.

  All scruples cast to the wind, Helena crouched under the window, concentrating hard. But what little she could hear was tantalisingly incomplete.

  ‘…la flotte française…provisiones…armements…’

  Adam’s voice interrogatively.

  ‘…trois mois…’

  Helena half rose in her eagerness to hear more and, in doing so, dislodged the gravel under her feet. The scraping sounded loud in the still air and she froze, her heart in her mouth.

  ‘What’s that?’ Adam rapped out sharply. Horrified, Helena heard footsteps approaching the window and crushed herself as tight to the wall as possible. Adam’s voice seemed to come from directly over her head, ‘Courtyard’s empty, probably a cat.’ Then the window shut with a snap.

  Helena closed her eyes as a wave of relief washed over her, leaving her weak at the knees. Then the realisation of what she had been hearing struck her. They were discussing the French fleet—the navy of the tyrant Napoleon who, in the years since his great reverse at Trafalgar, had swept across Europe with his armies, occupying state after state in a seemingly unstoppable progress!

  She tiptoed out of the courtyard and re-entered the gloom of the inn, bundling her hair up roughly as she did so. Mrs Trewather, emerging from a side room, dropped a curtsy. ‘Was everything to your liking, ma’am?’

  ‘Indeed, yes, I thank you, Mrs Trewather, I will be on my way now.’ Suddenly she was eager to get away from the shadows of the inn, back to the windswept deck of the Moonspinner.

  The crew must have been on the watch for her, for as soon as she reached the quayside and waved the rowing boat put out and she was soon back on board.

  Pacing the deck, Helena turned over in her mind exactly what she had seen and heard. The scene in the inn had appeared suspicious and secretive, and Adam’s companion certainly seemed a rogue. There seemed no doubt that Adam was gathering information—but on whose behalf? He was an English gentleman—obviously his loyalty would be squarely with his King and country. He patently enjoyed adventure; if that was leading him into dangerous association with smugglers, and that in turn meant he needed information about the French and their activities, well, that was none of her concern. After all, she owed him her life—the least she could do in return was to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Tucked away as she was on the leeward side of the ship, away from the wind, the first Helena knew of his lordship’s return was the bump of the skiff against the side and his voice raised in anger demanding to know who had rowed Miss Wyatt ashore.

  Helena hurried round the wheelhouse to find him tight-lipped and confronting the bosun, who was protesting that as his lordship had given no orders th
at the lady wasn’t to go ashore; when she’d asked, of course, they had taken her.

  ‘…and, after all, your lordship, it’s not as if all your other ladies don’t regularly disembark, is it?’ the man added, fatally.

  Adam’s face darkened. ‘Hold your tongue,’ he barked at the sailor, ‘and about your business. Look at the state of the rigging—and these decks!’

  Helena reached his side, ‘Adam, it really is most unjust…’

  ‘And you, madam, can also hold your tongue!’ He gripped her arm above the elbow none too gently, his eyes as blue as the sea—and as cold. ‘Come below, I want a word with you.’

  It would be undignified to struggle in public so Helena allowed herself to be virtually marched down to the cabin. Once inside, she shook Adam’s arm off angrily. He closed the door with great deliberation and leaned against it, arms across his chest. In the small room he dominated the space and Helena found herself backing away until the edge of the bunk caught the back of her knees and she sat down with an undignified bump.

  ‘Well?’ he enquired, waving what was obviously the reckoning from the inn between his fingers. ‘Why, Miss Wyatt, did you find it necessary to deliberately flout my orders?’

  ‘Orders? I am not one of your crew to be ordered around, my lord.’

  ‘While you are on this ship you do as I command, and I will not tolerate disobedience.’ He straightened up and with one step was towering over her as she sat, straight-backed on the bunk.

  ‘And if I chose not to, what then?’

  There was a long silence. Then, ‘I would suggest, Helena, that you do not provoke me.’

  Her chin came up defiantly. Her heart was beating with apprehension, but also with a strange exhilaration and an excitement she had never felt before. ‘Oh, really, my lord! You sound like the villain in some dreadful Gothic tale.’ When this accusation elicited no more response than a further tightening of his lips she added, ‘I shall do as I please. After all, what can you do about it?’ It sounded petulant even to her own ears and she wondered at herself for behaving so badly.