Chapter Six
The cart with a sturdy cob between the traces was waiting at the head of the path. A lad of about twelve held the reins and jumped down from his perch as Olivia, following Mike, climbed the last steep stretch of the path to emerge on the clifftop.
“All well, Billy?” Mike called softly, crossing the springy turf towards him.
“Aye. Pa says as ‘ow yer to come ’ome tonight and drink wi‘ him.” The lad regarded Olivia curiously from beneath an unruly thatch of black hair. “If ’tis all right wi‘ the master.”
“Oh, aye. He’ll not be lookin‘ fer me back till the mornin’,” Mike responded easily. He turned to Olivia, offering her his hand. “Let me ‘elp ye up, miss. ’Tis probably a mite dirty,” he added with an apologetic smile. “Cart was used to take the chickens to market this mornin‘.”
“I don’t mind a few chicken feathers,” Olivia said, taking the proffered hand and climbing into the cart. It was fortunate she didn’t mind, since the floor was thick with feathers and there was a strong odor of livestock. “Smells more like pig to me,” she observed.
“Oh, aye. Ma’s piglets went off t‘ market this mornin’,” the lad said, brushing at the seat with his sleeve. “Got a good price she did fer ‘em, an’ all.”
Mike swung himself into the cart beside Olivia. “ ‘Tis not far, miss,” he offered.
“You’re taking me home?”
“Aye. Master says we’re to deliver ye to the door. He says we’re to say nowt. Ye’ll do the talkin‘.” He gave her a rather anxious look as he said this.
“Yes, that’s right,” Olivia reassured him. “I know just what to say.”
“That’s good, then. I’m not much fer words meself.” His relief was clear.
The lad clicked his tongue and the cob moved off slowly across the cliff and onto a narrow lane. Olivia had no idea where they’d landed or in what direction they were headed. The blindfold had disoriented her, and after five days of the gentle motion of the sea, the land felt hard, unyielding to her body as the cart jolted along the lane. She looked for the North Star but the clouds had come in from the sea and the sky was dark.
It wasn’t long, however, before they began to pass cottages along the way. “There’s the inn, miss.” Mike pointed ahead to the faint glimmer of a light some half mile away.
“The coaching inn in Chale?”
“Aye, miss. Reckon we’ll find Lord Granville’s place just past on the left.”
“You turn left at the crossroads,” Olivia said. Now she was so close to home, she couldn’t seem to think straight. Would her father be there? It would be so much easier if she had time to collect her thoughts, talk with Phoebe, before she had to face him.
She would have to tell Phoebe the truth, Olivia knew that now. It was not something she could keep to herself. But she would not, could not, tell Phoebe of what she had remembered.
Gales of laughter erupted from the open door of the coaching inn as they passed, and Mike glanced longingly towards the convivial light. Then they had passed and the lane was dark once more. At the crossroads, Billy turned the cob to the left. The hedgerows were high, the lane very narrow, but they reached the stone gateway leading to Lord Granville’s house in a very few minutes. The gates were locked for the night and Mike jumped down and pulled the bell.
The gatekeeper appeared at the door of his cottage, holding his lantern high. “Who goes there?”
“It’s me, Peter.” Olivia leaned over the side of the cart so that he could see her clearly. “Open the gate.”
“Well, I’ll be blowed,” the man muttered at the unmistakable voice. He raised his lantern higher, illuminating the speaker. “Well, I’ll be blowed,” he said again, louder this time, and ran to unlock the gates. He swung them open and Billy trotted the cob smartly through, giving the man a cheeky wave as he did so.
“Should us go to the front door, then?” Billy inquired as the lights of the house came into view.
“Of course, you dolt!” Mike said, cuffing him lightly. “Who d’ye think we got ‘ere?”
“Dunno. No one told me,” Billy muttered. “Jest ‘miss’ is all I ’eard.”
“Yeah, well that’s all ye need to know,” Mike stated, heedless of the contradiction.
“The front door is fine,” Olivia said hastily, although in her present state of stockingless dishabille she thought the kitchen door might be a more suitable point of entrance.
Billy halted the cob at the front door. There were lights in the windows but the thatch-roofed mansion had a rather desolate air, as if everyday life had been suspended. Mike jumped down and politely offered Olivia his hand.
She stepped to the gravel and stood for a second, hesitating. The prodigal returned was not an easy part to play. Then she lifted her chin and marched to the door. She raised the knocker and banged it with imperious firmness.
There were footsteps, the sound of the bolts being drawn back, then the door swung open. Bisset, the butler, stood outlined by the lamplight from the hall behind him. He stared at Olivia as if at some spirit.
“Yes, Bisset, it’s me.” Olivia stepped past him into the hall. “Where is Lady Granville?”
But she had no need to ask the question; Phoebe was coming down the stairs, her step impetuous, as she called, “Who is it? Who’s there, Bisset?”
“It’s me,” Olivia said, running to the stairs, needing now only the comfort of her friend’s arms, the security of home.
“Oh, Olivia! Where have you been? I’ve been frantic!” Phoebe wrapped her in her arms, tears of relief pouring down her cheeks. “What happened to you?”
Olivia clung to her. “Is my father back?”
“No, not yet.” Phoebe drew back slightly to look into Olivia’s eyes. “Where on earth have you been?”
Olivia remembered Mike and Billy. She remembered bitterly the pirate’s injunction that she reward them for their trouble, as if she didn’t know how to behave to those who served her.
“I’ll explain later, Phoebe, but I must show my gratitude to these people. They’ve been so kind to me.” She gestured to Mike, who had withdrawn from the doorway and stood hesitating in the shadows just beyond the shaft of lamplight.
Phoebe understood what was required immediately. She didn’t need reminders any more than Olivia of the lady of the manor’s obligations. She controlled her impatience with difficulty and went to the door. “Please, do come in for a minute.”
Bisset had the air of one whose breath had been knocked from his body, but he stepped aside to allow the reluctant Mike entrance to the hall.
Mike made a jerky bow. “Mike Barker, madam.”
Phoebe gave him a friendly welcoming nod and turned back to Olivia. She took the key to Cato’s strongbox from her pocket as she made for her husband’s study, Olivia on her heels.
“What should they have?” Phoebe asked as she opened the strongbox. “Since I don’t know what’s going on, how can I-”
“Five guineas.” Olivia interrupted Phoebe. She could hear the impatience rising in her friend’s voice and knew that Phoebe would not be able to restrain herself for much longer.
Phoebe handed five gold coins to Olivia, who took them without a word and returned to the hall.
“Mike, please thank your family for everything they’ve done for me. I know my father will be so grateful when he returns. But please give this to your mother. It will help pay for the medicines.”
“Oh, aye,” Mike muttered, staring at the winking riches on his palm. It seemed a generous sum for telling a tale and the loan of a cart. However, the master always paid for the favors he asked, and there were a great many mouths to feed at the family hearth. Mike slipped the coins into his pocket.
The lad Billy had ventured to the open door and now gazed wide-eyed at the square hall with its oak floor and gleaming brass and pewter. A massive fireplace stood in one wall, the grate filled with a jug of fragrant stocks and marigolds instead of winter logs. A wide staircase with an elaborately carved banister curved upward at the rear. Billy saw that the newel posts were carved into the shape of lions’ heads. His family’s entire farmhouse could fit into this one apartment, and yet there was no sign that this room, if such it could be called, served any useful domestic purpose. It was just wasted space. What it was to be rich, he thought with some disapproval mingled with envy.