Chapter Twenty-Seven

T hey rode down to the sea the very next day. Cubert, who was the younger of the two men, and had turned out to be the old woman Doryty's youngest son, gave them directions. Carlyon Court being set a short way inland and above tall cliffs, this involved riding north for a mile or two, until the shoreline dipped, at last, to sand hills and a wide stretch of beach. Perfect for a gallop, Cubert promised.

Sam refused to let Ysella go alone, which had been her first idea. Then she'd offered to ride with James as escort, but, as Sam pointed out, James was to take the carriage back to Ormonde that day and shouldn't be delayed.

So, after a substantial and very tolerable breakfast of eggs, bacon and coffee taken in the freshly cleaned dining room, they set out together on a bright, late-spring morning. Overhead, the harsh cry of the gulls wheeling in a pristine blue sky heralded their journey.

Ysella had only ever seen tiny Nanpean Cove before, where her Uncle Jago lived, the scene of the abortive raid by the revenue men only a year ago. According to Cubert's effusive description, this new beach was going to be far superior from the point of view of riding. Jaunty in her green riding habit and a matching hat, she sat up straight on Lochinvar, who seemed well-rested after his five days of constant travel, gazing about herself with interest.

Their way led down narrow, high-hedged and stony-banked lanes, with no view at all of the sea to begin with. It climbed across the broad headland that Cubert swore was all that divided the Court from Branok Bay. "It do mean ‘Bay o' the Ravens'," he'd told Ysella, with some small pride. "And they do say as there were them old priests there once. Them druidicals. Ravens was holy to them, so they chose the bay as a spot for their temple." He blushed. "If'n you don't mind me tellin' you this. Miss Ys-Mrs. Beauchamp."

Ysella had laughed out loud. "Oh, Cubert. Please keep calling me Miss Ysella. Mrs. Beauchamp makes me sound like an old married woman, and I don't feel like one at all." Her turn to blush as the import of her words soaked in, hopefully only to her and not him. Shouldn't she be feeling like an old married woman by now, and not a girl anymore? In truth, she didn't feel married at all, what with sleeping in separate rooms, and only coming together for the occasional meal, and conversing awkwardly like distant strangers. With a shrug she shook off the feeling.

Sam, smart in a well-cut dark blue coat, trotted by her side on Hercules, his sandy hair, unencumbered by any hat, blowing in the breeze. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He looked happy, but was he? Might she be responsible for making him unhappy? Morvoren had said Sam cared for her, which she'd known to be true. They'd been friends for years, since she, Ysella, had been a child and he a gangly youth. And she cared for him. A lot. Did he secretly want more from this marriage than the clumsy attempt at continued friendship they were making? Was she cheating him of something?

She shook herself. No. She would not think about that. Sam had known what he was agreeing to when he'd said he would marry her. He'd offered it up himself. Said they could live as friends, and friends had nothing more between them than she'd been prepared to give this past month. However, the paucity of what she'd offered him gave her a sharp twinge of guilt, which she shoved aside. No. She wouldn't think about it. He was happy. Look at him. He was smiling. He must be happy.

The lane curved to the left, and the road began to drop away steeply. Slowing Lochinvar to a walk, Ysella caught her breath. Before them stretched an expanse of sandy beach that made Nanpean's small cove look like a garden compared to parkland. A border of rolling sandhills separated it from the moorland scattered with isolated forms that backed onto it, and, far out, white topped waves made a pretty fringing to the sand. "Oh, my goodness," she gasped. "I never thought a beach could be so huge ."

She met Sam's gaze. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Sam laughed and nodded. "You forget that I've been down here with Kit on my own. We traveled on the mailcoach which stops at Penzance. I saw the beach there—which I have to say is bigger even than this. And there's a little island part way along it, with a sort of castle perched on top of it. Very picturesque. I believe people go to Penzance just to see it."

That sounded most unusual. "I should like to see that. But for now, Branok Bay will do me. I'm itching for a gallop and I should imagine poor Lochinvar is too, after all the dreadful roads he had to put up with on our journey down here." She urged Lochinvar into a faster walk. "Let's hurry."

The lane wound down the side of the headland, with cliffs to their left and small, stone-banked fields to their right. Beyond the fields lay open moorland, dotted with the small white shapes of sheep. Overhead, the swooping gulls kept up their constant screeching cries.

As they reached level ground, Ysella urged Lochinvar into a trot. "These are the same kind of sandhills they have at Nanpean," she called over her shoulder to Sam. "Difficult to walk over on foot, and it seems much the same to ride over."

"They're called dunes," Sam rejoined. "Sand dunes. I believe the word has a similar origin to the word ‘downs' for the chalk hills of Wiltshire."

Trust Sam to know that.

She was forced to slow Lochinvar to a walk over the shifting dry sand. Hummocks rose before her, surmounted by clumps of long, spiky grass, the dips between them harder packed and easier to negotiate. The distant rumble of the sea drew her on beguilingly, as she led the way along what seemed to be a well-used track. As the sandhills parted, the wide expanse of the beach opened up in front of her.

"We're in luck we've found the tide right out," Sam said. "See the high-water mark, where all the seaweed and driftwood's been cast up? That's all the beach we'd have if the tide had been fully in."

"The tide?"

Sam nodded. "Twice a day the sea comes right in, but it takes a long time to do so. It's not a sudden thing, so we're quite safe. It carries with it all the bits you see before you and deposits them at its furthest reach."

How handy that Sam knew everything. A trait to be valued in a friend.

Ysella surveyed the evidence of the sea having come up to within thirty yards of the sandhills. "So, with it this far in, we wouldn't be able to get out beyond those rocky headlands to left and right?"

Sam nodded. "The water will come in and swamp them at high tide, but today we'll be able to ride out beyond them onto the furthest beaches. Those that are unusable for most of the day. They're backed by cliffs, so there's no access to them when the tide is even halfway in or out. Most likely there are strong currents, so it wouldn't be a good idea to swim for safety if one were caught along there with the tide coming in."

Ysella swallowed. "I can't swim, so that would do me no good. I couldn't swim to safety even if I wanted to." Kit had learned to swim in the lake at Ormonde as a child, which had seemed manifestly unfair to her when she found out. She'd kicked up a rumpus at not being allowed to do the same, and even hitched up her skirts and gone wading in the shallows until Papa had sent Kit in to drag her out. Girls, it seemed, were not allowed to learn to swim. After that she'd watched, bitter with jealousy, when Kit had friends home from school and in old breeches they'd cavorted in the lake.

"That big old pike'll bite your feet off," she'd threatened, but they'd laughed in her face. Mean things.

"Swimming is a useful skill if you live beside the sea," Sam said. "However, I've heard it said that sailors never learn to swim, so if their ship is wrecked, they drown the quicker."

Ysella shivered. "I should not like to drown at all, so even if I were a sailor, I'd be sure I knew how to swim." She waved a hand to the left, in the general direction of Nanpean Cove. "Can we canter on the sand? It looks most tempting, and Lochinvar is itching to stretch his legs. I can feel it."

Keeping the horses in a gentle canter, which Sam said was advisable as sand could vary in consistency, they rode south along the beach towards the first jutting cliffs, a small headland that separated Branok from the next small inlet. A series of such rocky arrangements poked their noses across the sand, each one sheltering the equivalent of a little cove. At last, they reached where the cliffs towered out across the water, and there was no more sand to be found.

Ysella slowed Lochinvar to a trot and then a walk, his sides heaving. "Can we walk the horses in the sea? I've heard tell the salt water is good for their legs."

Lochinvar didn't seem to have heard the same saying. At first, he shied away from entering the edge of the sea, seemingly very nervous about the small waves rolling in to meet him, and then bothered by the splash his back legs were making behind him. But as Hercules had no such qualms, being of a calmer temperament all round, he consented at last to walk on the landward side of Sam's horse, where he couldn't see the waves coming towards him.

Thus, Ysella was forced to ride on Sam's righthand side, up close to keep Lochinvar from shying every time a fresh wave rolled in. As her leg rubbed against Sam's, a pleasant tingle ran through her body, and an overwhelming sensation of being safe with him, and perhaps not just safe from the waves. She smiled, content for now with what life had offered her. "The waves are very pretty with their foamy white caps."

He didn't look at her, instead staring out into the hazy blue distance where sea met sky. "Today they are, but Kit told me they can be treacherous in bad weather. Your Uncle Jago once told me there've been a lot of ships wrecked along this coast. You see all the rocks just sticking up above the waves?"

She nodded.

"Well, there are as many and more hidden beneath the water, waiting to trap any ship that comes too close."

Ysella stared out beyond the rolling waves at the expanse of blue-gray water. How innocuous it looked, stretching away towards a distant horizon. "But don't the ships' captains know not to come too close inshore? To keep away from the hidden rocks? Or are there some further out as well?" Her brow furrowed. "How deep is the sea?" She gave a shrug. "Today, it doesn't look dangerous at all."

Sam kept his gaze on the sea. "Jago told me it's storms that drive the ships onto the rocks. With an onshore wind they can't fight against, they are doomed if they come too close to land."

"Storms?" She wrinkled her brow. "What happens to the sea in a storm?" The only storms she'd ever known had been in Wiltshire when she'd been tucked up safely inside Ormonde's stout walls. Unlike poor Martha, she'd loved the roar of thunder and the crack of lightning, leaping out of bed to stand at her window and watch the tumultuous sky.

He turned to look at her at last. "Just wait until the first high wind. I'll show you what it's like then, but we won't go near the sea when there's a proper storm raging. Apparently, there can be freak waves bigger than the rest that can wash a man out to sea. And a horse. So your Uncle Jago told me."

Ysella shivered again. That something so beautiful could transform into a thing that could snatch and drown a man seemed unbelievable. But Jago had told Sam there'd been shipwrecks, so surely the sea must become more violent even than the sky in a storm. Whatever Sam said about keeping away from the sea when it was dangerous, she'd very much like to see it for herself. Up close. Best not to tell Sam, lest he assume he could be as controlling of her as Kit.

"Come," she said, tossing her head. "Shall we canter again while the tide is out? Would you like to race?"

*

That afternoon, Sam was taken up with estate matters in the newly cleaned office, so Ysella found herself left to her own devices, which suited her well. She should, perhaps, have been overseeing the rest of the cleaning Sam had directed the servants to get on with, of which there remained a great deal, there being a lot of rooms. But the fine day lured her out into the gardens, escaping Martha and leaving the boring tasks of housekeeping behind. Overgrown lawns and leggy bushes and trees, fresh with the green of spring, stretched away in every direction around the house, even to her inexperienced eye much in need of some care and attention. Like the house.

Maybe she should have swallowed her own dislike and asked Sam to bring Mrs. Higgins, who kept a spotlessly clean house, to accompany them. Then she could have let her shoulder all the responsibilities Sam seemed to think were hers. But no. That would not have done. Mrs. Higgins liked her even less than she liked Mrs. Higgins. Best to start afresh without her.

She found the boy, Jem, on his hands and knees weeding the drive.

"Hello, Jem, you look busy."

He looked up at her out of a face liberally covered in freckles, his hazel eyes twinkling in a friendly fashion. "Mr. Beauchamp wanted me to make a start on the weeds. Said the drive were a disgrace."

He sounded a tad resentful at being consigned to this most boring of duties. Did she detect an undercurrent of unrest amongst the servants at finally having to do some work?

Ignoring that thought, she smiled back at him. Perhaps he considered he'd forged a partnership with her when he'd led them all to Nanpean to save Kit. Perhaps he had indeed. It would be good to have a friend here, amongst the servants she didn't know. She had Martha, of course, but she knew nothing of the house or gardens, and definitely not a thing about further afield.

An idea seized her. "A good thing too as it is very overgrown." She waved an airy hand at the small section he'd cleared. "It looks much nicer now. But I think you can leave it for a while. I'd like you to show me the way down to Nanpean, as I feel a need to call on my mother's brother and make my presence here at the Court known to him." She dimpled and was rewarded by the hot flush that rose up Jem's cheeks. "And not by the clifftop route you took us on before. I never want to have to take that particular path ever again."

He scrambled up off his knees with an appreciative grin, a scrawny specimen in homespun shirt and tatty brown breeches. His stockings had wrinkled around his ankles, above boots as scuffed as if he'd been scraping them down a gravel road for hours. Wiping his muddy hands on his trousers, he made a sketchy bow. "'Course I'll show you, Miss Ysella." He eyed her pretty morning gown and lacy shawl, his gaze lowering to her daintily shod feet. "The path's a bit rough. Will you mind that?"

Ysella shook her head. "Lead on, Jem. I have a hankering to get to know my uncle a little better than I do at present." Which was not at all. She'd probably seen him once or twice as a child, but those memories eluded her. And last year, when Kit had been shot and she and Morvoren had taken care of him, Jago's presence had been that of a shadowy background character she'd taken little notice of. Then, once Kit was on the mend, she'd had to return to Ormonde with Sam.

Jem's alternative route down to Nanpean's narrow valley might not have been along the top of the precipitous cliffs that had blocked her way on the beach that morning, but it nevertheless was not an easy walk. The path led between high stone and earth walls capped by straggly hawthorn bushes, with no view of the sea or anything much at all apart from the path itself. From time-to-time, muddy patches almost blocked the way, which Jem, in his scruffy boots, strode through without a care, but she, in her ordinary shoes, had to teeter around the edge of.

On top of that, it seemed a long way, much further than the clifftop path. Going mostly downhill, it twisted and turned around small fields and patches of scrubby moorland. Might it have been better to have taken Lochinvar and gone by road? But then Jem could not have shown her the way, and Sam was far too busy. If only she'd put on her boys' clothes this morning, with her pair of Kit's old boots. She'd stowed them away amongst her things when Martha hadn't been looking, and they'd have been useful for this long walk. How unfair that boys and men got to wear the sort of clothes where they could do what they liked, and she had to suffer in a gown and stays, and these silly shoes that were looking worse by the moment. She might have to throw them away after today.

At last, though, the valley opened up before them and Jem pointed with a grubby finger. "There's Nanpean, Miss." A twist of woodsmoke rose into the blue sky from one of the squat old farmhouse's several chimneys.

Uncle Jago was Mama's older brother. The story of how Mama had met Papa was one Ysella loved to hear. So romantic that Papa, who'd been living at Carlyon Court, had one day ridden out and met the most beautiful girl in Cornwall. Those had been his exact words when he'd told Ysella the story, his face suffused with the love he still felt for Mama. The same sort of expression Ysella had seen on Kit's face when he looked at Morvoren. She'd thought Oliver had looked the same when he'd gazed at her. How wrong she had been. He'd been seeing piles of money, not her. Never would she look to find the light of love in a man's face again, because if she saw it there, she would know it couldn't be trusted.

The path leveled out, leading between a field with a solid cob grazing in it and an orchard of small, stunted trees, bent by the wind from the sea to look as though they were stretching out their long, beseeching arms inland.

Jem led the way into the farmyard by a small side gate, and Ysella approached the front door of a long, low, stone-built farmhouse. A porch had been constructed to give some shelter from the elements that no doubt ravaged the farm in winter, built from bits of sea-bleached driftwood.

She knocked on the door.

After a moment, it swung open to reveal a small woman of early middle-age and rotund figure. Jenifry, Uncle Jago's… housekeeper. She wore an apron and mob cap, the strands of her light brown hair escaping around a face flushed pink with heat. For a long few seconds, the woman stood there staring, before her expression changed from one of surprise to one of delight. "Miss Ysella! Well, I live an' breathe. 'Tis you, m'dear. Come back to Nanpean. Come in, come in. I've a pot of tea on the stove keeping hot and cakes in the oven."

Her gaze slid past Ysella to Jem. "Him an' all. Can't be sendin' a boy back up that long path to the Court without a bite to eat and a dish o' tea. I takes it you've come from up yonder?"

"Goodness, Jenifry," Ysella managed, when her hostess paused to take a breath. "I didn't expect you to remember me, what with all the things going on last time we met." She and Jem followed Jenifry into the house. Everything was just as Ysella remembered it. The long oak table where Kit had pretended to be drunk at cards, the stove on one side of the room, and the wingback chairs to either side of it. A cat sat in a basket in front of the stove licking a batch of kittens, and a black and white sheepdog lay on the floor beside the window, ears cocked to keep an eye on the newcomers.

"Sit you down," Jenifry said, "and tell me all the news. Your uncle's away into Penzance this morning, so we've an hour or two to gossip without interruption."

This was better than Ysella had planned, Jenifry was a far more welcome person to talk to than an old man would have been. In truth, she'd been nervous at the thought of meeting the gruff and ferocious looking Jago again, so his absence was a boon. Ysella settled down to tell her all about Morvoren and baby George, carefully skirting around her own problems.