Chapter 4
In which a sense of doom intrudes
Do not dismiss old tales. They often hold a skerrick of truth, and a warning for those who listen closely.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
Judith tucked Marigold under her bed, which was a rather unsafe sleeping place for a vampiri, but the circumstances demanded the risk. Then she fell into a heavy slumber despite the anxieties that cartwheeled through her mind. It had been a long night.
A few hours later, she was roused by the housekeeper returning with another tray of food: luncheon, to be hastily consumed before the journey.
Harsh sunlight now slanted through the window, and the sea was a slate of blue as she ate the cold meat, bread, and cheese.
Marigold continued to sleep in the shadowed dark under the bed, until Judith shut the curtains and carefully transferred her into a capacious pocket, wrapped in the flannel handkerchief.
Stepping out of Custodian House, a soft wind ruffled her hair.
The fort to her left was an impressive silhouette of grey stone, marked at intervals by the red figures of soldiers.
She drew a breath, trying not to dwell on Dacian’s imprisonment deep below the earth. Should she demand to see him again now?
But she wasn’t given a chance. Captain Drumpellier hustled her onto a gig, with instructions for Ltn Greene to accompany her on the long journey across the bay. The lieutenant was clearly intended to keep a sharp eye on her and report her movements to Drumpellier.
“Now,” said Drumpellier, looking up into the vehicle, where Judith sat, her hands tightly clasped. “Do not attempt to return and seek out his grace again; rather expend your energy to find out what you can about Sgt Finlay’s death. I will send for you in three days’ time.”
Judith nodded, keeping her anger hidden under a veneer of matronly dignity. It was fortunate for Drumpellier that she had need to visit Castle Lanyon regardless. Otherwise, she had a good mind to tie herself to Dacian’s dungeon door and see what they did about that.
The gig started up, and she sat back with a sigh (careful not to squash Marigold) and watched the green fields and blue ocean drift by.
The sight of the vast sea turned her mind towards her children, who had set sail for Sark before she had left Devon, weeks ago.
Had they accomplished their quest to find the missing French roost?
Elinor’s Gift for divining jewels would not have been much help in the task, though it was true that her Discernment had been slowly expanding into other facilities.
Peregrine, with his ability to Travel, should have been useful.
At the very least, he was able to smartly extricate himself from any trouble, and hopefully extricate Elinor too.
Could he extricate a whole roost? That remained to be seen.
And if they had succeeded, they would need the castle cellars, as they had planned together weeks ago.
All before Elinor’s wedding, which was fast approaching!
She had to take charge of the castle and sort out this haunting nonsense as soon as possible. And solve a murder. And rescue Dacian.
She needed a hot cup of chocolate.
Yet, despite the uneven roads, and the weight upon her mind, Judith managed a few more snatches of sleep, for the weariness of her exertions the night before still weighed upon her.
Awful dreams plagued her, of Dacian turning away, his face blank, his wrists bound, and a door slamming shut between them.
She woke up with tears in her eyes and dashed them away angrily.
Ltn Greene rode alongside the gig, keeping his distance, as was proper. When at last they came in sight of Lanyon Isle, she rubbed her cheeks and peered out at a fantastical sight.
In the distance, the castle rose up out of the water like something out of a fairy tale.
Its stately towers and white gleaming stone emerged from the top of a dark green hill, which itself emerged from the teal blue of the sea.
Yet she could see that one of the towers was collapsing and misshapen, so that the far right of the castle leaned brokenly, as if it were an old lady trying to stand up.
Nonetheless, it was a beautiful sight, an otherworldly isle set apart from the rest of England.
The tide was receding, as Drumpellier had promised. It revealed a winding causeway that led from the mainland to the island. The cobbled path still glimmered with puddles, and the bay was strewn with dark brown splotches of seaweed.
It took some time to reach the causeway, but instead of rolling across it, the gig pulled to a halt by a stone cottage. Judith peered out to see that Ltn Greene had cantered ahead and tied up his horse. He was clearly waiting for her to dismount from the gig, his expression apologetic.
With a creak of her joints, she took his hand and clambered down, carefully arranging her skirts so that Marigold would not be too jostled. She resisted the urge to stomp her feet on the solid ground and took a deep breath of fresh air instead. “Why have we stopped here, Lieutenant?”
Ltn Greene bowed, his round face respectful. “This is Stonesthrow Cottage. The captain asked that you speak with the fisherman Cador, who lives here. He was the one who found Sgt Finlay’s body.”
She nodded reluctantly, and Ltn Greene turned and rapped smartly on the door.
It opened to reveal a sparse, wiry man with dark hair.
He looked older than Judith, his face weathered and tanned.
After his initial flash of surprise at seeing a soldier and a lady on his doorstep, his expression shuttered.
Ltn Greene introduced her as the new owner of Castle Lanyon, and Cador’s jaw tightened further.
“Ah,” he said. “An English lady sent down by the king. We are blessed.”
Judith’s lips quirked at his ironic tone.
Here was the scepticism that Drumpellier had mentioned: the Cornish distrust of the English.
“It seems I am to be blessed too, with such a mighty burden.” She gestured at the castle with its falling down ramparts and broken tower, and Cador raised a brow.
She searched for a way to come to the point, for she did not have time to waste.
“I believe that a body was found washed up on the shores recently. Is the causeway perilous to those who do not know how to swim?”
Cador nodded unwillingly. “Aye. The tide can come in quick. If you think to pop over to the isle and back you can be caught out.”
“Is that what happened to this poor soldier?”
Cador’s lips compressed. “It looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Well, that was singularly unhelpful. She cast Ltn Greene a glance of frustration.
The lieutenant cleared his throat. “Cador, I believe you saw Sgt Finlay earlier that day, when he was still alive. We are interested in determining his movements.”
Cador folded his wiry arms. “He came knocking at my door that morning, telling me some cock and bull story about smugglers. He reckoned there was going to be a drop that evening, or a fly, and told me to be on the lookout.”
“Oh?” Judith tilted her head. Intriguing: here was a motive to kill the soldier, if he had indeed discovered a den of smugglers. “And was there a drop, or a…fly?”
“Not that I saw, though I went on patrol that evening,” replied Cador dourly and truthfully.
“Did Sgt Finlay say how he came about his information?” she pressed.
“No, he did not. He was most clammy about it.” Cador scowled. “Just told me to look out sharp, come moonrise, on the bay.”
“So you went on patrol—by boat or foot?”
“Boat. The tide was in by then.”
“And did you see anything at all suspicious that night?”
There was a pause. “No.”
For the first time, Judith heard the hollow clang of a lie, making the fisherman’s voice sound empty. She raised her brows. “Really? Nothing at all?”
“No,” repeated Cador firmly, and just as untruthfully. “Only the gulls and the waves. No smugglers. And then the soldier, in the morning, by yonder rock.” He pointed to a huge boulder that lay stranded by the tide, near the causeway, close to the shore.
Judith pursed her lips. He was lying, but how to force the matter? “I am enquiring about this on the request of Captain Drumpellier,” she urged. “Anything out of the ordinary must be reported, as a matter of military importance.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Cador’s expression became even more dour. “Captain Drumpellier has already questioned me, ma’am.”
She bit back a sigh of impatience and glanced over the bay. “Can you at least show me where you found the body?”
Gloomily, Cador shut his door and led the way down the causeway.
The smell of seaweed was pungent on the air, and gulls wheeled and called overhead.
Judith lifted her skirts and followed, determined not to show any mincing airs of a London lady, despite her new title of marchioness.
After all, she was a rector’s daughter by birth, and well used to getting her hem dirty.
Cador walked about hundred yards along the cobbled path and halted. Nearby, at some distance from the causeway, but traversable over the wet sand, was an array of boulders, forming a little islet the size of a small house. When the tide was in, it would make a dark protrusion from the sea.
Grimly, Cador pointed to the rock. “That’s Arloedhes Rock. Where the soldier lay, dead and sodden.”
“Quite far from the shore then, when the tide is in,” said Judith, with a flash of pity for the unfortunate soldier.
The huge rocks were too sharply inclined to provide easy ascension, but he may have clung to them as support in his hour of need.
Or had Sgt Finlay knocked his head on the bleak stone?
Yet Captain Drumpellier had said the bruise was on the back of the head.
She turned to Ltn Greene. “The boulders are much closer to the mainland than the castle. Could he have swum most of the way, and then found himself in trouble?”
“It is possible,” agreed Ltn Greene readily.