“I’m so sorry,” Olivia said inadequately.
“My dear, a crumbling cliff is hardly your fault.” He leaned over and lightly brushed her cheek with a fingertip, then turned as the door opened to admit Bisset with a tray of food and ale.
Glad to escape her father’s close scrutiny for a moment, Olivia began to rearrange a vase of yellow roses on the mantelshelf as behind her Bisset bustled to lay out his lord’s meal. She didn’t want to visit the Barkers; it was too close a reminder, too soon. They knew Anthony. She remembered his smile as he’d told her that Mike’s mother had so many children he’d never been able to count them all. He must have spent much time with them. They would know him well.
But if she was there, then she could deflect any awkward questions, make sure that the incident from her father’s point of view was closed once and for all.
“When do you wish to leave, sir?” she asked as Bisset left.
“When I’ve eaten this. It’ll not take many minutes; it’s hardly elegant fare, but I missed my dinner.” Cato broke bread, cut cheese. “Phoebe says you shouldn’t ride, so I’ll tell Giles to harness a pony to the trap.” He took a swallow of ale.
“I’ll fetch my hat and cloak and be down in ten minutes.”
Cato nodded with his mouth full and Olivia left him to his makeshift dinner. She went up to her bedchamber, hurrying past the open door to the nursery as she heard Phoebe’s voice talking to one of the nursemaids. She didn’t want to discuss this upcoming visit with Phoebe. Not just yet.
Holding her straw hat, she wandered to the window in her bedchamber. It looked over the garden and out over the sea towards the Needles. The sun was climbing high, setting the clear blue water sparkling. And yet it was not such a magnificent blue as the open sea.
The Barkers must know Wind Dancer‘s anchorage. Mike served on the ship.
Suddenly Olivia felt as she had when she’d tied the pirate’s cravat around her eyes. When they’d parted with such icy unforgiveness and despite it all she’d been overpowered for a moment by the physical consciousness of him, of what they had shared. Suddenly she could smell and feel him, hear him, see the glow in his eye, the curve of his mouth. Her gut twisted as, just as suddenly, she shrank from the power of the physical memory.
The wound in her leg throbbed.
The Barkers’ farmhouse was isolated, set well back from the lane down a cattle track. The nearest human habitation was a scattering of cottages in a small hamlet that they had passed some ten minutes before they turned up the track to the Barkers’ door.
Olivia, sitting beside Giles, who was driving the pony trap, reflected that such isolation would suit a pirate who wished to come and go freely and in secret. She glanced over at Cato, who was riding beside the trap.
He caught her eye and asked anxiously, “Not too tired?”
“No, not in the least, sir. It’s pleasant to be out in the fresh air.”
He smiled, reassured, and Olivia returned to her thoughts.
The farmyard was bustling. Children tumbled with chickens and a litter of puppies on the straw-covered dirt. Two yellow dogs raced to the trap, barking frantically.
“Quiet! Get off!” A woman emerged from the house and chased the dogs off with a broomstick. They ran yelping into the barn.
“Goodwife Barker?” Cato inquired pleasantly, for the moment remaining on horseback.
“Aye, sir.” She regarded him warily before her gaze took in the trap, its driver and passenger.
Olivia took matters into her own hands and jumped down from the cart. She advanced on the lady, holding out her hand. “Goodwife Barker, this is my father, Lord Granville. He has come to thank you himself for your kindness to me.”
Comprehension was immediate. “No need fer that,” the woman said, taking Olivia’s proffered hand. She was a woman of ample girth, and her bright intelligent eyes were like shiny currants in her round face. “ ‘Twas only what any Christian body would have done.”
Cato dismounted. “I stand in your debt, goodwife.”
“That ye don’t, sir. Ye’ve more than paid yer debts,” she replied, dropping him a curtsy. “I’d not looked fer payment, but I’ll not say it came amiss.” She nodded at Giles, who remained in the pony trap. “Good day to ye, sir.”
“Good day, goodwife.”
“D’ye care for a glass of elderflower wine, my lord?” There was no air of subservience about Goodwife Barker as she offered the hospitality of her farmhouse to the marquis of Granville.
“My thanks.” Cato accepted with a smile, well aware that a refusal would cause grave offense.
“The lass knows the way,” she said casually, gesturing that Olivia should precede her.
A large square kitchen occupied the entire ground floor of the farmhouse. The cooking fire was built high, pots on trivets simmered merrily, and the rich smell of baking came from the bread oven set into the bricks of the fireplace. The room was as hot as the oven itself. There seemed to be children everywhere, crawling babies, tottering toddlers, and several older girls who were busy at domestic tasks.
“You have a large family, goodwife,” Cato observed, stepping carefully over an infant who seemed to have fallen asleep where she sat on the floor.
“Oh, aye. My man, Goodman Barker, likes to think he has enough of his own to manage the farm and the fishing without hired help,” she said placidly, taking a flagon from the dresser.
“Is he here? I’d like to meet him. To thank him myself.” Cato perched on the corner of the massive pine table. The perch was a trifle floury but it seemed safer than remaining on his feet when he might tread on a soft body.
“Bless ye, no, m’lord. He’s out from sunup to sundown, rain or shine. He’ll be bringin‘ in the crab pots about now. Like ’e was doin‘ when he found your daughter on the undercliff.” She set two pewter cups on the table and filled them with wine. She handed one to Olivia, saying blandly, “This’ll put strength in you, dearie.”
Olivia took it with a smile of thanks. Mike’s mother had the situation well in hand, and there was nothing here to arouse Lord Granville’s suspicions.
Something tugged at Olivia’s knees. A determined baby was trying to pull himself up on her skirt. She set her cup on the table again and bent to gave him her hands. He hauled himself to his feet with a squeal of delight. She knelt on the stone-flagged floor still holding his hands to steady him, and then she saw something that sent a shiver down her spine.
A small boy was playing with a wooden ship a few feet away from her. It looked to Olivia’s eye to be an exact replica of Wind Dancer. The baby tugged at her hands, clearly demanding that she help him walk, so she obliged, guiding his shaky steps over to where his brother was playing.
She could hear Cato questioning the farmer’s wife pleasantly about the farm and her husband’s fishing. Neither of them were taking any notice of her.
“What’s that you have?” she asked, sitting down on the floor beside the child with the ship, taking the baby onto her lap.
“ ‘Tis a frigate,” the boy informed her with a note of scorn for her ignorance. “I’m puttin’ up the tops’l now.” He pulled on the fine strings that served as shrouds and hauled up the topsail. “See?”
“Who made her for you? One of your brothers?”
“Our Mike,” he said. “ ‘E sails in a ship like this.”
“Oh.” Olivia nodded. “Does your ship have a name?”
“I calls ‘er Dancer.”
“That’s a splendid name. Where does she sail to?”
“ ‘Cross the sea to France, mostly.”
“Does she have an anchorage on the island?”
“Aye.” The boy began to turn the wheel. “I’m goin‘ to sail ’er on the duck pond in a minute.”
“Is that where she has her anchorage?”
“In a duck pond?” The child burst into exaggerated gusts of laughter. “Y’are daft, you are.”