Chapter Seven
Olivia walked into the inn, hoping Polly wouldn’t make a fuss. Luck wasn’t with her.
“See, what did I tell ye? Feelin’ lonely up at that big house by yerself? Didn’t I tell her, Jory?”
“Aye, ye did,” her husband answered with a smile and friendly wink in her direction.
The woman dropped her drying cloth on the bar, which her husband picked up and seamlessly added the task of drying glasses, mugs and pots to his well-practiced routine. Olivia felt sheepish, but nonetheless allowed herself to be embraced in Polly’s mothering arms.
“Come with me, I have a nice little room for ye,” she said, leading Olivia up the narrow stairs to the floor above. “It will be so nice to have dinner with ye again. Ye’ll meet our new lodger – he’s just come in and will be stayin’ with us for a little while.”
“A new lodger?” she asked, hoping her inquiry didn’t come across as too nosy.
“Well, he’s not really new. We’ve known Adam and his family for years.”
Adam? Olivia nearly missed the top step and only just avoided a stumble.
She felt herself go red and it didn’t go unnoticed by Polly.
“Are ye feelin’ yerself, dear?” she asked, opening the door to the room. “Ye’ve gone quite a color. I expect the exertion in the heat’s done it – and I bet ye’re not eatin’ proper.”
“You’ve spoiled me for anything I might have prepared for myself,” said Olivia. She placed the valise on the bed. “This Adam, he’s a local man?”
Polly pulled back the curtain, spilling the room with light, before wrestling with the latch on the window.
“Oh, my word,” she averred. “His family lived here for years but he up and went into the Navy. Now, he’s back for good – or so he says – but ye can never tell with sailors.
The sash lifted with a squeal.
“I’ll introduce the two of ye,” said Polly.
“Oh no, please don’t go to any bother, I’m sure Mr.…” Olivia stopped herself from saying the name Hardacre aloud since Polly had never mentioned the man’s surname. “Er, your guest, will be catching up with friends and family.”
Polly patted Olivia’s arm in passing. Her protest fell on deaf ears. “No trouble at all, Missy. He’ll be in for tea.”
Now alone, Olivia put hands to her cheeks. They still felt warm. She was drawn to the fresh air, still warm as twilight approached. The long rays of the sun painted the road in front of the inn gold, like a strip of ribbon as it curved around the hill.
The streams and tributaries that fed into the estuaries were a flat, pale, blue-grey color highlighted by the sun, brighter than the land around it – paddocks and farms dotted about, cast in heavy purple and green shadows as twilight advanced.
Below her, Will lit the lamps over the entrance of the inn. Little flickers of yellow light danced and bobbed before finally filling the glass with a cheerful buttery glow as the young man closed the front glass.
She tried to take in the name of the new lodger and wished she’d asked Polly his last name. Did she actually want confirmation of it?
Footsteps below heralded someone’s approach but the man’s features were obscured by the tricorn hat he wore.
“Evening, Will.”
“Evenin’ sir, fine night it is.”
“Aye, fine night it is.”
Was that the man she saw in the ruins? She didn’t think so, but she wouldn’t know for sure until she saw him. And what then? What exactly would she say? Are you the Adam who gave some measure of happiness to a sad young woman one summer twenty years ago? Did you know there were fruits of your passion? Did you know it came to such a sad end for her? And, perhaps, also for the child she carried?
Olivia closed the window part way, enough to let in a little of the breeze. She slipped off her walking shoes and lay on the bed. Over and over in her mind, she practiced the conversation.
The best and most satisfactory one to her mind was the version in which the man from the woods would frown and say, “I think you have me confused with some other fellow.”
Yes, that would be the best result of them all.
The sound of a door closing startled Olivia from a doze. The room was in darkness apart from a sliver of moonlight through the window.
Heavy booted footsteps walked past her door and down the stairs. Now fully awake, she heard the sound of conversation in the dining room and kitchen below. She quickly set a lamp, then hastened to draw the curtains before freshening herself up.
Ponsnowyth itself was a little village that served the wider district. But being so early in the week, only half a dozen people were in to dine. Olivia was acquainted with all of them though not terribly well. The Denton family didn’t socialize much in the village and she had been bound by the family’s habits. But she knew many of the local people from church and had encouraged Lydia at least to do her social duty and call when someone was ill.
On her way to a quiet corner, she made sure to stop and greet each of the diners. Although no one here was a stranger to her, neither was she so well acquainted with any that she would be invited to join them for supper.
It didn’t bother her. She frequently dined alone – it was the expectation for a governess and she had done it for years. In fact, it wasn’t until after Squire Denton’s death that his widow insisted she join the family for meals, saying it was good for womenfolk to stick together.
Even now, however, sharing mealtimes with others seemed strange. While she could coach young Lydia into being an informed and witty companion at the dinner table, Olivia had not the confidence, nor the opportunity to practice such lessons for herself.
Polly set a pasty before her. The aromatic filling of beef and vegetables stewed in a brown fish stock set her mouth to watering – along with the perfectly cooked buttery pastry. Soon, all the meals had been served. A few more villagers came in to spend the evening – some to drink, others to play draughts or the traditional skittles game of scattle and smite – but none were the mysterious man from the woods.
The evening wore on and after having thoroughly beaten Will in a game of dominoes – and to be fair, he had been distracted, only laying down a tile each time he passed her table on the way to perform chores – Olivia decided to retire to bed.
However, as she passed by the inn door, it swung open abruptly and she was nearly barreled over by a rushing man. His strong hands held her shoulders as she regained her balance.
“I beg your pardon for bumping you, Miss, I was in a hurry,” a warm, pleasant voice apologized. “Polly’s so strict about closing her kitchen on time.”
Olivia smiled, raising her head to tell the man the offense was small and forgiven. Then she looked into his face.
The man from the woods!
She heard herself gasp. The man’s expression changed from concern to surprise as he, too, remembered her. She had no idea how long they stared at each other, but the tension was broken by Polly’s call as she approached.
“Adam! Ye’re back.”
He gave Olivia’s shoulders a quick squeeze of reassurance and released them before sidling around her in order to greet Polly.
“I’m not too late, I hope. I just about ran all the way back from Flushing for one of your pasties.”
Polly laughed and gave the man an affectionate pinch on the cheek. Olivia started for the stairs but found her hand snagged.
“Don’t go away, Missy, there’s someone I want ye to meet.”
She allowed herself to be drawn back to the hallway.
“Adam, this is Olivia Collins. Olivia, I’d like to introduce ye to Petty Officer Adam Hardacre.”
*
Polly slipped her arm in his.
“Adam’s retired from the Navy—”
“—In a manner of speaking—”
“—And he’s come home to Ponsnowyth.”
Adam watched heightened color come to the woman’s cheeks and the doe-like eyes from their earlier meeting widened once more. He felt her discomfiture. She dropped a small curtsy, out of habit it would appear, although he thought under the circumstances he ought to bow to her.
“Miss Olivia was governess at Kenstec House,” Polly continued without once taking a breath. “Miss Lydia and Squire Denton’s widow have taken themselves off to London.”
So, she was not a maid at Kenstec.
“I’m afraid I won’t be in Ponsnowyth for much longer, Mr. Hardacre,” the governess said. “I shall miss this place, but I wish you well for your homecoming. I imagine there is much you will want to catch up on.”
She stepped back as though about to take her leave, but Polly wasn’t having any of it.
“Ye can have a chat while I bring his supper and fetch ye a slice of apple pie with a cup of tea.”
Adam met the woman’s eyes once more, and they shared a mutual look of empathy – the recognition that being under Polly’s roof gave her permission to order anyone about as she pleased. They followed her across the dining room.
One or two of the men – old men now who had been acquainted with his father – rose to greet him. A moment later, everyone in the inn – including people Adam wasn’t sure he actually knew, was shaking his hand to welcome him home.
Adam hadn’t expected to be recognized, but there it was. By this time tomorrow evening, his return would have been announced from Perranporth to Porthleven and all points between. Mission accomplished, even if mostly by accident.
By the time he had managed to extract a promise of a longer reunion on the morrow in exchange for a quiet supper tonight, Olivia Collins was already seated at the table. The poor thing looked like she would rather face her own execution than dine with him.
He leaned across the table.
“If you wish to be away, I can have your excuses ready by the time Polly returns.”
The woman shook her head and smiled, open and unforced. It warmed something in him.
“I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble, Mr. Hardacre, and besides, I do wish to speak to you…” She hesitated. “About a mutual acquaintance.”
The warmth in his chest turned to stone. When Ridgeway told him to expect the traitor to make contact, he had no idea they would use a woman as a go-between and do it so soon.
“You may speak as freely as you wish,” he answered. Her lovely brown eyes met his once more. He knew she had not missed his change of tone.
“No, it can’t be here.” She paused and swallowed, her nervousness returned. “The matter is of a delicate nature.”
“Then where?” he said, his voice little more than a low grumble so as not to be overheard. The woman before him moved her arm but not before he noticed the rise of goose flesh on it. He watched her frown as if the question had not occurred to her – or perhaps she was trying to remember what she had been told.
“Tomorrow then,” he said, voice decisive. “I can escort you back to Kenstec House in the morning and we’ll speak on the way.”
Rosy cheeks turned deathly pale. “No! Don’t come to the house. Tomorrow afternoon. Meet me at two o’clock in the woods in front of the ruined monastery where we saw each other today.”
Adam cursed the missed opportunity to ask her more questions as Jory and Will appeared with their food and drink. Miss Olivia Collins sat back in her seat and brought the cup of tea to her lips with the faintest of tremors.
They ate in uncomfortable silence – or rather he ate while she pressed a fork into the slice of pie with clotted cream to make it appear as though she had attempted a bite. She did finish her tea though.
She eyed him cautiously as he set down his fork. There remained nothing of the pasty but a few flakes of pastry on the plate.
“Is there something amiss? Do I have food on my face?” He couldn’t stop his slightly peevish tone.
She shook her head and offered a tentative smile. “Here.”
Adam found her plate pushed toward him.
“Do I look famished?”
The smile became a small giggle, a charming sound, like the sound of wind chimes.
“If I’ve offended you, Mr. Hardacre, I apologize,” she said. “I suggest, if it is any consolation, that you could consider this a service to me because if Polly returned to an untouched plate I would have to answer to my appetite, and the quality of her cooking which, as you and I both well know, is without peer.”
Adam felt the weight of suspicion ease a moment. He returned her smile. Olivia Collins had a very pleasant face to look at – a clear complexion, a small straight nose, and lips tinted the softest shade of rose.
“So eating a slice of delicious pie is an act of chivalry?” he asked lightly.
“It is a sacrifice to be sure – especially when I am certain you will be expected to eat a portion of your own much larger than this before the night is out.”
Adam took the plate after a moment’s hesitation.
“I’ve been told I have an appetite for danger.”
“Really?”
“Indeed,” he replied, and shoveled in a mouthful of pie.
He rose just at dawn. Jory yawned a good morning in the yard and Adam raised a fishing rod in response. He settled the strap of a wicker creel across his shoulder. He looked like he was going to be out for the day – and that was exactly the impression he wanted to give.
A glance up at the second story window revealed it still curtained. A certain female was not yet up. That suited him just fine.
Adam had spent another pleasant hour of conversation with Miss Olivia Collins last night. It had been a dance of sorts. She took a step forward and spoke of her family from Yorkshire; he returned the compliment by telling her an amusing story about being accidentally locked in the cellar overnight here at the Angler’s Arms. He skirted the topic of his return to town, while she danced around the issue of her current employment.
Before they parted for the night, he once again made the offer to escort her back to the house and, once again, she withdrew, adamant she required no such assistance and that she would see him at two o’clock as agreed.
He dropped the matter instantly, lest he arouse more suspicion than necessary. So, why that hour in particular? Was she expecting someone beforehand? Who?
Well, that’s what he intended to find out.
He made his way toward one of the popular fishing spots just outside the village and ventured further into the woods, following the watercourse upstream until it crossed onto Denton land. Adam continued until he could see the house and still remain within cover.
Time to make himself comfortable, he thought. He settled himself against a tree trunk and placed the rod on the ground next to him. He unbuckled the lid of his basket, pulled out a spyglass, and trained it on the windows of the house. No discernible sign of life within presented itself.
So far, it had appeared to be exactly as he had been told; Denton’s young widow and daughter had packed up, bag and baggage, to London and the house was closed up.
He set the spyglass back and looked inside his hastily prepared kit. A knife, a notebook, and pencil. Next to it, a small bottle of ale and beside that another pasty that Polly had thoughtfully left for him. Adam took out the food and settled himself against the tree.
He did not have to wait long. By the time the morning sun had lit patches of lawn, Miss Collins appeared, moving with great alacrity toward the house. He raised the glass and found her once more, head down, hurrying along as though she was late for an appointment. She crossed the front outside of the house and went down the northern side toward where the kitchen would be.
About an hour later, he spotted a figure moving in the house. One window opened, then another. Adam tried to recall what that room might be – a library or drawing room perhaps.
He had actually been inside Kenstec House several times as a young boy. The first Mistress Denton would hold a Christmas feast and pageant every year for the villagers, but he had never been any further into the house than the entrance hall.
Outside, very little appeared to have changed, except for the unusual extension built into the southwestern corner of the house. Extending above the roofline by ten feet or so was a round tower topped with a small iron railing. He could not recall it from his childhood visits. And now, as he looked carefully, he could see how the bricks of which the turret was built had not weathered the same as the centuries-old house.
He attuned himself to the sounds around him. Birds twittered in the trees, a dog barked somewhere beyond the estate, the gentle morning breeze caused leaves to clap, the stream behind chortled to itself.
He allowed his mind to wander a little. It was a perfectly ordinary late spring day, hardly the backdrop for spies and intrigue. The whole thing seemed rather ridiculous. He was beginning to feel ridiculous.
A short time later, he heard a faint rhythmic clip-clop of a horse and cart out on the road. He strained his ears to determine whether horse and rider would continue down to the village or turned into the drive. The driver turned.
Adam pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at the time, ten minutes to ten. Through the spyglass, he watched the man – older than himself, perhaps in his fifties, a distinguished manner – bring his gig to a stop by the front door. It opened with his very own Miss Collins there to greet the man.
So, who exactly was this person she hadn’t wanted him to know about?