A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) Deanna Raybourn (books to read for self improvement .TXT) 📖

I hurried to change the subject, bringing Stoker and Mertensia up to the mark. “Helen and Caspian would like to leave but transportation is proving a challenge.”

“It is not a challenge,” Caspian contradicted. “It is a damned conspiracy to keep us here!”

“Caspian,” his mother said, putting a hand to his sleeve again. He shook it off. “I’ll not be told what I can and cannot do, Mother,” he told her, his features set in a mask of grim resolve. “We will hire a boat from one of those useless yokels and I shall row us over myself.”

We argued against the plan for the better part of a quarter of an hour, but Caspian had decided and he would not be dissuaded. I very nearly confessed that I had been the “ghost” Helen had seen, but it seemed obvious it would make little difference. She looked distinctly uneasy and had surrendered her authority, content to let her son take the lead. He blustered and fumed, but beneath it all, I saw the tightness at the corners of his mouth, the unflinching grip his mother kept on the leather traveling box that held a protesting Hecate.

The rest of us gathered on the terrace of the castle, drawn like spectators to a railway crash. Stoker collected another stack of toast, crunching calmly as Caspian and Helen made their way down the line of fishing boats, each time being waved off with a gesture of dismissal. We could just make out the waving of the arms, the offer of a banknote, and the abrupt, scornful refusals. With each disappointment the youth seemed to grow more enraged until finally, a very old man with a very old boat accepted his money and stood back, letting Caspian hand his mother into the tiny craft, pitching bags after her with more anger than care.

“Ah, old Trefusis,” Mertensia said, her eyes alight with mirth. “I’m not surprised. He’ll do most anything for a coin.”

“Including letting two inexperienced people out on such a sea?” I demanded.

She shrugged. “He won’t let a puppy like Caspian get the better of him, you may rely upon that. And if the boy gets a soaking it will teach him to respect the sea,” she finished. Her mouth was set in a bitter line.

Stoker offered me a piece of toast. “Stuff this into your mouth and behave yourself,” he instructed quietly.

I took it as Mertensia pointed. “Do you see that bit of rock? That marks the change from the calm of the harbor here to the open sea between us and the mainland at Pencarron. If the stupid boy cannot manage her there, he’ll have no chance. He will turn back, I promise you.”

I did not trust her promises, but she seemed unconcerned, as did the Templeton-Vanes. Stoker was silent and watchful, keeping a weather eye upon Caspian and Helen, no doubt assessing whether or not he would have to intervene for their safety. Tiberius was more amused at the folly of setting off in such conditions, occasionally punctuating his sips of coffee with pungent remarks about the boy’s intelligence and judgment. Our host was not present, and I turned to Mertensia.

“I am surprised Malcolm is not here putting a stop to this nonsense.”

She shrugged again. “No doubt he has some estate business to attend. Watch now, the bloody idiot is trying to manage the oars.” We turned as one to face the shore.

For several minutes Caspian struggled to get control of the little boat, first rowing in a circle and then slowly towards the mouth of the harbor, the vessel lurching like a drunken man. It was easy to see the change in the sea as soon as the boat passed from the safety of the snug little bay. Instantly the whitecaps foamed over the edge of the gunwale, tossing the craft up and down again as a child will toss a toy in the bathtub. Caspian struggled against it, rowing hard as Helen clung to the side of the boat, one hand clamped to her hat. The boat rose and dove, again and again, making no headway towards the mainland as it faced that implacable sea. The water was grey and the cloud had come on thick and low, obscuring the sun and threatening rain.

“That is all the poor devil needs,” Stoker muttered as he stuffed the last bit of toast into his mouth.

“Will you go?” I asked.

“If I must, but I hope he has sense enough to see himself back,” he replied with maddening calm. It was surprisingly tense, watching the tiny boat strive against the waves.

“He must turn back,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else. I felt a sudden thrust of guilt at not revealing my role in Helen’s obvious reluctance to stay upon the island, but Tiberius gave me a consoling shake of the head as if intuiting my thoughts and indicating it would have done no good to confess.

“Another wave like that, and they’ll both be thrown overboard,” Stoker said, pointing to the swell gathering strength and speed as it bore down hard upon them. We watched in mounting concern as they braced themselves, clinging together as the wave broke over the boat, soaking them both and filling the vessel with water.

Stoker stripped off his coat—stiffly, thanks to the wound in his arm—but before he could make his way down to the shore, we saw Caspian change tack, making hard for the harbor again, rowing with all of his might. Helen pulled at the oars with him, her hat forgot as they toiled together to bring the boat to safety.

“How reassuring,” Tiberius said dryly. “One does like to see filial devotion at work.”

“Shut up,” Stoker said through clenched teeth as Tiberius studied his cuffs. From behind us I heard a sharp intake of breath.

“I will go and order hot baths,” Mrs. Trengrouse said. “They’ll be lucky not to catch pneumonia after this. And not one of you with a proper breakfast yet!”

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