Claire Thornton - The Wolf's Promise

‘Do you intend to be a smuggler all your life?’ Lord Ellewood demanded abruptly. ‘Or was this escapade just a moment of brief, high-spirited folly?’

‘No.’ The boy held the Earl’s gaze for a few more seconds without attempting to clarify his ambiguous answer, then he turned away to look towards the sea, unheeding of the sword still held at his throat.

The first grey light of dawn was rising in the east and Lord Ellewood no longer needed the lantern to distinguish the boy’s features. The youth was almost as tall as the Earl, and his black hair was wildly tousled by the cold, salty air—but his eyes looked steadily towards the distant, silvery horizon, almost as if he saw his future there.

Lord Ellewood smiled sardonically. Despite the threatening sword, his prisoner had obviously decided that the risk of being precipitously dispatched was minimal—but the Earl wasn’t quite ready to confirm that assumption.

‘Stand still!’ he said harshly, thrusting the sword tip a little closer to the boy’s neck. ‘Don’t give me an excuse to save the hangman work.’

‘I am unarmed and at your mercy,’ the boy pointed out calmly. ‘I’m sure no man whom Sir William calls friend would take advantage of such a situation. What do you intend to do with me?’ he added matter-of-factly.

‘Damned if I know,’ the Earl admitted frankly, although his sword didn’t waver. ‘You’re too good for gallow’s meat. Perhaps I ought to have you pressed. A few years of naval discipline might make a man of you!’

‘A very courteous offer, but I have other plans,’ the boy replied instantly.

‘I daresay you have,’ said the Earl dryly, ‘but you should have thought of that before you held a pistol on me. You have the voice and manners of a gentleman, boy. News of this night’s escapade might seriously damage your family’s reputation and standing—don’t you think?’

There was silence for several long moments. The boy’s eyes were still fixed on the horizon and he did not look at the Earl. Lord Ellewood almost began to wonder if the youth had heard what he’d said. Then the boy replied,

‘Yes, my lord.’

The Earl grunted and sheathed his sword. The boy turned his head sharply at the sound. For an instant he seemed poised for flight—but he didn’t run; and there was a question in his eyes as he met Lord Ellewood’s gaze.

‘Which is the quickest way back to the Manor?’ the Earl asked, without attempting to explain his actions.

The boy stared at him for a few moments, a frown in his dark eyes as he tried to decipher the Earl’s intentions. Then he bent to pick up his own sword.

‘I’ll show you,’ he said. ‘We’ll go along the beach. It’s quicker and more comfortable for walking.’

‘An important consideration, since I am now on foot,’ Lord Ellewood agreed caustically. ‘I suppose you don’t have a horse hidden among the dunes?’

‘I regret not, my lord,’ the boy apologised.

‘I imagine you must be well known to Sir William,’ said the Earl, as they began to walk along the beach.

‘We have met,’ said the boy cautiously.

‘Hmm.’ Lord Ellewood turned over several possible ways of dealing with his erstwhile prisoner as they strode, almost companionably, along the damp sands.

‘Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?’ he asked abruptly. ‘You must know I couldn’t catch you in the dunes.’

‘You’ve seen my face,’ said the boy simply. ‘I’d like to know what you intend to do next. As you just implied, Sir William would certainly recognise my description.’

‘I see,’ said the Earl dryly. ‘I dare say you could be long gone before he came in search of you.’

‘But my family couldn’t—as you also pointed out—and my father’s practice would suffer. Inflict your punishment on me, my lord, whatever it is—but not on them.’

The boy turned as he spoke and looked squarely into the Earl’s face. The force of his personality was reflected in his keen, dark eyes. Lord Ellewood was powerfully struck by the coiled spring of potential within the youth.

For a moment it seemed as if they were well matched: the shrewd-eyed, experienced man and the fearless, black-haired boy. They had more in common than the Earl would willingly choose to admit.

‘I’ll not betray your secret,’ he said curtly. ‘But I suggest you find more legitimate outlets for your ambition in future. The gibbet is a sorry place for anyone to end their days.’

‘Thank you.’ The boy spoke without overemphasis, but the Earl caught the undercurrent of sincerity in the light voice.

‘That way, my lord,’ he said, turning to point inland. ‘Follow the track for half a mile. Then turn right onto the lane. Turn left at the crossroads and Sir William’s house is a mile farther up on the right.’

‘Thank you,’ said the Earl.

He hesitated, suddenly reluctant to part from his companion. He was extremely curious about the boy but, in the circumstances, it probably wasn’t advisable to try to pursue their acquaintance.

‘My name is Benoît Faulkener, my lord,’ said the boy, clearly and unhurriedly, surprising the Earl once again.

‘Very French,’ Lord Ellewood replied casually, not quite sure why the boy was sharing this information with him. ‘I’d heard that most of the smugglers have contacts across the Channel.’

‘My mother’s French,’ said Benoît. ‘My father is the doctor in Arundel. My friends call me Ben. It seems unlikely that you will ever be my friend, my lord, or that you will ever need my services. But, if you do, I’ll not forget what I owe you.’

The Earl stared at him in undisguised astonishment as he realised the implications of the boy’s words.

‘You’re offering to repay me for my silence?’ he exclaimed.

‘At any time, and in any way you choose, my lord.’ Benoît stepped back and bowed with something of a flourish.

The Earl laughed disbelievingly.

‘Your effrontery is extraordinary!’ he declared, unable to imagine any circumstances in which he might need the boy’s help. ‘Take care that one day you don’t overreach yourself.’

Benoît grinned, the fresh dawn sunlight emphasising the distinctive contours of his dark face and the gleam of his strong white teeth as he returned the Earl’s gaze.

‘That may happen, but I’d rather try, and fail—than live knowing I’d never had the courage to try at all!’ he declared boldly. ‘Good day, my lord.’

He turned and strode away across the open fields which fronted the beach, leaving the Earl alone on the cold, windswept sands.

Early March 1809

T he pale winter’s day was nearly over when Lady Angelica Lennard arrived at Holly House. She had been anxiously anticipating this moment for hours, but now she was here she was almost reluctant to climb down from the carriage.

‘I’ll knock on the door, my lady,’ said her coachman.

‘Thank you.’

As she waited for the door to open, Angelica glanced quickly around. It was too dark for her to see much, but she was acutely aware of how isolated the house was. It was situated a few miles south-west of Arundel, on the flat, windswept coastal plain of West Sussex. There wasn’t another house within half a mile. It was an ideal place for a master smuggler to set up his headquarters.

Angelica suppressed a shiver. She was used to the teeming bustle of London and, even without the possibility that she was walking into a smuggler’s lair, she would have found the absence of visible human life disturbing. There was not even a light showing from one of the windows to suggest the house was occupied.

It wasn’t raining but there were heavy clouds in the sky, and an icy wind wrapped her skirts around her legs and tugged at her bonnet. She did her best to ignore the discomforts of the weather. She was conscious of her maid’s dour presence beside her. Martha had made no secret of her disapproval of this errand. Angelica was equally determined not to reveal her own misgivings.