Page 18 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)

Sixteen

JULIA

I t had been nearly a week since last she had seen him.

Julia trudged around the perimeter of the garden again. How many circuits had she made? She had quite lost count. She needed to force her mind into better regulation, for she was increasingly distracted, and her command of the schoolroom was suffering most dreadfully.

Today she had given up entirely and left the children under the care of Miss Kingstone and the older girls.

Charlie had somehow captured a little mouse and had carried it in his pocket to let it loose in the school room after luncheon, which had brought an immediate end to all Julia’s planned lessons for the day.

Between Annie’s screams, Roger’s gales of laughter, and Selina’s protests, there was little hope of completing her lessons, and to be honest with herself, Julia knew she was not equal to the effort required to bring the children back under control.

When Miss Kingstone suggested the boys race each other around the back field, Julia agreed at once and excused herself from the activity entirely.

She, too, needed to move her limbs, but she would find other paths.

The grey skies and gusts of wind did not deter her; her mind was more troubled than the weather.

Cornelius. He was all she had been able to think of these past several days. He invaded her dreams, interrupted her thoughts, intruded on her every moment. Was he well? How were his wounds? What was he doing? Was he thinking of her?

She fought to put these thoughts from her mind, but it was no use. He was everywhere, and she could not forget him, even for a moment.

There had come a report that he was established in the nearby town for a few days to paint.

Simmons, Mr Derriscott’s trusted manservant, had seen him at the quay in Porthawen with his easel and paints, producing a ‘very pretty picture of the boats and the birds.’ Simmons had said nothing about Cornelius looking worse for the wear, so the artist must have been successful in disguising his bruises.

Julia was relieved, although why she found herself on the side of a man she did not entirely trust, she could not say.

Perhaps she was mistaken; perhaps he had hurt himself exactly as he said. Perhaps there was nothing amiss at all. She shook her head, unable to believe this, no matter how hard she tried.

Another circuit of the gardens was completed.

Where was Cornelius?

Still too restless to return to the house and tired of the garden, Julia took the path that led across the lawns and through the woods, leading to the cliffs that towered over the crashing sea.

She scarcely thought of her destination until she had almost arrived, but then it struck her: this was where she had come with Cornelius the night of the full moon, when he had put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into that brief, terrifying, unforgettable embrace.

This, as much as anything else, she could not get out of her mind.

Everything in her had protested, but there was no denying that it felt far too good, too safe.

And she had wanted to fold herself against him and revel in the sensation, embrace him in return.

It was no accident that she had come here, to this place at the cliffs.

Her mind may have objected, but her heart spoke clearly.

She must be mistaken about him, about his strange activities.

Julia had always prided herself on discerning true characters, and nothing about Cornelius seemed amiss.

Oh, he was annoying and irresponsible at times, and she dearly wished he would take some matters more seriously, but for all this, he seemed to be, in essentials, a good man.

He was too open a character to involve himself in clandestine activities, too genuinely honest to be party to illegal affairs.

The bottle of brandy must simply have been for his enjoyment; the scuffle with the drunk assailants merely the effects of too much drink. He had to be innocent of wrongdoing.

No, she must have been mistaken in her suspicions. Nothing else made sense.

She had, by now, reached the overlook at the cliffs, and walked a short distance along the rise of land overlooking the open sea, before turning back into the woods.

Of course, her feet would take her towards the cottage where Cornelius had his studio.

She simply could not seem to stay away from him.

Perhaps it was time to sit down and have a serious conversation, lay out her worries, and let him refute them, one at a time.

She knew he admired her; he had all but admitted as much, and that almost-kiss was as good as a confession. Should she lay open her heart as well? Did he envision any future for them? Would the risk be worth it should she do so? There was so much at stake.

A noise roused her from her contemplations.

It was Cornelius, at the door to his cottage.

She could just see him through the leaves of a thick bush.

When had he returned? He looked to be leaving again, so he must have been back for some little time, at least. Julia was about to call his name, but something in his manner stopped the sound in her throat.

He looked… furtive. He glanced over his shoulder, then back down the path towards the house, then around the side of the building.

He looked towards her, but she must have been concealed behind the branches, for his eyes slid over the bush and he set off, down a very narrow track, straight into the thickest part of the woods.

Whatever was he doing? All those suspicions, which Julia had been trying so desperately to convince herself were nonsense, came rushing back. She had to know what he was about!

Quietly, carefully, she set off after him.

He was not difficult to follow. Now that he seemed confident he was not being followed, he took little trouble to be particularly quiet, and he was unfamiliar enough still with these woods that his progress was moderate in pace.

Julia, however, knew the area intimately, and could keep far enough back, slipping from tree to tree, that he did not notice her.

He did not walk far. After only about ten minutes, he slowed his pace and upon finding a large rock, sat down to wait.

This was the part of the estate where it encroached upon the road between Looe and Polruan, near the stream that separated Mr Derriscott’s property from that of the farm down the lane.

This latter belonged to some absent landlord who was seldom in the neighbourhood, and it was most often empty, save when one of the owner’s friends wished to come for some fishing or a respite from the city.

From the swishing noises that sounded through the trees on the far side of the little brook, it was in use at the moment.

Julia crept her way to the next low shrub, knelt down, and waited.

Three men emerged from the trees, and with careful steps, waded across the shallow stream to approach Cornelius, who rose as they approached. These were the people he had been waiting for. Julia’s heart pounded in her breast and her mouth went dry. What was he about?

She was too far to see or hear much, and she dared not try to move any closer. The men all wore heavy outercoats and wide-brimmed hats, the sort farmers might wear, which quite hid their faces, and though she could hear that they were speaking, she could not discern more than the occasional word.

As she watched, one of the men pointed towards the shore, now out of sight but not too far through the veil of trees, in the direction of a little cove that Julia knew about, and some words drifted through the air.

“…cache… shipment… seven…”

She could derive no useful meaning from them.

Then Cornelius reached into a pocket in his own large greatcoat and pulled out some papers. Were those the sheets on which he had sketched all those different images of the sailboat? This was conjecture; it was much too far for her to see. He pointed again and nodded.

The man who had spoken first then took a small package from one of his companions, and passed it to Cornelius, who slid it into some pocket, before shaking the man’s hand and nodding to the others.

“And stay out of it,” the man said, loudly enough for Julia to hear without difficulty.

What Cornelius said in response, she could not hear, but his posture, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched, suggested he was not entirely pleased.

Still, he did not seem to argue, but stood and watched as the three strangers crossed back over the brook and disappeared back into the woods.

Oh no! This was dreadful.

Tears threatened Julia’s vision as her heart plummeted to her feet.

It was true, after all. Was there any other way to interpret what she had seen?

The brandy she could somehow explain. The bruises and strange absences, likewise, although his tales stretched credulity.

But now, this meeting at the edge of the estate with this little band of strangers and the exchange of goods and documents, what else could it possibly be?

Cornelius was mixed up in something dreadful, and her heart all but broke in two.

She waited until Cornelius had made a good start on his return before she attempted to follow him. There was no question where he would be going, for it could only be back to his studio.

Ought she to confront him? Tell him what she had seen and what she knew?

He would have to admit it then, unless… Unless speaking up put her in some danger as well.

If he were embroiled in free-trading, he might resort to desperate measures to protect himself.

Could he possibly mean to do her harm? Not Cornelius, surely! Could he?

So entangled was she with these twisting, troubling thoughts, that she failed to take as much care with her movements as she had on her walk out. Her foot slipped as she rounded another low shrub and she stepped on a brittle twig, which broke with a loud snap.

She managed to duck behind the shrub as he spun about, and she held her breath as he stood, tense and wary, his eyes darting around the woods.

His entire demeanour seemed different now, angry and dangerous.

His knees were half bent, his hands held before him, as if expecting a fight.

Julia willed her heartbeat to settle from its present rapid tattoo and she forced her breath to slow from its current pant.

He cannot see you, she told herself. You are safe. He does not know you are here .

Cornelius stood there for another minute, tense and battle-ready, as he waited and watched. Then, slowly easing his stance, he turned around and began the walk back towards his cottage, turning around every few steps to see if he was being followed.

Julia remained where she was, as still as a statue, frozen in place by misery and fear.

Five minutes, then ten…

Cornelius had long since disappeared from view; he must be back in his studio, safe behind the locked door by now, examining whatever it was in that package the strange man had passed to him.

She stepped out from behind the shrub and with careful, precise footfalls, set off in the direction of the house.

Her path must take her close to the cottage, but that could not be helped. If he stepped out and accosted her, she would claim she had been to the cliffs to gaze out at the sea. That was not a lie.

There it was, just through the fringe of trees, where the path curved by the gorse bush?—

Without warning, a hand reached out from behind her, clamping over her mouth and pulling her backwards before she could think enough to scream.

“Enough of this, Miss Lyddon.” She was jerked back against a hard body, the hand still firmly fixed against her mouth. “You are coming with me.”