Page 28 of A Brush With Love at Brookview Hall (Noble Hearts)
Twenty-Three
JULIA
T his had to be right. It simply had to be. If not, whom could she tell? Cornelius had been most adamant not to apprise Mr Derriscott of his troubles. Was there somebody in the village? A friend at the pub? Where were the excisemen, for they must surely wish to know about this?
Not taking more time than absolutely necessary to think, Julia moved as quickly as she could down that long tunnel, two hundred or so yards, she believed, steadily down a slope almost as high as the surrounding cliffs that ran from the sea straight back in the direction of the woods.
Her breath was shallow and at every step she feared the return of the smugglers.
Dawn. They said they would return at dawn.
With every step, she dreaded the sound of their boots, the ring of their voices, but thank every star in God’s heaven, she emerged at last onto the beach unimpeded.
Still, there was no time to waste. The sky was nearly full daylight, the high clouds turning the heavens dove grey but not threatening rain.
There was no rowboat, no ship yet visible at the horizon, but they might be back at any moment.
She retraced her steps from the night before and found the trail, steep and narrow.
Good gracious! Had she descended this in the dark?
She felt faint at the thought. But if she made it down, she must make it back up, and holding her breath, she crept her way up, clinging to the solid ground at her side, until at last she had completed the ascent.
With her feet now on solid earth, she ran as fast as she could towards the woods.
Yes, there, just at the edge of the trees, was that storage shed, the little cottage with the loft. She crawled inside through the broken window, taking less care this time. A scratch or a cut was nothing. She had to save Cornelius.
The table. She had seen it and thought nothing of it, but it had told her everything, had she only paid attention.
The men had mentioned crates and smuggled goods, but there had been nothing there to see, no evidence at all of the cargo they were so concerned about.
But it was here, she knew it. It could mean only one thing.
With quick steps, she made her way to the centre of the room and ripped back the carpet.
There, beneath it, was a large rectangle of about three by four feet with inset hinges, and an inset loop to pull. A trapdoor! This must be the one.
It was heavy but the hinges were well oiled, and with a great degree of effort and some words that she ought not to know, Julia prevailed at last. The door swung upwards and there, gaping at her feet, was the portal she sought.
“Cornelius!” There was no quietening her voice, such was her anxiety. “Are you there?”
Her cry was answered by a gasp of pain.
What was the matter?
The pit by her feet was a gaping chasm, the entrance to the abyss. What was down there that caused Cornelius such distress? She could see nothing in the darkness.
“What is it? What is wrong?” she called out.
She lay flat on the floor, to try to peer down into the hidden room beneath the cottage. Her eyes gradually adapted to the dim light until she saw, cowering in a corner, a shape the size of a man, his bound hands covering his face.
The light. Of course. What seemed like murky gloom to her, after being out in the sunlight, must be as bright as a hundred flames after so long in total darkness.
“It is so bright… I cannot open my eyes,” he gasped. “But you are here, and everything will be alright.”
It was a fine thought, but challenges remained.
“How can I get you out of there? We are not safe yet. Is there a ladder?” Nothing of the sort appeared, no matter how hard she willed it into existence. “Can you shift a crate to climb atop?”
No, of course not. Not with his hands tied together. She would have to descend herself.
If only there were something, but all the storage cottage had to offer were those boxes of tools and…
And ropes!
Of course. She rushed to the largest box, rifling through in search of anything that might be of use.
There had to be something, else how would the smugglers get in and out.
The trap door was large enough to hoist the crates through if enough men were on either end to pass them through, but they needed to be in the storage room to do so, and entering through the cave by the beach would not answer. There had to be a way.
She continued her rapid explorations of the contents of the boxes.
The knowledge that the smugglers were on their way hurried her fingers.
There must be something! Yes, there it was.
Not only a rope, but a rope ladder, hidden in the most obvious place.
Of course. If there were a rope ladder, there must, also, be a way to secure it so it could be used.
She crossed back over to the trapdoor to look. Aha! There, set into the floor by the long side of the trapdoor were two sets of slots, perfectly sized for the hooks at the top of the rope ladder. This was exactly its intended purpose. This must work.
Biting back the ball of anxiety that came with this drop into nothing once more, Julia began the descent.
It was not deep, this cellar, no more than six and a half feet, but it was not a distance she wished to fall.
One step and the ladder swayed in the air; two steps and her hands burned from the rough rope; three steps and she almost lost her grip…
And then she was there, feet on the solid ground, amid the many boxes and crates that contained who knew how many bottles of brandy and other unlawfully obtained items.
But that would wait. Her first aim was to help Cornelius. There was no time to waste.
Her feet carried her to the corner where he crouched before she could put a thought together, and she swept him into her arms, pulling him tight against her.
He was a filthy wreck, half collapsed against one wall, his eyes squinting against the glaring light of the open trapdoor.
His face was covered in soot and mud, his hair matted with who knew what.
Blood—she thought it was blood, at least—streaked his hands, and he smelled dreadful, but she had never seen anything more welcome.
“Oh, thank God, you are alive!” she wept, and he burbled similar words to her.
But there was no time to linger. These terrible men who had done this to him might return at any moment.
They had to flee, and Cornelius still had his hands bound.
Along with the rope ladder, Julia had found a knife in the box of tools, which she had slid into a pocket.
It took but seconds to slice the cords that tied his wrists together, and another few to chafe enough feeling into his swollen hands that he could manage the ladder.
With every moment, Julia expected the thunder of footsteps to come from beyond the door to the long tunnel, or for evil faces to glare down at them from the open trapdoor. Time… there was not enough time.
She climbed up first, no longer afraid of the drop, and then helped Cornelius up, tugging him as much as allowing him to climb, such was the sorry condition of his hands and his injured knee.
Was that shout the smugglers? Or was it the cry of a bird? Did that noise spell their doom? Or was it the wind blowing a tree branch?
At last, they were there, standing in the main cottage, both still alive and mostly well.
Julia slammed the trapdoor closed and pulled the carpet across it, her breath coming in heavy pants, as Cornelius stood watching, slumping against one of the walls to support himself. But he was here. He was alive.
“You are safe! Oh, my darling man, you are safe!
She rushed into his arms, her own strength holding him up as much as did his own legs, and they burrowed into each other’s arms, clinging desperately to each other for a long time.
“I stink,” Cornelius said at last, his words tangling in her hair. “I am filthy, covered in muck and blood…”
“I do not care. I thought I had lost you. I was so afraid. I believed I never wanted to see you again, that I could not risk the association. But when I discovered that you were in such danger and thought I might never see you again, I realised that of everything I know, you are the only thing in my life that really matters.”
“Will you forgive me?”
She nestled her face into his neck. “There is nothing to forgive.”
And then, taking his bruised face in her hands, she leaned forward and kissed him.
The cry of a goshawk jolted Julia back to her senses.
The smugglers! This was no time for a tender reunion.
She had managed to pull Cornelius from the lightless, hopeless prison of the cellar, but they were not safe yet.
Had the contrabandists returned to the cave by now?
Dawn had been some time ago. It would not be long before they discovered that Cornelius was missing and set off to look for him.
There had been no noises from the cellar below the trap door, but such might sound at any moment.
Worse, might they be heading to the cottage even now, to see to their wares or to repair the broken window? She and Cornelius had to be gone, and soon.
That would not be easy. They were both exhausted and hungry, and Cornelius was injured. Even now, he was relying on her support as much as that of his own feet.
“Can you walk?” she asked once they had released each other from their tight embrace. “We have little time. Where can we go? How can I help?”
“We must be out of this hut, first,” he replied, “and then I shall consider.”
They replaced the ladder in the tool box and set everything to as close as Julia could recall to how she had found it, with the exception of the knife. That remained in her pocket.