Page 38 of The Elusive Phoebe (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #1)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
T he Brighton cottage perched on the cliffs like a perfect jewel, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the afternoon sunlight against the endless blue of the Channel.
Phoebe stepped down from the carriage and immediately understood why Robert had chosen this place—it was everything peaceful and beautiful about the English seaside, distilled into one perfect retreat.
"Oh, it's lovely," she breathed, taking in the cottage's simple elegance. Climbing roses cascaded over the entrance, their pink blooms releasing sweet fragrance into the salt-tinged air, while lavender and rosemary spilled from window boxes in cheerful abundance .
"Small but perfectly situated," Archie observed, helping Mary down from the carriage. "And completely private."
Indeed, the cottage stood alone on its stretch of cliff, with only a winding path leading down to the rocky cove below.
To the east and west, the coastline curved away in dramatic chalk cliffs topped with emerald grass, while seabirds wheeled and cried overhead.
The sound of waves against the rocks provided a constant, soothing rhythm.
Mrs. Figgins, the cottage's housekeeper, appeared in the doorway—a woman of perhaps sixty with sun-weathered skin and the bright, direct gaze of someone who had spent her life by the sea.
"Lady Smalling," she said with a warm smile and curtsy. "Welcome to Thornfield Cottage. Lord Smalling would be so pleased to know you've finally come to see his favorite retreat."
"It's beautiful, Mrs. Figgins. I can see why he loved it here."
"Aye, he said it reminded him of peace itself. Come, let me show you inside."
The cottage was indeed small—just four rooms downstairs and two tiny bedchambers above—but every inch had been designed with comfort and beauty in mind.
The sitting room faced the sea through large windows that filled the space with dancing light reflected off the water.
Simple but elegant furniture in blues and whites echoed the colors of sea and sky, while dried arrangements of sea grass and driftwood brought the natural beauty of the coast indoors.
But it was the painting above the fireplace that immediately caught Phoebe's attention.
"Robert painted this?" she asked, moving closer to examine the canvas.
"Oh yes, my lady. Spent hours down at the cove, studying the light and the rocks. Said he wanted to capture the view exactly as it appeared at low tide." Mrs. Figgins’s voice carried fond remembrance. "He was quite proud of it, though he claimed to be no artist."
The painting was indeed skillfully done, showing the cove as seen from the cottage windows but at a much lower tide than currently visible outside.
The water had receded to reveal tide pools, rocky formations, and most prominently, a dark opening in the cliff face that was clearly the entrance to a cave.
"I don't see that cave from here," Archie said, joining her at the window.
Mrs. Figgins chuckled. "That's because the tide's in, sir. The cave entrance is only visible at the lowest tide—perhaps two hours each day, depending on the moon. Lord Smalling was quite fascinated by it."
Phoebe and Archie exchanged meaningful glances. Another puzzle, another secret waiting to be discovered.
"When is the next low tide?" Phoebe asked, trying to sound casually curious.
"Not for another three hours, my lady. But I've prepared refreshments if you'd like to rest after your journey."
They settled in the charming sitting room with tea and fresh-baked scones while the afternoon passed in comfortable conversation. The cottage felt wonderfully peaceful after the grandeur of Rosemont Hall—intimate and cozy, designed for quiet moments rather than grand entertaining.
"I keep thinking about the other Widows," Phoebe said, gazing out at the sparkling sea. "Charlotte must be in Bath by now, charming everyone with her theatrical grief. And Margaret in York, overwhelming bankers with her business acumen."
"Don't forget Caroline finding spiritual solace in Canterbury," Archie added with a grin. "Though I suspect her 'religious crisis' is the most entertaining thing those cathedral lodgings have seen in decades."
"And Victoria taking London by storm." Phoebe laughed. "I almost pity our poor enemies, being led on such a merry chase across England."
"They're remarkable women," Archie said seriously. "I owe Lady Joanna an apology for underestimating them so completely."
"We all did, I think. Even I didn't realize the full scope of what they were capable of until they proved it." Phoebe sipped her tea thoughtfully. "It's rather wonderful, isn't it? Having a chosen family that would go to such lengths to protect you."
"You deserve nothing less," Archie said quietly. "You've inspired that kind of loyalty in everyone who knows you—the Widows, your servants, even Robert's household staff. There's something about you that makes people want to take care of you."
"Is that what you're doing?" Phoebe asked, her voice soft. "Taking care of me?"
"Among other things," he replied, his eyes warm with meaning.
Before she could respond, Mrs. Figgins appeared in the doorway. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but the tide's about as low as she'll get. If you're wanting to explore the beach, now would be the time."
Phoebe and Archie immediately rose, their casual demeanor masking eager anticipation.
"We'd love to see the cove," Phoebe said. "Is the path down safe?"
"Perfectly safe, my lady, though I'd recommend sturdy shoes. The rocks can be slippery."
They changed into appropriate footwear and made their way down the winding cliff path, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of seaweed and salt air. The path was well-maintained but steep, carved into the chalk cliff face and protected by a wooden railing weathered silver by the constant sea spray.
As they descended, the view became even more spectacular.
The cove was a perfect crescent of sand and rocks, protected by towering cliffs on three sides.
Tide pools dotted the exposed rocks, their crystal-clear water revealing sea anemones, hermit crabs, and tiny fish darting between fronds of seaweed.
"There," Archie said, pointing toward the base of the cliff. "The cave entrance."
Now that the tide had retreated, they could see exactly what Robert's painting had depicted.
A dark opening in the cliff face, perhaps six feet high and four feet wide, framed by smooth rocks worn by centuries of tidal action.
The entrance was elevated enough to stay dry even at moderate tide, suggesting the cave extended well back into the cliff.
They made their way across the rocky beach, their footsteps echoing in the vast space of the cove.
The cave entrance was more impressive up close—clearly natural, but with signs of human modification.
The opening had been widened slightly, and there were iron brackets set into the rock that might once have held a gate or barrier.
"Shall we?" Archie asked, producing a small lantern from his coat.
"Lead the way," Phoebe replied, her heart racing with anticipation.
The cave entrance gave way to a narrow passage that wound back into the cliff for perhaps twenty feet before opening into a much larger chamber. As Archie's lantern illuminated the space, Phoebe gasped in amazement.
The cave was a natural wonder—high-ceilinged and spacious, with walls of smooth limestone sculpted by countless years of water action.
But it was clearly much more than a natural formation.
The floor had been leveled and covered with stone flags, while niches carved into the walls held oil lamps that Archie immediately began lighting.
As warm light filled the chamber, they could see that Robert had transformed this hidden space into something extraordinary.
One wall held a large, waterproof chest secured with an impressive lock.
Another niche contained what appeared to be emergency supplies—tinned foods, fresh water, blankets, even changes of clothes sealed in oiled cloth.
But most impressive was the desk and chair positioned near the back of the cave, where natural light filtered down through a crack in the ceiling.
Maps and charts covered the walls, showing shipping routes, coastal defenses, and what appeared to be safe harbors all along the English and French coasts.
"It's a complete hideout," Archie marveled. "Robert could have lived here for weeks if necessary."
"Or conducted secret meetings," Phoebe added, noting the multiple chairs arranged around a small table. "Look at those maps—this cave would be perfect for planning covert operations along the coast."
The locked chest drew them like a magnet. Phoebe pulled out her wedding ring, hoping the hidden melody might work here as it had at Rosemont, but there was no obvious mechanism for musical activation.
"Wait," Archie said, examining the lock more closely. "This isn't a musical lock—it's a combination lock. But look at the dials."
Instead of numbers, the lock's dials were marked with letters. Three dials, each capable of spelling out different combinations.
"What would Robert use as a combination?" Phoebe wondered aloud.
"Something meaningful to both of you," Archie suggested. "Your name, perhaps?"
Phoebe tried spelling out "PHOEBE" on the three dials, but the lock didn't budge. She tried "ROBERT" with the same result.
"What about the cottage?" Archie suggested. "Thornfield?"
Still nothing.
Phoebe stood back, thinking. What would have been meaningful to Robert in this place? What would he have associated with their peaceful future together?
"Brighton," she said suddenly, and began spelling it out on the dials. B-R-I-G-H-T-O-N.
The lock clicked open with a satisfying sound.