A Dangerous Collaboration (Veronica Speedwell #4)(71)

“I am afraid, Caspian, that Mrs. Trengrouse is quite correct. The sea is running far too high after last night’s storm. You can signal until your arm falls off, but no one from Pencarron will come.”

“Of all the bloody nonsense,” began the young man. He broke off at a touch of his mother’s hand. “Very well, then. What of one of the local fishermen? They have boats. One of them can take us over.”

“Not likely,” Tiberius said evenly. “To begin with, their boats stink to high heaven of pilchards and crab. Not something your mother would find comfortable, I’m sure,” he added with an inclination of his head towards Helen.

“I don’t mind,” she said in a faint voice.

Mrs. Trengrouse spoke up. “The local fisherfolk won’t go out in these waters, not when the horses are running.”

“The horses? What damned horses?” Caspian was fairly shouting now.

Tiberius replied. “It is a colloquial term referring to the white froth on the edge of the waves, like the manes of horses running in the wind. It simply means the sea is too high and the currents too strong. They will not risk a trip to the mainland when their boats could be dashed upon the rocks.”

“But I can see it!” Caspian protested. “It is less than an hour’s rowing. How dangerous can it be?”

“Between the currents and the hidden rocks? Very,” Tiberius told him. “Even men who have sailed these waters their whole lives won’t take chances on a day like today. Now, why don’t you let Mrs. Trengrouse have the staff take your things back upstairs and come in to breakfast?”

“I don’t want bloody breakfast! I want to get off this island,” Caspian said, purpling more than ever.

“Oh, dear. It seems we’ve missed a bit of theatrics,” Stoker murmured in my ear as he came to stand next to me, munching happily on a piece of thickly buttered toast. Mertensia came in behind, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The marks on Stoker’s face were shiny with some sort of ointment and he smelt faintly of herbs and beeswax. He looked with some satisfaction at the brilliant bruise that had blossomed over Tiberius’ nose and the slight swelling above the viscount’s eye. Tiberius returned the scrutiny, permitting himself a smile at his handiwork.

Mertensia did not miss the exchange. “My God, Tiberius,” she blurted out. “What happened to you? Did you sleepwalk also?”

Tiberius put a hand to Stoker’s upper arm and gave him an affectionate squeeze right over his stab wound. “I presume Stoker told you that? How informative of him.”

Stoker would not oblige him by wincing, but he gave a growl of warning low in his throat.

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.