Courtney’s fingers paused on the ribbons of her chemise. “What do you mean?”
A knowing smile. “Here, lovey, step into this.” She eased the dress up Courtney’s torso, carefully avoiding the tender area where her ribs had recently healed. “I mean that you and Lady Aurora might become sisters, after all. If not through blood, then through marriage.”
The very word made Courtney’s mouth go dry. “What makes you think that could happen?”
“Really, Miss Courtney, I’ve worked at Pembourne since before the earl was born. I’m aware of everything that occurs here—as well as things that don’t. And one would have to be blind not to see the way you and Lord Pembourne look at each other. If ever there were two people in love, it’s you.”
“You’re very insightful,” Courtney murmured. “But Matilda, love in one thing; marriage is quite another.”
“The earl hasn’t a snobbish bone in his body. So if you’re fearful of the class difference…”
“It has nothing to do with our social standings. Nor with our feelings. ’Tis just that—” She stopped, not sure how much to reveal.
Matilda fastened the final button on Courtney’s gown. “Lord Pembourne is a complex man. He’s been a loner all his life. That tendency intensified over the last decade—for obvious reasons. But in my opinion, he has a tremendous capacity to love and be loved, a capacity that was buried deep inside him and that awaited only the right woman to coax it out.” She beamed, smoothing Courtney’s bodice, then lifting her chin with a gentle forefinger. “I believe that woman is standing right before me. What’s more, so does she. Now, shall we arrange your hair before the viscountess arrives?”
Sparks of anticipation danced in Courtney’s eyes. “We shall. All at once, I find myself ravenously hungry.”
“You’re looking splendid. Why, there’s color in your cheeks I haven’t seen until now.” Elinore studied Courtney over the rim of her coffee cup, nodding her approval as she spoke.
“I’m feeling much better,” Courtney replied, biting into a biscuit. “And I have you and Aurora to thank.”
“Not to mention the fact that Slayde will soon be home,” Aurora added.
Courtney shot her a look. “I’d sooner think it’s Elinore’s visits and Cook’s meals that sped my recovery.”
“Then let’s just say my brother’s arrival will complete the process.”
Elinore cleared her throat. “You’re fond of Slayde, I take it?”
“He’s been generous and heroic, from saving my life to opening the doors of his home to me,” Courtney answered carefully. “We also have a great deal in common. So, yes, I’m fond of him.”
“And he’s fond of you as well,” Aurora said cheerfully.
“How wonderful.” Elinore smoothed her strand of pearls, eyes alight with interest. “When did this happen?”
“Nothing’s happened.” Courtney wondered if the prospect troubled Elinore. After all, Slayde’s mother had been her best friend. Perhaps she wanted more for him than a sea captain’s daughter.
“Nothing’s happened yet,” Aurora qualified again. “But it will.”
“I certainly hope so,” Elinore surprised Courtney by saying. “Lord knows, it would give him a new purpose, something that should have happened long ago.”
“What do you mean?” Courtney inquired.
Elinore glanced at Aurora.
“Courtney knows all about Mama and Papa’s murders,” Aurora answered her unspoken question. “Slayde filled her in, given the fact that he believes the Bencrofts were responsible for both that crime and the one just committed against Courtney’s father.”
“I see.” Elinore’s gaze flickered to Courtney. “Then you understand the way Slayde thinks, how preoccupied he’s been since his parents’ deaths. I’ve tried, over and over, to convince him to bury the past, to get on with his life. But it’s been more than a decade, and he’s only withdrawn deeper and deeper into himself. If you can give him something else to care about, a future to look toward, you’ll have repaid his heroism and generosity threefold.”
Courtney’s misgivings abated. “Have you known Slayde since he was a young boy?”
A nod. “I was sixteen when Theomund and I wed, and I came to live at Stanwyk. Aurora wasn’t yet born and Slayde was about six. He was quiet and serious even then, spending most of his time on his studies or out sailing his skiff. Whatever he undertook over the years—be it reading and writing, or sailing and hunting—he always excelled at them. And he always did them alone.”
“Did you see him often?”
“Not really. Soon after my marriage, Slayde was off to Eton, and he returned only on holidays. Then, it was Oxford, Europe, India.” Elinore sighed. “Slayde rarely stayed at Pembourne for any length of time, especially after his parents died. It was as if the horrible memories drove him away.”
“I’m sure they did,” Courtney murmured, automatically reaching into her pocket and extracting her father’s timepiece. “Memories can sometimes be unendurable.”
“What is that?” Elinore asked, brows raised in curiosity.
“My timepiece. I customarily leave it in the drawer of my nightstand, but today”—a quick glance at Aurora—“I needed it with me. It belonged to my father. He gave it to me just before he was thrown from our ship.” Courtney snapped it open to show Elinore the scene within. “ ’Twas at that moment it stopped. It hasn’t resumed, other than once, when—” With a sharp sound, she broke off, her gaze riveted to the watch’s face.
“Courtney?” Elinore pressed. “What is it, dear?”
“The watch. It moved again. Just now. Like the last time. ’Tis as if Papa…” Abruptly, she bolted to her feet. “I must know.” Her distraught gaze shifted to Aurora. “We’ve got to leave for the lighthouse. Now. Please, Aurora. If Papa’s alive…if there’s anything I can learn…”
Aurora rose at once. “Elinore, will you excuse us?” she asked, already following Courtney toward the door. “Courtney and I must make a trip to visit Mr. Scollard. She’s well enough now. And if anyone can help her, he can.”
Elinore stared after them, looking utterly bewildered. “Why, certainly. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just understand,” Aurora called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway. “We don’t mean to be rude. ’Tis just that—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off by the sound of the entranceway door as it shut behind them.
The Windmouth Lighthouse was nestled at the foot of the hills, beckoning them like a warm, familiar friend.
“How lovely,” Courtney whispered, pausing to regain her strength, tilting back her head in order to admire the stone tower from its base.
“It’s fifty-seven feet high,” Aurora informed her, as proud as if she’d built the structure herself. “And over a hundred years old. But Mr. Scollard keeps it looking new. He not only operates the light, he maintains the entire building himself; there’s not one chipped or broken stone, or a spot on the balcony that’s not freshly painted. Come—let’s go in.” She tugged at Courtney’s arm. “Your strength is all but sapped.”
“You’re right about that.” Briefly, Courtney leaned her forehead against the cool stone, watching as Aurora walked through the unlocked door. “Shouldn’t we knock?” she murmured, following along, then hesitating at the threshold.
“It’s not necessary. Mr. Scollard knows we’re here. See? He’s prepared a fire and some tea. Why don’t you sit down and rest a bit.”
“How on earth did he know…?” Courtney’s voice drifted off as she entered the lighthouse, blinking in surprise as she did. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this quaintly decorated room with watercolors hanging over a settee, twin armchairs perched on either side of a brick fireplace, and a glorious fire, before which sat a tray containing a steaming pot of tea and three cups.
“Isn’t this room perfect?” Aurora demanded.
“Perfect,” Courtney echoed, still staring at their refr
eshment. “How did Mr. Scollard know we’d be coming?”
Aurora shrugged. “The same way he knows everything. Look back there.” She pointed toward an alcove at the rear of the room. “That leads to Mr. Scollard’s chambers. I’ve never seen them, but I know he built them himself so he’d be able to man his post at the blink of an eye, without the hindrance of traveling. Every evening, at the first sign of sunset, he heads up to the tower to light the lamp. He’s never been late nor skipped a night. Whenever I visit—be it morning, noon, or night—he escorts me to the tower. I adore watching the ships and the waves and listening to him spin his yarns. They’re filled with adventure and excitement.” A fond smile. “I’ve been visiting the lighthouse since I was a child. And in all these years, Mr. Scollard has never run out of legends or patience.”
“He sounds wonderful.” Totally intrigued by Aurora’s description, Courtney lowered herself to the settee, catching sight of the endless spiral staircase that led to Aurora’s haven. “Is Mr. Scollard in the tower now?”
“Customarily, he would be. He spends most mornings polishing the lanterns, making certain all the apparatus is in perfect working order for sunset. However, given our visit, I suspect he’s in his chambers.”
“Did you tell him we might be coming by today?”
“No. I never need to tell Mr. Scollard anything. He foresees things on his own, which is why he’s doubtless on this level rather than in the tower. He realizes you’re too weak to make such a steep climb.” Seeing Courtney’s baffled expression, Aurora grinned. “Trust me. Mr. Scollard will be joining us in a few minutes. Then you can form your own opinion.”
Even as Aurora spoke, a light tread sounded from the rear, and Courtney twisted about expectantly.
A minute later, an elderly man emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. His weathered face, beneath a mop of snow-white hair, was lined with age, but his keen gaze was sharp as a tack, his eyes the brightest blue Courtney had ever seen. Fascinated, she stared at him.
“Welcome, Miss Johnston,” he said, his gruff voice devoid of surprise. “See, Rory? Your friend healed quickly. Almost quickly enough to suit you.”
“Nothing is ever quick enough to suit me, Mr. Scollard,” Aurora returned with a grin.
“True.” He gave a disgusted grunt. “No patience. Not a whit. Even after all these years.” His glance fell on the teapot. “Why haven’t you had your tea?”
Somehow Courtney found her voice. “We were waiting for you.”
“Don’t. You need your strength. Or else you’ll undo all Matilda’s hard work.” He poured a cup and handed it to Courtney, his hand as steady as a lad’s. “Here. Strong. Too strong for Rory, but she’ll have to make do. You’re the guest today. So the tea is just the way you like it—strong and dark. That’s what happens when you live among sailors. You learn their habits. Never met a sailor who took his tea weak.” He glanced about the room, his vivid eyes searching. “You could actually use some of that brandy you like so much. I’ve got a bottle around here somewhere.” A shrug. “Maybe later. Yes, later would be better. Spirits make you too groggy. And if you’re not clear-headed, we won’t be able to examine that watch of yours.” He arched a brow at Courtney, whose mouth was still hanging open. “Drink the tea now while it’s hot,” he advised. “You can stare at me later.”
“I’m sorry.” Instantly, Courtney lowered her gaze. “I didn’t mean to stare. I just…” What in God’s name could she say? That until now she’d believed visionaries existed only in books?
“The tea,” Mr. Scollard reminded her.
Nodding, she took a sip, then another. It was by far the best tea she’d ever tasted—and the most fortifying. Already, renewed strength was beginning to pervade her body.
“That fool pirate,” Mr. Scollard muttered, pouring two additional cups. “You don’t look a bit like Rory. But I guess at night, the coloring could fool someone, especially someone who looks but can’t see. At least then, he couldn’t. He sees now. Good for you.” Mr. Scollard nodded his approval. “Here, Rory.” He turned, handing Aurora her tea. “Drink up. I planned to have those little iced cakes you like so much, since, as it turns out, Miss Johnston likes them, too. But given the fact that neither of you is hungry—besides the fact that Miss Johnston’s unsettling experience this morning has left her too anxious to eat—I decided to postpone the cakes for another time. Maybe for her birthday. Good idea. For her birthday.” He nodded at his own superb alternative. “Now, shall we have a look at that timepiece?” He pulled up a chair, extended his hand.
Wordlessly, Courtney extracted it, placed it in his palm.
“Hmmm.” He turned it over, studying the engraved case. “Nice workmanship. Costly, too. Doesn’t surprise me, given how much your mother loved him.”
“How did you know…?” Courtney gave it up, snapping her mouth shut. Something told her that to continue asking Mr. Scollard where his knowledge came from was not only futile but a senseless waste of time—time she’d squandered too much of already. “Can you tell me anything?” she asked.
Mr. Scollard raised his head and scowled. “I can tell you you’re as impatient as Rory. And, in your case, it’s even more a hindrance. Patience is an ally you’ll need in the weeks to come. Patience of the head and the heart. So learn some.”
“Yes, sir.” Courtney didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The only thing she did know was that Mr. Scollard was correct. In his assessment and his cure. Patience. After almost twenty years, she’d have to acquire some. “Take your time,” she requested. “I’ll have another cup of tea.”
“Good idea.” Those penetrating blue eyes bore into her, watched her refill her cup, then drain it. “You’re a brave girl. It’s good your strength is nearly renewed, because you’re going to need it. Every bit of it.”
The saucer struck the table with a thud. “Are you saying Papa is gone?”
“Gone? An interesting term. Gone he is—from eyes, from ears. But from mind? From heart? Not gone. Some ties can be broken. Others cannot. Your job is to discern the difference.”
“Ties?” Courtney leaned forward. “What ties? Are you referring to physical bonds or spiritual ones?”
“If memories can’t be silenced, spiritual bonds can’t be broken. Not so with physical bonds. If.” Mr. Scollard snapped open the timepiece, studying the unmoving scene. “The ship seeks the lighthouse, yet it’s thwarted.”
“The watch stopped,” Courtney explained. “Then it moved—twice. What does it mean?”
“You’re confused. Don’t fight confusion. It usually gives way to enlightenment. What we see, what we hear, it all means something if we look long enough, patiently enough to fathom its purpose. Most difficult of all are the times we must wait for that purpose to find us. Those times require all the patience I just mentioned.”
“And is this one of those times?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Scollard.” Courtney inhaled sharply. “Please tell me. Is Papa alive?”
“That you’ll have to discover for yourself. My vision alone can’t help you. But another can.”
“Another? Another person? Who?”
“Listen with your heart. It won’t fail you.” So saying, Mr. Scollard snapped the case shut, handed the watch back to Courtney. “That tea should have done its job by now. You’d best be getting back to Pembourne. To prepare. For the end of one journey and the beginning of another.” He rose, reaching over to ruffle Aurora’s hair. “You, I’ll see tomorrow.”
Aurora’s brows knit in puzzlement. “Can’t I bring Courtney with me?”
“You may. But you can’t.” Mr. Scollard turned, studying Courtney with a far-reaching gleam in his eyes. “I won’t be seeing Miss Johnston for a time.” He lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Go with strength. Return with wisdom.”
For some unknown reason, tears filled Courtney’s eyes, a flash of insight telling her that the next time she sat in this room all would be changed.
“Change is essential
in order to grow, Courtney,” Mr. Scollard said quietly. He inclined his mop of white hair. “I can call you Courtney, can’t I? Given that you prefer it.”
“You can and you may,” she responded, attempting a smile.
His gaze delved deep inside her, as reassuring as it was perceptive, “Don’t doubt your strength, Courtney. Call upon it. It will serve you well.” So saying, he turned away, gathering up the china and replacing it on the tray. “Time to polish the lanterns. Before you know it, sunset will be upon us. Good day, ladies.”
Wiping his hands on his apron, he ascended the stairs to the tower and disappeared.
Courtney shifted in her garden chair, inhaling the fragrant scent of roses and lilacs, staring out across the darkening grounds of Pembourne. She clutched the timepiece in her lap, only minimally aware that the sun had long since faded, casting the garden in which she sat in shadows.
She’d been here for hours—ever since she and Aurora had made their silent trek back from the lighthouse—her mind besieged by questions. Aurora had somehow understood her need for solitude, merely squeezing her hand in unspoken support and leaving Courtney to her contemplations.
Other than Aurora, no one knew her whereabouts, a fact for which she was grateful. She had much to ponder, an abundance of soul-searching to conduct, a need triggered by Mr. Scollard’s profound assertions and equally profound implications.
Patience, he’d said. Strength. Ties that were able to be broken; others that were not. The end of one journey and the beginning of another.
Like wisps of smoke, fragments of Courtney’s intended course began unfurling inside her. At last, one piece of the puzzle—that which pertained to the onset of her impending journey—fell into place.
Her fingers tightened about the watch.
Papa. Two tears slid down her cheeks. You’ll never truly be gone. But ’tis up to me to make peace with myself, to discern physical from spiritual. Thus, I must take the first leg of the journey Mr. Scollard spoke of, to return to the spot where the nightmare began. Perhaps therein my answers will lie.
Gripping folds of her gown, Courtney sat forward, staring off toward the Channel as her purpose found her, just as Mr. Scollard had predicted. She’d leave right away, seek her truths.