Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 115

Elizabeth felt Nathaniel waiting behind her. She nodded. "Thank you."
"Just talk," said Curiosity gruffly. "That's all the thanks I need."
When she had closed the door behind herself, Elizabeth got up from the table and went to the windows. The shifting storm let the last of the evening light seep through the cloud cover, rough bars of gold against the hard lines of the coast. A two-masted schooner hugged the shore, bobbing about like a toy. If she went up on deck and turned in the other direction she would see England again. The very thought made her tired.
"Here I am back where I began," she said. There was a tremor in her voice she could not help.
Nathaniel's arms came around her from the back, and he leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder.
"Does it look like Oakmere?" His tone was calm and even, and she was thankful for it.
"No, this is nothing like the Devon countryside. But I can smell England in the air."
He smiled; she could feel it.
"You do not believe me."
"I believe you, Boots. I was just thinking about your Green Man."
Elizabeth turned in his arms until she was facing him. "The Green Man? What brings that old tale to mind?"
He pointed with his chin toward the shore. "My mother told me about Scotland, what it looked like, but I never had much of a picture in my mind. Now that I've seen it, I wonder if that Green Man that comes and scratches at windows is all that's left of the trees."
Elizabeth jerked a little in surprise. "The spirit of the lost forests, you mean?" She put her head against his shoulder. "Of course," she said softly. "That's exactly what he must be."
"Boots," said Nathaniel, tightening his grip on her. "Listen to me."
She waited.
"I know you hate the idea of going off on a smuggler--wait, let me finish. There's no denying that it scares you. But we've survived this far, haven't we?"
"We have."
"What is it, then?"
She pulled away from him gently to walk to the far wall. There she stopped in front of Carryck's intricately carved coat of arms. A white elk, a lion, shield and crown. In tenebris lux: light in the darkness.
"I fear you will be angry at me if I say what I am thinking."
She had startled him; she felt it in the hand he put on her shoulder. In sudden resolution she spoke.
"Nathaniel, if we should get away, all of us--do you think that they will leave us alone? The earl will not rest until he speaks to your father, or to you--" She wavered, seeing his expression darken.
"So I think we should see this out. You see, I knew you would be angry."
Nathaniel inclined his head. "I'm surprised, is all."
"But don't you see, if we just spoke to him--"
"Are you hoping he'll change his mind, or I'll change mine?"
She threw up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I knew we could not talk about this."
Nathaniel let out a long sigh. "So you think we should spend another week or two weeks or however long it takes, go see the man and let him have his say. Is that it? And what makes you think he won't try to keep us?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "He cannot be completely blind to propriety, Nathaniel. To keep a whole family captive indefinitely--"
"I wouldn't put it past him."
She wrapped her arms around herself. "Even if you are right, you mustn't forget my aunt Merriweather. She knows where we are by now--Will is certain to have told her about Carryck when she came to Québec. She may be at Oakmere already, waiting for word. If she does not soon hear from me, she will take things into her own hands. She has an army of solicitors and lawyers at her disposal, you must realize."
He grinned sourly. "I don't doubt it."
Elizabeth ran her finger over the coat of arms and traced the elaborate gilded curls on the lion's tail. "There is another reason to at least let the earl have his say."
Nathaniel tensed, but she pushed on.
"There's something else at play here, some kind of real trouble ..."
His expression shifted to disbelief. "You ain't worried about the earl? Boots, listen to me. Whatever troubles the man has, there's one thing for sure: he won't take no for an answer. We'll listen to his story and then wish him well and go home. You think he'll be satisfied with that?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No," she said. "Of course he will not be satisfied. But then neither will you, if you walk away and never hear what he has to say. Five or ten years from now when we still look at every stranger who comes to Paradise as a danger to the children, will you regret not seeing this through?"
The rain had picked up again and it lashed itself against the transom windows in great sheets. Nathaniel seemed to be counting the raindrops, so concentrated was his expression.
"Let me ask you this, Boots. If a ship was to come alongside this minute and offer to take us all back home, what would you want to do?"
Elizabeth studied her own hands. She could give him the easiest, the most logical answer: I want to go home. And it would be the truth. She wanted to take her children away from this place with such intensity that she sometimes woke from a deep sleep to find herself out of bed and half-dressed, with no sense of where she might be going except away. Away from Moncrieff and Carryck, away from the faceless Campbells.
"When we go, Nathaniel, then I want to leave all of this behind us. Forever. For good. I am afraid if we go now, we will drag it all home with us, and we will never really be free of Carryck."