Page 6 of Set in Stone

The rain continued through the following day. Arianna was heartily sick of it, their rooms in the boarding house, and her mother, in ascending order of despair. When a note arrived for her mother, she held her breath, hoping it offered a break from the tedium. Almost anything would be preferable to staying here listening to her mother bemoan Arianna’s deficits and plan ways to trick prospective suitors—although Mr. Mills was the only current prospect—into proposing.

“Arianna,” said Mama, when she had read the note, “the innkeeper is planning to conduct a tour of his historical establishment. He has sent an invitation to all visitors, dearest. We shall go. This may be the opportunity we need to put you in front of all the eligible gentlemen in the district.”

Was this Mr. Medlock’s doing? He had mentioned inviting her to such a tour, and though the invitation was not from him, Arianna had a sudden conviction that he had arranged it.

Mama was sighing. “I have been very disappointed in the lack of social engagements in this village, Arianna. One must hope that we will meet the right kind of people tomorrow at this tour. People with invitations, Arianna. People who will introduce you to eligible bachelors.”

Arianna didn’t bother to pay attention after that, listening only enough to make encouraging noises and nod agreement at the appropriate times. Mama’s monologues were predictable. She would bemoan Arianna’s lack of attractiveness to suitors, praise herself for all the efforts she had made on Arianna’s behalf, take a swipe at Father’s low social class—without ever mentioning the wealth that gave them a life of luxury—and list the advantages and desirable features of any eligible male currently in her sights.

It was currently a list of one, for Arianna had not yet successfully scared off Mr. Edwin Mills. She was going to have to be subtle about it. Mama had already scolded her for the garments she had worn to visit the church—simple lines, practical fabrics, colors that didn’t show every speck of dust or flick of mud.

“It is a wonder Mr. Mills paid you a scrap of attention, Arianna Westbrook, dressed like a governess or an old maid. And an old maid is something I shall not allow you to be, so do not think it. You shall not scare Mr. Mills off with your usual little tricks—talking like a bluestocking, arguing with his opinion, claiming your dowry is in a trust your husband will not be able to touch.”

Arianna had not realized that Mama had caught on to her strategies. It was a reminder that—while Mama might not be an intellectual—she was smart about the things that mattered to her, most of which had to do with status and social position.

To her own surprise, Arianna struck back. “I am a bluestocking, Mama. I only argue with opinions that are wrong. And why would you expect me to marry a fortune hunter who only wants me for my dowry?” Even as the words left her lips, she knew she had made a mistake.

“You will not disrespect me, Arianna. I am your mother. More to the point, your inheritance is under my complete control.” Legally, that was not true. But from a practical standpoint, Mama was correct. Arianna’s other two trustees tended to follow her mother’s direction. “I shall see you married to a gentleman with connections well before your next birthday, and if you defy me, you shall be punished. Do you understand me?”

What could Arianna say but, “Yes, Mama. I apologize, Mama.”

In the war Mama had made of their relationship, Mama held most of the ground and all the weapons. Things would change after Arianna’s wedding, or on the day she turned twenty-five, but that meant she still had more than thirty months to evade the suitors Mama selected, and the marital traps Mama kept setting for her.

In the beginning, Arianna had put Mama’s desperation for a son-in-law down to some sort of twisted maternal concern. Or perhaps to grief over the death of Arianna’s father, for it had started even before their formal mourning period ended. Mama had shown few signs of attachment to Papa while he was alive, but Arianna had told herself that her mother was not demonstrative.

When she first began to detect the patterns, Arianna didn’t want to believe what her mind was telling her. Until Pelham Townsend, the indigent fourth son of a bankrupt earl, had refused to be deterred by her usual strategies, driving her to an outright refusal. Which Mama had refused to accept.

The church was booked. Invitations were sent. Arianna promised to stand in front of the priest and refuse the wedding. Mama had her whipped, and then locked up without food. By the time Arianna was back in circulation again, Townsend had left London, having eloped with another heiress. Apparently, his financial embarrassments were too pressing to allow him to wait for Arianna.

It was quite by chance that Arianna had found the note he had sent to Mama. She must have crumpled it up and then hidden it in her desk, perhaps when Arianna or a maid came into the room. Arianna had seen her doing just that with letters she found annoying—into the fire if one was lit, and into the drawer to be burned later, if there was no fire.

Townsend’s name was uppermost on the crumpled ball. It had been the first thing Arianna had seen when she opened the drawer to fetch some notepaper for Mama. She had put the note into her pocket, and had read it later, when she was alone in her bedchamber. The words that rocked her view of her mother’s actions were engraved in her mind.

“I am abandoning our agreement. Your daughter hates the idea of being married to me, and I do not want a reluctant wife, even if the share of her dowry you were prepared to give me would solve all my financial problems. I have found another, less argumentative bride, and you need to find another son-in-law who will agree to splitting the dowry with you.”

That note was now sewn into the lining of her sturdiest coat. If ever Mama tried again to force her to the altar, those words might give Arianna a chance to fight it.

Five

The following morning, the weather had turned fine, with the North Sea doing its poor best to resemble a mill pond. Thom was delighted for the sake of his salvage, and disappointed at a personal level. Brewster had been enthusiastic about taking visitors and interested locals on a tour of the unused parts of the inn, and had scheduled the event for the early afternoon, but Thom, Jim, and their divers would have to leave the fishing harbor in the inlet by ten to catch the tide.

Their modified fishing ketch, even with its flat bottom, still drew at least nine feet with the diving bell aboard, and parts of the channel that led out to sea were half that when the tides were low.

He set aside the temptation to postpone the salvage operation for another day. Conditions couldn’t be better. They could not count on the weather to repeat the following day.

Sighing, he called Brewster aside and presented his apologies. The thought of leaving a note for Miss Westbrook crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. If a gentleman wrote to a lady who was neither his sister nor his betrothed, he risked the damsel’s reputation, and Thom wouldn’t do that for the world.

He could only hope he would have the opportunity to make his explanations and apologies to the lady herself.

They were unlikely to be using the diving bell today. First, they had to narrow down the search area. Early indications were that the Havspray had broken up in the storm. Their first look, on the day they arrived in Fenwick, had confirmed that wreckage covered a broad area, but how much of it was from the Havspray, and how much from other wrecks, they couldn’t know until they looked.

Today, the divers would go down in pairs and search the sea bottom. Half an hour for the first pair, and then another half hour on deck mapping out what they had seen while the second pair continued the search. Turn and turn about between the pairs for three hours, an hour’s break, then another three hours before they returned to harbor on the incoming tide.

The diving bell would come into use once they were able to pinpoint an area that seemed to have what was left of the captain’s cabin, for that was where he had locked up the box with which he’d been entrusted.

Precisely what that box held, the Duke of Haverford did not say, but Jim had a sealed envelope to be opened only if they found that the box had been broken open and were able to collect the scattered contents. Thom assumed it held a list of said contents, but if they found the box intact, he might never know.

“You shall come, too, Brownlee,” Mama commanded, as she put on her bonnet prior to leaving for the tour of the inn. “If I need to rest, you can accompany Arianna. She will be disappointed if I cut her pleasure short. You know how she loves these old dusty things.”