A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) by Deanna Raybourn (english novels for students .txt) 📕

sign of resentment at his thwarted attempts at lovemaking, drew in a breath and let it out in an exultant sigh. “There is nothing like sea air to mend what ails you,” he pronounced.

“I did not know you were fond of the sea,” I told him as we made our way from the tiny station down to the waiting boats.

“Indeed I am. A naval career is one of the things I envied Stoker bitterly.”

“The fact that you envied him anything at all would come as the most appalling shock to him,” I returned.

His mouth twisted into a wry expression. “I envy him more than any other man I have ever known,” he said.

“Tiberius,” drawled a familiar voice, “how very touching. I did not realize how much you cared.”

I whirled to find Stoker lounging idly, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, his arms folded.

“How on earth—”

“There was an express from Exeter,” he told me. “Tiberius ought to have taken it, but I suppose he was too enchanted with your company to want to shorten the experience.”

“How is it,” I demanded, “that we did not see you on the train from London?”

“I traveled third class,” he told us with a grin as a porter came trundling up with an assortment of smart shagreen cases stamped with the viscount’s initials.

Tiberius’ mouth thinned. “How very predictable of you, Revelstoke.”

He seldom used Stoker’s proper name, and it was a measure of his displeasure that he did so.

Stoker shrugged and picked up his single piece of baggage, a small battered naval chest. I turned to Tiberius. “Will Stoker’s arrival present difficulties with your host?”

“I doubt it, since I expected this very course of action on his part,” was the smooth reply.

Stoker fixed him with a penetrating look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, dear brother, that you are as easy to anticipate now as you were in childhood. I wired Malcolm this morning that my brother would be joining the party and I hoped he could be accommodated. Just before we departed, I received an affirmative reply.” He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I know how much you like to play the prodigal brother, so I have arranged for the fatted calf.”

With that he turned on his heel, signaling the porter to follow. I looked to Stoker, whose expression was one of naked astonishment edged with resentment.

“Why so vexed?” I asked. “You obviously wanted to come and now you’re here.”

“True,” he replied slowly. “I just resent like hell being Tiberius’ foregone conclusion.” He looked at me for a long moment. “What about you? Are you bothered that I have come?”

His jaw was set, his lips tight, belying the easy tone he had adopted. He was trying for nonchalance and very nearly achieved it. But I knew him too well for that.

I turned on my heel to follow Tiberius. “I have not yet decided,” I called over my shoulder. “Try not to use your kennel manners. We are guests.”

It was almost dark then, well past sunset with only the fading purple light of evening to illuminate the horizon. Off to the west, silhouetted against the violet sweep of the sky, a pointed black shape rose, thrusting itself upwards.

“St. Maddern’s Isle,” Tiberius said as I joined him, and there was a note in his voice I had never heard before, some strong emotion he was struggling with and very nearly concealing. But I heard it, and I saw it in the expression in his eyes before he looked away, brushing at some invisible lint on his sleeve.

“Come, Veronica. It would be best to make the crossing before nightfall.”

I followed him down to the quay and took his hand as he helped me into a narrow boat. Stoker followed, leaping nimbly into the boat with the grace of a seasoned sailor. A local fellow of advanced years sporting fisherman’s clothes and a Cornishman’s accent tugged at his cap and welcomed us aboard.

“Trefusis, I’m called. You’ll be the guests of the master of St. Maddern’s. I’ll have you over in a trice, my good lord, and your lady and t’other gentleman as well. Your bags will come over on the next boat, but you’ll be wanting to get across before the storm comes.”

“Storm?” I asked. The sky was as yet a soft plum color, with gentle gauzy wisps of clouds just masking the first glimmer of starlight.

“Aye, but not to fear, lady. A bit of a squall, no more. Gone by midnight and a fair day tomorrow,” he promised. “Now, stand you here if you like for the best view of St. Maddern’s Isle as we approach.” I did as he advised, and Tiberius came to stand behind me. Stoker remained in the stern of the boat, feet planted wide apart, hands thrust into his pockets as he lifted his head, sniffing the air. A mist had risen, shrouding the island and its castle from sight until we were quite close, and then, without preamble, a soft sigh of wind blew the shreds of fog away and there it was, looming above us, black and forbidding and utterly enormous from the vantage of the tiny boat in the open sea.

“There she be,” the Cornishman Trefusis said proudly. “The Isle.”

He beached the little craft and clambered into the water as Tiberius vaulted smoothly over the side of the boat. I dropped into his waiting arms, rather more solid limbs than I would have expected. To my surprise, there was nothing flirtatious in his embrace. He held me firmly against his chest as he strode with apparent ease through the thigh-deep water. When he had placed me solidly upon my feet on the shingle beach, he offered the Cornishman a coin before Stoker bent his shoulder to help old Trefusis turn the boat towards Pencarron. The Cornishman tugged his hat brim and set his course for home as Tiberius and I looked to the castle, Stoker standing just behind.

Tiberius had fallen silent and merely stood for