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Mr William Elliot, of the younger branch of the Kellynch family, being obliged to travel through the county in which his paterfamilias had his residence, elected to take the most distant route from that gentleman's residence; in short, to travel along the coast. Since he was journeying from Plymouth to London, he chose the southerly route, and jolting along the rough lane that took its course between Seaton and Lyme, had cause before very long to regret his choice. The lane was badly made and deeply rutted, and February's mud made it slippery under his horses' hooves. A passing donkey, switched along by a boy and laden with samphire, compounded the curricle’s difficulties at a sharp bend; it was overset, and Mr Elliot and his groom found themselves on the ground and the horses inextricably tangled with their harness.
Cooper, his groom (in fact his name was Colquhoun, but Mr Elliot saw no reason to bother himself with remembering such an outlandish name) went to rise and go to his master's aid, and thence to the horses. But he fell back, his handsome face distorted in sudden pain, and could not speak even when Mr Elliot addressed him sharply.
Aid there appeared to be none; the boy and his donkey had made themselves scarce. Mr Elliot, having had time to right his thoughts, cursed once but with feeling, assisted Cooper to a dryish seat on a stone in the hedgerow, and went to the horses to calm them. After freeing them from the tangled harness, he led them back one by one to Cooper, who spoke to them softly, albeit through clenched teeth. The next difficulty that faced Mr Elliot was the pole of the curricle, which had been badly cracked in the upset.
He glanced back at Cooper. The man was obviously in severe difficulties; any help would therefore have to come from Mr Elliot himself. A walk to the nearest farmhouse beckoned, not something he would particularly enjoy at the best of times, and certainly considering the muddy state of the ground. There was nothing for it, though, and he was preparing to set out across the ploughed fields to the house whose position could be guessed at from a plume of smoke ascending from beyond a sheltering belt of trees, when the small boy, reappearing cautiously, volunteered the information that his mother was at home in the farmhouse, and could bring assistance should it be needed.
Mr Elliot agreed to this plan, and informed the urchin that there would be a shilling in it for him if her would be quick about it, so, tying his donkey to a convenient branch, the messenger departed at some speed across the fields.Thereupon, he turned his attention back to the upturned curricle; a careful inspection shewed him that the pole was cracked, but beyond that, there seemed no irreparable damage. A couple of days' stay in Lyme should see the pole replaced and the body of the curricle refurbished, and then he could continue on to London, on better-made roads, or if necessary, he would hire another vehicle. He was aware that a public coach stopped at Lyme, but was not inclined to make use of it, full as it would be of people of a low station.
The first task to undertake was to remove his baggage from the back of the curricle; he unroped it and dropped the large valise to the ground. “No, stay and look after the horses,” he snapped at Cooper, as he made to rise and help, and the man subsided once more. Then Mr Elliot set his shoulder to the vehicle, and heaved; it balanced for a moment on one wheel, before tipping upright. Mr Elliot stood back, dusting off his gloved hands and regarding it with some satisfaction. His predicament was beginning to look less severe.
At this point in his musings, a young man, some eighteen years of age, or so Mr Elliot guessed, appeared beyond the seaward hedge; tossed a heavy bag over the stile, sprang up onto its topmost rail, balanced there for a moment with ease, then jumped lightly down into the road.“Good day to you, sir! I thought I heard a smash. A thorough one, too. Are you in need assistance?”
Mr Elliot, not at all pleased to be found in such a situation, replied shortly, “Unfortunately, it seems so. Quite what may be done to help, I do not know.”The young man walked round the wreck of the curricle, and said, “My brother has one very like this. If the pole is all the damage there is, I believe I may be able to repair it, with the use of some of that rope.” He indicated the back of the vehicle, where the rope lay in a tangled pile.
“You are a repairer of carriages, then?” Mr Elliot was surprised; the young man's voice did not suggest any such occupation.
“Not I! Richard Musgrove, midshipman of his Majesty's sloop Callisto, at your service. We have little to do with carriages, more's the pity! But much ado with repairs of spars, and if you wish it, that smash will only take a few minutes to set right. Or right enough for you to continue your journey to Lyme, at least, if that's where you're headed.”
“You are very kind, Mr Musgrove. William - Walters, at your service.”
The two horses were between Mr Elliot and Cooper, so he could not see the man's expression, but was confident that it would be schooled to indifference. He paid the man well, and required his silence, and if from time to time his master made use of a misnomer, that was none of his groom's business. So Mr Elliot, too close to the environs of Kellynch to wish to make use of his real name, was able to give this alias with confidence, and turned his full attention to the newcomer.The young man was fair-haired under his hat, and his eyes very bright. His complexion was a little tanned to be sure, but altogether he presented a pleasing picture. William, for all that he stood on ceremony for the most part during his travels, was not inclined to deprive himself of his company.Within ten minutes, the rope was disentangled from the baggage, the broken pole of the curricle laid straight, and Musgrove was engaged in “splicing” the two cracked halves while William held them firmly together.
Help for Cooper was now at hand. The farmer's wife was approaching, driving a cart, with a young woman – her daughter, to judge by the strong resemblance between them – at her side. The good woman surveyed the scene briefly, and brought the cart to within a pace of the injured man; then set her shoulder under his, and between herself and Musgrove, they had him onto the cart-bed in a trice. Her daughter arranged a rug for Cooper's greater comfort, while William opened his purse.
“This is for your trouble, madam. I will arrange for an apothecary, or a surgeon if there is one, from Lyme, and depending on his opinion, Cooper may need your hospitality for while.”
"You'll want Mr Atkins, on Broad Street, sir,” said the woman. She had an air of competence which was reassuring, though William was chagrined when she continued, “Westport Farm. He knows the way. That's a nasty bend and we often have folks upturned here.”
So he had been victim to a common circumstance. William sighed inwardly, but merely thanked her for the information, touched his hat in conscious courtesy, and left them to drive away.
“Easier to do this on solid ground than up in the rigging, with the yard trying to throw you into the sea,” said Musgrove, with an easy grin, as he took a final turn with the rope and contrived some form of complicated knot to finish all. “That should hold.” They both surveyed it, William waiting for disaster, Musgrove with an air of satisfaction, and since it did not collapse into its component parts, William turned and shook the other's hand.
“You have saved me from an uncomfortable walk, or a ride in a farmer's cart at least,” and William indicated his driving-coat and glossy boots. “If I can offer you a lift to the town, or to some point nearer, I will be more than glad to do so.
“That's handsome of you, sir. Since my bag is heavy, I'll take you up on the offer. I wasn't looking forward to hauling that lot to Lyme.”
"Let us harness up the horses, then, and be on our way!”
The baggage was re-loaded, they climbed into the curricle, and William took up the reins and encouraged the horses to a cautious walk.
When it became apparent that the pole would hold, he glanced at his passenger and said, “You are an excellent repairer of carriages, sir. Once again, my thanks.”
He received a grin in response. Not one to approve such familiar manners as a rule, William was ready to let this pass. The youth was possessed of a beguiling charm.
“This ride is all the thanks, I need, sir! It's a very considerable walk from Axmouth, and my finds being of such a weight, I was not looking forward to carrying them to Lyme.” He nudged the satchel lying at his feet.
William cast his mind back to Axmouth, some five miles back. There had been a small ship tied up at the wharf there. “I believe I may have seen your ship as I came by the town.”
“Yes, that's the Callisto, come in to provision. Some of us were given shore-leave, and since there's always a market for fossils in these parts, I set about obtaining some.”
“You are a natural philosopher, then!” William glanced at his passenger, smiling.
Musgrove met his eye with great frankness. “I am short of the readies, sir, like any midshipman! So I go to Lyme, where I may obtain the best prices for my curios. I noticed a new rock-fall in the Undercliff as we came in, and it seemed likely that it had not been picked clean of specimens, so I got there with all speed once I had leave. It was hard going, though – the Undercliff is rough country!”
“This Undercliff – is that the land along the shore-line? It seems to me that a whole portion of the cliff has fallen away, trees and all.”
“Yes. That happened before I was born, but more rocks are always coming down. Very romantical and overgrown it is too – visiting gentry are fond of it for expeditions – but I'm there for the fossils.”
William said, as if he had just had the idea, "I have a day or two to spare while this carriage is repaired – or the pole replaced. I've a mind to explore this Undercliff a little way, though not today, since the light is beginning to fail. Perhaps, if you know the path, you would be willing to show me the route where I may least expect to break my neck?”
“Gladly, sir, though the rocks shift constantly and the path shifts with them. It's a puzzle sometimes to know how to get along.”
“An exploration, then! Which will be a novelty to me, though doubtless you've undertaken many such.”
“Oh, I've been mostly in home waters: no far-flung voyages for me! Damned uncomfortable it would be too, sailing to the Indies or the Arctic, though blockade-duty is dull, and little chance of prizes. A few days on land don't come unwelcome, and this is a chance to make some money. I will go to the curio-stall in Lyme today, and see what prices I may expect. Trouble is, they know their fossils, and it's not as though I can sell elsewhere.”
“I must pay a visit to this stall. Fossils are of some interest in London, I believe, and a present or two for friends and family would not go amiss.”
“Come with me, sir, if you wish. I can lead you straight there.”
“You are familiar with the town, then?”
“I've visited it once or twice, with the family. I'm from Uppercross, further north. We searched for fossils on the beach, and there are always more being uncovered.”
Good God. Uppercross. He'd been right to be cautious; it was only a few miles from Kellynch. So he understood from Sir Walter's endless tedious remarks about his ancestral seat, and those of his chilly and designing daughter. He would have to tread carefully; and yet, Musgrove's strong, lithe body... and since he had no intention of further contact with the senior branch of his family, nor of going near Kellynch, he could perhaps indulge himself a little.
“Uppercross is not far from here, I believe? I feel sure I heard the name at Crewekerne, where I changed horses.”
“Oh, aye, my father's the squire there.” Young Musgrove was letting him know that he was not without connections; a wise precaution which William mentally applauded. It didn't mean that he would not be up for a little fun, though – especially in the light of what followed.
“You are close to home, then! I am not; on my way from Plymouth to London, and my friend at Exeter has been called away, so here I find myself with a day or two to spare before I'm expected.”
“There's plenty of interest around Lyme, sir. You'll not be bored.” Another grin, almost a wink, tossed over his shoulder. “For me, I'm giving Uppercross a wide berth. They're not bad, my family, but there are such a devil of a lot of them! And my brother and his wife have just been blessed - ” his voice took on an ironic tinge “ - with a baby boy, thereby securing the succession. Mama will be clucky as a mother hen, and my father not much better. I'm staying out of it. They've already given the happy couple a whole house to themselves. That's money that could have gone to me, and devil knows I need it.”
“We could all do with more money,” murmured William, all sympathy. “So that's why you go to search for curios to sell. That shows admirable enterprise.”
“Oh well, a fellow must live a little, and has expenses he doesn't want his parents to know about! Especially if his father's a magistrate.” Good boy, thought William. “I prefer to keep independent as much as I can. Though the Lord knows Charles doesn't do anything to earn his keep, apart from father an heir on the daughter of the local bigwigs. Miss Mary Elliot of Kellynch Hall, as was!” William pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “But all Charles does otherwise is go out shooting all day – nothing to deserve being the favourite. Apart from my youngest brother, of course, of course. I'll wager they don't send him to sea! Not that I'm complaining overmuch. I like my freedom and I wouldn't get that at Uppercross! And my next younger sisters aren't bad brats, for girls. Always up for a lark. If I find a few fossils I might spare some for them. They're at school, and I don't see much of them, or I might be back at Uppercross now.”
“Well, I'm glad you have some congenial company at home! Now, here's a conundrum: does our road take us left or right?” They had arrived at a hamlet, and William deflected the conversation from any reciprocal revelations of home life that might be expected.
Their way bent to the right – Musgrove and the signpost agreed on this – and the road sloped down into a warm, sheltered coomb full of frisking lambs and their mothers.
The travellers arrived on Broad Street after another ten minutes or so. William threaded the narrow streets, Musgrove talking the while about the Callisto (though if one were to talk of Jove's lovers, Ganymede might be more appropriate, thought William, by now quite determined to see what seduction might accomplish.)
“Here's the place I told you of!”They had fetched up outside a small, dark shop, at the same time as the public coach. This made for a crowded and uncomfortable few minutes, as passengers alighted and made known to the postilions which was their luggage, and one or two others bustled aboard, intent on securing the best seats.
William reined in to allow Musgrove to descend while the confusion was resolved, and turned the curricle into the yard of the Golden Lion almost opposite. Within a very few minutes he had made arrangements for the horses to be stabled and the curricle repaired. He secured a room, and the hostess promised to send a boy to the nearest surgeon with news of Cooper's injury.
The necessary business done, he returned to the street, espying Musgrove over the head of a spry old lady with a basket of preserves on her arm. He was conversing with a young girl, perhaps twelve years old, who had self-possession beyond her years.
“They'll need a deal of cleaning up, sir, but you know that. Couple of snake-stones, a devil's toe-nail, a few nice sharp teeth...” She was laying them out rapidly on her stall. “Will you wait a few minutes while I have a closer look at them, or will you come back? Ma will give you a receipt, don't you worry.”
William watched this very assured young person with some amusement, while he cast an eye over the rest of the curios on the stall. Some were very fine indeed; a doubled shell with the nacre still on it, what looked like a fern-frond, all its leaflets wonderfully preserved, and a most wickedly curved claw as long as his hand. He picked the shell up and it was heavy and smooth, cool in his hand, a pleasure to hold, and the claw might well appeal to his wife.
“What is your price for these, Miss..?” He ended on an interrogative note.
“Anning, sir.” She bobbed slightly, but with composure; here was a young woman who knew her worth. “A crown.”
He paid it without a murmur and with some amusement. A woman of middle years - Mrs Anning, he assumed - had emerged from the shop and was writing out a receipt for Musgrove's finds, for this young man had decided not to wait on the crowded street.
“I will take my parcel now, I thank you,” said William to Miss Anning. It was small enough, and he could carry it himself.
“Don't forget to note that one of the snake-stones is left-handed. They're rare,” Musgrove was saying to Mrs. Anning.
“Aye, I'll write it down. There you are, young sir.” This, in motherly tones, to the point of some irritation. “We should have a price for you by half past the hour.”
The bustle was subsiding as she handed over the receipt. The way to the Golden Lion was now clear . William nodded towards it, and said to young Musgrove, “You have stood me in good stead, sir. I have an expedition planned for tomorrow, and have purchased some most interesting fossils. I hope you will be my guest for dinner,” and he gestured at the Golden Lion, hoping that it ran to dinner at short notice.
However, the inn prepared its set dinner to coincide with the arrival of the coach. William and Musgrove were shown to a table by the window, through which William observed with amusement that Miss Anning was studying Musgrove's fossils with a magnifying lens.
“Your expedition was successful! I think your prizes have met with favour.”
“A midshipman needs all the prizes he can lay hands on!” said Musgrove. “The king's service don't pay well for us lowly fellows. It'll take more than a sea-fight or two for me to set up my carriage; the captain has the lion's share, and any admiral within sight my claim a portion. Still, it's a living, when all's said and done – and there's less study than being a parson, or a lawyer.”
“As it happens, I'm a lawyer myself.” William observed with amusement how Musgrove mentally reviewed his words to ascertain that he had not been disparaging, and on satisfying himself of this, took a sip of coffee to cover the awkward gap in his conversation. “But I agree with you about the study that is necessary. No longer for me, though; my wife and I have a more leisurely existence. At the end of the week I will meet her in London; she is visiting old friends at the moment.” Now why did he suddenly feel the need to mention his wife? But a little truth was easier to maintain than a wholesale lie, any lawyer knew that, and at some point soon, perhaps, he would reveal that he saw no need for strict - or even any - fidelity.
Indeed, this information was met with a guffaw. “So you're off the leash for a few days, then?"
William poured himself more coffee. "Indeed I am."
"Well, there's not much of that sort of entertainment in Lyme!"
"Nevertheless, I find myself intrigued by the place.” William regarded him over the rim of his cup. “These fossils of yours, and the tumbled Undercliff! I look forward to our expedition tomorrow. I wonder where I may procure a sketch-book?”
“The host will know - or the Annings. I believe the young girl is quite the natural philosopher already, and makes drawings of the better fossils. And if you've a mind to sketch, why, Pinny is your destination. Quite the romantical scene, and I thought to go that way tomorrow: there's been a new rock-fall, and it may not have been picked clean as yet. I'll see what I can find there, and be your guide at the same time.”
So simply was the assignation made.
The meal finished, Musgrove took his leave to speak to the Annings before going on to a smaller inn; and after a final stroll down to the Cobb to observe the tide washing lazily at the shore among the fishing-boats, and the nets draped against the clear evening sky, William took himself back to a solitary bed.
-x-
The morning saw him waiting at the Cobb by the sea-shore, watching the sun climb beyond a thin haze overlaying the eastern horizon. The weather, he had been assured, was set fair.
He was dressed in clothes suitable for walking, and armed with a sketch-block which he had purchased from one of the lending-libraries. This was stowed in a satchel, which also contained some small items which might be needed for an overnight stay: for it had been mooted between himself and Musgrove at dinner that they might stop overnight at Pinny, depending on how successful their expedition along the Undercliff proved to be.
He employed his time while waiting for Musgrove by sketching a prospect of the Undercliff from his seat on a bench placed for the convenience of visitors. A whole quarter-hour passed, and he was beginning to wonder if the assignation was a failure, when the sound of a rapid approach reached his ears. On turning his head, he observed the latecomer trotting along the Cobb.
“Your pardon, sir! I overslept a little. Well, to be honest, I may have had a tot too many last night. It's hard to resist temptation, when you're not going to be roused out of a hammock at some godforsaken hour!” Musgrove's grin was rueful.
“It is of no moment, sir.” William could have spoken this with a coldness that would freeze its hearer to the core, but his smile was friendly and his tone amiable. “Our gallant defenders deserve their rest! And I have been passing the time profitably; observe!” He turned the sketch-block so that Musgrove could see his drawing; the Undercliff stretching away along the coast to the hazy distance. “It would be improved by the addition of a figure for scale; if you will be good enough to stand just there...” and he drew in the young man's figure, its lankiness fined down to elegance, and rose to his feet to show the result. Then he snapped the sketch-block shut, and placed it in his satchel. “Now, sir. You are my navigator on this expedition; where do we go?”
“There's the path to Pinny.” Musgrove pointed to a breakneck thread of a track, winding up to the headland, which gave William pause.
“You may call it a path, but I do not.”“It's a highway to anyone who's spent time in His Majesty's Navy!”
And twenty minutes later they stood on the headland, looking down into the tumbled Undercliff, its first great spire of rock and its fallen boulders showing plainly through the new leaves of the trees and shrubs which found footing there. The onward path fell steeply away; the first step down was a good couple of feet.
Musgrove seized a branch, tested his weight upon it, and swung down onto the first tread of the giants' staircase. He turned, hesitated a moment, and extended a hand to William, who was standing above and regarding the descent with rueful expression. Their glances met for a moment; Musgrove raised one eyebrow, head tilted to one side, and William took the hand.
That was most unusual in him, in any gentleman of the day. But he may as well nail his colours to the mast, to use a nautical metaphor, and now was a good a time as any, as they descended into the green spring dimness of the Undercliff.
Musgrove's hand was strong, calloused, and warm; he steadied William with little apparent effort, and William retained hold of it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Musgrove smiled as he let go, turned away, and resumed his descent.
Their progress took him westwards along the Undercliff, a long strip of farmland which had descended abruptly and in thunder one night some forty years ago, and which had since become entangled and overgrown, making it a place of great interest for visitors such as himself.
Now and then they stopped to survey the route onwards. It was a scene that would delight any artist; the cliff itself, its grey stone gleaming in the morning sun; the jumbled land along its foot, comprised of great blocks and spires of the same stone; the new-leaved trees, draped with ivy and suchlike trailing plants; ferns everywhere, and the trilling of birds enough to delight any lady's heart. His wife, for instance, would be in transports were she to see it, and indeed he might bring her here at some point, since he bore the woman no particular ill-will; but for the present, he was very glad of her absence.
Musgrove was ahead of him most of the time, and in his short coat, his thighs and shoulders working as he scrambled from rock to rock, he was a sight to distract anyone not made of stone. As fine an arse as William ever had the pleasure of beholding. All that running up and down the rigging, no doubt, or whatever it was that midshipmen did.
“Aha!” The sudden exclamation brought him out of his indulgent thoughts. Musgrove was crouching over a scatter of rocks that had seemingly fallen very recently. William cast an anxious eye at the cliff-face; but there were no more rocks poised to fall, so he crouched beside Musgrove and watched his strong hands rake over the stones.“This. D'you see? That's a fish, if I'm not much mistaken.”
It was a perfect impression, in reverse, of such a creature; about two inches long. Musgrove was not satisfied. “If I can just find the fossil itself...” He reached here and there, and rapidly turned over all the rocks at hand, and William, close by, did the same in a more leisurely fashion. He was pleasurably aware of Musgrove's warmth, right next to him, and of the faint smell of sweat and tar emanating from his clothes; and thus distracted, it was no surprise that Musgrove picked up the obverse of the fish, in a piece of stone the size of a volume of a novel, and held it in both hands, smiling widely.
“It's like no fish that I've ever seen,” said William dubiously; not that he was about to dispute the nature of the animal, but simply to continue the conversation.
“The Annings had one just like it on their stall yesterday, right at the back,” said Musgrove. “Ten shillings, too! The girl – Mary – wouldn't bargain, but that'll keep the price up for this one. I wonder! Are there are more like this? It'd be a capital thing if there was a shoal of 'em!”
So saying, he left William holding the stone and scrambled up the slope a little way, where he rummaged around, not unlike a questing spaniel, and emerged from the scree, the trails of loose ivy and the bugeoning wildflowers with a triumphant cry. “Here are a couple more! Will you catch 'em, sir? I'll need both hands to come down!” Without waiting for an answer, he tossed a couple more pieces of stone down, one after another, and William caught them and set them down next to the first.
Musgrove launched himself back the slope in a single leap, staggered as he landed, and William caught him before he could overbalance. For a moment, he tottered on the edge of a fall himself; the slope to the sea beckoned, but an out-flung foot saved them both. Musgrove's leg was hard against his inner thigh, his shoulders braced against William's arm, and they laughed into each other's eyes from a distance of less than a foot.
“Whew! Haven't quite got my land-legs yet; your pardon, sir!” His thigh flexed against William's as he stood upright again.
“Not at all. It's a steep spot, for sure. And wait, you have got ivy leaves and God-knows-what on you.” William's hands swept over Musgrove's shoulders and back, while keeping their stance close enough to be called an embrace. Musgrove, seemingly nothing loath, turned slowly while his coat was divested of the imaginary foliage. “Now, let me look at you. Yes, that will do. You are fit to be seen.”
“I'm obliged to you, sir! Now, where are those stones?” And having spied them on the ground close by, he stooped to pick them up, giving William a very fine view of that arse, and stowed them away in his satchel. “Onwards!”
“How far is it to Pinny?” asked William, once he had got his breath back, as they continued along the path, which now gave a good view of the sea to their left.
“Oh, two-three miles, I'd guess, from the charts. You'd think we could do it in an hour or so, but since the country's like this we'll be all morning at it,” was the careless response.
“I'll want to take a sketch or two, if the prospect is as fine as this one.” A remark that could be interpreted two ways; Musgrove was taking a long step up at that moment, and using his hands to steady himself. But out at sea there were ships to be seen, fishing-vessels, he presumed, and two larger ones passing half a mile from the shore. “Tell me, are those members of your – squadron, I suppose you'd call it?” He hesitated as if the word were unfamiliar, and Musgrove took the bait.
“Those are Dido and Plassey, which came in with us. They took some damage in the last blow, like us, so they're in home waters for now. We've brought dispatches in, and are taking provisions out when the repairs are done. Life on the Western Squadron; we have our excitements, for sure!” And his tone indicated that it was anything but exciting.
Musgrove, engaging youth as he was, had an undeniable inclination to chatter. How fortunate it was that William was not a French spy!
-x-
So it went for the next half-hour or so, for they were much exercised to get themselves along the chaos of the inland cliff. There were fresh falls of rock here and there. William, observing them, said, “A few days' rain and more will come down, I have no doubt.”
“That would be the time to visit for fossils!” Musgrove glanced to left and right, seeking his route, and William pointed upwards to a place where the path they were on continued, with great nonchalance, at head-height.
Musgrove surveyed the climb with some perplexity, and William said, “This will take both our efforts, I believe.” He bent a little, like a groom offering a leg-up to a rider, and Musgrove, with very little hesitation, placed his bent leg in William's hands. And then it was a matter of tossing him up – his lessons at the fencing salon in London had paid dividends in strength – and with a grunt of surprise, Musgrove found himself able to get his arms over the lip of the path. He paused there a moment, and tottered slightly as the earth and fine roots gave way under his hands; a firm grip on his thigh steadied him, and after a moment's pause, the muscles flexing in William's grasp, he hauled himself onto the upper level. Then he slewed round, his head of a height with William's, and laughing, eyes bright and hair all disordered, reached down.
"There's nothing for it, I'll have to pull you up,” said he.
“You will need to take the bags first,” William reminded him gently, and handed them up one by one. Then he jumped, caught Musgrove's shoulders, and scrambled up the declivity and up and onto Musgrove's prone body.
There was a confused moment in which his hands grabbed at whatever hold they could find – belt and hip and calf, while Musgrove's hard grip travelled from under his arms to his torso and somehow to his inner leg. And then he was up, perspiring, dirty, and laughing, and in the sorting out of a strange juxtaposition of arms and legs, came face to face with Musgrove, lying under him, and looking delightfully abandoned.
William propped himself on his elbows over the young man, but made no other move. “We appear to be closer acquaintances than a mere day would warrant.” This, in a seductive murmur.
“Closer yet, if you fancy it.”
“Oh, yes. I fancy it. I fancy you, Richard Musgrove.” He dropped his head down for a kiss: all was delicious warmth and wetness, eagerness and little moans, especially when he got a leg between Musgrove's thighs and bent it upwards. Musgrove squirmed beneath him.
“Oh god, that's good. Just there. Yes, that's right. God. You know what you're doing.”
“I should hope so.” He hitched himself higher over Musgrove, as far as he could, for his leg was now firmly gripped between Musgrove's strong thighs, anchoring it just so, and delved his tongue deeper yet, bringing a groan up from within the young man's chest.
“Here. We'd best get off the path.” William suddenly remembered caution.
“I just need to get off. Now.” Musgrove was not interested in prudence.
“You can wait a few seconds.”
A growl of frustration beneath him, but William rolled them into a kind of ferny bower beside the path, got their breeches undone somehow, mounted again and dug in his hips. The taut body beneath him gathered itself, arched hard against him, held for a moment, and fell back.
“Oh. Oh god. That's good.” This was a breathy murmur against William's neck, which had somehow become divested of its cravat, and he could only grunt something in response before he too lost all awareness.
This blissful state could not, did not last for long. Ferns dripped their moisture down William's exposed neck; a hitherto unsuspected branch was digging into his side; good God, was that a leech inching towards them along the damp ground? He scrambled to his feet and stamped on it with alacrity, and in some haste the two of them adjusted their dress.
“We must get to Pinny immediately, and remove any of these creatures that we find.” William moved his shoulders within his clothing uncomfortably.
“Aye, I'll search for them on you, if you like! And you can do the same for me. Salt is the way to deal with them.” Musgrove was calmly knowledgeable.
“To the salt-cellars of Pinny, then!”
The inn at Pinny was rustic, but sufficient to their needs. The landlady was all solicitude, the moreso when she heard of their encounter with the leech, and provided a battered but mercifully large salt-cellar, which they took with them to their rooms. In William's room, the larger of the two, they removed all their clothing, and in the close inspection for more leeches became quite at ease with each other's nakedness.
At the end of their hunt the last of the loathsome parasites dropped to the piece of sacking provided for the purpose. William, who had been inspecting Musgrove's back, said, “That's all of them, I think. We are both clear of them.” He crumpled up the sacking, and tossed it into the fire. Then he put his hands on Musgrove's shoulders, and whispered in his ear, with all the seductive power which he had cultivated over the years, “You are a very fine figure of a youth, you know.”
“So I've been told,” replied Musgrove, and leaned back against William, and arched like a cat in response to his stroking hand. “You're no weakling yourself.”
“A gentleman's pursuits only. I have not climbed a mast in a storm.”
“Nor me, if I can avoid it! But sometimes there's no help for it, and up you must go.”
William smiled, bit on his ear-lobe, and his free hand slipped around the hard chest to play there. Musgrove gasped, and then there was silence for a while - but it was a busy silence.
-x-
An hour or so later, the inn's fare was found to be plain but adequate. “Yes, sirs, we're used to gentry like yourselves walking along the Undercliff – though not so much at this time of year! But come spring and summer, there are people coming in all their time with bags full of spars. Do you want the use of a hammer and chisel? My husband keeps some tools in the outhouse especial.”
Six o'clock was certainly too early to go to bed, so for the space of three hours, Richard tapped and chipped at their fossils, though after an hour or so William took up his sketch-block and pencil again and began to record some of their finds. Though no portraitist, he also essayed a sketch or two of Richard, a profile and a three-quarters face, and handed them to him with a slight smile as the clock struck nine.
“Oh, very fine – you've made me quite a handsome fellow!” said Richard, breaking into a smile, which gave his words a truth they had a little lacked before.
“No, keep them – they are yours,” said William, as Richard made to return them.
“I'll tell the lads my sweetheart drew them,” said Richard, folding them into his pocket-book. “A dark-haired lass to break your heart. A small lie's easier to remember than a big one.”
“Any more of the 'sweetheart' and I'll show you otherwise,” said William, in mock threat.
“I don't believe you could,” said Richard, with a martial glint in his eye; and William pounced on him, picked him up, not without a grunt of effort, and carried him giggling through the connecting door to his bedroom.
-x-
The following day, William breakfasted alone, at ten o'clock or so. The hostess even provided yesterday's Times, with a look of pride; brought in from Lyme on the overnight coach from London, he presumed. Truly, the modern age was full of wonders, when news could be disseminated so quickly. He was leafing through the society pages when he saw notice of a philosophical meeting at Great Russell Street, with the display of a new fossil found at – Good Lord – Lyme, and displayed by a Colonel Birch. Seemingly, the finding of fossils could distinguish a man in polite society.
His musings were interrupted just after eleven o'clock by the arrival of his young friend, who had repaired to his own bedroom for the latter part of the night. Richard had the expression of a cat who had got the cream, and he smiled lazily at William, who gestured to the ruins of his excellent breakfast.
“I was up betimes, as you observe; you will have to ring for more.”
“Without more ado!” Richard pulled the bell-cord, and helped himself to William's coffee-pot while he waited.
-x-
When even Richard's pangs of hunger were assuaged, the pair left the inn, having sent their finds back to the Golden Lion by carrier's cart. So they were but lightly loaded when they walked down a winding path beside a boggy stream, that descended by degrees into a valley and thence a rocky declivity, and found themselves once more in the strange country of the Undercliff.
After an hour or so of scrambling, they paused while William made a sketch of a particularly interesting scene of rocks around a small spring, from which issued a pretty waterfall; Richard meanwhile found a spot from where he could look out to sea. After that, they resumed their progress - and were very quickly lost. They stood beside a ruined cottage, quite baffled.
“I am sure we did not pass this on our way here,” observed William.
“Nor I – though I did not mark our way closely: too shagged out, me!” Richard had taken off his hat and was scratching his head.
“It is all my fault, I see. Well, we will simply have to search for the onward path; I will go this way, and do you go the other. We can convene here in a half an hour, if not before; did you remember to wind your watch last night?”
“Of course I did. I'm not a complete noddy!”
On these words they parted, William going upwards and Richard down, and soon he found himself walking a narrow path at the base of the inland cliff. In another ten minutes halted in astonishment. For there, exposed by a recent fall of rock, was a fossil the likes of which he had not heard of. It was an outlandish frame of a creature with long, light bones, very like a bird's, bearing claws set upon the joints; but the wonder that held his attention was the head, long and narrow and filled with teeth!
For a moment he had the notion that the creature was about to turn and fly out of the rock straight at him; which notion he swiftly dispelled. The thing was æons dead, after all.
But it was like nothing he had seen before, even in London. In a twinkling, he had a vision of himself at Great Russell Street, surrounded by admiring society, and giving an account of its discovery and removal. Perhaps it could even be named after him! Pseudoavis elliotii – no, that would never do. Pseudoavis williamii would be better.
His dreams had taken him thus far in the space of a few seconds when he heard a crashing in the undergrowth, the sign not of some monster come to life, but of Richard, returning from his own scouting expedition. “That way's a dead end!” was his cheery shout, and William hastened to call back, “This, also!”
It would never do for Richard to know of the Pseudoavis; he would have it out of the rock in a trice and sold to the highest bidder, and there would go William's chance of distinction in society for the present. He hastened back to the main path. “We need to try further on.” Through fern and entangling ivy he pushed, and made sure to draw back the curtain of ivy after him; though the fall of a stone from the unstable cliff-face drew Richard's eyes there for a moment. “Come, let's be off; that cliff-face is not over-safe!”
He hustled - yes, that was the only word for it – the young man before him, down a sharp slope and into a green hollow, in which a small pond gleamed through the gloom. On the far side of the hollow a path rose and turned around another fallen boulder.
“That's the way – we'll be fine now!” Richard seemed to have forgotten his interest in the cliff-face behind them, and ran light-footed down and around the little pond, and up the opposing slope. “Yes, there are boot-prints here, leading onwards.”
“We are lost no longer, it seems.” He must mark their way carefully in his mind, and keep Richard diverted; so, ten minutes later, seeing a kind of natural amphitheatre above them, well concealed by shrubs and yet more ferns, he said solemnly, “This would be good place to stop and rest, do you not think?” And when Richard stopped to look at him, he let his hand stray around the young man's waist, and then slide lower and grip, and Richard said with feeling, “By God, you make the flag-captain look chaste.” But he pressed into William's hand, and was at his coat buttons in a moment, before turning and scrambling up into the dell above them: which fortunately was lined with fern-fronds rather than rocks, and provided a very satisfactory bed when a coat was flung down upon it.
Further diversion was provided when, through a pleasant haze, William heard voices approaching. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, and caught Richard's merry regard – he had surely heard the voices too and was hard put to it to stifle giggles, judging by the ripples that ran through his body beneath William's. More listening convinced William that the voices were approaching along the very path from which he and Richard had scrambled up.
He made a stern face, and placed a finger on Richard's lips, which was, of course, a mistake, for it was instantly sucked in and nibbled. He hurriedly removed it, and waited for the inevitable.
Yes; the footsteps paused. “You up for it, then?” came a female voice, and her swain's reply, “If you are, an' how can you think I'm not?”
They were about to climb up. Richard raised his voice. “Friends, a little privacy, if you don't mind!”
A moment's startled silence, and a girlish giggle. “Sorry, sir!” She had identified him as a gentleman - which was unfortunate but unavoidable. Richard curled under William's shoulder and was shaking with laughter.
The girl, now also laughing openly, called, “We'll leave you in peace. You enjoy yourselves, now!” The four of them, regardless of station, were caught in a moment's conspiracy, although each pair was invisible to the other. Then the footsteps moved on, and William lifted up slightly to let Richard breathe.
“Your expression!” said that young gentleman. “If ever I saw a look a fear on a man!”
“I have a name to lose, even if you do not!”
“Mine was lost long ago, such as I ever had. Come on, I'm getting cold.” He sat up, flung aside the second coat, which had been draped sketchily over them, and reached for his shirt. “It'll be dinner time before we get back to Lyme.”
“You are a youth of animal urges,” stated William, dressing likewise, with some haste, for the air was truly chilly. “Am I to suppose that I will be paying for dinner?”
“Aye, indeed. And I'll pay you back later.” This was spoken with a grin that left William in no doubt as to the nature of that payment.
The journey back to Lyme was accomplished in an exhausted silence, though familiarity with the path made it seem somewhat shorter than had been the case yesterday. Now in front, now behind, William made mental note of the lie of the tumbled rocks, of a twisted tree here and the opening of the view onto the sea there. Richard, looking through such a kind of window in the tracery of branches, said knowledgeably, “Wind's on the change. Give it a day or two and there'll be a storm.”
Out over the Channel, and in the upper airs, streaks of mares' tails were beginning to extend from west to east.
“What will that mean for you?”
“Nothing to the purpose, not while I'm on shore-leave. But the poor devils in the Channel will know about it. I wouldn't be aloft tonight for all the world.”
“The officers go aloft in storms?”
“Oh, aye, rain or shine, day or night,” said Richard, with a casualness which astonished William. “I wonder how that scrub Johnson will manage? And MacArthur – he's not too keen on the t'gallant yard at the best of times, ha-ha!”
“You seem remarkably unfeeling, if I may so say, young Richard.”
They had turned away from the sea-view, and were continuing along the narrow path, and Richard, now leading, looked back, his expression unwontedly serious. “I've been at sea four years now, and I've seen it all. You learn to get like that.”
And William, assailed by a surprising feeling of shame, was silent for a moment or two, before reaching out to clasp the youth's shoulder in apology. Richard nodded just slightly in acknowledgement, and they continued on their way.
-x-
At last the familiar headland came into sight through the trees. They toiled up the last slope to its crest and looked down on Lyme in its bay, and the embracing arm of the Cobb.
“All downhill from now on,” said Richard, with a new access of cheer; he had been noticeably quiet for the last half-hour or so.
“I have taken the apartment for one more night. A private parlour, and two bedrooms; you see I have the gift of foresight. You will join me for the night, I hope, unless you have other accommodation arranged.”
"A bed in the straw above the stables at the Three Cups,” said Richard. “Frankly, sir, your bedroom, spare or otherwise, will suit me very well indeed!”
William's plans for the morrow were already well advanced. Pseudoavis could wait for the single day that it would take him to reach Bath; London was, unfortunately, too far to undertake the journey so quickly. But he would not entrust the fossil to the Annings. Two women, and of such a lowly station that would demean William's standing to consult in such a capacity! No, Bath was his best destination; there would be someone at the Rooms who would take a keen interest, and who would, moreover, establish William as the discoverer of the beast. And from there, London, and the notice and admiration of society, even if only for a day.
Such musings occupied him as they gained the harbour, and the town, and the Golden Lion, and as they changed for dinner; and to begin with, he steered the talk towards Richard's career, past, present and future. He might even do something for the young man; surely there was an acquaintance in London who had spoken of a friend at the Admiralty.
-x-
Their dinner over, their conversation turned back towards their finds.
“Not a bad haul, though the Annings will take their cut, as bad as prize-agents, be damned to them!”
“You cannot sell the fossils elsewhere? I would be happy to take them to London for you.”
“No! but my thanks. Everyone goes to the Annings, and they're the best at preparing the fossils, so you get a better price through them. I'll take 'em along in the morning,” and he swept his shells and leaf-prints together and stowed them away in his satchel.
“You may take these as well, if you like.” William pushed forward his own finds. “No, they're a gift. Only I will reserve a few of the better sort; my wife and her acquaintance will appreciate them as objects of conversation, if nothing else.”
“Well, that's handsome of you! Every penny counts to one of his Majesty's midshipmen. And tell me, sir, how may I express my thanks?”
The candlelight on the table glinted on silver and glass, and gleamed on the youth's fair hair and sea-blue eyes, lighting up half a knowing smile; the fire crackled; from the tap-room downstairs came a murmur of voices and a burst of song muted by the intervening walls. William smiled back. “You know very well.”
-x-
It was a night such as William had not had in a long while. Richard did not even consider going back to the Three Cups, but stayed with William in the Golden Lion's best bedchamber. There they indulged their animal urges, as primal as the waves striking the hard stones of the Cobb. As the clock struck midnight, William was poised, braced and rigid, on his hands, over Richard on all fours beneath. A couple of hours later, with the moon flooding in through the unshuttered window, he gazed down at Richard's fair head, busy at his most private parts, and involuntarily arched his own head far, far back as the most delicious sensations engulfed him. It took a while for him to near his consummation; and then Richard simply hauled him over onto his belly and whispered rough and intimate in his ear, “My turn now.”
William, in no mood to resist, got half up on his knees and waited, panting, to be entered, and that was something he'd never had before, but by God he'd want it again. He cried out; Richard's arm slid under his face to muffle his mouth and he bit down on it; together they convulsed in sublime pleasure, and fell among the tangled sheets.
A while later, William mumbled, “Get off me, you great oaf. I cannot breathe.” His face was crushed down among the pillows, his back protesting at the solid weight that lay inert upon it. But his tone conveyed only a token irritation.
Richard gathered himself, rolled off him, and blinked at him languorously in the moonlight. “That was good, was it?”
“You know damned well it was good. Where did you learn all that?”
“Here and there around the Med. You should go there sometime.”
“One day I will. Not today. Or tomorrow.” He was drifting into sleep; he had a dim sensation of a damp cloth cleaning him up in a perfunctory manner, then was lost to the world.
A couple of times more in the night he woke, dimly aware of a warm body next to him, limbs flung wide in abandon and taking up far too much of the bed. The sea hushed just yards away; he could not tell the difference between its sound and the soft, steady breathing beside him, and fell back into slumber himself. The next time he woke, the moon had set and all was dark, the tide going out, he supposed, since its murmur was farther off. He slept again.
And woke to an empty bed.
The room met his gaze with indifference; all was as it had been last night, but of his companion of the last two days, never a sign. Clothes gone, possessions gone, with only the rumpled and stained bedclothes to speak of his presence.
William felt an unexpected pang. He had been ready for more, knowing that this would be their last opportunity; indeed, had been hungry for more. But the lack of any sign of Richard meant that that was not to be. The weather was on the turn, rough weather was presaged; perhaps that had called him away.
Having woken, he might as well get up and be on his way; pleasuring himself held no allure after the shared pleasures of last night. So he left the warm bed, and began to dress himself as best he might, and, halfway through that task, wishing to freshen the air in the bedchamber before the servants arrived, opened the window and leaned out. The sky was clouding over, the air was chill and breezy, and fitful gleams of sun fell here and there upon the roofs of the town and the headland beyond.
And on one other thing. Going down the street, at the head of a small procession, comprising a cart, a couple of rough workmen, and a woman and young girl (surely Mrs Anning and her daughter) was a lanky figure, leading the way as if entitled to command.
“A cutting-out expedition, by God!” William pushed the other casement open and leaned out, the better to watch Richard Musgrove striding out past the Cobb.
The cries of the seagulls mocked at him. But some noise must have alerted the object of his regard, for he glanced back, and over a hundred yards of cold air their gazes met for a brief moment. William could swear that a grin crossed the young man's features, and certainly he lifted a hand in greeting and salute which William acknowledged, leaning in his shirt-sleeves from the window. Then Richard turned back to resume his stolen march to dig Pseudoavis' bones from their resting-place.
“You've played and won, my fine sailorman. I wish you the best. May you make all the money you could want from this!”
He turned back into the room, smiling a little as he donned his coat. That half-wave had warmed him, surprisingly; perhaps the young man had some kind of regard for him, since no acknowledgement was necessary. Certainly they had both acquitted themselves well over the last couple of days. William could distinguish himself among his friends in London some other way, and perhaps he'd speak to a friend in the Admiralty and get the young man transferred to a better ship, a frigate perhaps. Such determined self-interest deserved its reward, after all.
-x-
Two years later, in chill and unprepossessing weather, he stopped at Lyme and stayed once more at the Golden Lion. He had followed, idly and at a distance, the career of Richard Musgrove; and the final sad report of his demise at Gibralter had left William downcast for a surprising period. For some reason he had kept the sketch he had made that morning at Lyme, of a young man standing on the Cobb and looking out along the Undercliff, and he kept it still.
So he paused at Lyme on his present journey, as a kind of tribute, and reading in his bedroom that evening heard the noise and good cheer from the apartment which had been his next door. A night of unrefreshing slumber drove him out onto the Cobb early next morning, from where he looked across the grey waters of the bay to the tumbled Undercliff, and along which he now perceived a group of ladies and gentlemen proceeding toward him.
A remarkably pretty lady, one of them, though not in the first bloom of youth, but she had a certain elegance about her. He touched his hat to her, and went on his way.
-x-
It was just a couple of months later, after making better acquaintance of that lady and her family, that he was passing through Bristol. In a tavern in the lower part of the town, in the midst of negotiations with a working woman, he caught a glimpse of a lanky, fair-haired young man so familiar to him that he paused in his transaction, and returned to it with half his mind elsewhere entirely. Richard Musgrove had mentioned that he came from a large family: but unless he had a twin brother, that was surely he.