Race Before the Wind

Copyright © Jill Salkeld 1988

Part Three: 1826-1831

The Men of Enterprise

Chapter Twelve

In the striped marquee the champagne flowed freely. Guests were able to forget the greyness of the February day, as they celebrated the imminent launch of Monsieur Vaillant's new yacht, four weeks ahead of schedule.

Tom limped to the buffet table with the aid of a stick. It was nearly a fortnight since the encounter in High Coppice. His wounds had healed cleanly - thanks to Trekker's removal of pellets, and Jessica's perseverance in applying cobwebs - but the muscles were taking longer to recover. A small price to pay.

He was refilling his glass with good French brandy, courtesy of absent comrades, when Lord Yarborough moved to join him.

"I owe you an apology, Mr Elderfield. I placed a small bet that you would not complete before Lord Wickham."

Tom smiled slightly. "I doubt it matters to his lordship now."

"Extraordinary business, Wickham's - er - sudden demise."

There had been an inquest, of course. The Coroner had heard - from an array of watchers and under-keepers - how Mr Snelgrove had been worried by the rumours of a gang of armed poachers in the area. He had been up in High Coppice on the evening in question, setting a pair of new spring-guns. He should have told the Earl at once, but maybe he didn't expect his lordship to take a late stroll. The watchers had not thought to inform the Earl; it was not their place to do so. But it was no wonder, really, that Snelgrove had disappeared after his employer was found dead.

To the Coroner the story had sounded plausible. But then Lady Wickham, who had insisted on attending the inquest, had begun a confused tale of a man called Edwards, and four men brutally murdered. The Coroner, embarrassed, interrupted her gently, saying that begging her ladyship's pardon, not a single poacher had been seen that night, nor had any watchers died. Nor, in point of fact, did a watcher named Edwards exist. Had not every one of the servants, including Skelton the butler, stated that no visitors had called at the Grange? Surely her ladyship did not suspect a conspiracy involving the entire staff? What would they have to gain? Her ladyship, he suggested kindly, had been deeply affected by her tragic bereavement, and disturbed by reports of a gang having visited the local tavern.

Lady Wickham had been led away by friends, bemused and sobbing, trusting Skelton's integrity so completely that she almost believed the Coroner.

She could not know that one Mr Elderfield of Bursledon had spent most of his remaining capital on bribes. With the exception of Snelgrove, who would have required too huge an amount of money to persuade him to leave Hampshire, even if he had not been insulted by the offer, threats had been used only as a last resort. The staff - watcher, underkeepers and household servants alike - had been detained by Marshlight's crew that same night, not by Tom in person. The crew members, without naming names, had explained their intention of righting wrongs done to a certain young man - an outspoken friend of the poor - at a certain trial. There was no doubt about the young man's identity. Rumours were rife at Durley Park concerning the amount Abel Kitcher and others had been paid to ensure Mace Tandy's conviction. On the whole, Wickham's staff had pocketed the generous bribes with alacrity. Only Skilton had been offended; but he had said that Lady Wickham would be better off now, and he for one was glad to see justice done.

The country people's innate sense of fair play had done more to help Tom's case than any number of threats.

Lord Yarborough was saying with casual good humour, "Your lady wife tells me that you were injured by falling downstairs. Strangely clumsy, sir. I always thought you as neat-footed as a cat."

"My baby daughter tends to abandon her toys in treacherous places."

Yarborough's eyebrows rose. "I gathered from Mrs Elderfield that your accident occurred at - yes, at approximately the same time that Wickham met his death, while your little girl was with friends in Guernsey."

Tom blinked. "Concussion," he said, "must have affected my memory."

"Oh, quite. Quite. Did you not mention once, sir, that you had been apprenticed as a blacksmith?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, I don't follow your line of -"

"Reasoning? Don't try, my dear sir." Yarborough beamed. "I am plucking thoughts at random from the air. A deplorable habit, and most disconcerting to everyone but myself, I dare say." He raised his glass in a subtle toast, his eyes shrewd and piercing. "I always liked young Tandy. I'm glad to have lost my bet. I should have guessed that you would finish ahead of Lord Wickham."

"Yes, my lord." In gratitude and understanding, Tom touched his glass to the Commodore's. "You should."

When the rain stopped, there was an exodus from the marquee to the slipway. The scaffolding had gone, now. Mace's flyer, painted, fully rigged and all but ready for sea, was a beautiful and imposing sight. It was hope that the Vaillants would sail her home to Lymington.

Most of the shipwrights and sawyers were enjoying their own celebrating at The Jolly Sailor, but a few stood to free the last ropes securing the flyers. Sophie Vaillant nursed a bottle of champagne, while her husband addressed the shivering crowd.

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen. "Gaspard, in spite of his dandified appearance, spoke gravely and without affectation. "A launching party should not be a solemn occasion. I shall not dwell on the circumstances which have surrounded the building of this vessel. They are known to you all. Mr Elderfield assures me that he now has every confidence in the future of his yard. It is my hope and belief that the performance of my flyer during the coming season will prove that confidence well-founded. I know that I speak for you all in wishing him well."

There were murmurs of assent, and some scattered applause.

Gaspard glanced at Tom and Jessica. "However," he said, more quietly, "a few words of explanation are necessary, for the benefit of those among you who have expressed surprise today at the name painted on the bows. When I first saw the scale model of this yacht, Tom Elderfield remarked that the prototype would be the Tandy flyer. He has since told me that Mace Tandy looked upon my yacht as the realisation of a long-held dream."

Gaspard paused again, his gaze sweeping the aristocratic company. "You all knew Mace Tandy, to some degree. Whatever your political views, I know that you must regret, as I do, the waste of so much talent, imagination and zest for life. Tandy put all of those qualities into the design and building of this yacht. Joie-de-Vivre would have been in many ways an appropriate name; but it is not the name by which her designer thought of her." He turned to Sophie. "My dear, if you would be so kind....."

Sophie cleared her throat, and said proudly, "I name this yacht The Tandy Flyer, God bless her, and the men who built her for us. Both of them."

The bottle smashed. The lines were let go. The Tandy Flyer, crewed only by half a dozen shipwrights, slid from her raised and inclined keel blocks, and smacked into the quiet river.

A great cheer went up; not just from the members of the Royal Yacht Club, but from the men thronging the riverbank outside The Jolly Sailor. Tom and Jessica hugged each other, too overcome with emotion to speak.

Gaspard and his four sons spent much of the afternoon preparing this yacht for the short voyage home. Before she set sail, Luke and Honor edged politely through the crowd in the marquee to reach their father.

Luke, this time, was the twins' spokesman. "Papa, M'sieur Vaillant has said - if we'd like to help take The Flyer down to Lymington -"

"Mama thinks it's a good idea," said Honor, "We asked her."

Tom knew how much it would mean to both of them, to crew for Gaspard on the maiden voyage.

"Go and pack yourselves a seabag, then," he said. "And don't keep M'sieur Vaillant Waiting."

The light was fading when the yacht finally weighed anchor. Tom and Jessica stood with their guests on the bank, as the cheering died to a murmurous hush. The sails were set; the children waved from the deck.

Jessica leaned her head back against Tom's shoulder. "If only," she said, her voice breaking. "if only Mace and Vinnie....."

"If there's any justice in this world or the next," he said, "they'll be out there with Gaspard tonight."

The yacht dwindled, sailing close-hauled on the wind. A last red glimmer of sunset shafted between the clouds, gleaming on the new paint and touching her sails to a momentary radiance.

Even when the colours had gone, the white sails were a line of unextinguished light amid the winter dusk.

The End

Click here to
download SEO Elite!
the Search Engine
Optimiser
we would recommend

Discover this Incredible Secret System To Making Money Online Within 10 Days!