Dangerous Shores

by Jessica Blair

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

When John Mitchell inherits property from a distant relative, he and his family move from a comfortable living in Whitby to a large country estate in Cornwall. It seems an ideal place for John and his wife to raise their young daughter, Abigail. However, life in the South is not without its problems and he finds himself clashing with the Gaisfords, a powerful old Cornish family. Any problems the family encounter over the years, however, seem to be averted when Abigail marries handsome Luke Gaisford, in spite of her father's warning that still waters run deep. But Abigail soon learns she should have heeded her father's warning when she uncovers the secrets Luke has been harbouring about his life….

Release date: November 10, 2011

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 416

Sample

‘We have a problem.’


Eliza looked up from the smiling eyes of two-year-old Abigail, wriggling pleasurably in her cradle, to see her husband John
come striding into the drawing room. His voice was serious but, she thought, not too serious. Whatever the problem was, it
could be dealt with satisfactorily, though it obviously needed thought and attention.


Eliza was always flattered when he chose to consult her, as he did on most matters. Many men she knew made such judgements
without even mentioning them to their wives. She appreciated that John looked beyond the convention of 1782 and considered
her an equal partner in his life. His love for her was deep and sincere, and she returned that love in full measure. She showed
an interest in all he did, especially the running of the small estate he’d inherited from his father, on the Yorkshire coast,
four miles south of the thriving port of Whitby. It was there that his father had made his money as a ship’s chandler, and
where John continued to run the business that enabled him and Eliza to enjoy the peace and tranquillity of Bloomfield Manor,
a medium-sized Georgian house with views of the sea.


‘What’s the problem, love?’ Eliza asked when John reached the window. ‘I suppose it has to do with the papers in your hand?’
she added as she rose from her chair and came to join him.


‘It’s a wonderful view, isn’t it?’ was all he said in answer to her questions.

‘Wonderful,’ she replied, and waited patiently for him to explain what troubled him.

How often they had stood here, gazing across the terrace and over the lawn to the cliff edge beyond overhanging a tiny bay
where at this moment the sea lapped lazily. No matter what the season, no matter what the weather or the tumult of the sea,
this view always entranced them and inevitably their fingers entwined as they enjoyed it together.


‘Well, what is it?’ she prompted quietly. ‘What has that piece of paper to do with the view?’

John turned to her. As ever she saw love and adoration on his handsome face, but she also saw from the shadows in his deep
blue eyes that he was troubled.


‘Maybe we’ll leave it,’ he said quietly, letting go of her hand and running his hand through his thick dark hair; a worried
gesture.


‘What?’ His statement evoked disbelief in her. She stared at him, her eyes wide with shock and curiosity. ‘Leave Bloomfield
Manor. Why?’


He hesitated as if searching for the right words. ‘This,’ he said, holding up the papers.

Eliza took them. The top one was a letter written in immaculate copperplate handwriting; obviously executed by someone used
to producing clearly legible documents. Her eyes skipped over the words quickly. The shock she received caused her to sink
on to the window seat to read the letter more carefully, making sure she had truly understood the contents at first glance.
When she knew that she had she looked up slowly to meet John’s anxious gaze.


‘Well?’ she said.

He tightened his lips and shrugged his shoulders. She noticed his quick glance out of the window but could not interpret whether
he was deliberately redirecting her attention to the view they both loved and silently saying: ‘This is what I want.’ She
stood up and placed a comforting hand on his arm. Her blue eyes met his, asking him to say something, for whatever he wanted
she would agree to.


‘I wish Uncle Gerard hadn’t done this, then we wouldn’t have been faced with a decision that could affect our lives and even
Abigail’s.’


‘Well, he has. We cannot get away from that. I don’t think we can walk away from his immense generosity either without considering
it carefully.’


‘I suppose not. But I hardly remember him. He left Whitby when I was a child. Under a bit of a cloud, I believe. He was twelve
years older than my father. Never set foot here again. Sailed the seven seas and, it was rumoured, made a fortune. He finally
settled in Cornwall.’


‘And now he’s died,’ added Eliza when her husband hesitated, ‘and left everything to, as it says here, “John Mitchell, my
nephew and only male relation”. According to these figures it’s a considerable fortune in money and land.’


‘Yes, but note the proviso. I will have to take up residence in his property, and he stipulates that I must reside there for
twelve years otherwise everything I inherit will be forfeit. If I were to leave within that time then I would have to make
good the estate’s worth to its present value.’


‘Or you could refuse the bequest,’ Eliza pointed out.

‘Are you saying that’s what I should do?’

‘No. I am just pointing out that there is an alternative.’

‘And if I do, the whole of my uncle’s estate will pass to the government.’

‘Do I detect from your tone of voice that you would not like that to happen?’

‘It would seem as if we were throwing his kindness back in Uncle Gerard’s face. After all, though I have barely met him since
childhood, it seems he did not forget me.’


‘True. It looks as though he forgot Martha, though, which is strange considering your sister is four years older than you.’

‘What would he know of her, not having been in touch with the family? He probably assumed she’d be married with a husband
to provide for her by now.’


‘He could have bothered to find out. If he had, he’d have known she lost the love of her life when he was drowned on a whaling
voyage in the Arctic,’ Eliza pointed out.


‘Maybe he was planning to. That letter says my uncle died suddenly.’

‘It also states he had drawn up his will two years ago; if he had planned to consider Martha, he would have had time.’


‘Well, we will never know his reasons for leaving everything to me, but we have a decision to make.’

‘I think before we do so you had better go to Cornwall and view the situation and prospects there. After all, it may sound very enticing but we don’t want to give up everything here and find later we have made a bad move with poor future prospects.’


‘You are always the one with the common sense.’ John gave a little smile and tenderly reached out to stroke her dark hair
and let it run through his fingers, allowing the copper tint to catch the light.


‘Will you tell Martha?’ she asked.

‘Of course, when she gets back from Scarborough in two days’ time. I’ll have to or she will wonder why I am going to Cornwall.
After all, she is living with us and will be affected by our decision.’


‘I wonder if she will take kindly to a move, if that is what we decide?’ mused Eliza.

‘Should that colour our decision?’

‘Not really, but she is close to us both and she adores Abigail, so if she feels her roots are here and does not want to move
with us, it could be traumatic for her to see us go.’


This worried them both and a thoughtful silence fell until Eliza wisely said, ‘This has come as a shock to us and there are
a lot of things to consider. Too many for us to reach a quick decision. We really should wait until you have been to Cornwall
before we discuss it further.’


‘True,’ he agreed. ‘I know it will be on our minds but let’s not worry about it now. There are a couple of maps with that
letter, let’s have a look at those instead.’


They went to a table and spread them out.

‘That must be the house.’ John pointed to a couple of rectangles occupying a position close to the coastline.

‘It could have as good a view as this one,’ remarked Eliza, running her finger along the boundary line to the south of the
house.


‘Could it ever match it?’ commented John wistfully.


‘You’ll be the judge of that. I suggest you arrange to leave the day after Martha’s return. It’s no good hanging about in
these matters. A decision will have to be made sooner or later. I know your uncle has stipulated that it has to be done within
three months – I think, the sooner the better. It would be unfair to keep Martha on tenterhooks.’


The following morning Eliza was already sitting in the dining room over breakfast when John came in.

‘I hope our dilemma did not keep you awake?’ he said as he sat down at the table after helping himself to a bowl of porridge
from the tureen on the oak sideboard.


‘I pushed it from my mind,’ replied Eliza. ‘I saw no point in worrying about it at this stage. What about you?’

‘When I woke this morning I had a solution to part of our problem.’

‘What was that?’ Eliza raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, we have a fine house here. The estate, though not big, is well run, and the chandler’s business in Whitby comfortably
profitable.’


‘Which sounds as though you will regret getting rid of it?’

‘Yes, I would, in a way. But that would only happen if we all moved to Cornwall. If Martha does not wish to leave it throws another light on our situation.’


Eliza looked a little puzzled. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘If it is to our advantage to move and Martha does not wish to, I will sign over this property and the business in Whitby
to her, with the proviso that if at any time in the future any of us wishes to return, we can do so. I think Martha would
agree to that.’


Eliza’s eyes brightened. Her sister-in-law’s position in all this had troubled her, especially if she did not want to leave
Whitby. ‘And Martha’s capable of managing both?’


‘She certainly is,’ agreed John. ‘She has always taken an interest in both aspects of the business, particularly after Jos
was killed. I was pleased she did at the time; it gave her something to think about. Now it might pay off.’


‘When will you put this to her?’


‘Not until after we have told her about the move. I would not want it to influence her decision.’

When the carriage that Martha had hired in Scarborough turned into the drive of Bloomfield Manor, she breathed a sigh of contentment.
It was good to be home.


She was thankful that she and her brother John, four years younger than she, were close. They had had their childhood arguments
and differences but if anything this had strengthened their loyalty to each other. They’d been thankful for that when their
parents died in an epidemic, and Martha was deeply grateful for her brother’s support when her sweetheart Jos, whom she was
to marry on his return from a whaling voyage, was reported lost with five others in a whale boat while chasing their quarry.
John and Eliza had insisted that she come to live with them at Bloomfield Manor and after that the relationship between them
inevitably strengthened. Forward-looking like her brother, Martha was not one to sit back and waste her life. Once her period
of mourning was over she took a keen interest in the estate and business, something that John was now pleased he had encouraged.


Hearing the crunch of the wheels on the gravelled drive, John and Eliza were at the door by the time the coachman helped Martha
from the carriage. Greetings were exchanged with unfeigned pleasure and then Eliza linked arms with her sister-in-law and
they walked into the house together while John took charge of two valises.


‘You had a good journey?’ queried Eliza.

‘I did indeed. A most helpful and attentive coachman.’

Who could resist Martha’s charm? thought Eliza. Her deportment, elegant without being showy, naturally caught the attention.
Coupled with her warm ready smile, it hooked and held the onlooker’s deference and brought her many friends. Her deep brown
eyes sparkled with the joy of being home again; the touch of her long thin fingers, resting on Eliza’s arm, spoke of her love
for her sister-in-law.


‘Good. And your friend in Scarborough, was she well?’

‘Yes, in very good health.’ Martha called over her shoulder as John caught them up, ‘I got us some business through her husband.
He happened to remark he was not satisfied with a quotation for fifty barrels for the ship he was fitting out. Without knowing
what the quotation was, I gave him a price. He was astonished we could supply him from Whitby and still undercut a rival.’


‘So it’s settled?’

‘Signed and sealed. The documents are in my bag.’

John chuckled. ‘You certainly aren’t one to miss an opportunity.’

‘The business is important to me.’

They had reached the front door and as Martha went in she did not see the meaningful glances that passed between husband and
wife, nor could she realise how significant her last remark was to them.


‘I’ll take these to your room,’ said John, heading for the stairs.

‘You refresh yourself and I’ll order tea,’ said Eliza. ‘Evening meal at our usual time.’

Martha hugged her sister-in-law. ‘Thank you, Eliza. It’s so good to be back. I shan’t be long. I expect Abigail is having
her afternoon nap. May I look in on her?’


‘Of course.’

‘I won’t wake her,’ Martha promised as she hurried after her brother who was halfway up the stairs by now.

When John came down a few moments later he hurried straight to the drawing room to find Eliza.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘It’s going to be difficult. You saw how pleased she was to be back and how enthusiastic about the business.’

John nodded. ‘I know, but it’s better to tackle the problem now rather than wait.’

‘You’ll have to if you are to go to Cornwall tomorrow.’

Two maids arrived with the tea then and just as they were leaving Martha entered the room. ‘Oh, this is nice,’ she said,
eyeing the tray of scones, but continued over to the window. She stood for a moment, looking out, before she said, ‘There’s no view like this.’ She turned away slowly, as if reluctant to leave the vista, put a scone on a plate and sat down
beside a small table on which John had placed a cup of tea poured by Eliza. ‘Abigail looks well,’ she commented. ‘How have
you both been while I’ve been away?’


‘Very well,’ replied Eliza, and shot a glance at her husband.

‘We have something to tell you,’ he said.

Martha gave a small frown as she looked at her brother. ‘It sounds serious.’

‘It is. We have a decision to make which will affect us all.’

‘What? We three, you mean?’

‘Plus Abigail and all the staff.’

‘What has happened?’ asked Martha, concern in her voice as she glanced from brother to sister-in-law.

‘I have received a letter from a solicitor in Cornwall to say that Uncle Gerard has left me his entire estate. It comes to
a considerable sum. In fact, a small fortune.’


For a moment Martha was struck silent by the shock of the news. ‘What? Father’s black sheep brother? But you hardly knew him.
I certainly have only the faintest recollection of him, and you are younger than I.’


‘I know. I can hardly picture him either, but there it is. He has remembered me, though why I don’t know.’

‘Does the solicitor say anything about him?’

‘Only that he sailed the seven seas, made money, chose to settle in Cornwall where he speculated in tin, made more money and
bought an estate, Penorna, which along with his ready money and his interests in a copper mine he has left to me.’


Martha raised her eyebrows expressively. ‘Lucky for you. I’m delighted. You’ll never have financial worries now, and nor will
Abigail.’ She saw that her brother’s expression was still serious and filled with doubt, as if there was something he wasn’t
telling her. ‘I can see it doesn’t please you entirely. Come on, tell me why?’


‘There are certain stipulations to my inheritance.’

‘Oh?’ Martha looked askance at Eliza. ‘And you don’t like them?’

‘Well, they are not insurmountable but …’


‘All right, John, what are they?’

‘I have to take up residence in his Cornish property and live there for at least twelve years. If I don’t agree I get nothing,
and if I leave within that time I have to make good the value of the estate.’


‘Oh, I see,’ said Martha quietly, pausing for a moment after that. ‘Have you reached a decision?’ she asked finally.

‘Not yet.’

‘We wanted to wait until we heard what you thought,’ said Eliza.

‘But it has nothing to do with me.’

‘You are very much a part of the family.’

‘You are very kind to me, always have been, I couldn’t have wished for a better sister-in-law. But this decision is for you
and John to take.’ Martha added in a cautionary tone, ‘How much do you know of this place?’


‘The house and land holdings are substantial. The solicitor sent us this map.’ John rose as he was speaking. ‘Come and see.’
He went to the table and rolled it out. Martha and Eliza joined him. He pointed out the boundaries to his sister.


She studied the map and then commented, ‘It certainly is substantial, and it looks as if the estate has a wonderful coastline
with cliffs and small bays.’


‘This is the house.’ John tapped the map.

‘I thought it must be. It looks as if it will enjoy a wonderful view. What about these?’ She pointed to some markings grouped
closely together near the western boundary.


‘I can only conclude they are the village of Penorna from which the estate takes its name.’

‘You must be tempted?’ said his sister.

‘Yes, but I have suggested that John goes to Cornwall and looks the place and its prospects over first. It is no good deciding
now and then finding it’s not what we expect,’ Eliza put in.


‘That sounds a sensible idea,’ agreed Martha. ‘How soon must you decide?’

‘We have three months, but would like to proceed as soon as possible. I have arranged to leave for Cornwall tomorrow,’ her
brother told her.


‘So soon?’

‘It’s best to get on with things.’

‘Of course.’

‘I shall take a coach to Scarborough and another to York. I will stay there the night and arrange my onward journey there.’

‘How long do you expect to be away?’

‘It may take eight to ten days each way.’

‘And there is the time John will be in Cornwall,’ added Eliza.

‘How long that will take God only knows, but I must be certain about everything.’

That night, lying in her husband’s arms, Eliza said, ‘John, if there is a decision to be made while you are in Cornwall, make
it. I will agree with whatever you want to do.’


‘Thank you my love. That eases my mind.’

‘Hurry back. I’ll miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you too, dearest.’ He kissed her neck.

She shuddered. ‘Love me again,’ she requested with quiet temptation.

Ten weeks later John arrived home to a rapturous welcome. Eliza had heard the carriage wheels and gave a whoop of delight
when she saw her husband descend from the vehicle. She flew from the room, flung open the front door and was down the terrace
steps and into his arms almost before he had thanked the coachman. They hugged each other amidst much joyous laughter and
then lost themselves in a welcome home kiss. Finally, with arms wrapped round each other, they started for the house. As they
stepped on to the terrace, Martha came out.


In her room on the first floor she had heard Eliza’s shout and judged that John must be home. As keen as she was to welcome
her brother back she delayed a few moments in order to let him and Eliza enjoy their own private greeting. Now she held out her arms to him and brother and sister exchanged hugs of greeting.


‘You’ve been away longer than I expected,’ commented Eliza. ‘I hope it was all worthwhile?’

‘Tell you when I’ve got the grime of travel off me,’ he teased.

‘We want to know now, don’t we, Martha?’

‘We do,’ she agreed.

He tried to slip away but they grabbed his arms.

‘Now!’ said Eliza determinedly.

He laughed. ‘All right. You’ll have to wait for the fine details but it’s all arranged. We go as soon as I can settle things
here.’


Silence fell briefly on them. Eliza was filled with astonishment, charged with excitement at the prospect of this new venture
alongside her husband. Martha’s heart sank with disappointment. She did not want to leave Whitby. She loved it here; had thought
she was settled for life, and now that old certainty was being thrown into upheaval. But she could not detract from the joy
that was emanating from John and Eliza and tried to show some excitement, for their sake.


‘Oh, John!’ cried Eliza. ‘I’ll order some tea. You go and freshen up; and then come and tell us all about it.’

When they entered the house he went straight upstairs. Eliza started for the kitchen but was detained by Martha. ‘I’ll order
the tea, you go to John.’


‘Thank you.’ She gave her sister-in-law a hug.

A quarter of an hour later, as soon as John and Eliza walked into the drawing room, Martha poured the tea. John got comfortable
in a chair facing the two young women who were both anxious to hear his account.


‘Well?’ promoted Eliza, eager for him to start.

‘It is a wonderful place. The scenery is magnificent along the coast …’

‘Better than ours?’ queried Martha tartly.

‘Well …’ John drew the word out in an expression of doubt.

‘There, I knew it!’ Martha seized on her chance, but before she had time to express any more favourable opinions on the Yorkshire
coast, Eliza intervened.


‘Go on, John. Where did you stay?’

‘A local inn in Sandannack. It was somewhat primitive but comfortable enough with good basic food. The locals were a bit suspicious
of me, especially when it became known that I was the new owner of Penorna. Seems my uncle was well liked, so of course they
wondered if the new owner would be up to his standards. They feared change; just wanted to go on in the way they always had,
with no outside interference. It was almost like being in a foreign country. I soon settled their doubts, especially after
I had seen the solicitor and he had briefed me on all aspects of the estate.’


‘And what is that like?’ asked Eliza.

‘Wonderful,’ replied John with enthusiasm. ‘Uncle Gerard turned some rough meadows into good farmland. He allowed the villagers
…’


‘Then the village is ours too?’ Eliza broke in. ‘Is that Sandannack?’

‘Yes. Twenty families live there. They were afraid I might rescind the rights my uncle had given them, such as access across
his land to the sea so that they could pursue their fishing. That is only a part-time occupation for most of them as the majority,
along with others from neighbouring villages, work in the copper mine.’


‘Ours too?’

‘Yes. And we also own several houses in Penzance.’

Martha, who had listened in silence, said, ‘From the sound of it you could do no other than accept such an inheritance. The
only thing that could have kept you here is your love of Yorkshire.’


John looked grave. ‘I must admit it still exerts a strong pull, and finding myself so far from home I nearly refused to have
anything to do with Penorna, but then I thought it would be wrong not to keep and expand upon what my uncle worked so hard
to achieve. And these people had looked up to him as a just and kindly landlord. What might happen to them if I refused to take on the responsibility?’


‘Quite right,’ approved Martha. ‘Uncle Gerard would have been proud of you. Besides, you are making a more secure future for
Abigail.’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘I will miss her, I will miss you all.’ Her eyes dampened, but, being one who had
learned to control her feelings in public since losing Jos, she held back the tears. They could flow later in the privacy
of her room.


‘But you’ll come with us?’ gasped Eliza.

‘You must,’ said John.

Martha shook her head slowly. ‘No. It’s a new life you are making for yourselves. I could not share it fully while my heart
is set on the Yorkshire coast, and more specifically Whitby.’ She raised her hands to stem the protest and persuasion she
saw coming. ‘No, don’t. You’ll never talk me into it. I thought about it a lot while you were away, John, realising that you
might take up your inheritance, while there was no way that I could be persuaded to uproot myself from Yorkshire. Here in
Whitby I still feel close to Jos. Don’t say any more about it. I will move out of the house as soon as I can find somewhere
else to live.’


John glanced at his wife and he saw her almost imperceptible nod of agreement and approval.

‘Well, Martha, I’m sorry you won’t come with us. We will miss you. But there is no need for you to look for anywhere else
to live. You must stay here.’


Martha’s eyes widened as she tried to grasp what her brother was doing. ‘You mean, here in Bloomfield Manor?’

‘With what my uncle has left me, I have no need to sell this house or my business. I will assign them both to you. You shall
not want, and I will be happy in that knowledge. You are capable of running the estate yourself but get a manager in if it
helps, or promote the foreman, Giles Smithers. We’ve got a loyal staff in the chandlery business and you have a great aptitude
for that. Mind you, you might meet opposition from some of the other businessmen in Whitby, but I think you are strong enough
to outface them.’


Martha smiled through the tears in her eyes. ‘I look forward to the challenge. John, Eliza, thank you, I don’t deserve such
consideration.’


‘You can come and visit us whenever you like, and we can come north to see you,’ said Eliza.

Martha gave a wan smile. ‘It’s a long way.’

‘Have you got the roof sorted for Ben Fowley?’ Eliza asked, as she and John rose from the breakfast table.


‘The repairs should have been finished yesterday. I’m going to the village this morning to check.’

Eliza glanced at the window. ‘You’ve nice weather for the walk.’

‘Wouldn’t have gone if it had been any other,’ he replied with a grin.

‘Come and say goodbye to Abigail before you go.’

‘Wouldn’t miss that either.’ He took Eliza’s hand and they went to the nursery together.

When they entered the room, Abigail sprang from her chair and with a five-year-old’s shouts of glee rushed to them: ‘Mama!
Papa! She flung herself at her mother who swept her into her arms and lifted her high, then hugged her tight as they laughed
together. From her mother’s arms she turned a bright loving smile on her father. John tweaked her cheeks and she giggled.
‘How’s my favourite girl?’


‘Had all my breakfast,’ Abigail responded.

Eliza glanced across at the eighteen-year-old governess, Dorinda Jenkins, who gave a nod confirming the child’s statement.

‘Good girl. Coming to see Papa off?’

‘Yes! Yes!’

Eliza allowed her to slide from her arms to the floor, whereupon she took hold of her father’s hand.

John selected a Malacca cane from the stand beside the front door, struck a little pose with it and raised a questioning eyebrow
at his wife.


‘You look very elegant.’ Eliza smiled. ‘You always do,’ she added, admiring his long tailcoat with its high velvet collar.
A full-length waistcoat opened at the neck to reveal a white embroidered cravat tied neatly at his throat. Corn-coloured breeches,
buttoned below the knee, came to the top of his brown leather boots.


Abigail ran to a chest, opened it and took out a hat. ‘Hat, Papa, hat!’ she called, running to him.

‘Thank you. Be a good girl while I’m away.’ John turned to Eliza and kissed her. ‘I hope there are no other problems in the
village to hold me up. I want to see how the new tenants are settling in at Croft Farm.’


Eliza and Abigail followed him on to the terrace and watched until he reached a bend in the drive where he stopped and waved
to them.


Eliza felt a surge of pride. Though, three years ago, she had harboured some doubts about coming to Cornwall, she had kept
them to herself when John had returned from his first visit full of enthusiasm. She had known they would be embarking upon
a different life from that they knew in Yorkshire, but seeing John’s tact in engaging the confidence of his tenants, especially
the miners who worked his mine, she soon reali