Sweet Piracy (17 page)

She had left her Berlin embroidery in the sitting room. Working at it served to pass the time. When that palled, she threw a shawl around her shoulders and went to stand on the back gallery, staring at the falling rain, watching the drenched garden take shape in the gradually increasing light.

It was there that Colossus found her as he trod up the stairs from his room on the lower floor. “Mam’zelle!” he said with a start. “I thought you were a ghost, standing there in your pale gown. Here, come into the salon and I will bring your morning
café
. That should warm your bones.”

His concern warmed her as much as the coffee. As he fussed, bringing her a footstool, asking if she wanted a roll or tattler to tide her over until the breakfast croissants were taken from the oven, Caroline wondered how much he guessed of her problems. It was well known that the servants in a French Creole household kept abreast of the affairs of those they served. It would not surprise her to learn that Colossus was as well aware of what had taken place the night before as she was herself.

The sound of hoof beats brought her head up. She set down her cup and got to her feet. At the tread of booted feet on the steps, she nodded to Colossus to unbolt the front door. He swung it open to reveal Rochefort on the gallery using the lyre-shaped foot scraper to clean the mud from his boots. Rain dripped from the brim of his low-crowned hat and beaded the oilskin cape that hung from his shoulders.

“Good morning, Colossus,” he said and looked past the butler to where Caroline stood in the hall, giving her a civil bow. “Could you tell me if young Theo is in his bed?”

“I don’t know, M’sieur. I have not looked in this morning.”

“Do so, if you please.”

“Certainly, M’sieur.”

Very much on his dignity at this peremptory order without explanation, Colossus went away to do as he was told.

“Won’t you step inside?” Caroline said.

Rochefort took off his hat, shaking it free of water, but made no move to enter the house. “I can’t stay.”

“Is something wrong?”

He looked for a moment as if he doubted the wisdom of confiding in her, then he said shortly, “Jack Pernell, the son of my overseer, is missing. It was thought best to see if the two boys are together.”

“I see,” Caroline said slowly. Theo had returned home with them the night before. If he had gone out this morning, he had not used the main doors, for both had been securely bolted. There were many doors and French windows which led out of the house onto the galleries, however. The sound she had heard earlier could easily have been one of them.

“You look as if you did not sleep well,” he told her abruptly.

“Thank you,” she returned, smiling. “A woman always likes to know when she looks haggard.”

“You should have something better to keep you awake than worry over a caper merchant.”

“You think so? Considering the company you keep, I would not have thought your standards to be so lofty.”

“If you are referring to Francine — Madame Fontaine—”

“I do wish you could make up your mind how you wish to call her, my lord!” The words came pouring out before Caroline could stop them. It was as if they had taken up their quarrel where they had left off the evening before. It was uncertainty allied to an ancient protective instinct that caused her to fire up so quickly. She could not help herself, nor could she explain her urgent need for protection.

What he might have said or done she would never know. His gaze went beyond her to where Colossus, dignity forgotten, came quickly toward them down the hall.

“M’sieur Theo, he is not in his bed,” the butler said the moment he was in range.

Rochefort swore. Swinging about, he clapped his hat on his head.

“Wait!” Caroline called and quickly related what she had heard.

“What time was this?” Rochefort demanded.

“Two, perhaps two and a half hours ago.”

“Did you hear a horse?”

Caroline shook her head, frowning. “It was raining pretty heavily. I might not have.”

“I heard no horse,” Colossus volunteered.

“He is on foot, then. Tell me, do you have any idea exactly where the raft the boys were constructing is located?”

Caroline shook her head. Mutely, Colossus copied the action.

“I should have made it my business to find out when Pernell first mentioned the project,” Rochefort said unhappily. “I would give a lot to know it is still unfinished.”

The trend of his thoughts was obvious. The mere possibility of the idea he was entertaining drew their eyes irresistibly toward the river winding before the house. It lay like a wide silver banner, shrouded in the mist-like rain.

Suddenly Rochefort stepped to the edge of the gallery. With a hoarse, indrawn breath, Colossus followed. Narrowing her eyes, Caroline searched for whatever it was that riveted their attention.

Tree limbs torn down during the night, patches of shredded bark and rotted wood littered the wind-ruffled surface of the water. Among so much debris, it was hard to pick out a single object. Still, without being told, Caroline knew she was looking for the square shape of a log raft.

She located it by the mast, a log pole amidships from which dangled a flapping, bedraggled sail. With a hand over her mouth, she stopped the cry that rose to her lips. There was no sign of anyone on board the pitching craft.

Rochefort took the stairs in two bounds. Flinging aside hat, oilskins, coat, cravat, and shirt as he ran, he made for the levee. By the time Caroline and Colossus reached it, only his boots stood on the earthen embankment. Rochefort, his strokes clean and strong, was in the water, already halfway to the raft and swimming at an angle to intercept it.

From this closer vantage point, Caroline could see what Rochefort must have seen all along. At the edge of the tied logs bobbed a sleek black head — no, two heads. Tears of reaction sprang into her eyes, and she wiped them away impatiently so that she could see. She could not tell which boy was which. As Rochefort came nearer a feeble shout echoed over the water, nearly lost in the spatter of the rain.

“What is the man going to do? What can he do?” Colossus muttered.

“He will do something,” Caroline replied, and was amazed at how sure she was of it.

“M’sieur Bernard, and M’sieur Anatole, I should go and rouse them. They might be needed.”

“Yes,” Caroline agreed, but the butler did not move until he had seen Rochefort heave himself onto the raft and drag first one boy and then the other up beside him.

For a moment, Rochefort bent over the boys; then he straightened. He stepped to the mast with its sagging sail and made a few adjustments, and the cloth came alive. It struggled in his hands, billowing, snapping taut with its belly full of wind. Slowly the raft came about and pointed its square bow toward the levee.

Caroline watched long enough to see that it would reach the bank downriver from where she stood. Uncaring of the rain or mud, she splashed after it. Her spirits soared, and she wanted to laugh aloud in her relief. The knot of her hair came loose and uncoiled like a snake down her back. She did not notice. She had to keep wiping the raindrops from her eyes so she could see. Jack, Theo, Rochefort; all were safe.

The raft was nudging gently against the levee by the time she reached it. She caught the rope Rochefort tossed her, holding it taut while he helped the boys one at a time to the wet and muddy shore. They stumbled a little, they were pale and blue from cold, but otherwise unhurt. Theo would have tried to express his gratitude, tried to explain their escapade. Rochefort, his voice curt, stopped him. “Later,” he said.

With a thankful glance, the boy subsided.

Back along the river road could be seen running figures. Soon enough would come the questions and explanations as well as warm drinks, blankets, dry clothes. Her eyes bright, Caroline turned to Rochefort who stood half supporting Jack. She lifted her gaze to his face, then froze, staring.

River water ran from his black hair, dripping down his face and over his muscled torso. The effect was to pull his cropped hair back, as though it were tied in a queue. He had not taken the time to shave this morning, and a blue growth of beard shadowed his chin and upper lip. Stripped of the trappings of a well-dressed gentleman, he was more the primitive male, dominating and self-assured. The storm, the sight, movements before, of the billowing sail in his hands, combined with his appearance to force the truth upon Caroline. Her mind filled with a burgeoning pain, she dropped her eyes to his side, knowing what she would find. It was there, the puckered scar of an old wound, exactly where she had shot him.

The man before her was not Jean Charles Henri, Marquis de Rochefort. He was an imposter, a scoundrel, a privateer. He was the man once feared by British merchants, hated by British seamen, and cursed by the captains of British ships. He was the man known, like his vessel, as the Black Eagle.

~~~

AT THE SOUND of scratching on the French window, Caroline raised her head. A soft, almost hesitant knock followed. Putting aside her Berlin work, she moved to the glass-paned panel which opened from Theo’s bedchamber out onto the gallery.

M’sieur Philippe stood outside. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Mam’zelle,” he said, his hand going nervously to the ruffles at his throat. “I wished only to inquire after Theo. How does he go on?”

“Very well. He is sleeping just now or I know he would be glad to see you. He is to be allowed visitors today.”

“Ah, that is wonderful. So brave he has been, fighting the river and this terrible congestion of the lungs. His is a gallant heart.”

“That is certainly true,” she agreed.

“How close these thoughtless boys came to tragedy,
hein
? To ride the river on such a tiny raft in such weather, such a great foolishness, was it not? But we needs must forgive them. It is to be hoped that this Mistaire Pernell realizes that our Theo could have saved himself with ease when they were swept overboard. But no, he must risk all to save his friend who could not swim. Such self-sacrifice must surely be rewarded with a return to health.”

“I think you must give some small credit to M’sieur le Marquis. Theo was too spent by his exertions to be able to pull his friend and himself back onto the raft.”

“Naturally,” the tutor made haste to agree. “My one regret is that I was not able to render such a service.”

Caroline lowered her lashes to hide the contempt in her gray eyes. “You swim, sir?” she asked innocently.

“I regret to say I do not.”

“I see.” She made as if to withdraw.

“Mam’zelle Caroline, if you would tarry a moment?”

Caroline glanced at Theo to be sure their voices had not disturbed him, then stepped back out onto the gallery. She kept the doorknob in her hand, lifting an eyebrow inquiringly.

“The night of the ball, I — that is, I realize my conduct was reprehensible. I wish to beg your forgiveness if I offended you.”

The only thing wrong with this most handsome apology was the sureness of M’sieur Philippe that she would grant what he asked.

When she did not answer, he went on. “I was carried away by the moment. Drunk with your beauty, I was too impetuous. I pressed you when I should have respected your maidenly reserve. You have my word it shall not happen again. In the future I will always allow you to set the pace in what passes between us. My worship, my love, nay, even my body, is at your disposal. You have only to command me!”

“M’sieur,” Caroline began, at a loss as to how to make plain that it was not “maidenly reserve” that had caused her to refuse him but a total lack of feeling for him.

“You do not have to speak, shy mistress, only allow me to kiss your hand in token of your forgiveness.”

A quiet knock and the sound of the door opening into the room behind her distracted Caroline at that instant. Before she could prevent him, M’sieur Philippe had taken her hand and carried it to his lips. She snatched it away at once, but the damage was done.

“Ah, my goddess, my love, you have made me the happiest of men. But someone comes. Do not despair, I will arrange all so that we may be together.”

“But M’sieur!” Caroline called as loudly as she dared. It did not serve. Sketching a hasty bow, he was gone.

Turning back into the sickroom, Caroline nearly collided with Amélie. The girl drew back with a soft laugh. “Sorry. I thought I heard someone outside.”

Caroline shook her head, whispering, “No, it was only M’sieur Philippe inquiring after our patient.”

“Oh. It will be time for him to use his talents at entertaining soon enough. Papa thinks Theo can sit up out on the gallery in a day or two. It will take all of us making his days pleasant to hold him there. But that isn’t what I came to tell you. I am to sit with Theo while you have the luncheon you missed, and then
Maman
wishes to see you in her boudoir.”

Caroline thanked her. She had been expecting a summons any time this week. She was only surprised Madame had been so long in sending it.

As she turned to gather up her sewing, the other girl put her hand on Caroline’s arm “Mam’zelle—”

“Yes, Amélie?”