A Shadow's Bliss (37 page)

Looking after him curiously, she murmured, “I stand in his debt, Lieutenant. But—I cannot but wonder why you cry friends with such an acid-tongued gentleman.”

“Oh, I don't,” he said cheerfully. “This business of the League chances to throw us together.”

“And I believe you said you hope to marry his sister. Is that why he threatens you with a duel?”

“Er—not exactly. I made a—er, small error.” She looked at him questioningly, and he added with a sigh, “I chanced to shoot him. Accidentally. Took him for a highwayman, when he was actually escorting a carriage. He—ah, takes rather a dim view of the matter.”

She chuckled, “I can see that he might. But—surely, if you apologized, he would forgive.”

“There's rather more to it. Still—don't let him throw dust in your eyes, ma'am. In Town they dub him the Mandarin, and mock him because of his mixed blood. But if a fellow had his back to the wall, he could do worse than have Lord Haughty-Snort at his side.”

Jennifer liked him the more for that generous remark. She said, “I think he could do no better than accept you for a brother-in-law. What a pity he is so proud.”

“Eaten up with it,” he agreed. “For instance, mark how gracefully he walks. Wouldn't dream he can scarce set one foot before the other, would you?”

“Oh, dear! I had forgot. He lost his boots when we were coming across the moor, yet walked all those miles barefoot! And he managed to help us by donning the cloak and pretending to be the Lady. How was it that he seemed to glow?”

“We couldn't keep up with Jack, but when it began to look as though he might need a diversion, we lit a small fire between two boulders and Falcon put on your cloak and climbed up so that the light shone on him.”

Puzzled, she said, “It was a wonderful diversion! But—'twas not my cloak, Lieutenant. How did you come by it?”

“It was lying on the boulders, and we thought you must have dropped it.” He said remorsefully, “Jupiter! We've stole some poor lady's cloak!”

‘How very odd,' thought Jennifer. ‘Why would a lady leave such a garment lying about on a stormy night…?'

There were more pressing matters on her mind, however, but before she could ask the all-important question, Morris said kindly, “Never look so worried, ma'am. The Widow Newlyn set Jack's arm last evening.”

“Thank goodness! She is as good at healing as any apothecary. What did she say of it? Was it very bad for him?”

“If it was, he made no fuss. A good man is Armitage. The widow says the bone will take some weeks to knit.”

“Poor soul,” she murmured fondly. “And I suppose you gentlemen were obliged to stay up all night?”

“We took it in turn, ma'am. Had to keep an eye on the prisoners. Fellas like that would smile at you one minute, and slip a knife 'twixt your ribs the next.”

Falcon rejoined them. “I think I am without a man.” His rare grin blazed at them, and his dark eyes twinkled. “Tummet has turned me off.”

“Your own fault,” said Morris. “You know he cannot abide sea travel.”

“With luck he won't have to abide it for long. That fellow Armand says that if the wind holds we could very well be in Plymouth Sound by afternoon, though I fancy he would very much like to steer us to Le Havre! I wish Captain Jack would wake up. We cannot afford to go off course.”

Jonathan was already up, and with Holsworth's assistance had shaved. His arm ached this morning, but the ache of grief was keener. It was very clear that his beloved father's death had been brought about by his own disgrace. And if he had earned that disgrace, then he alone could bear the guilt. He had racked his brains last night in a frantic need to remember what had really happened on the
Silken Princess.
The snatches of memory that had come before he at last fell asleep had been muddled and there were the same long blank intervals, so that he was desperately anxious to talk with Joe Taylor.

Duster uttered a fair approximation of “drink” and preened his feathers, as though proud of his effort.

Staring at him, Jonathan muttered, “I'd give a deal to know how
you
came up with us!”

Holsworth helped him into his coat and draped the left side over the sling Mrs. Newlyn had insisted upon. “Blest if I can understand it, Jack,” he said. “Mr. Falcon and the lieutenant were sure the bird was lost somewhere in the mine, but that man of Mr. Falcon's says he come upon the cage after Miss Jennifer had followed you to Roselley, and there was Duster sitting inside so cool as any cucumber!”

“A small miracle,” said Jonathan, thinking there had been several large ones for which to give thanks. “How is Mrs. Newlyn?”

Holsworth gave him an oblique look, and reddened. “Fair aside of herself because of the filth in the galley. She's in there now, making breakfast for all on us.”

“I can smell it. She's a rare woman, Noah.”

“And ye're thinking I could do worse, eh?” The big man nodded. “I've been thinking the same. I've a brother living in Plymouth who's long been wanting me to go into the building trade with him. I've a mind to leave the widow with him whilst I go back and see if there's anything left of my cottage, or if all my goods burned with the rest. There's a strongbox in my cellar will provide a fresh start for us, if the widow'll have me.”

The remark sent Jonathan's thoughts to another strongbox that was, hopefully, still in the care of his faithful Indian general steward. He'd been given command of the
Silken Princess
so unexpectedly that there had been no time to retrieve the box prior to leaving Calcutta. It had been a vexation then; now 'twould appear it was a blessing, for it seemed it was his entire fortune. He realized that Holsworth was looking at him expectantly, and he said quickly and honestly that he had no doubt the widow was destined to be the second Mrs. Noah Holsworth and that he wished them happy.

Holsworth thanked him and said with a knowing wink, “I'd not go far wrong in wishing you the same, I'll wager.”

Jonathan smiled, took up the
capitaine
's glass, and made his way on deck.

The vessel heeled over, and the freshening breeze dashed salt spray into his face. The flapping of sail, the hiss of the waves foaming back from the bow, the roll of the deck brought the old panic. He fought it away. He had no time for fear; but it took all his strength of will to look out over rank upon rank of waves. His hand was sweating when he raised the glass, but he triumphed, and scanned the horizon. There was no sign of a following ship. Turning about, his practised eyes lifted to sun and sails. He greeted the unhappy Tummet, instructed the obsequious Armand to keep her on a steady northeasterly heading, and sent the two Spanish seamen scrambling to raise the topsail on the mainmast. Only then did he go forward to where Jennifer waited with Morris and Falcon.

She reached out to him, and he clasped her hand, marvelling that despite the ordeal she had endured, and the lack of such vital necessities as maids and cosmetics and curling tongs, she managed to look fresh and beautiful. Her loving eyes were searching his face also, noting the dark smudges under his eyes and the smile that did not quite reach them. She rested her fingers very lightly on the sling that supported his left arm, and asked, “Are you better today, Johnny?”

“Much better, I thank you. Are you sadly bruised?”

She said with a twinkle, “Alas, yes, and am horridly stiff. But I slept well, and feel guilty to have done so under … the circumstances.”

“I very much doubt that Green will inform 'gainst your family. It couldn't fail to draw attention to his own activities, and you may be sure the villagers will have turned on him for burning down their homes.”

Falcon said dryly, “You will pardon if I interrupt to wish you a good morning, Captain Jack.”

Jonathan reddened, and mumbled an embarrassed apology.

Touched, Morris said, “‘There's precious little scrubbing done, when two fond hearts they beat as one.'”

“I rather doubt that Armitage means to ask that Miss Britewell scrub the decks,” said Falcon witheringly.

Something nudged Jonathan's boot. He glanced down and bent to take up the small bag that lay there.

Jennifer said,
“Don't!”
and pushed his hand away.

Falcon snatched up the bag and tossed it over the side. “A pretty gift,” he drawled.

“Nothing in it but feathers,” said Morris.

Jennifer asked, “How did it—come here?”

Morris grinned. “Falcon has such charm for the fair sex. One of his admirers tossed it at him when we were driving up to Castle Triad yesterday.”

“Did you pick it up, Mr. Falcon?”

He looked at her curiously. Her eyes had a scared expression. “Yes. I hoped it might contain at least a pair of bedsocks, but—” Amusement came into his dark face. “Aha! 'Tis one of your quaint Cornish spells, eh? Tell me, Miss Jennifer, have I been—what is it you say?—ill-wished? Am I doomed to be passed under the belly of a piebald horse?”

She managed a laugh. “That is the cure for whooping cough, sir, and I've heard no whoops from you.”

Morris' inevitable comment was cut off as the schooner seemed to leap ahead, and they all glanced upward as the topsail billowed out against the blue sky.

Jonathan said, “I think Green's bullies cannot come up with us overland, but it's as well for us to take advantage of this breeze. I mean to drop anchor in the west inlet of Plymouth Sound and get to the fort as soon as may be. The sooner a naval frigate can be despatched to Bridget Bay, the better chance we'll have to prove our story.”

Falcon said thoughtfully, “We've tried to bring the Squire and his ruffians to book several times. The authorities invariably laugh at us.”

“They cannot ignore all of us,” said Jonathan. “I
saw
them training their mercenaries. 'Tis past doubting that they mean sedition, and I'll back you under oath in any court in the land!”

“Well said, by Jove!” exclaimed Morris.

“Always providing your oath is—valid…,” murmured Falcon.

It was a harsh reminder, and Jonathan had to bite back an angry response. He said stiffly, “Very true. If I cannot clear my name, my word is worthless.”

“I don't know if my word's worth much, sir,” said Joe Taylor, coming painfully along the deck. “But I'll gladly tell ye what I know of the business.”

Jonathan's heart turned over. He jerked around to wring the hand of this man on whom his whole future depended, but he dreaded the telling also, some of which showed in his face.

Morris saw, and said kindly, “We'll allow you your privacy, dear boy. Come August. We'll relieve poor old Tummet.”

“He can wait,” said Falcon. “Serve him right for turning me off. I feel no obligation towards him. None. Besides—bless her heart, here comes a charming lady bearing breakfast!”

Mrs. Newlyn and Holsworth both carried trays laden with dishes of bacon, buttered bread, eggs, and sliced beef. There were plates and mugs, and two big jugs giving off the mouthwatering aroma of coffee.

Morris ran to help as the widow tottered sideways and her precious burden tilted.

She thanked him breathlessly, and said it was so dirty below decks that it seemed best to eat in the clean fresh air. Nobody argued with this decision, and so laden plates were carried to Tummet and his charges, seats of coiled rope were formed for the ladies, the gentlemen sat cross-legged on the deck. They all (with the exception of Jonathan, who was suddenly too tense to eat) enjoyed their food in the brilliant morning, while Joe Taylor, erstwhile ship's carpenter of the East Indiaman
Silken Princess,
told the tale of Captain Armitage's disgrace.

“In a way,” he began, around a mouthful of bacon, “it started with Miss Phillips. In another way, I reckon it started a lot earlier, but—I'll tell what little I know of that later. Miss Phillips was a remarkable fine woman, no doubt about that, and it didn't take long to see as she'd set her cap for you, sir. We saw how you handled the lady, and we didn't think too much of it, at first. But in all my days, I never see such a persistent female. It come to be a joke among the crew, it being such a long voyage, who'd outlast—er.” He gave a guilty glance at the two women and said lamely, “Well, you know what I mean. Then you was seen going into her cabin one night, and that were the
last
time I see you on the whole voyage, Captain!”

Jonathan asked intently, “What were people told?”

“At first, that you'd been took ill. Then, rumours began to get about that you'd been so drunk you'd fallen down the bell ladder to the poop deck and nigh killed yourself. After that, there was always some tale. You wasn't making a good recovery, or you'd had a relapse, or something of the sort. But then there was whispers that you'd taken to drink. Folks said they heard you singing like you was very well to live, or that you was laughing and chasing Miss Phillips round your stateroom, and her squealing like any wanton. The passengers was proper put out, and lodged a complaint, and Mr. Wright told the surgeon that you was a disgrace to your calling, and he meant to make a full report to the Company. It wasn't fair, he says, him being saddled with a captain's responsibilities when he'd only just been made chief mate, and that if anything happened to the
Princess
it wouldn't be him as took the blame.”

He paused to drink his coffee, and nobody spoke.

Jonathan stared at the bow as it rose and fell steadily, and knew how much he had built on the fact of Taylor's still being alive, and how bitter would be the disappointment if he was about to hear a verification of his guilt.

Taylor set his mug aside. “The way I see it, they was all in on it, sir.”

Jonathan's heart gave a spasmodic leap. “In … on it?” he echoed breathlessly.