Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4) (45 page)

She'd tried to warn him. He remembered their last night together. She had said all they had was now. There was no future for them.

He had to let her go.

A gradual tightening in his throat made it difficult to breathe and he threw the letters into the glowing embers in his hearth causing a temporary burst of flame. As the pages and ink crackled in the fire, the vise around his chest began to loosen and his breath came back.

China beckoned, and he had a course to chart and a partner to meet with in a few hours. He threw himself onto the bed, clothes and all, and fell asleep praying. For what he didn't know.

 

T
he wind yanked the doorknob out of her hand as Mary-Michael entered Becky's tavern just ahead of the cool, autumn downpour. The glass insert in the wood frame door rattled and everyone in the main dining room looked up and stared at her. Having just arrived home a few hours earlier, no one expected her, nor recognized her in the dull black dress she wore. She removed the wide-brim black hat covering her hair and face, and only then did a few of the patrons smile at her. Mary-Michael returned their acknowledgment as she scanned the tavern for her friend. Several of her employees sitting at the near corner of the bar gave her their sympathies for the loss of Mr. Watkins, and Mary-Michael forced herself to put on a brave face.

"He was one of the last good men in this world, he was," said one of the men from her framing crew.

"Aye," added his friend, a man who also worked in the yard. "It was a sad day when he left this earth."

Instantly, Mary-Michael's eyes were swimming in tears. If only these men knew the debt of gratitude she owed Mr. Watkins for the life he'd given her, and the affection she would always have for him. The man had given her a chance to prove herself more than just capable in this business. He'd seen something in her, something besides her stubbornness, then he taught her everything he could with the time he had remaining.

"He was an amazing man," she replied, trying to control the quiver in her lip, knowing these men held similar sentiments to hers. "I miss him very much."

The men tipped their hats to her and Mary-Michael excused herself to find her friend. Not seeing Becky immediately, she made for the door at the side of the bar leading to the kitchen, where her friend could usually be found. The maid behind the counter, a sweet girl who worked hard for her wages, glanced at her and nodded her head toward the private dining room while she dried the inside of a clean mug. Mary-Michael took that as a sign that Becky could be found there instead of the kitchen.

A raucous group of young men held court at the opposite corner of the bar. She recognized several familiar faces seated at a table as she passed through the room and nodded at them as she crossed to the other door. Just then a voice from her past came through the din, making ugly remarks about—Good Lord, about
her!
And the things they were saying were horrible. How could anyone think such things about her, much less say them out loud, and in public?

"I says she killed the old man because he weren't dying fast enough to suit 'er purposes," whispered one voice loud enough to be heard as she passed behind him. "That's why she took 'im to that house they have in the mountains," replied the other voice next to him. "So she could do it with no one to know."

Mary-Michael stopped behind the barstools of the two men, and recognized the thieving Slocum brothers—men she'd fired for their lying and thieving—turning on their seats to face her. She wanted to do something. Hit them. Kick them. Scratch their eyes out. Rage boiled just beneath the surface, causing her to clench her hands into fists at her sides.

"Well, well. If it ain't the Scarlet Harlot," said the shorter one.

"The whorin' murderess in all her fine widow weeds." The taller of the two brothers sidled up to her, both men pushing her with their bodies toward an unoccupied corner booth. Mary-Michael refused to sit, knowing they'd really have her cornered then. If she remained standing, she would stay within sight of the bar and the barmaid.

"You lads are drunk. If you had any sense, you'd head on home before you get into trouble," Mary-Michael warned them as she tried to pass by. Her entire body shook and she wasn't sure if it was fear or rage. Likely both. But she'd show no fear to these men. They were nothing but petty trouble-makers. She was sure they were just intoxicated and talking from the anger they must still feel from their last encounter over a year ago, when she had to fire them both. Except what they didn't know was their drunken behavior would have serious consequences for them because she would see them in jail if they so much as touched her.

"Are ye goin' te make us?" The shorter one stood directly in her path.

"No, but if ye lay a hand on me," she hissed, "I'll scream the roof down and have you both thrown in jail for assaulting a lady."

"We got a small cell here in the village," said the short one, the more vocal of the two she thought. "Imagine if the three o' us was sharin' it, all the fun we could have."

She shivered from revulsion from just being in their presence. "There's no reason for me to see in the inside of the jail house, much less a cell. Now get away from me you filthy little bullies."

"If I remember right, it's a right firm little ass she's got, Jerry." The bigger Slocum lifted a lock of her hair that had fallen from her snood. "Ye know, normally I like a plump rump, brother."

The two men had her backed against the wall, and Mary-Michael thought that with all the people in the taproom this evening, not one person was willing to step forward and help her. Did she have to scream to get them to notice her?

"You so much as make a sound, and we'll be tellin' the whole state that you were spreadin' your legs for that Limey captain."

"I did no such thing," she said, starting to fear the two former employees. She tried to peer around them as they shifted in front of her, blocking her from view of the bar. Her heart began to beat so hard it felt about to burst through her skin. "Let me pass, or I will scream."

The shorter Slocum glanced down at her barely rounded lower belly. Her babe was hardly visible through the layers of clothing. How could they suspect anything?

"Lie all ye want, ye little tart. All's goin' to be known after the brat's whelped. Everyone will see we were telling the truth when the bastard's got dark skin and black hair like the Limey."

She thought of Lucky's silken black hair and coffee-colored eyes. Then her brother with his brown hair and eyes. She remembered Mr. Watkins telling her that his hair had been blond before he'd turned gray, and his eyes had been blue-gray. Her child could never pass for her husband's unless the babe had Mary-Michael's coloration. If her child had Lucky's dark olive complexion, everyone would know Mr. Watkins couldn't possibly be her babe's father.

She wanted to retch.

Suddenly, his very nearness made her cringe away. He smelled of sour liquor and rotten meat. The disagreeable combination of odors caused her to blanch and begin to heave.

"Then everyone will see ye for the murderin' whore ye are," said the shorter brother. "Unless, of course, ye can find a way to pay for our silence."

"No, I want some of what Potts and the Limey got." The bigger one slid his hand over her full, sore breasts. "Potts says she's a wild one to ride with all that red hair."

"We'll be takin' a willin' piece o' what ye got 'tween yer legs for us both, and five hundred gold dollars each."

"None o' that worthless paper, mind ye. We want gold coins. American Eagles only," the taller one said. "If'n we get whats we want, then we won't say a thing about you whorin' behind your husband's back for all these years–first with Potts and then the Limey."

"Potts said he thinks ye killed the old man so ye can be with yer Limey captain. Is that true?"

The whooshing sound in her ears grew louder. She no longer heard anything the two said. Mary-Michael forcefully pushed through the two and headed for the ladies retiring room, making it just in time to retch in the chamber pot. Shouting and swearing from the common room followed her, followed by crashing chairs and tables.

Becky's booming voice entered the fracas on the other side of the door. "That's enough," she heard her friend say with a force the petite woman rarely used. "Get out now, both of you, and never return to my tavern. Understood? Or I shall have the constable come arrest you both."

She splashed water on her face from the ewer on the table, and glanced at her image in the mirror. She didn't recognize the woman looking back at her. Nothing had changed about her, yet everything was different. Suddenly the face looking back at her was that of an adulterer. One her community believed possibly killed her husband.

Becky. She needed her friend. Now, before the tears started. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she opened the door intending to finish her search for Becky, only to see her friend pointing and yelling at the two drunken Slocum louts who harassed her.

The brothers ducked out of the tavern into the rain, leaving Mary-Michael shaking with anger and fear in their wake. Becky put her arm around her shoulders and led her to the back dining room where she pulled a chair out for her. Mary-Michael put her head down on the table, feeling ill.

"Why did they say those horrible things, Becky? Is that what people think about me?"

"No. Do not believe a word they say. Those two are nothing but mischief-makers." Becky looked at her and declared, "You're as pale as I used to be in the mornings. I know just the thing to help with that."

She left and returned several minutes later with a glass half-full of a yellowish-gray liquid and set it on the table. "Here, drink this. It will relieve your nausea."

"What's in it?" Mary eyed it dubiously.

"Ale, ginger and pepper," Becky thrust the glass toward her.

Mary-Michael eyed the glass, lifted it, then sniffed the contents. "It doesn't smell too bad." She took one sip and decided it wasn't too bad, then she took another. "While not repulsive, it isn't as good as a glass of water."

"Have you seen Sister Euphrenia yet?" Becky asked.

Mary-Michael shook her head. "We just arrived a few hours ago and opened the house. I was going to go by there tomorrow." Becky nodded while Mary-Michael sipped more of her ale cocktail. "Becky, what did those two mean about me being a murderess? Is Potts going around saying these things?" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "And about being... intimate... ugh... with me? That would never have happened, even if he were the last man in the world."

"Not that I know of," Becky replied. "But Nelson Potts is back living with his mother and aunt, and working security for his cousin."

Wonderful, Mary-Michael thought. The man she loathed with every drop of blood in her body was living across the street from her and working for her biggest competitor for skilled labor out here on the point, Barlowe Marine.

"You don't think there are others who believe those lies as well, do you?" Mary-Michael tried not to sound as sick with worry as she felt.

"No." Her friend shook her head. "I wouldn't worry about them. They're just trouble-makers."

Later, in the quiet of her room, as she lay in her bed, Mary-Michael thought about Mr. Watkins, and wondered what he'd do. The first thing he always did when there was a potential legal problem was contact Frank Baxter, so that's what she'd do.

Before they'd retreated to the farm they revealed her condition first to Sally and Victor, then to George, Father Douglas and Frank Baxter. Mr. Watkins had sworn them all to secrecy telling everyone this was to protect Mary-Michael and her child. After her husband had done this, Mary went to Becky and Cady and had asked the same of them.

Now she would just have to trust that God and Frank Baxter could handle any problems these horrible men could cause for her.

 

T
he port of Foochow teemed with sailors from around the world hunting for cargoes of the finest teas, silk, and spices the region had to offer. Women, if they were found, were not of the kind one might describe as delicate and lady-like. They were a hard-working lot, either selling clothing or foodstuffs, or peddling their bodies. These ladies, though good women, weren't his type, never had been. He loved all women, but if he had a type, the first requirement was cleanliness.

So why in God's creation did he smell lavender? Lavender mixed with a delicate, soapy scent. He stopped walking and turned to look into the faces of the few women nearby. He didn't know what he thought he might find. Certainly not Mary Watkins. Not here in this over-populated cesspit the Chinese call a port.

He called out to Ian, who kept walking, "Do you smell that?"

His friend stopped. "What? The open sewage, or those in need of bathing? I cannot tell which is worse."

"Lavender."

"Lavender? Here?" His friend laughed.

"Crazy, I know," Lucky scratched his head. "But I thought I caught a whiff."

"Probably some sailor gave a sing song girl a bar of good English lavender soap," Ian replied. "The women here might appreciate it if we did."

Ian continued to walk toward their supplier's offices, and Lucky fell into step behind him. He'd disappointed himself by automatically thinking of Mary when he caught that whiff of her soap. It was something he'd have to work harder to overcome. Especially if he intended to attend more social functions to meet and perhaps even court a young lady. Lavender was a popular scent among women and unfortunately one of his favorites as well. Had she ruined that tiny pleasurable thing about women for him?

"After we settle up here," Ian said, "let's have dinner and go over the charts. Do you think the weather will hold for us to depart tomorrow?"

"I believe so." Lucky appreciated the diversion from his thoughts. "Has your entire crew returned?"