Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (40 page)

“Yes, sir.”

Bliss closed and put away the journal, took off his robe, and stepped into the breeches Carlotta had laid out for him.

“You get a late start on the day, my friend,” a voice said from the doorway.

“Henri!” Bliss said. “Come in, come in. It's all right, Carlotta,” he reassured the distraught servant. “Some tea? Chocolate? Tea it is, then, for Monsieur LeBusque and me. And what, my friend,” he asked LeBusque, “brings you to town so early?”

LeBusque made himself at home in the chair behind Bliss's desk. “You're looking fit,” he said without answering. “When did you discard the sling?”

“Yesterday. With the last of the stitches.” Bliss extended his left arm, flexed his fingers. “Whatever else she has to answer for,” he said with a grimace, “I'll have to give her credit for this. She did a good job.”

“She's still a bitch—with whom I have a score to settle.” LeBusque gingerly touched the bandage that covered the still-healing wound on his head. “Any word yet?”

Bliss finished buttoning his shirt, began to tuck it into his breeches. “How would you like to meet her tomorrow night at the ball?”

The Frenchman's eyebrows rose. “She's with him? How do you know?”

“One of my servants saw her playing with his grandsons. And I have no doubt she'll stay right where she is for the next two weeks.” Bliss's smile would have chilled lava. “Can you think of a better way to begin the new year?”

There it was! Over there, a speck of light a little to the left … no. Not there, either. Only a figment of the imagination. Somewhere on the steep slope behind the house.
Oh, Thomas. Only twenty-four hours from now
.

“'Driana?”

No mistakes, Thomas. Not after we've come so far and endured so much
.

“'Driana!”

“Mmm?” she asked, pulling closed the shutters against the night air. “What?”

“What're you looking at?”

“Just the stars.” She tucked in Jason, tousled his hair, and kissed him on the forehead.

“Can we look at the stars 'fore we go t'sleep?”

“Not tonight,” she said, moving to Joseph's bed.

“Tomorrow night?” Joseph asked.

She tucked him in, repeated the ritual exactly as she had with Jason. “Yes,” she answered, blowing out the lantern. “I'll remember. Tomorrow night.”

Night dragged on interminably. The governor swore he couldn't sleep. Sleep was out of the question with so much turmoil afoot. In the middle of his complaint, he fell asleep, then—in what seemed moments—woke to the sound of morning chimes, of the clock ringing nine. “Twelve hours,” he said aloud to the empty bedroom. “Twelve hours and it'll all be over.”

His brain awhirl with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, he eased out of bed and padded barefoot across the floor to throw open the shutters. The morning air was fresh, without a trace of the sulfurous odor he detested so. The sky was clear and as blue as the vast sweep of Caribbean that stretched to the horizon. “A good day,” he said, quite pleased with himself and with the way things were going to turn out. “A fine day on which to catch a traitor.”

Shakespeare's “precious stone set in the silver sea,… This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England …” was far away across a wide and hostile ocean, but Sir Theodotus had outdone himself in evoking her memory. Royalty might have demanded greater sumptuousness, but no one could have asked for a more convivial atmosphere. Lanterns and candles lighted the mansion bright as day. The best crystal gleamed on sideboard and tables, with three pieces of stemware for each place setting. The band was ticked out in its resplendent best, and was augmented by a pair of violinists who played light and romantic tunes in the side rooms. A dozen masked island boys dressed identically in pages' uniforms carried trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres.

The governor's annual masked ball in San Sebastian was an egalitarian affair by necessity, for of that tiny island's inhabitants, only Sir Theodotus and Captain Trevor Bliss could be counted as high-born. To make up the difference, everyone with any status at all was invited. Every planter, down to the smallest freeholder. All government functionaries above the level of clerk. All captains and first mates of ships in port. All businessmen, save tavern owners and saloon keepers. All these, along with wives, and children above fourteen, crowded the verandah, ballroom, and parlors of the mansion. And if their manners and speech weren't as sophisticated and erudite as those of the lords and ladies attending similar functions in London, they made up for this lack with high spirits and good fellowship.

Of expensive silks and laces there were few, but cotton was bright and colorful and every bit as flattering to the complexion and as pleasing to the eye. Among the fifty or so men, only a half-dozen wore coats of velvet, but none of the others complained or felt himself a pauper. The climate was inimical to the keeping of wigs, the want of which had long ago been forgotten by most of the ladies, who were elegantly if simply coiffed, with their own hair complemented with ribbons and bows and native flowers. As if to make up for all these supposed deficiencies in finery, the guests had outdone themselves with their masks. Every material available—shells, bones, feathers, skins, wood, jewels, and fabrics—had been utilized and combined in a creative outpouring. A veritable bestiary, colorful, grotesque, and beautiful, walked and danced the floors of the governor's mansion. All in all, a more festive or gay masked ball couldn't have been found in all the empire.

As for Adriana, her shoes were too heavy, her breeches too tight, her wig too irritating. How men wore such cumbersome apparel was a mystery; she supposed they got used to it. Feeling awkward and out of place in her page boy's costume, she traded an empty tray for a full one and reentered the ballroom. Tom, she was virtually certain, had yet to arrive, and she was growing more apprehensive by the moment. If anything had gone wrong, if he'd been caught, perhaps harmed …

“Here, boy. My glass is empty. What's that you have?”

“Madeira on this side, suh, spiced cider all the way from England on this,” she answered in the stilted, lilting English of the natives. “Plenty more, suh. Yes, suh! Thank you, suh!”

The great clock by the door chimed the first four notes of the Westminster tune. Eight-fifteen. Three quarters of an hour.… Her breath caught in her throat as Trevor Bliss, haughty in full dress uniform and wearing a simple black half-mask, strode through the door accompanied by an equally elegantly dressed and plainly masked Henri LeBusque. The crowd parted deferentially for the two second most powerful men on the island, who made their way across the room and paid their respects to Sir Theodotus. Adriana followed and arrived at Bliss's side just as, the amenities over, the captain turned away from Sir Theodotus to survey the ballroom.

“Wine, suh?” Adriana asked, her heart hammering.

Bliss reached out absentmindedly, then stopped abruptly. “What'd you say, boy?” he asked.

“Wine, suh?” she repeated.

“Oh.” Sensing something was amiss, yet preoccupied with other matters, he studied her intently for a moment, then gave up and took a glass for himself and one for LeBusque. “Yes, of course …”

Perspiration ran down her forehead and into her eyes. Her hands shook so badly she had to steady the tray against her abdomen. She had taken a foolish chance. Had he recognized her, he might have become suspicious and … and what, after all? Certainly nothing violent in the middle of the party. Her fears were groundless. In another—she shot a glance at the clock—thirty-five minutes he would be hearing much worse news.

Four more Madeiras, three more ciders, two more minutes. Where was he? That one? No, too short, and with a wife on his arm. That one? Too portly, and the wrong hands.

“You have a well-turned leg for a boy,” a low voice said in her ear. “Looking for someone?”

“You!” The empty glasses on her tray rattled as she turned to see the face of Pan, impish, devilish, sardonic, leering down at her. “I've been worried half-sick.”

Tom shrugged. “The chandler wasn't happy about parting with his clothes. I'll be black-and-blue all over tomorrow. Is everything all right? Any problems?”

“None that I know of.” Adriana looked around to make sure no one was paying undue attention to them. “Bliss and LeBusque arrived about ten minutes ago. They're over there under the chandelier.”

“LeBusque is the one in green velvet?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone else I should know about?”

“Not in here. There's a guard at the top of the main stairway, another in the hallway leading to Vincent's study. Is Topaz—”

“Right where he should be, I imagine. We made a slight change in plans. He's going to bring my belt and a brace of pistols around to the side for me so I'll be armed.” He grinned underneath his mask. “Topaz makes a hell of a driver. He kind of forgot to tell anyone he'd never handled a team before. I had to take time to show him how.”

Adriana needed to keep moving. She showed Tom the fastest way to the french doors outside Sir Theodotus's study and explained that they were unlocked. “Just pretend you belong,” she said, leaving to replenish her tray. “I'll see you a few minutes after nine.”

The heat was becoming unbearable. Glad for a moment's respite, Adriana slipped into the hall and hurried to a side room for a new tray. Tom had disappeared by the time she returned. Bliss and LeBusque hadn't moved. Sir Theodotus was talking to a guard who.…
Dear God! Bliss's journal!

Across the room, Sir Theodotus's mask couldn't hide his distress. “Good God, man! You were supposed to wait until nine o'clock to get this.”

“Don't know nothin' about that, Gov'nor,” the guard answered. “Just did like I was told.”

“What about his servants?”

“Under lock and key, sir.”

“Good. Good.” Sir Theodotus looked around, spied Bliss and LeBusque. Neither seemed perturbed, so there was evidently no harm done. “Very well. Return to Bliss's residence and make sure none of his servants is set free until you receive explicit orders to do so.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. Adriana saw Sir Theodotus excuse himself and leave the room. Unnerved, she managed to catch Tom's eye and gesture surreptitiously toward the back of the house and then, as naturally as possible, headed for the study. No sooner had Adriana disappeared than Tom slipped out the side door and, ascertaining that he was alone, whistled quietly for Topaz. Thirty seconds later, Topaz had helped him buckle on his belt and he was hiding in the shadows outside the governor's study. None of them saw Ramon slip past the guard at the gate, make his way up the drive, and insist that he be allowed to enter with an important message for Captain Bliss.

“Isn't that your man?” LeBusque asked, interrupting Bliss's cynical remark about the airs put on by commoners.

Bliss glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of Ramon, and blanched. “What're you doing here?” he asked as the servant hurried up to him. “What's happened?”

“Men come, take book from desk,” Ramon said. “Lock others up. I get away, come.”

“Damn!” Bliss swore. “My journal! How'd they know it was—?”

“The Gypsy girl,” LeBusque hissed. “Fool! You left a journal out for anyone to read?”

“Of course not. She must have read it when I was unconscious. I've written in it since. Ramon, let me have that knife.”

“Yes, suh.”

LeBusque's eyes widened. “And just exactly what do you think you're going to do with that pig sticker in this crowd?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Bliss said. “Boy, come here.”

One of the servants hurried over. “Yes, suh?”

“Where's the governor? I need to see him immediately.”

“Don't know, suh,” the servant said. “He go out that door two, three minute now.”

“Good. Off with you. Ramon, go outside and tell the boy to make sure my team's ready, then wait there for me. And we,” he told LeBusque, “are going to pay our beloved governor a private call to discuss the safekeeping of his darling grandsons. Ready?”

LeBusque had no choice. His face grim behind his mask, he and Bliss worked their way through the crowd to the rear of the ballroom and out the door into the hallway.

“All due respect, sirs,” a young man posted there said, “but this part of the house is closed to visitors. Governor's orders … oof!”

LeBusque struck again, and as the youth doubled over in pain, Bliss hit him on the back of the head with the hilt of Ramon's knife. “Fool,” he said to the crumpling body. “Come along, Henri. The second door on the right.”

Rarely had Sir Theodotus read a more fascinating document. So intent was he on the flow of Bliss's perfidy that he did not hear the door open or know he had visitors until Adriana cleared her throat in warning. “What?” he grunted.

Adriana dared not answer, for Bliss and LeBusque strode directly in.

“Speak up …” His mouth felt dry, his pulse hammered in his temples as he glanced up and saw Bliss. He folded his hands so they wouldn't shake and tried to look stern. “May I ask—”

“Interesting reading?” Bliss interrupted harshly.

“More so than you might imagine,” Sir Theodotus answered at last, having remembered that there were guards nearby and that he was in no real danger.

“Oh, I can imagine well enough,” Bliss drawled.

“Boy!” he snapped, jerking his head in Adriana's direction. “Go fetch us some wine. We may be here a few minutes and I'm dry.”

Her eyes boring into those of the man who had murdered her brother, Adriana remained motionless.

“Are you deaf, boy? I said, go fetch us some wine.”