Petals on the River (108 page)

idea.
 
Tis all rather complicated, so while you're helping me load the

coffins in the wagon, I'll tell you as much as I know." He peered

questioningly at Gillian, who had apparently forgotten why he had come

to the shop.
 
"Were you looking for me?"

"Aye." Gillian suddenly recalled his mission.
 
"His lordship's wonderin'

where ye might be, Cap'n."

"My father, you mean."

"Nay, the other one, the younger, black-haired one."

Gage might have known the Marquess would hold to his word.
 
"You may

tell him where I'm to be found."

"Aye, Cap'n."

Maurice du Mercer entered the cabinet shop a few moments later, and his

reaction upon espying the coffins almost paralleled Gillian's. His foot

came down a little sooner and his oath was different, but the look of

surprise that registered on his face was quite similar.

"Good heavens!
 
What has happened here?
 
Who are those coffins for?
 
Is

Shemaine all right?"

Gage smiled ruefully at the man's rush of questions.
 
"You needn't fear,

your lordship.
 
None of these boxes are for my wife.
 
She's in the

cabin.

She's not feeling too sprightly after killing a man last night."

"Shemaine?
 
My Shemaine?"

Gage felt his hackles rise, and he made a point of correcting the man.

"No, your lordship, my Shemaine .
 
.
 
.
 
as if there were another."

"What happened?" Maurice asked.
 
"Who was the man, and why did she kill

him?"

"To save my life.
 
Someone paid Potts to come out here and kill

Shemaine, but the sailor decided to put me in the grave before

proceeding to her.
 
Shemaine has become quite handy with a flintlock. A

few more lessons and she might even rival your abilities."

Maurice gestured lamely toward the wooden boxes.
 
"Then who else .

.
 
."

"You wouldn't know them," Gage assured him.
 
"A hunchback from town who

killed my first wife by accident, and the woman who deceived him and led

him into doing it.
 
Someone offered to pay her for killing Shemaine,

too."

"Killed your first wife, you say," Maurice repeated that portion

dubiously.
 
"Convenient for you, isn't it?"

Gage returned a level stare to the Marquess.
 
"More convenient for me

than for you, I would think.
 
Now you won't have any excuse for

challenging me to a duel and killing me in the guise of saving my wife

from my murderous bent just so you can have her.
 
If you doubt my word

about any of this, I give you leave to question Shemaine.
 
Twas what she

was told by Roxanne and Cain, as much as that poor man was able to

explain."

Maurice fished into the pocket of his rich, taupe frock coat and

produced the smooth leather pouch that Potts had tauntingly waggled

before Gage.
 
"May I ask where you came by this?
 
I found it on the deck

of your ship when I went up to ask the Morgans where you were to be

found."

Gage examined the bag of coins briefly and then handed it back. "Potts

showed it to me when he was boasting about being hired to kill Shemaine.

The purse may have belonged to Potts, but it seems too fancy for the

likes of the tar.
 
Perhaps it belonged to the person who hired him on as

an assassin." Gage tilted his head thoughtfully as he considered the

nobleman.
 
Maurice's face had definitely taken on a chalky white pallor.

'If it doesn't belong to Potts, would you happen to know whose it is?"

"I may," the Marquess answered in a muted tone.
 
He turned abruptly and

strode back to the door.
 
Jerking it open, he paused and looked back at

Gage with a wretched smile twisting his handsome lips. "If what you say

is true, Mr.
 
Thornton, then you have indeed won my betrothed for

yourself.
 
I wish you well, both of you."

"Are you leaving for good?" Gage asked in surprise.
 
He couldn't imagine

that the Marquess would give up so easily.

"Aye, I won't be back unless Shemaine is widowed by some other means

than what I had intended."

"You will have a long wait ahead of you before you can claim her," Gage

informed him.
 
"I plan to live to a ripe old age."

"So be it."

"Shemaine and the O'Hearns will wonder where you've gone," Gage

insisted.
 
"What shall I tell them?"

Maurice grew thoughtful as he contemplated the question, then he smiled

rather sadly.
 
"Tell them I've gone to catch a mother rat."

With that, Maurice stepped beyond the door and closed it gently behind

him.

"Mother rat?" Ramsey was plainly perplexed.
 
"What did his lordship mean

by that?"

Gage watched through the window as his rival hurried toward the river.

"I think his lordship means to have a talk with the one who paid Potts

to kill Shemaine."

"How would he be knowin' who that is?" his friend queried.

"The purse," Gage answered distractedly.
 
"I believe he recognized it .

.
 
.
 
or at least the type of purse used by someone he's kin to."

"I didn't think he had any kinfolk here."

" Twould seem that circumstance may have recently changed.
 
At least

since the Marquess's coming, I would imagine."

' < CHAPTER 25

No sooner had Maurice du Mercer strode through the doors of the tavern

than a definite hush fell over the place.
 
Every harlot who had managed

to rouse herself out of bed by that early morning hour paused to gawk at

him with jaw hanging a-slack.
 
In comparison to the clientele they had

been servicing in the local area, the Marquess looked as luscious and

tempting as a plump worm in a chicken coop. Like a brood of cackling

hens, they rushed toward him, shoving and yanking at each other in their

eagerness to seize this enticing tidbit for their own.
 
True to form,

Morrisa managed to force her way to the fore of her companions.

"Can I be o' service ta ye, yer lordship?" she crooned and, as was her

habit, moving her shoulder in a rounded motion to send her sleeve

tumbling down her arm.
 
Another shrug bared a goodly portion of her

ample bosom as well.

"You may," Maurice answered with marked disinterest.
 
"I understand from

the innkeeper that my grandmother is staying here.
 
Can you direct me to

her room?"

''Well, I don't know, m'lord." Morrisa sidled back several steps,

recognizing her blunder.
 
This was the grandson Lady du Mercer had said

was in love with Shemaine, and since neither Potts nor Roxanne had

returned from the Thorntons' to collect their reward, there was no way

of knowing what had happened out there or what this man was after.

Whatever his mission, it seemed dire, for his black eyes were like steel

sabers slicing through her.
 
Still, her ladyship hadn't wanted it noised

about that she was there and certainly not to her grandson.

"If you don't tell me, I can find her myself," Maurice informed her

bluntly.
 
"I may startle a few of your companions in the process of

opening doors, but I doubt that I'll be unduly embarrassed by the sights

I may find behind them.
 
However, their customers might be a bit upset

by the intrusion."' Morrisa promptly relented, imagining the dander that

Freida would fly into if any of her customers began to complain about

being disturbed.

She didn't know how her ladyship would react to her grandson's visit,

but she had confidence the lady could handle it with far more grace than

any of them could abide Freida's raging or vengeful tactics.

"The last room on the right upstairs.
 
I just took her liedyship up some

tea a li'l while ago, so she's awake an' havin' her vittles."

Maurice leapt up the steps three at a time, leaving several of the

strumpets gaping after him.
 
His pace along the balustrade was just as

swift, just as sure, and with no more than a quick rap of lean knuckSes

on the planks of the door, he swung open the portal and stalked into the

room, startling his grandmother, who had been sitting at a small table

partaking of her morning meal.
 
She half rose from her chair at this

unforewarned entrance, fully expecting to see some dirty brigand with a

pistol in his hand who would demand her money.
 
When she recognized the

familiar face, she slowly sank back into her seat and clasped a bony

hand over her fluttering heart.

"Why, Maurice, you startled me," she chided.

"I meant to," he stated crisply.

A brief, nervous twitch at the corner of her lips was the best smile she

could manage.
 
She didn't need to be told that something was amiss.

"Have you taken to playing pranks on your elders of late?"

"If I have, tis a far less disastrous trick than you have played on me."

The delicate fingers trembled slightly as Edith picked up a lace

handkerchief and daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth.
 
"I'm not

sure I understand what you mean, Maurice."

The Marquess was not fooled by her innocent masquerade.
 
"You should

know far better than I, Grandmother, what you've done.
 
I was in love

with Shemaine, and now I've lost herþ"

"Is she dead?" Edith had been waiting in anticipation for such an

announcement, but she had never dreamt it would be delivered by her