Petals on the River (76 page)

almost colliding with Mrs.
 
Pettycomb, who was hurrying along the

boardwalk in front.

"Well, if it isn't Gage Thornton!" the matron declared in surprise.
 
She

readjusted the wire-rimmed spectacles on her thin, hawkish nose in an

effort to see every minute detail as her small, dark eyes swept over

him.
 
Any man who wed a convict could well expect recompense in some

form or another if he didn't defer to his wife's whims, but much to

Almass disappointment, Gage had no blackened eyes or bruised jaw.

Curiously Alma peered through the open door of the tavern and probed the

interior until her gaze settled on Morrisa.
 
Her thin eyebrows lifted

sharply, and with a smug smile, she returned her attention to the tall

man.
 
"Out visiting, Gage?"

The brown eyes chilled to a penetrating coldness at her erroneous

conjecture.
 
'Merely taking care of business, Mrs.
 
Pettycomb."

"Oh, of course." Alma smirked.
 
"I'm sure that's what all the men say

when they've been caught sporting with loose women."

Gage snorted, irritated by her assumption.
 
"That's hardly the case,

Mrs.
 
Pettycomb, but think what you will!"

Alma pursed her thin lips in complacent haughtiness, but in the very

next instant, she had to step hastily aside as Morrisa stormed out of

the tavern.
 
The harlot seemed oblivious to the flustered matron as she

glowered at the man.

"If'n ye weren't so caught on that bogtrotter ye married, Gage Thornton,

ye'd see how good it could be betwixt the two o' us.
 
But no!

Ye've got ta be a proper husband ta M'liedy Sh'maine.
 
Well, I hope

ye'll be satisfied with the bundle o' brats ye'll be gettin from her,

cause that's all she'll be givin' ye.
 
She don't know anythin' more'n

that!
 
As for me, I'm going' ta see what gents'll be arrivin' at the

docks.
 
Maybe I'll catch me a looker this time."

Stalking past him, Morrisa made her way across the thoroughfare as Alma,

much agog, stared after her.
 
The matron snapped her mouth closed as

Gage turned away.

"Going to meet the ship, too, Gage?" she prodded, unwilling to relent.

"It should be of some interest to you, being an English ship, but I'll

warrant this one is far too fine to be carrying a cargo of convicts."

Glancing back over his shoulder, Gage gave her an enigmatic smile.

"I have no reason to go to the docks, madam.
 
As Morrisa has rightly

determined, I have all that I want at home, and I can think of

absolutely no one who might be aboard the vessel who would be of

interest to me.
 
Now, good day to you."

With that, Gage strode off toward the riverbank, where he had left his

canoe.
 
His curt riposte left Mrs.
 
Pettycomb feeling much like an old

hen whose feathers had just been singed.
 
Bristling with indignation,

she glared after him, yearning to unleash her ire full in his face.
 
But

it was safer by far to go behind the man's back with her little tales

and seek her revenge through ignominious means.

After making her own way to the docks, Alma Pettycomb approached the

newly arrived vessel and stood nearby, closely perusing the passengers

as they disembarked.
 
She noticed Morrisa wandering off on the arm of a

fairly young man, but she gave no further heed to the harlot as a tall,

gray-haired man of notable appearance was escorted down the gangplank by

the captain.
 
The clothes of the older gentleman tastefully attested to

his wealth, yet he was quite handsome and needed no costly raiment to

attract attention.
 
For a short time he and the sea captain stood

conversing on the quay, and Alma Pettycomb found herself greatly

intrigued by the respectful esteem exhibited by the captain.

Anxious to hear their discussion, she moved within close proximity of

the two.

"If you should require assistance in any way, my lord, I'll be happy to

do what I can to expedite your search," the captain of the vessel

offered graciously.
 
"I wish I knew more than what I've already told

you, but I'm afraid I saw no more of my passenger after he left my ship

that day."

"Hopefully the information you've given me is still useful despite the

years that have passed since you first dropped anchor in these waters.

If providence is with me, then twill be only a matter of time before I

find the one I'm seeking."

The captain beckoned to a sailor who was making his way down the

gangplank with a large leather chest on his shoulder.
 
"Judd, you're to

stay with his lordship and assist him with his trunk until he has no

further need of you, then you may return to the ship for shore leave."

"Aye, Cap'n."

The two men parted, and his lordship waited a moment until the tar had

joined him, then he turned to make his way toward the hamlet.

Immediately he found himself confronting the pinch-faced Mrs. Pettycomb,

who had approached so close that she was in danger of being trodden

upon.

"I beg your pardon," the man-apologized, and stepped aside to pass

around her.

" Tis your pardon I must beg, sir," the gossipmonger responded, eager to

hold him there until she gained knowledge of the man and his search.

"My name is Alma Pettycomb, and I couldn't help overhearing your

conversation with the captain.
 
I was wondering if I might be of some

assistance to you.
 
I know this area well and have a wide knowledge of

the people living hereabouts.
 
I understand you're looking for someone.

Perhaps I might know of him." She waited expectantly, but her question

gained no immediate response.

His lordship looked at her cautiously.
 
Perhaps it might have been his

imagination, but when he had taken note of her shadow being cast beside

his own, it had almost seemed as if the matron had been leaning forward

in an effort to hear his conversation with the captain.
 
But then, a

busybody was probably the best one to ask, for they usually knew more

about everybody's business than anyone else.
 
"Have you knowledge of a

man named Thornton living in the area?
 
He left England .

almost ten years ago and the ship on which he sailed docked here at

Newportes Newes."

Alma Pettycomb could only wonder why a lord of the realm would be

seeking a lowly commoner, especially one as cantankerous as the

cabinetmaker.
 
"There's a Gage Thornton who lives upriver a ways," she

informed the stranger, puffed up by her own consequence.
 
"Would he be

the one you're looking for?"

His lordship smiled suddenly, as if in great relief.
 
"Aye, that's the

one."

The woman couldn't resist asking for more information than she was

entitled to.
 
"Your pardon again, my lord, but I'm curious to know what

Gage Thornton may have done that would cause a gentleman like yourself

to pursue him all the way from England.
 
And after so many years have

passed."

His lordship's eyes chilled suddenly to a cold, amber-brown.
 
"He has

done nothing that I know of, madam.
 
Why would you assume that he has?"

"Well, he's certainly done enough here to make the good citizens of this

hamlet fear for their lives," Alma readily rejoined.
 
"They say he

murdered his first wife, yet he walks around as if he owns the world.

Now he has taken to wife a convict, and there's no one who'll dare say

what crimes she committed in England.
 
I warned him the day he bought

her that he was doing this town a disservice."

"Where may I find this Mr.
 
Thornton?"

The curtness of the question failed to discourage Alma, and she hastened

to give directions, as well as the names of several men who would be

willing to take him upriver for a fee.
 
His lordship politely expressed

his gratitude and beckoned for the sailor to follow him, but Alma made

the gentleman pause again.

"May I have the pleasure of knowing your lordship's name?"

The nobleman gave her a sparse smile, somewhat reminiscent of one she

had received earlier in the same hour.
 
"Lord William Thornton, Earl of

Thornhedge."

Mrs.
 
Pettycomb's jaw sagged briefly before she brought a trembling hand

slowly upward to cover her gaping mouth.
 
In a stunned daze she asked,

'Any relation to Gage Thornton?"

"He is my son, madam." With that, his lordship moved past the astounded

woman and strode toward the river as Judd followed.
 
In a few moments he

was on his way upriver and waving farewell to the sailor.

The rap of knuckles on the front door awakened Andrew and Shemaine from

an afternoon nap, and though the boy hurriedly wriggled off his father's

bed and ran toward the portal, Shemaine scurried after him in sudden

fear.
 
She could not believe Potts would be bold enough to come right up

to their cabin, especially after being wounded, but she couldn't take

any chances.

"Don't open the door, Andrew, until I see who it is," she bade in an

anxious tone.

The boy halted obediently and then waited as she went to the front

window and looked out, but the man who stood on the porch was a total

stranger to Shemaine, someone she could not remember even catching a

glimpse of in Newportes Newes.
 
He had a proud look about him and bore

himself with a dignity that was unmistakable.

Joining Andrew at the portal, Shemaine lifted the latch and allowed the

child to swing open the door.
 
The man's attention was first drawn to

the boy, and Shemaine could not help but take note of his surprise and

the subtle softening of his visage.
 
Then, after a moment, the