Shanna (11 page)

Shanna's confrontation with Ralston was to come sooner than she had expected, for it was a few hours later as she again paused in the warm sunlight coming in through
the window that a landau rumbled up before the townhouse, and James Ralston alighted. He stood for a moment, rapping the riding crop he always carried against his thin thigh, as he gazed upward toward the higher levels of the mansion where her apartments were.

Shanna wrinkled her nose in distaste, sorely vexed that he had arrived before Ruark's hanging had occurred. Hastening across the room, she rallied herself to a semblance of bereavement, all the while swearing beneath her breath. She composed herself in a large wing chair before the fireplace, smoothing her wide skirts and fluffing the creamyhued lace flounces at her elbows. She would have given the man a show of tears, but she could not strike such a mood. Then the memory came to her that when Pitney sampled from his snuff box, his eyes watered copiously for some time. If she was not mistaken, he had left it on the tea table.

“Ah, there it is!” Anxiously she flew to it and snatched up the tiny box.

Ralston was instructing the servants as they tossed his bags down from the coach, so she had time enough. As she had watched Pitney do so often, Shanna took a bit of a pinch and held it to her nostril, inhaling deeply.

“My lord!” she gasped. It was as if a searing iron were being thrust down her throat She sneezed and sneezed and sneezed again.

Thus it was, as had been her intent, that when James Ralston entered the room, Shanna sat in a state of tearful distress, tears flowing down her cheeks and her eyes as red as if she had been weeping for hours. Daintily she dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief and sniffed loudly.

“Madam?” Ralston approached a step, his thin features tense as he tried to control his ire, his hand working on the crop.

Shanna glanced up, wiping her streaming tears with the lace handkerchief. Her chest burned, and she gasped for air.

“Oh, Ralston, 'tis you. I had not expected—”

His reply was curt. “I hastened lest I should find matters awry—”

“Oh, had you come sooner—” Shanna sniffled wistfully.

“Madam.” His tone was clipped, short. “I made my way
straightforth to the
Marguerite
, escorting some of the precious goods we salvaged from the grounded vessel and there found startling news awaiting me. You have commissioned Captain Duprey to take you aboard for passage home, and in the course of events I found you have been both married and widowed in my absence. Is this correct, or have I been led astray by that erring Frenchman?”

Shanna effectively used her kerchief at the corners of her eyes as a sob lifted her bosom. “ 'Tis all true.”

“Madam—”

“Madam Beauchamp. Madam Ruark Deverell Beauchamp,” Shanna stated.

Ralston cleared his throat tersely. “Madam Beauchamp, am I to understand that in the brevity of a week you have been able to choose a husband for yourself after a full year of failure to even find a man bearable?”

“Do you regard that fact impossible, Mister Ralston?” It was difficult to hide her irritation.

“Madam, with another woman I would not in the least doubt the possibility of such an occurrence.”

“And with me, Mister Ralston?” Shanna's brows raised and her eyes were less than warm. “Do you count me incapable of love?”

“Nay, madam,” he answered with care, yet he recalled the extensive number of gentlemen he had himself introduced for her consideration, hoping that one of them might marry her, and, afterwards, share with him a percentage of the dowry. “It just seems, madam, that you are more selective than most.”

“And so I am,” she replied primly. “Otherwise I might have betrayed myself by choosing someone less dear to me than my own beloved Ruark. Tis irony that what so late found is so soon lost. The details of his death I care not to dwell upon, for he was taken from me swiftly, a stumble from the carriage, and he was gone. Alas, my loving Ruark.”

“And you actually shared a be—”

Shanna's head snapped up in a haughty display of indignation. “Mister Ralston! Do you seek to insult me with crudeness? Or is it unusual to your mind that a husband and wife should lie together on their wedding night?”

“I beg your pardon, madam.” Ralston's cheeks darkened as he realized the danger of his question.

“I do not abide this doubting of my word, and it does me ill that you should press me so. But since you have displayed your curiosity so blatantly, let me calm it. I assure you, sir, that I am no longer a maiden, and a child may be forthcoming.”

Having issued that statement as any outraged widow might, Shanna turned aside, a slight frown of worry troubling her brow, for she did in truth wonder if she were carrying Ruark's seed. It was such a brief encounter, but still there might be the chance. It was not her desire to raise a child without a father. Mentally she counted the days until she would know the truth. Only time would see an end to her dismay.

Ralston misread her manner. She could well damage his lucrative relationship with her father, and the concern in his voice was real.

“Madam, I did not mean to distress you.”

Shanna faced him again and then paused as she looked beyond him to see Hergus in the background. She caught the frown that briefly touched the Scotswoman's face as Mister Ralston turned also. It was with some effort that the maid maintained a semblance of respect toward the man. Having been with the Trahern family for almost twenty years, Hergus was not lacking for confidence and often expressed herself with complete frankness which did not necessarily lend to flattery. She had not approved of the men Mister Ralston had presented to her young mistress, and her dislike of Ralston had grown apace with her disdain for those he brought It was Shanna she gave her loyalty to, and any who doubted it enough to threaten the mistress would find the fact out to their chagrin.

“What is it, Hergus?” Shanna inquired, grateful for the interruption.

The servant moved nearer. “I did not mean to intrude, but as you told me to hurry I thought I'd better ask. What have ye in mind to do with these?”

Shanna's breath caught sharply in her throat as Hergus held up the cloak and coat Ruark had left behind in the carriage. Ralston frowned slightly as he noted them to be a man's garments and peered at Shanna questioningly. She
rose to the test of her wit and, sighing pensively, went to take them from Hergus. Almost tenderly she caressed the soft velvet fabric of the coat.

“ 'Twas Ruark's,” she murmured sadly. “He was handsome, manly, charming, and with the most persuasive smile. I fear he swept me off my feet.”

Holding it carefully over her arms, Shanna presented it back to the woman.

“In one of my trunks, Hergus. I'll keep it for the memories.” But already she was thinking how she would get rid of them, for the memories they stirred were anything but consoling.

Ralston's knuckles were white as he gripped the quirt, and his bony jaw grew rigid. “Your father will question me on this matter, Madam Beauchamp. I must give him answers. I must know the place where this marriage was secured and examine the documents. The Beauchamp name is well enough known here in London, but there are things I must be assured of, and I can hardly present myself to that family's door inquiring on their kin, especially in a time of bereavement. But I must acquaint myself with the validity of the marriage for your father's peace of mind.”

Shanna experienced a brief moment of temptation to hurl a caustic accusation that he would do anything if it might fatten his purse. However, she managed to appear only slightly injured.

“But of course, sir. I suppose my father would not simply take my word for it.” Sweeping across the room to the secretary, she retrieved the packet of documents she had won with a kiss and her virtue. “Here is your proof.”

Ralston was already at her side, taking them from her and eagerly untying the scarlet ribbon. But as his eyes fell to the sheet of parchment on the desk, his interest was diverted, and he paused to stare down at it Shanna followed his gaze and watched helplessly as the man lifted the sketch to more closely inspect it. She could not bear his eyes prying into her secret thoughts, for certainly that was what it was, a rude and callous invasion of her privacy, as surely as if he had witnessed her intimacy with Ruark in the coach.

Her resentment aroused, Shanna made to snatch the
paper from him, but Ralston deftly jerked it out of her reach.

“Madam, your talents are many. I was not aware they extended to producing images of people on parchment.” He considered her askance. “Your late husband?”

Reluctantly Shanna nodded. “Give it to me.”

“Your father would be curious—”

In a quick movement Shanna tore the paper from his hand and ripped it into small pieces.

“Madam, why do you destroy a drawing of your husband? 'Twould appear he had all the qualities you boast. Twas certainly done in an amorous vein. Perhaps he won your heart as you declare.”

Shanna's mind screamed—poppycock! But her spoken reply came meekly. “Aye, and it tears me so I cannot bear to look upon his likeness.”

The same fair, crisp weather graced the morning after. The chill wind whipped around the buildings as Ralston stepped from the landau and clutched his cloak tighter about his long frame. He rapped the handle of his quirt on the portal of the structure until a reply came from within.

“I have business with the gaoler. Open up,” he commanded.

After a brief rattle of keys, the iron door swung aside, and he went within. A guard led him through the halls until he was ushered before the turnkey.

“Ah, Mister Hicks,” he began heartily. “I find I shall be returning to the island sooner than expected. I've come to see what good merchandise you have for me.”

“But, gov'na—” the fat man came to his feet stuttering and wringing his stubby hands, “but, Mister Ralston, I've naught else but what ye've already chosen.”

“Oh, come now, my good man.” Ralston laughed with little humor as he drew off his leather gloves, wrapped them carefully around the riding crop, then grasped the crop in his slim hand and slapped his leg. “You must have some good young debtors or even a thief or two who would see their paper redeemed for a chance to escape this hole. You know my master pays well with a goodly tithe for the men who serve him.” He poked Mister Hicks's
rolling belly with his whip and smiled coyly. “ 'Twould mean some more good coin for your purse.”

“But, gov'na—” the gaoler grinned worriedly. “I swear 'ere are none.”

“Oh, come now!” Ralston snapped, his irritation showing. “That last bunch will scarce endure a year or two in the cane fields.” He slapped his narrow thigh impatiently with the crop. “You must have some new ones. And of course you understand that healthy women and older children are not without their worth in the Caribbean.” His thin-featured face frowned ominously. “My master will berate me heavily if I do not show him better than those for his money.”

“But—gov'na!” Mister Hicks cried and sweated more, if that were possible.” 'Ere are simply—”

A commotion outside the room interrupted, and the heavy door from the main gaol was pushed open. A guard thrust through, tugging at a long length of chain attached to a man who was weighted with as many iron links and shackles as he could carry. Another guard walked behind, also bearing a lengthy chain attached to the prisoner who showed recent signs of abuse. A swollen eyelid and a thick, bloody lip distorted his face. The short stride of his anklets caused him to stumble, and, for his clumsiness, he received a jabbing blow to the ribs. A grunt of pain issued from the bruised mouth but little else. The two guards were about to lead the prisoner through to the outside yard when Ralston, a fine judge of flesh, put out a hand to stop them.

“Go no further!” His eyes gleamed at Hicks. “You clever swine, you. You've held out on me for a higher price.”

Ralston moved closer to better survey the prisoner and after a moment turned sharply to the gaoler.

“Let's not dally, man. I need him. Get straight to the price. What are you asking?”

“But, gov'na!” Poor Hicks was almost apoplectic. “I would na sell—I mean I can't—'E's to the gallows on the morrow and right now bound to the common cell to join the others to be hanged.”

Slapping the long, black riding crop Ralston stared at Hicks for a long time. Finally he paused and drew himself
up, folding his arms. His shadowed eyes were like a hawk's fixed on a plump rabbit.

“Now, Hicks—”

The fat man jumped with the sound of his voice.

“I know you and some of the—ah—wonders you have worked in the past. A tidy sum for a young one like that, there is.”

The gaoler trembled and seemed about to drop to his knees. “But—I can't The bloke's a murderer, condemned to 'ang, 'e is. Why, I must certify the very—and 'ere's 'is nam—” The words stuck in Hicks's throat.

“I care naught for his name. Let him be called by a new one.”

At that, a sly look came into the gaoler's eyes, and Ralston did not waste a moment.

“Come, man, buck up.” His voice grew wheedling. “Use your head. Who's to know? Why, it could mean as much as—,” he shrugged and almost whispered in Hicks's ear, “why, two hundred pounds in your pocket, a tuppence for the guards here, and none the wiser.”

Hicks's greed began to gleam in his small eyes. “Aye,” he murmured softly, half to himself. “'Ere's even a body, an ol' man what's been here for years—forgotten—died in his cell las' night. Why, it just might come off. Aye!”

He leered at Ralston, speaking low where none would hear. “Two ‘undred pounds? For the likes o' 'im?”

“Aye, man.” Ralston nodded. “He's young and strong. Twill only be a few days before we sail, but you must keep him hidden. Will there be kin to claim him?” At Hicks's nod Ralston continued. “Then give them the other body tomorrow in a closed coffin with the magistrate's seal upon it so they dare not open it. I'll pick him up with the rest of the men the day before we sail.”