The Cracksman's Kiss (19 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Cohen shaded his eyes from the relentless Sicilian sun. It was only noo
n and already the heat on the hillside was almost unbearable. He swiped his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat trickling down, stinging his eyes. Another couple of hours and he would call a halt to the excavation for the day. Leaning back over the tablet, he returned to sweeping the loose bits of debris from the exposed part of its surface.

Perhaps he should return to France. His heart just was not int
o the hunt for exotic treasures anymore. He missed Lucca. With a sigh, he dropped the brush into the dirt beside the relic and got to his feet. A local Sicilian boy wandered barefoot through the rows of workers, carrying a water pail. Cohen waved to him, and the boy hurried in his direction. He stopped in front of Cohen and looked up with a gap toothed smile. Cohen ruffled the boy’s hair and reached for the dipper hooked on the edge of the pail. He lifted it to his mouth, swallowing the fresh water in greedy gupls. Once he drank his fill, he removed his hat and poured a ladle full over his head. The delicious coolness was refreshing.

He flipped the boy a coin and ruffled his hair again
. The boy gave him a huge grin, mumbled something in his native tongue, and hurried away. Cohen smiled as the boy continued his rounds. Perhaps it was time to go home. His assistant could oversee the rest of the dig. His thoughts returned to his own son.
Would Lucca be crawling or talking yet? Have I already missed those important first steps and words?

With little enthusiasm he surveyed the campsite below the hil
l. Militia exited his tent with her arms full of dirty shirts to wash. Even from here he could see the provocative sway of her lean brown hips under her flowered skirt. He tried to forget Kassie in the arms of the buxom dark-haired beauty, but it had not worked. Like an untried school boy, his desire wilted and died before he even got her undressed.

Slapping at a fly buzzing a lazy circle around his head
he realized he could not forget Kassie. He looked everywhere for her, but she had vanished like a drop of rain in a desert. Cohen shoved the hat back on his head and made his way down the hill. The dig had not brushed Kassie from his mind as he hoped it would.

He entered his tent and paused a moment to allow his eyes to
adjust to the dimness. Tossing his hat on top of his clothes trunk, he wandered to the only chair and flopped into it. His restless gaze landed on the brandy decanter in the middle of the folding table, so he picked it up and poured himself a drink. He raised the glass to his lips and allowed the sweet fiery liquid to slide down his throat. The drink satisfied him in a way water could not. If he drank enough he could fall into a dreamless slumber, a muted sleep, where visions of Kassie’s sensuous pale limbs and hair would not intrude.

Raised voices outside of his tent caught his attent
ion. The men were excited about something when they spoke in such a fevered pitch. Shadows of men flickered across the tent flap. What was going on? He stood and crossed to the entrance, flipping the flap open. Men were running from the campsite, down the dusty dirt road toward town.

Stepping from the tent he caught the arm of one of his workers. “What is going on?”

“The camp on the other side of the hill has had a cave in,” the man said, shaking off his hand and following the others.

Cohen jogged along behind. When he crested the top of the
hill, clouds of dust choked his throat and eyes. Holding his handkerchief over his mouth and nose, he scrambled down the embankment to the base of the other encampment.He searched the chaos for the professor and found the man standing by the entrance to the collapsed cave, shouting orders, his white beard tinted red from the volcanic dirt. “Is there anyone in there?”

The professor gave him a grim lipped nod
. “Two of my men are trapped.”

“What can my men and I do to help?” Cohen placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We need to shore up the entrance before we can try to dig them out.”

Cohen turned and gestured to one of his men who had followed him. “Yo
u, go back to our dig and bring back all the unused supports you can find.” When the man nodded and hurried back the way he had come, Cohen turned to the professor. Together they helped place the wooden beams brought to them into strategic positions around the opening to the cave.

An hour later the supports were in place, and the digging s
tarted. Cohen organized the men into shifts of four men, each digging until they were tired, and then the next shift taking their place. It was almost dark when Cohen took his turn. He scraped the dirt with a trowel into a bucket until it was full, passed it to the man behind him and filled another. His muscles began to scream in protest by the time his trowel broke through the last barrier of debris. Tossing his tool to the ground, he signaled for the man behind him to pass forward a lantern. After lighting the wick and turning it up he slid the glass back into place. With careful deliberation he eased his way through the narrow opening, coughing as handfuls of loose dirt slid from the top of the cave and showered down upon him. The dust swirled around the lantern, changing the yellow light to red. The results were shifting shadows that transformed the dark into eerie visions.

Cohen waited until the dust settled enough to see the sides
of the cave, and then continued inching his way forward on his hands and knees. “Devilish scrape you have gotten yourselves into. Rattle on lads, so I might find you.”

“Here, sir.”

Cohen was relieved to hear an answer. “How many there?”

“Two of us sir, one hurt.”

He kept creeping forward until the forms of two men took shape from the shadows. “What is your name?”

“Jacques, sir.” The young man gestured to the man lying
across his legs. “The other is Forchette.”

Cohen held the light up with a start. “Alex?” Even in the mur
ky light he was sure it was his former crew member. The man did not move or respond.

“Are you hurt, Jacques?”

“My arm, sir, it pains me.”

Cohen pressed his lips together and thought for a moment.
He held out the lantern. “Take the light and lead the way back to the entrance. I will follow behind with Alex.”

The young man nodded, easing out from under his prone
companion and took the lantern. As he crawled back in the direction of the cave’s mouth, Cohen grasped Alex under his arms and dragged him along behind. The young man moaned. “Alex?”

He coughed, “Oui.”

“I will have you out of here soon.” Cohen said a silent thanks the man was still alive.

“Comté Ashton?”

Cohen smiled at the disbelief in Alex’s voice. “Oui.” He looked behind, relieved to see the light from the entrance. A couple more feet and helping hands pulled the men from the tunnel. Cohen sprawled on the ground outside the entrance. Someone handed him a damp handkerchief and a canteen. He wiped the grit from his face and took a long drink to wash the dust from his throat.

“Comté?”

Cohen looked over at Alex who was being lifted onto a stretcher.

Alex stared at him
wide-eyed. “Are you alive or have I died?”

Cohen chuckled and clasped the man’s hand. “As you can feel, I am very much alive.”
He let go of the man’s hand as two men lifted the makeshift stretcher and headed to the physician’s tent.

The professor helped him to his feet. “A debt I owe to you, comté.”

“Do you have anything stronger than brandy to drink at your camp?” Cohen smiled.

The man smiled back. “Oui.”

Cohen clapped him on the back. “Good, share a bottle with me, and we will call it even.”

“Ashton!”

Cohen turned around to see Auggie making his way toward him through the crowd. “Forton, you old devil! I did not know you were in Sicily.”

Auggie clapped Cohen on the back and grinned. “It seems we a
re all after the same treasure, eh?”

Cohen nodded.

“Ye look like hell.” Auggie frowned.

“Your waistline is the only thing that has changed my friend.” Cohen grinned.

“Fudge,” Auggie ran a hand over his protruding belly, “‘Tis all the kick these days. The maids love a man who kin appreciate a fine table.”

“I hope by maids you mean my sister.” He winked.

Auggie sobered. “I came across a hellish sea to speak with ye on that, Ashton.”

Cohen nodded, “Come on, we were just about to go have a drink.”

They had just finished their second glass of rum when Cohen was summoned to the physician’s tent. Auggie followed.

Alex lay on a cot in the corner, his head wrapped in a thick bandage. He waved Cohen
over to his bed. “Comté Ashton, I must speak with you.”

Cohen went to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We can talk later, rest now.”

Alex shook his head. “No, no. I must know what happened, how you are alive.”

Cohen pulled a chair up beside the bed and straddled it, le
aning his arms across the back. “There is not much to tell, I survived the shipwreck, drifted out to sea, and was finally picked up by a merchant ship.”

“We all thought you were dead. Mr. Forton, he took Lady Everton back to your fa
mily in France.”

“I know. Unfortunately by the time I found out Kassie was
alive and came looking for her, she was gone. I searched for her for months, but I could not find any trace of her—”

Alex waved his hand
to interrupt his explanation. “But Comté, I know where Lady Everton is.”

“Where? Where is she?” Cohen stared at him, not believing his good fortune.

“She has gone home to England.” Alex beamed.

Cohen frowned, his joy at finding Kassie flounderin
g under the weight of their new predicament. “Now what am I to do?” He stood and paced back and forth beside the cot. “Napoleon has violated the peace treaty and declared war again on England.” He shook his head. “Why did she not stay in Marseilles? If I sail to England under a French flag, my ship will be blown to pieces, and if I sail under a British Flag, I do not stand a chance of making the English coast line.”

Auggie looked thoughtful. “Perhaps a Scottish vessel can make the journey.”

Cohen shook his head. “England calls Scotland a friend, but you would not make it past Napoleon.” He looked up as Alex cleared his throat.

“Perhaps, Comté Ashton, I may be able to offer a solution.”

Cohen lifted an eyebrow. “What say you?”

“Perhaps the solution is simpler than you think.” Alex gri
nned, and then flinched. He put his hand to his head. With a sheepish smile he continued, “What say we sail through Napoleon’s army flying our French flag then hoist the British flag when within sight of England?”

Cohen sat down, leaned his arms across the back of the chair, resting his chin on his hand.
He pondered the idea.
Can I fool the British Army into thinking I am still a citizen of
England? It just might work … except for one thing.
He looked at Alex. “There is only one problem, how do I explain a French speaking crew?”

“It is simple, Comté, we teach the crew English.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Mathew Lamb! Quit throwing rocks at Mary or I will
fetch a willow switch!” Kassie stamped her foot to emphasize her threat.

Her little brother glanced over his shoulder at her, stuck out
his tongue, and let fly another volley of gravel. His intended target, the baker’s daughter, shrieked and ran for cover behind the water trough.

Kassie shook her fist. “I mean it, Mathew!”

Her brother scowled. “Make ‘er go home then. I don’t need no chuckle-headed girl pesterin’ me.”

She groaned and tried another tactic. “If you do not stop, I w
ill tell mama and she will make you recite bible verses all day.”

William dropped his handful of stones and walked towa
rd her, scuffing his worn boots through the dirt and bright fall leaves. He scowled at her with a ten-year-old’s pouty defiance.

“Why not go with Mama to the Smith’s? She could use s
ome help carrying the basket of preserves.”

William shrugged and headed off around the back of the church to their cozy living quarters.

Kassie shook her head and turned to re-enter the church. A gig bounced down the road toward her. She held up her hand, shading her eyes from the sun to see who it was, and then groaned again when she recognized Penelope Stanhope’s conveyance. Her hope of retreating into her former life was fraught with the barbed tongue of the vexatious young woman.With a sigh she headed for the church. She had notes to make for her father’s sermon the next day. Her feet had touched the first step when the gig drew up at the hitching rail.

“Oh, yoo-hoo, Lady Everton.”

Kassie flinched but forced a smile to her lips as she turned around. “Good day, Miss Stanhope.”

The groom helped the flamboyant woman down from t
he coach, and then stood at the horse’s head. Penelope picked her way across to the steps as if afraid to get a spot of dirt on her pretty pink slippers that matched the sash on her white muslin gown and bonnet. “I so hoped to catch you at home.”

Kassie tried not
to cringe at the woman’s phony sweet demeanor. “Yes, well, where else would I be?”

Penelope giggled and carried on as if Kassie had not asked s
uch a sarcastic question. “Mama says I should host a soirée to celebrate my betrothal to Squire Cumberland.”

“What does your
soirée have to do with me?” Kassie glanced at the maid seated in the gig. The girl twirled a lock of straw yellow hair around her finger with an air of extreme boredom as she waited for her mistress.

“Well, mama says it would be a soc
ial faux pas not to invite you to my affair. After all, you
are
a countess, albeit an impoverished one.”

There, barb number one.
Kassie rolled her eyes at the maid who cracked the smallest smile in response. How many more veiled insults would she have to endure before Penelope went on her merry way? She turned back to Penelope and forced a tight smile to her lips. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I am afraid I must decline. Papa has not been well and he relies on me to help him these days.”

Penelope returned her
smile with one of her own, but it did nothing to cover the ice in her gaze. “Really? I would have thought you would be spending most of your time praying these days.”

Barb number two.
Kassie crossed her arms, the smile slipping from her lips. “Why is that?”

Penelope blushed and tossed her perfect chestnut curl
s, her eyes widening in pretend surprise. “Why surely you have heard the rumors going around. It is just scandalous.
I
, of course, do not listen to rumors or gossip.”

“Of course not, Penelope.”
Barb number three.
Kassie bit her tongue to keep from saying what she really thought of the rumors she ran away with a traitor to the English crown, and was later cast aside by said man after the earl left her penniless.

“Anyway,” the girl continued, “I thought it would be es
pecially nice of me to come and deliver the invitation to you personally.” She held out a delicate scented envelope.

Kassie fought back the urge to tell Penelope how nice she t
hought the gesture was and took the envelope. “It was sweet of you to think of me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.” Turning on her heel she shoved the invitation into her skirt pocket, and hurried up the steps.

She walked up the aisle between the pews, the same one
she walked down the day of her marriage to the earl.
That day seems so far away. My whole life has changed.
Her thoughts wandered to Lucca.
How old would he be now if he were alive? Eight months? Would he be
crawling, talking, or sitting up?
She shook her head. There was no sense in thinking about what might have been. As she walked by the pulpit, she slowed, running her hand with loving care loving across its worn top.
Papa
will not deliver many more sermons from his mountaintop view of his flock.
Everyday saw him weaker and more tired than the day before. A single tear trickled down her cheek. There was no money to look after her family when he was gone. The earl’s promise was as hollow as his heart.

Heavy-
hearted she continued on to the little room behind the chapel. The desk and chair sat where they had been since she could remember, right next to the little window so the light would illuminate the ledgers. Once again, she pondered her future. It was the same, yet different than last time. Beth no longer shared her bed, gone and married to a young minister from Dover. She was always the pious one, kind and loving to a fault. God favored the good and punished the wanton, like her. Like the last time she wondered what her future held, she was alone.

Flipping open the ledger on the desk, she sat. She had yea
rs to make up for her sins. Her eyes wandered down the columns, adding up the tithes for the month. An hour later the books were tallied and in order. There was naught left to do but go over Papa’s notes for the morrow’s sermon.

“Kassandra?”

She paused and looked to the door where her mamma stood. “Yes, Mama?” Instinct told her something was wrong.

Her mother crossed the room and grasped her hand. Her fi
ngers trembled, tears trickling down her face. “It is time,” she said in a soft strangled voice. “Your Papa is asking for you.”

Sorrow filled Kassie’s heart. She had hoped for more time with her dear Papa. On u
nsteady legs she rose and followed her mother. The others were there, the ones who still remained at home, her three younger brothers and two younger sisters. They watched her wide-eyed and solemn as she followed their mother to the bedchamber.

Her father lay still against the pillows. His eyes were closed, h
is face slack and soft, like he was at peace with life and death. As she approached the bedside, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. “My Kass,” he whispered, his voice a mere shell of its usual bluster when he gave the words of wisdom from the Bible every Sunday.

“Papa.” Her voice broke.
Tears filled her eyes, and she struggled to keep them in check.

He squeezed her hand in h
is frail one with a grip still commanding strength. “Do not cry for me, Kass, for I am ready to go and meet our Lord. He holds a special place for me in his lofty kingdom.”

She nodded, not sure what to say and afraid if she did talk she would break down.

“You have been a good and dutiful daughter. I failed you, and for that I am sorry.”

“Nay, Papa. It is I who failed you.”

“No, I delivered you into evil as a sacrifice for the rest, and I shall have to answer to God. Tell me you forgive me before I die.”

Sobs rent her body and she nodded, unable to speak.

Her Papa closed his eyes, gave one last sigh, and then slipped away into the forever after of passing.

* * * *

Kassie went through the days with quiet conviction. She ate when she had to, slept when her mind and body were too tired to do anything else, and mourned at her Papa’s graveside like the rest of her family and friends. When word came of her father’s replacement, she closed herself in the little study behind the chapel and cried.

Her mother found her there. “Kassie, do not cry so for thi
s old house. It is only a place where one bids their time until the Lord calls them home.” She wrapped her arms around her, holding her close.

“I will miss the
little things that remind me of Papa and quiet solitude of this place. Where will we go? What will we do?” Kassie sniffled.

“The new clergyman will not be here for a few more sunsets. When he comes, we will go to
the little cottage that was given to us in Dover.”

“What cottage?”

Her mother smiled and patted her shoulder. “A man named Bernard came a few months ago. He said he owed you something for the suffering he caused. He would not tell me what or why, but he gave me the deed to the cottage and a large enough piece of land to grow what we need to survive.”

Kassie shook her head in wonder. It seemed the earl’s pr
omise was fulfilled despite his intentions and because of his death.