The Cracksman's Kiss (21 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

Cohen cocked his knee and dropped his arm across his eyes as he lay back o
n the musty mattress. The clock tower clanged outside the tiny square window at the top of the wall.

He counted the strikes.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight. A guard should be making his rounds with the dinner trays soon. Not that the gruel is edible, but at least the bread is not too stale.
The little stub of a candle he purchased from the guard for a ridiculous sum of one shilling flickered as an icy breeze slithered into the cell. He sneezed as dust swirled around the tiny room. The air had a crisp, damp feel to it, making him wonder if it was going to rain or perhaps even snow. Did it matter? He would be lucky if he saw the outside of these prison walls by spring, if ever again. It seemed the King did not take lightly English citizens in service to the Emperor, or having a French crew. The King had not heard—or had chosen to forget—he turned over Everton’s stash of stolen goods earlier proving his faithfulness. He wondered how his crew fared.
Were they, too, imprisoned here in Newgate, or had their fate been worse than his?

Shuffling footsteps
and the jangle of keys heralded the approach of the dinner guard. Cohen remained as he was, content to let the man leave his tray and go. A squeal of rusty hinges announced the opening of the door. He waited for the clink of the tray being set down and the door to shut. Instead, footsteps crossed to his bedside. Something poked him in the ribs.

Cohen dropped his arm. “If you think to torture me, get on with it already,” he gro
wled, and then opened his eyes to scowl at his aggressor. The ample form towering over him in silence raised a hand, pushing the hood from his head. Cohen found himself staring into Auggie’s grinning face. He swung his legs over the cot and jumped to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Hush. I’ve come to break ye out of this hellhole.” Auggie tossed a priest’s robe at Cohen.
“Put this on, quickly.”

“The
gaoler will be around soon.” Cohen slipped the robe over his clothes.

Auggie chuckled
. “Nay, he’ll not be coming around for a while with the bump on the noggin’ I gave him.” He winked. “I hope ye do not mind, but I gave yer meal to the man in the next cell.”

Cohen grimaced. “Mind? Hell, I would pay him to eat it.” He snuffed the candle and followed Auggie to the door.

They paused on the threshold, pulling their hoods up over their heads. While Auggie relocked the cell door, Cohen slipped to the rail and looked down to the second story. Not a single guard was in sight. Together they jogged down the passageway to the stairs, and then made their way to the first floor. Except for the sound of dripping water and a few noddy prisoners babbling, all else was quiet.

Auggie led the way along the corridor to the Chapel, ducking inside just as footsteps sounded on the far set of stairs. They pressed themselves against the wall, holding their breaths.

The footsteps hurried past, then down toward the men’s courtyard.

“Come on.” Auggie motioned for Cohen to follow.

Cohen followed him back out into the corridor. “I hope you have a plan.”

“Aye, a dirty one, but it’ll have to do.” Auggie grinned over his shoulder and led the way to the
waste closet at the far end of the cell bank.

They ducked into it and slid
the door shut. The stench was almost overpowering.

Cohen almost gagged
as Auggie pried up the grate with an iron rod. He motioned for Cohen to help and together they lifted the square out of its cradle. Cohen peered down into the feces-filled tunnel and groaned. “This is not how I envisioned my escape.”

“What goes in must come out, so out we go,” Auggie said, grinning from ear to ear. He lowered himself down into the tunnel until he dangled an inch above the flowing excrement and dropped.

Cohen grimaced again as the foul sludge rose to Auggie’s hips, and then eased himself over the rim into the hole. He let go, pinching his nose and plunging into the mire. The cold slime came as a shock as it rose to his waist.

Auggie grinned again and set off down the tunnel following the slow moving flow. Cohen shook his head and followed. If his siblings could see him now; he would be lucky to get the stink off himself before he reached France. Although, he supposed it was better than the alternative of swinging from the hangman’s noose. He strained to see the Scotsman ahead of him in the murky tunnel. “I should have brought the candle.”

“Did ye ever light yer bodily gases with a candle as a boy, Ashton?” Auggie chuckled.

Cohen snorted. “No, why?”

Auggie chortled. “‘Tis better than gun powder, my friend.”

Cohen groaned, catching his meaning. “It appears there is a great many things I do not know about you, Augg
ie.” He shook his head as his friend’s snort of laughter drifted back to him.

They reached the end of the tunnel and found it blocked with a similar grate to the one in the closet. Auggie whistled long and low. A shadow appeared beyond the grate. After a moment a rope was passed through, and Auggie tied it to the bars. He whistled again and they waited. The rope tightened and the iron bars groaned under an unknown force. The rock around the grate began to crumble, and then it jerked free, landing with a splash in the canal beyond.

Alex appeared at the entrance to the gaping hole. “Bon soir, Comté.”

“Bon soir, Alex.”
Cohen shook his hand.

Auggie lead the way out of the tunnel and swam across the polluted water of the canal, Cohen and Alex following. They pulled themselves out on the other side and hurried to the horses one of Auggie’s crewmen held. They mounted and the four of them galloped from the outskirts of London. Once sure they were not being pursued, they slowed their pace to a walk.

Cohen looked over at his friends. “I am forever in your debt, men.”

Auggie grinned. “I will remember that and recall the favor if we get out of England with our heads intact.”

“I hope we are going someplace with a bathing tub.” Cohen grinned, wrinkling his nose at their terrible stench.

“Aye, if ye will settle for an icy stream and a bar of soap.”

“It might take a couple bars to rid me of this terrible smell.” His mount snorted and tossed its head as if in agreement. “See, even my horse is disgusted.” Cohen’s laughter mixed with that of the other men as they rode into the dark.

The sun was clearing the horizon when they turned onto a narrow path and followed it until they came to a small clearing where a bubbling brook flowed. After they dismounted, Auggie tossed Cohen a bar of soap and a towel from his saddle bags. “Yer an awful sight for these two eyes.”

Cohen grinned and looked down at his dry, feces encrusted clothes. “You are one to talk. I hope you thought to bring me some clean clothes.” He looked up as Auggie nodded. They stripped out of their attire and waded into the water. The icy water was a shock to Cohen’s system. “Mother of God, it is cold!” As he scrubbed himself with the soap he looked over at the lone crew member who had not swam in the filth. “You best get a fire going or my manhood with suffer permanent damage,” he jested.

Everyone laughed
, their spirits high with the successful completion of their mission. Moments later, clean but shivering, they dried, dressed, and huddled around a roaring fire.

“We are going to have to find a way to get through or around London to find Kassie.”
Cohen stared into the flames.

“Nay, the lass is not at her father’s parish.”

Cohen jerked his gaze from the flames and stared at Auggie. “Then where is she?”

“I went to the parish. Her father died. Apparently they were given some land outside of Dover. She and the rest of her family left London a few weeks ago.”

“Dover? Well, that makes things easier. It is only another day’s ride from here.” Cohen smiled.

Auggie cleare
d his throat. “Remember Cohen, she thinks ye are dead. It is possible she may have married again.”

Cohen sobered for a moment. He supposed it was possible. His heart ached at the very thought of his Kassie in the arms of another.

“First thing we do is eat then we will be on our way.” Auggie rose, went to his saddle bags and pulled out some dried meat, cheese, and bread. He tossed them to Cohen along with a canteen and sat back down.

* * * *

They pushed their mounts hard, reaching the little seaside town of Dover just as the sun was setting. Cohen looked up as they turned down the orchard lane they were told led to Widow Lamb’s small farm. The sky was clouding over with the promise of snow. He hoped it would hold off a while longer. They would be pushing their luck to gain passage on a ship and make it back to France before the winter storms set in, if they could find a vessel willing to make the treacherous journey between the two countries. Perhaps it would be better to find a ship headed for Spain or Holstein Denmark and make their way across country to Marseilles.

As they approached the tidy little cottage a big, hairy sheep dog launched himself from his spot beside the door and loped toward them barking with fierce protectiveness. Their horses spooked and by the time they got them under control the widow herself stood at the doorway, musket in hand.

She looked back and forth between them with a worried frown. “What business do you have here?”

Cohen dismounted, passing his reins to Alex and held up his hands. “We mean no h
arm. We are simply looking for Kas—Lady Everton.”

She sw
ung the barrel of the gun to point at his chest. “What do you want with my daughter?”

“I am Comté Cohen Ashton.” He smiled when her eyes widened in recognition of his name.

Her look hardened. “What kind of devilish trick do you seek to play, sir? The comté died in a shipwreck many months ago.”

He gave her a slight bow. “I assure you, Madame, I am very much alive and well. The tales of my death are a mistake and nothing more.”

She glanced past Cohen at the big Scotsman. “You there, you must be Auggie Forton, for I cannot picture any who fits the description better of the man my daughter claims saved her life.”

Auggie nodded, dismounting and giving her a gallant bow. “Aye, I am, Madame.”

She lowered the gun. “William, come take these horses to water,” she called over her shoulder. A young boy of about eleven hurried from the cottage. He and Alex took the horses and led them around back. Widow Lamb propped the gun against the door jam. “Please, come in while I set a pot of tea brewing.”

Cohen and Auggie followed her into the cottage. They sat on the worn furniture in the cozy parlor. The Widow Lamb returned from the kitchen within moments with a chipped tea service.
They waited in silence as she poured.

When
Cohen could stand it no longer, he asked the question burning in his mind. “Where is Kassie?”

The widow looked up from pouring and set the pot down. She pi
cked up her own cup and sat across from them. “She is not here, your lordship. What do you want with my daughter?”

“I have come to take her back to France, to her son.”

She gasped. “Lucca is alive?”

“Yes.” He paused, uncertain he wanted to know her response to his next question. “Does she remain unmarried?”

“She is in service to the Dowager Salisbury, as a companion to her niece, but I beg of you to leave her be. Her heart has been hurt enough. Let her find what happiness she can, now after all the pain she has been through.”

Cohen reached over and took her aged hand in his. “I have no intention of causing her grief. I must confess, I am a wanted man here in England. I have been charged with consorting with France and desertion of my country, but my intentions are honorable. I heard your husband is dead, Madame,
and I am sorry. The question that should have been asked of him I now ask of you. May I have your permission to marry Kassie?”

A small sad smile graced her lips, a single tear slipping from her eye. “Do you love her, comté?”

He nodded. “I love her and my son with all my heart and swear I shall protect them for the rest of my life, with my very life if need be.” He handed her his wrinkled handkerchief.

She dabbed her eyes a moment before she looked up and smiled. “Then I give you my permission.”

“Thank you.” Cohen raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

The widow looked over at Auggie. “Will you be going back to France with the comté?
”

“Yes, Madame, for I, too, have decided to mend my wandering ways and marry his siste
r if he will give his consent.”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “Then you will have to promise me you will watch over my daughter and her son if anything were to happen to the comté.”

Auggie gave her a solemn look. “I swear to ye, Madame, I will look after them if anything happens, the same promise I made to Cohen the night the ship sank.”