The Mark of the Golden Dragon (25 page)

At last we are ready and head out onto the pier. Higgins, impeccably dressed as always, of course, in gray suit and cloak, climbs into a hackney cab to go to meet again with Mr. Peel, my old controller at Naval Intelligence, to see how things lie in that direction, while Joannie Nichols bounds across Upper Thames Street toward Paternoster and the den of the Shankies, of which gang she is now a full-fledged member. "
Me a Shanky! Can you believe it?
" she exclaims. Her mission: to use the underworld gang network to find out where the frightened fox Lieutenant Harry Flashby has gone to ground, giving, as I see it, the brave and noble foxes a bad name.

Liam, Tink, and I get into a coach-and-four and clatter over Blackfriars Bridge and on to the moorlands south of London.

Coming off the bridge we make our way down Blackfriars Road to London Road, thence onto the Kent Road and then New Cross Road and on and on. The city has been steadily thinning out, turning into pastureland and meadow, with some sections of woods.

As we clatter along, I think grumpily how much I would prefer a good horse under me, rather than this stuffy, rattling, jarring coach, but the plan must be served. I amuse myself in teasing Tink about Concepcion Mendoza, the Havana innkeeper's daughter he had met on our treasure hunting voyage last year. It seems the
Nancy B.
had made other trips to Cuba on the rum-molasses-granite trade, after my departure, and Tink had revisited her each time.

"Huh!" I say, all contemptuous. "If I'd been along, you'd be married to Ric's daughter by now, and happy as any clam, with your head now resting on Concepcion's ample bosom, her belly big with child."

"Aye, now wouldn't that be sweet, instead of bein' shaken half to death on a cold, drafty day on the moors of England, chasing a phantom?"

"Well, when we get Jaimy back and safe, I'll do what I can to make it happen, and I
do
have my ways."

If we get Jaimy back...

Then I turn to Liam and start reminiscing with him about when the
Lorelei Lee
had met up with the
Nancy B. Alsop
in Rangoon, and his reunion with his daughter, my very good friend Mairead Delaney McConnaughey...

"
Yeah, so I stuck my finger in the young rascal's face and said, Tan McConnaughey, you low-livin poltroon, ye got me daughter in a pack o' trouble, and I blame ye for it. So now ye'd better be takin her over to America where she'll be safe, and if I ever have to come after the pair o' ye again, it's her I'll be savin' and you I'll be drowndin'! Do ye take my meaning?
'"

Apparently, Ian took his meaning and debarked on the
Lee
with his wife, bound for America ... or Amer-i-kay, as the Irish would have it.

"Do not worry about her, Father, as she and I have many friends there and she will be well cared for," I reassure him, my hand on his arm. "And Ian is a very good man."

Liam Delaney responds with a grunt. "Good man? Right. I have to chase halfway around the world, through heathen seas, to get her back ... You, too."

We turn, finally, onto Blackheath Road, and the landscape changes. We are definitely in the moors. The earth itself is black, and the few and solitary trees are stark against the gray sky.

"It was my fault, Father," I say, snuggling into his side, looking out into the bleak surroundings and taking comfort from his solid presence. "Not Ian's."

"Aye," he responds with a short laugh. "But we forgive the lasses, don't we? But not the lads who should know better and take better care of their girls ... and in this case,
my
girls."

"Ah, Liam, there's more o' it than that ... and, oh! There's an inn up ahead! Let us stop and see what we can learn."

"Driver! Stop!"

We do, indeed, pull to a stop and get out. We go in, take welcome refreshment, and learn nothing. We press on.

The landscape grows darker and ever more gloomy. It starts to rain, a dismal, relentless downpour. We pass a pair of gateposts whereon is inscribed the name "Bask ... Basker ... ville..." or something. Whether it is a town name or the title of an estate, I do not know, but it is all very much lacking in cheer. From far off across the moor, a hound howls, low and mournful.
Ahooooooo ... Ahoooooo...
I give a shiver and snug down even further twixt my friends. The road is now a glistening ribbon of highway in the gloom.

"There! There's another one!" I say, leaning out and pointing at the inn's sign swaying in the wind. "And it is the Blackthorne! The one we heard about!" The old inn looms out of the mist, its timbers black against the white of the upper structure. In the past, Higgins has informed me that this style is called Tudor, after old King Henry and his bunch. This particular structure looks like it might just have been built back in Henry the Eighth's time. It certainly seems intent on settling back into the black earth.

We pull up and the coachman sees to the panting horses as we enter the place. Through the smoke that hangs heavy in the air of the main room, we see that there are many low types seated about long tables, and me and my lads head for an empty one and plunk ourselves down to wait for service. While we wait, I burrow into Tink's side, giggling as if I'm a common tart with a good mark in my sights.

Tink plays along, while Liam pounds the table and roars out, "Bring us strong ale and be quick about it! And something to eat, too, by gawd!"

A girl appears. She is quite beautiful, as I was certain she would be. Dark ringlets frame the flawless skin of her face. She is dressed in serving gear with a loose linen white top, brown vest gathered about her lower ribs, and a full black skirt flowing from her trim waist to the tops of her tiny feet. She bears three tankards of foaming ale along with a basket of bread and cheese.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen ... and lady," she says, cocking a knowing eye at me. "Welcome to the Blackthorne."

"Thankee, Miss," I say, picking up one of the mugs and throwing back a healthy slug. "And what might your name be then, dearie?"

"Then and now, it's just Bess," she says saucily, then turns away.

Ha! The landlord's daughter!

We fall to the ale and food, and when the lads have downed their glasses, I pop into Tink's lap and wriggle around a little bit and begin giggling and nuzzling his neck with my nose.

"I know you're just play-actin', Jacky," says Tink, reddening and beginning to breathe a bit hard. "But you're still a girl, and—"

I laugh and give him a peck on the cheek. "Hey, any old port in a storm, John Tinker. Ain't that what all you randy sailors say?"

"Ummm..."

I catch the eye of the observant Bess, who is missing none of this.

"'Ere, Miss, let's 'ave us another round of pints." In a moment she is over with a pitcher of ale and I toss a purse on the table, letting a good quantity of coins spill out. The girl takes thruppence for the fare so far. "Ah, that's good of ye, it 'tis ... and 'ere's a shiny copper fer you," I say, pushing the coin toward her. "Now, you be tellin' us what ye know about this 'ere 'ighwayman. We hears yer right tight wi' 'im. Coo, right romantic and all, 'im being so dashin' and brave and all. I'm so bloody envious, I can't tell ye."

"I don't know what you mean, Miss." The girl sniffs, refilling our tankards from her pitcher. I note the red ribbon twined in her hair. It is a love knot, and I've got a feeling I know who it's for. He may be a lunatic, but he sure didn't waste any time. "Will that be all? Good." She turns and walks away, her hips swaying.

Nay, that won't be all, bitch, you will tell me...

Liam sees me redden, about to pounce on the girl, and presses his hand on my arm, holding me down.

"Easy, Jacky," he says. "You will gain nothing by threatening the girl."

"But she's seen Jaimy, I just know it!" I hiss, steaming. I note that the girl has gone through a door, probably back to the kitchen. I rise and follow.

The girl stands in a hallway, surprised to see me there.

"Sorry, Miss, but the privy's out back, around—"

"Here," I say, going up to her and pushing two guineas into her palm. "This is for you. I don't expect you to tell me where he is, but just do this for me, will you? Tell him you have seen Jacky Faber, and that this Jacky is not dead. Will you do that?"

A knowing look comes over her face and she gazes at me with those black eyes and says, "Seems you've lost your cute little accent, haven't you,
dearie
?" She reaches over and pulls out the top of my bodice and drops the coins in. "Here. Save your money 'cause I got nothin' to tell you."

Defeated, I slump back against the wall. This girl ain't gonna tell him anything. I know that now. But I also know for sure that she has seen him. Otherwise she would have taken the money and laughed at my foolishness.

"Will you answer me this, then?" I ask, dropping all pretense. "He was wounded. Is he all right? Please tell me." My eyes mist up, and my lower lip trembles.

I believe she sees the genuine concern on my face, and hers softens and she answers, "It is said hereabouts that the Black Highwayman will soon be back on the heath."

I let out a heartfelt sigh. At least that is good news. I decide to press my luck:

"Could ... could you at least
say
the name Jacky Faber to him? He ... Jacky ... is a mutual friend ... It could do no harm."

The girl gives me a deep look, then shrugs and turns to wait on customers.

I know she won't ... But I'm sure that she has heard the name Jacky recently ... perhaps muttered in someone's sleep. I don't like to think it, but I believe it is true.

"Shall we push on further, Miss?" asks Liam when I return to the table.

"Nay, we shall go back to the ship. We have met the one we came to see, and further exploration will avail us nothing. She will not tell us anything, nor will she tell Jaimy, but we must not spook her. We must pursue this in other ways."

We settle up and head out, me giving the girl Bess one last look. As I climb back into the coach and we start off, I think I hear a rattle of hooves at the back of the inn.

Could it be that Bess, the landlord's daughter, is back warmly receiving whoever has just arrived at the old inn door?

Damn...

It is the next day and we are gathered back on the
Nancy B.
to discuss our plans.

"'Tis plain the girl will tell us nothing, nor will she convey any message from me to him. In his current state of mind, he probably wouldn't believe it, anyway," I announce, having just told all gathered about of our visit to the Blackthorne Inn. It is breakfast, and Ravi is pouring coffee all around. Let us get on with it.

Late last night Joannie had come in while I was still up finishing a letter to Ezra Pickering concerning matters of international shipping. I had also acquainted him with the Jaimy Fletcher situation and my guess as to the current state of Jaimy's mind and the causes thereof. I asked Ezra if he would make discreet inquiries into finding a suitable home for Jaimy to begin recuperation should we succeed in getting him shipped safely back to the States. I was in my nightshirt and sealing the letter when she came in, chock-full of herself and bursting with news.

I listened with great interest to her report as she changed into her own nightshirt, washed up, and crawled into bed, heaving great dramatic sighs. I smiled in recognition of a fellow theatrical type, then blew out the lamp and climb in beside her.

Yes, as the only two females aboard, and both unattached to any male at the moment, we have been sharing my bed at night. Anyone who knows me at all recalls that I don't like sleeping alone. It's because of the screaming nightmares I am liable to have when curled up in the dark. The presence of another warm and breathing body beside me always seems to soothe those fears.

Plus, I do have to keep an eye on her...

"That was very good work, Joannie, and I am proud of you," I murmur. "Now, get over here and keep my back from the cold." It is, after all, still early spring and it gets damp and chilly out here on the Thames. I know the lads have the potbellied stove lit down in the galley, and they hang their hammocks about it for warmth. If it gets much colder in here, we'll be joining them down there. But for now, this is fine.

She flips over and I feel her small form hugged against me. Yes, this is just fine ... but I need to say some things...

"Joannie," I say. "You know that you are now old enough to get in trouble of a different sort, if you catch my meaning...?"

"Aye." She snorts. "And don't worry, Jacky, I've got me head on me shoulders and ain't likely to fall into any of that, not 'ere anyway, and 'specially not wi' any of them Shankies—'cept maybe Toby, but he's already got a girl, and, of course, I got me a boy back in Boston, named Daniel."

"Well, that's good, Sister," I answer, noting that she, too, falls into the old way of speakin' when she's once again back on her home turf.

She stifles giggles, then says, "You do know, Jacky, don't you, that my good pal Rebecca Adams takes great delight in retelling the speech you gave to the Lawson Peabody girls back on the
Bloodhound,
'The Nature of Things Twixt a Man With a Maid or ... Things Your Own Mothers Should Have Told You But Plainly Did Not'?"