Trapped by Scandal (31 page)

“I'll change my own clothes now. I daresay I can turn myself into a sailor every bit as convincing as you, my friend.” Marcus slipped out, conscious once again of the thrill of the chase. The stakes were as high as any they had encountered in France, but that knowledge merely sharpened his senses and quickened his wit.

William remained in the reeking dark for a few minutes, then sauntered out himself, whistling.

Marguerite awoke with a cry, and Hero, who had been only half asleep, sat up instantly, cradling the child against her. “My head,” Marguerite sobbed. “It hurts . . . I'm thirsty.”

“It's that filthy laudanum,” Hero said furiously to the seemingly indifferent Gilles, who was picking at his fingernails with the tip of his knife. “She needs water, and there's none left in the jug. If you won't send for some, then you must go down yourself and fetch it.”

“Can't leave you,” Gilles declared, barely looking up from his knife.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Hero snapped. “How in the world do you think I'm going to escape from a locked room on the third floor with a sick child? She's thirsty because the laudanum has made her sick. If she doesn't get water at once, I won't answer for the consequences.”

Gilles stood up and came over to the bed. He looked down at the child, lying inert against Hero's breast. Marguerite was waxen, her hair limp, a blue tinge to her lips. Tears seeped from beneath her closed lids, but she seemed too weak now even to cry out. He debated with himself for a moment, before turning on his heel and heading for the door. He unlocked it, let himself out, and then locked it behind him.

Hero listened to the sound of his retreating steps on the stairs and gently laid Marguerite on the bed again. “Stay still, sweetheart. It'll be over soon.” She couldn't tell whether her words had penetrated the child's stupor but went swiftly to the window. The quayside lay immediately below, fishing boats moored along the pier. The sun was almost disappearing below the horizon, and the lighthouse at the end of the jetty that guarded the harbor entrance
winked slowly. There was a lot of activity along the pier and the quay as boats were prepared for the evening tide. Hero leaned as far out of the window as she dared, her eyes searching the busy scene.

Suddenly, her gaze focused. A fisherman was walking along the jetty, stopping at the various boats. He looked just like every other man on the boats, in a thick woolen jerkin, leather britches, and high waterproof boots. At one boat, it looked as if his conversation was more productive than at others, because he stood for a few minutes, leaning against a bollard, talking animatedly to a sailor who had just come up on deck. A lock of hair fell across the fisherman's forehead as he talked, and he brushed it aside in a gesture so familiar that Hero thought her heart had actually stopped for a second.

He was here. Relief filled her, but then reality intervened. William was on the dock, but she and Marguerite were marooned in a third-floor chamber. She wondered if she could attract his attention, but he was halfway along the pier, too far to hear her voice, however loud she shouted.

Where was the Lizard? She searched the crowds again and made him out at last. Just beyond where William was standing, still in conversation with the sailor, two men appeared on the gangplank of a fishing boat, rather more substantial than many, with a roofed cabin. One of them was the Lizard. As she watched, she saw him hand something to the other man before turning to leave.

Hero heard steps beyond the chamber and flew back to the bed, bending anxiously over Marguerite as the key turned in the lock and Gilles came back with a jug of
water and a cup. He cast her a suspicious glance, but she didn't seem to have stirred from her place with the child. He set the jug and the cup on the washstand. “There.” Then he returned to his chair in the window.

Hero filled the cup and took some herself, aware that she was both hungry and thirsty; it seemed an eternity since Jeanne had cooked breakfast for them all that morning. She brought the cup to Marguerite, holding her up against her as she pressed the cup to her bloodless lips.

“Take a little, sweetheart, it'll help you feel better.”

Marguerite drank thirstily and seemed to perk up a little. When the cup was empty, she gave a little sigh and slumped against Hero again, her eyes closing. Hero felt a moment of despair. If an opportunity arose for them to break away, Marguerite would be unable to do anything for herself. She could barely sit up unaided, let alone run.

But William was here, she told herself. And he would not be alone. He would have a plan. All she could do for the moment was to be alert and ready to move the instant she saw an opportunity or William gave her a signal.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Gilles rose instantly, the key in his hand, to let in the Lizard.

William waited until Dubois reached the end of the pier before saying to the skipper of the
Mary Jane
, “Perhaps you'll take me on next crossing, then, sir?”

“Aye, I'll look out for you. Sorry you left it a bit late today. Best time to get hired on is first thing, when we come in on the morning tide.”

“I'll remember. Thanks for your time, sir.” He touched his cap before turning away and sauntering over to the craft Dubois had just left. The man who had accompanied the Lizard down the gangplank was back on deck now, checking his lines. “Don't suppose you need an extra hand tonight, sir?” William called up, even as his eyes ran knowingly over the boat, noticing its shabby paintwork and rusted ironwork.

The man peered down at him. “No, I've a full crew tonight. Left it a bit late to sign on, haven't you?”

“Just got to Dover, sir.” William looked along the deck. “Could do with a fresh coat of paint . . . happy to do it when you get back, sir. I can turn my hand to most things.”

“We haul stinking fish for the most part, not much point in fresh paint for that,” the other man said, taking a pipe from his pocket and tamping down tobacco in the bowl.

“You never take passengers, then?” William leaned carelessly against a bollard, one foot resting on the gangplank.

The other man shrugged. “Depends . . . Oddly enough, I've got three of 'em for tonight's crossing to Calais.” He took out a small round tinderbox from his britches pocket and after a few tries lit a brimstone match for his pipe. Blue smoke curled into the dusk. “We leave on the tide.” He glanced over his shoulder to the lighthouse and the break in the harbor wall. “About eight.”

William nodded. “I'll be off, then. Looks like my luck's out for today.” He pushed himself off the bollard and wandered away down the pier, keeping in the moving shadows of the tethered boats.

THIRTY

D
ubois closed the chamber door behind him and

regarded the woman and child on the bed. “They give you any trouble?” he asked Gilles.

Gilles shook his head. “Child needed water.”

“She's very weak,” Hero said.

“Gilles, you'll carry her. We need to get going.” Dubois went to the window, looking out on the darkening harbor. Lamps were appearing along the quay, and sailors were trimming the lanterns fore and aft the craft bobbing against the pier.

Where was Ducasse? His instructions had said to meet Dubois at the Black Gull before the tide, but he was not downstairs, and the landlord had said he'd seen no one apart from the customers in the taproom. Dubois scrutinized the boats, the men, the ambling sailors on the quay. He would be here somewhere. He
had
to be. Everard knew his enemy well after six years of their cat-and-mouse game, and he knew that Ducasse would not sacrifice the child, even if he was prepared to let the woman go. The man had a most inconvenient streak of self-sacrificial morality.

The Lizard smiled to himself. Ducasse would want a
fight, of course, but this was not one he was going to get. He would have to give himself up in the end.

Hero stood back as Gilles lifted Marguerite from the bed. At some point, she had to get the little girl onto her own feet, some point between the inn and the boat at the end of the pier where she had seen the Lizard earlier.

Dubois took her arm, propelling her in front of him. “Walk steadily, look straight ahead, and don't make a sound.” The sharp prick of a knife at her back reinforced the instructions.

It seemed she had no choice but to obey. Maybe when they were downstairs, surrounded by other people, an opportunity would reveal itself. They reached the hall at the bottom of the stairs, and the noise from the crowded taproom gusted on clouds of tobacco smoke and the acrid fumes from the sea coal fire. Hero stole a quick glance into the taproom as she walked past, but the sharp prick of the knife drove her forward, out into the crisp evening air of the quay.

A trio of sailors sprawled on the ale bench alongside the door, calling the odds on the dice they were throwing, smoke rising from their corncob pipes. They barely glanced at the little group that emerged from the inn. But Hero felt her skin tingle. If she had not grown familiar with Marcus in the guise of a sansculottes, she would never have noticed anything about the man in the middle of the three. But something jumped out at her. The knot in the kerchief at his throat, perhaps? The off-kilter set of his cap? She didn't dare pause for a second look, but the conviction grew that the man she normally saw dressed
in the attire of an English gentleman-about-town was sitting outside the Black Gull throwing dice with a pair of seamen.

Marcus was here. William was here. It was up to her now to create the opportunity for them to do their work.

As they reached the pier, she stopped, ignoring the knife, and said quietly, “Let Marguerite walk now. She needs to try to walk off the effects of the laudanum. William will need to see that she's alive and well before he gives himself up to you.”

Dubois decided that he disliked this managing woman even more than he had so far acknowledged. But she was right, and that made it even more unpalatable. However, he would have his revenge, he reflected savagely. He would keep her for himself after all. And later, when he had Ducasse where he wanted him, he would enjoy a little play with Lady Hero. And her lover would hear and see every minute of it.

He indicated to Gilles that he should set the child on her feet, and Hero turned to steady her as she swayed. “You need to walk, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Hold my hand, I won't let you fall.”

Marguerite held her hand in a fierce grip and tried to lift her head. The freshening wind was reviving her a little, and she took a step forward.

“That's my girl,” Hero encouraged. “Just to the end of the pier.” Where was William? She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there somewhere. And Marcus was somewhere behind them. She slipped an arm around Marguerite's shoulders and encouraged her onwards.

“Stop here.” They had reached the boat tied almost at the end of the pier. It was the only craft left now; the others were already tacking towards the harbor mouth on the evening tide, and the only light came from the boat's lanterns, fore and aft. Deep shadows lay across the pier and the dark water beneath. The gangplank creaked and swayed as a burly man stepped onto it from the deck and peered down at them. Hero's eyes, fixed on the unsteady gangplank, saw something at the top.

“You for the
Maiden Witch
?”

“Four of us,” Dubois called back.

“'Bout time. We've been waiting for you. Captain said there was only three.”

“And now there's four.” Dubois sounded impatient.

“That'll cost extra.”

“Yes, I expect it to,” he responded. He looked behind him. Ducasse should have shown himself by now. He couldn't get on the boat until he had Ducasse. And as he hesitated, his quarry stepped out of the shadows across the pier.

“Good evening, Everard.” William stood, legs braced, his hand on a wickedly curved fish-gutting knife in his rough leather belt. He had removed his heavy waterproof boots. “You have something for me, I believe.”

“Uncle Guillaume!” Marguerite at last found her voice. In that instant, Hero seized the child and spun her backwards away from her, praying that William would catch her. She leapt for the gangway and in three strides had reached the top. She shut out what might be happening behind her and launched herself at the line that held
the gangplank to a post on the deck rail. The line was frayed, and the loop was only partially over the top of the post. She scrabbled frantically for a second and yanked it free. The gangplank dipped beneath her, tilting violently, and she hurled herself to the other side just as the sailor grabbed her.

“Hold her fast!” Dubois yelled from the pier, attempting to put one foot on the now crazily swinging plank.

Hero jerked backwards, half turned in the startled sailor's hold, and drove her knee upwards. The air seemed to go out of him, and he bent double, his grip slackening. She put her head down and leapt for the pier as the gangplank tilted sharply, its single line stretched to the limit. Her feet touched solid ground at the same moment Dubois reached for her. She drove her head into his belly, and he fell back, giving her enough space to step aside, breathless, terrified, and yet exhilarated.

Marcus held Marguerite tight against him. He had caught her as William had imitated Hero's movement and spun the child behind him to where he knew Marcus was lurking farther down along the pier. William now faced Gilles, while Dubois still struggled to catch his breath.

Hero slipped behind Dubois into the gloom. She had no fight left in her and knew her part was now over. She took Marguerite from Marcus, who yielded her without a word, and drew the child back into the shadows, hiding her face against her skirts.

Gilles swung around as he heard Marcus behind him. His knife flashed, but Marcus was ready for him, ducking neatly as he drove his sword deep under the other man's
armpit. Gilles crumpled to the pier, and Marcus turned to assist William, but William made a quick imperative gesture that kept his friend where he was.

The Lizard belonged to Ducasse.

Dubois had straightened from his crouch and caught his breath. He drew his sword. “So, it has come to this at last, my friend.”

“Indeed,” William returned. He held the ugly gutting knife in his hand. “But I would not sully my sword on you, Dubois. A man who would threaten women and children is not worth good steel.”

Dubois flushed with anger, but he said nothing, taking a dancing step forward, his sword point glinting in the lamplight from the fishing boat. They now had an audience, but neither man noticed it, and the crew aboard the
Maiden Witch
was only interested in the outcome. A fight was always good entertainment, and the rights and wrongs of the issues meant nothing to them.

William feinted, moved sideways, light on his stockinged feet, but he had no wish to prolong the duel. It would have an ugly end, and the sooner he brought that about, the better. Dubois's rapier was an elegant weapon, and he was wielding it with all the skill of an experienced swordsman. William had the weapon of a street fighter, and he knew how to use it. He dodged a thrust from the rapier and came in close, the vicious curved blade slashing in and up, as if he were gutting a hog.

Hero clamped Marguerite's face to her skirts even as she stared, spellbound and horror-struck, at the bloody end of it all. It was fitting that it should end in blood as
it had begun, she thought, her mind filled with the vivid memories of Paris and the dreadful scenes of carnage. But it was over now. The Lizard, bent double, clutching at the hideous wound in his belly, had finally done his worst.

“Hero, take Marguerite to the inn.” William spoke softly over his shoulder. The fishing boat had pulled up anchor and was now moving rapidly away from the scene, its crew anxious to be far away from the aftermath. He bent to the body at his feet, and as Hero hurried Marguerite down the darkening pier to the lights of the quay, she heard the plash of something hitting the water. It was followed almost immediately by a second one.

Marcus straightened as the body of Gilles entered the water. “Best get rid of that knife,” he said, indicating the bloody gutting knife William still held.

William dropped the knife into the water and wiped his hands on his britches, his expression grim as he looked along the deserted, shadowy pier. It seemed that the silent, ugly battle at the end of the pier had drawn no attention from the quay. But then, a sailors' brawl was hardly an unusual occurrence in Dover harbor, he reflected. And it had been over very quickly.

“We need to get away from here at once,” he observed. “If the tide doesn't take the bodies out beyond the harbor wall, they'll be found in the morning.” He turned and looked back to the quay. Light spilled from the open door and windows of the Black Gull.

“But first,” he said slowly, “I have some serious fences to mend . . . if they can be mended,” he added, so softly Marcus barely heard him. “See what you can do about finding us transport back to London.” He walked away towards the lights of the inn. Marcus watched him for a moment, a half smile playing over his lips, then he followed to do his own errand.

Hero was sitting on the ale bench outside the Black Gull, Marguerite in her lap, rocking her gently. The child was asleep again, and Hero, her own eyes closed, was grateful. The events of the last day had been terrifying for the little girl, but Hero hoped that sleep might help to obscure some of the worst memories. She was sure Marguerite had seen nothing of the hideous battle between her father and the Lizard, and she hoped that those few minutes at the end of the pier would merely fade into the backdrop of the day's events, all of them frightening. She would recover, with the right care.

She heard William's footsteps just as she felt his shadow fall over her where she sat in the light from the open window behind her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Will she be all right?” he asked quietly.

“I hope so. It depends on how you explain what's happened,” Hero responded, her voice dull. “I'm sure Jeanne will know what to do.”

His heart ached as he looked at her, seeing again the sadness and disappointment in her eyes. She had given him so much, she had saved his child, his own life, just with her core of courage and honesty that in his heart he had always responded to, even as he tried to diminish it when it led her to follow a path that for his own selfish reasons didn't suit him. And fear filled him that it was too late now to put things right.

“I need you,” he stated. “I need you, Hero, my love. I need you to forgive me for all the hurt I've done you. But I don't know if you can.” He looked suddenly helpless, his golden eyes so deeply shadowed with sorrow they seemed to have lost all the fire and glow she loved so much. “Do you think that one day you could?”

Hero felt herself opening, unfurling to the glorious possibility that they were not lost to each other. “I love you,” she said simply. “I can't seem to remember a time anymore when I didn't love you.”

“But can you forgive me? I know how deeply I've hurt you, and I thought my reasons were good, were to protect you from me and from yourself. But I know better now.” He still stood above her, the intensity of his expression almost painful. “I love you more than I have ever loved.”

She smiled and shook her head. “There is no competition, William. Love is what it is. If you love me now, here and now, then that's all I need.” The child in her arms stirred, and she shifted her into a more comfortable position.

William bent and took Marguerite from her, cradling her against him. She opened her eyes, “Uncle Guillaume?” He stroked her cheek, and her eyes closed again.