Dark Before the Rising Sun (47 page)

“Harry Seacombe?” Rhea questioned.

“Aye, Bess's late husband. I wrote to you that he had died, didn't I?” Sir Jacob demanded of Dante, then glanced back at Rhea. “Don't reckon it would have mattered at all seeing what you brought home with you, boy. Don't reckon Bess would've had a chance, if that's what she was hoping.”

“Bess Seacombe is Sir Jacob's granddaughter,” Dante explained to Rhea. She understood now how Dante had known so many things about the happenings in Westlea Abbot and Merleigh. Sir Jacob Weare had kept him informed all these years. Rhea wondered how many questions Dante had asked in his letters about his former fiancée. Had he ever entertained the thought of a reconciliation with her?

“How are things between you and Bess?” Dante asked.

Sir Jacob shrugged. “Not much different than they always have been. She never would listen to me. Hardheaded female, if you ask me, and she has gotten what she deserved.”

“She is too much like you, Sir Jacob,” Dante contradicted him. “You have always adored her, and part of her problem was that you spoiled her.”

Sir Jacob stared hard at the younger man. “Aye, perhaps I'm to blame. And maybe she has suffered for her mistakes,” he said. Then, glancing at Rhea's golden hair, which seemed aflame with the sun shining on it, he added, “And I imagine she will be beside herself once she catches sight of your wife.” Sir Jacob spoke wisely, for he knew his Bess.

“She has already met Rhea,” Dante said.

“Oh? Didn't waste any time, eh?” He chuckled. “Hotfooted it over to Merdraco, I'll wager. Had a good excuse on her tongue too, I'll bet.”

“We also met your two great-grandchildren,” Dante told him.

“Oh? Don't get to see them as much as I would wish. May have to change that. The girl, what's her name? Pretty little creature, eh? Looks a lot like Bessie when she was that age. Going to be a real beauty one of these days. I'll have to see that she gets a good dowry. Can't have one of mine going around in rags, and she won't make a good match otherwise. What's the lad like?” Sir Jacob wanted to know, and apparently he was indeed interested in Bess's children as well as Bess, for his next question was, “And how did Bess look? Not ill or anything, is she? Looked a bit haggard last time I saw her,” he said, a remark which would have annoyed Bess no end.

“The girl's name was Anne, and the boy is Charles,” Rhea said, surprising not only Sir Jacob but Dante as well. “Anne is a very lovely girl. The boy seems rather quiet. I don't believe he said a word while he was at the lodge.”

“Knew it! That lad needs a man around to teach him proper. That Bess will spoil him. Run his life, she will, unless that girl gets herself another man who's willing to take the boy under his wing,” Sir Jacob said unhappily, thinking it was a pity that Dante had wed. Privately, he had thought that there might still be a chance for Bess when Dante returned. And Dante certainly would have shaped up young Charles. Aye, 'twas a pity, for Bess needed a man too, and Dante had certainly become one, Sir Jacob decided with a nod of approval. But as he eyed Rhea Claire, he shook his head. Ol' Bessie wouldn't have had a chance at all, no, sir.

“I thought Lady Bess was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen,” Rhea admitted generously, swallowing her resentment of the other woman and the influence she probably had over Dante because of their previous relationship. Even if it had been over for years, Rhea knew the power of a first, all-consuming love. That was the way she felt about Dante, for he had been her first lover. But it must surely be different for Dante because she was not the first woman he ever had loved.

Francis glanced at Rhea, thinking she was too kind for her own good. He hadn't met this Lady Bess, but he hardly thought a former fiancée and the woman she had lost out to usually got along. But then, Rhea was different, and if she decided she liked Bess Seacombe, then nothing bad would be said of the woman in her presence.

“If you like, Dante, we could invite Charles over to play with Conny and Robin. They are of a similar age,” Rhea suggested.

“Who?” Sir Jacob demanded. “Never heard those names before. You got sons, boy?” Sir Jacob asked, his gaze narrowing as he looked at Dante sitting there so calmly, sipping brandy.

“A son. But Robin is Lord Robin Dominick, Rhea's young brother. And Conny is Constantine Magnus Brady—at least I think that is correct.” Dante glanced at Rhea doubtfully.

“Constantine Magnus
Tyrone
Brady,” Rhea corrected him.

“Ah, yes, a name almost longer than he is tall,” Dante said with a grin. “He is my ward, and the former cabin boy aboard the
Sea Dragon
. He was orphaned at a young age and has been aboard my ship since he was about six. I'm beginning to think that we have done Devonshire a disservice by ever allowing those two to put their heads together.”

“Mischievous, eh?” Sir Jacob said with an appreciative chuckle.

“Alastair and Kirby had to rescue them from a pack of village boys yesterday when we were in Merleigh,” Rhea said with a smile of remembrance. Kirby had complained all the way back to Merdraco about the rotten tomato that had splattered his breeches.

Sir Jacob suddenly looked concerned. “Good Lord, you didn't bring them with you, did you?” he demanded.

“No, we left them at the lodge. They wanted to do some exploring, but now that I think of it, I fear we may have made a big mistake. I only hope Kirby can keep them out of trouble,” Dante said.

“I thought I heard you mention the name of that little bandy-legged salty-tongued valet of yours. Been with you all this time, eh? Don't know why you've put up with him all these years. Always was an irritable little man,” Sir Jacob reminisced good-naturedly.

“He's always been by my side. He stood by me when I didn't deserve it, and he's stayed through all the bad times, even when he must have thought he would get blown to pieces. But stay he did. I really don't know what I'd do without Kirby,” Dante admitted.

“Aye, reckon you can't buy loyalty like that,” Sir Jacob agreed, then slapped his knee, surprising Alastair into nearly spilling his brandy. “A son? What's this? Are you a father?” Sir Jacob demanded, glancing between Rhea and Dante. “Ah, why, you sly devil. No wonder you're sitting there so calmly while that handsome gent sits next to your wife,” Sir Jacob pronounced, causing Alastair much discomfort as the captain's pale-eyed stare centered on him for a moment.

“Christopher Dominick Leighton was born in March, at Camareigh, and is the most beautiful son a man could have. But then, his mother is the most beautiful wife a husband could wish for,” Dante said, bringing a rosy blush to Rhea's cheeks.

Sir Jacob laughed deeply. “Oh, you haven't changed at all. Still a sweet talker with the ladies. Not surprised at all that you've got a son, only surprised that you haven't more of them hanging on to your coattails,” he said, laughing heartily at his own quip.

“Only this lady,” Dante corrected him. “And only a son by her,” Dante said, gazing ardently at Rhea.

“A love match!” Sir Jacob exclaimed. “Excellent! Excellent! Does this old heart of mine good,” he said. “So you didn't marry the lass for her dowry. Seeing how much money you've spent on getting back your land, I wouldn't have thought you'd be left with much, Dante,” Sir Jacob asked, his former jocularity disappearing. “'Twill not be easy, my boy. I've been hearing some shocking things about Merdraco. You know if you need any help at all, I'll be more than willing to assist you. Would've helped Bess, but she's too damned proud to ask, much less accept anything I might offer. Don't be the same, boy. I've got plenty of money, and I don't have all that much time left to be spending it,” Sir Jacob offered.

“Thank you, Jacob,” Dante replied, touched. “But you may keep your money, and I hope you have many more years to spend it in. I am quite well off. I had the good fortune to discover a sunken treasure, which, after dividing it with my crew, left me a very wealthy man. I have already let it be known that I shall be hiring men to work at Merdraco.”

“Oh? And how did that go?” Sir Jacob asked suspiciously.

“Better than I thought, Sir Jacob,” Dante told him. “It would seem there are quite a few men around these parts who are willing to put in a day's work. Most of them seem to think working for me might be better than continuing with their…former employer.”

Sir Jacob scratched his chin, eyeing Dante carefully. “Reckon you be speaking of Jack Shelby?” he asked, and at Dante's nod, he continued gravely, “The man's no good, Dante. And he's gotten meaner and madder as the years have passed. He still blames you, boy, for Lettie's death. He won't rest easy once he finds out you've returned to Merdraco. It has me worried, lad, that it does,” he said in a grieved voice. His gaze was troubled when it lingered on Rhea.

“He already knows I have returned. In fact, we have already come face-to-face, and I am afraid that I did not endear myself to him,” Dante admitted. “If it is the last thing I do, I shall make him pay for the destruction he wrought at Merdraco.”

Sir Jacob shook his head and sighed. “He's a powerful man, Dante. You know he's the leader of the Sons of Belial? He's got a gang of cutthroats standing behind him, and it causes me no end of concern to hear you talking about going after him.”

“It is either that or have Shelby strike a blow against me when I am least expecting it. I have no intention of letting him do that,” Dante was saying when the door to the salon opened to admit Oliver with a fresh pot of tea.

At about that time, the old woman started mumbling as she woke from her nap. With a slowness that was painful to watch, she got to her feet. Without even being aware of the group sitting just beyond her, she started to make her shuffling way to the door. About halfway there she dropped her embroidery. Before Oliver could make a move to assist her, for he was filling the teapot with boiling water, Dante had gotten to his feet and was at the woman's side, the embroidery in his hand.

“Here is your embroidery,” he said loudly.

“Eh?”

“Your embroidery. You dropped it,” Dante repeated patiently, a gentle expression in his eyes as he stared down on the frail little woman.

“Very nice, but I have my own embroidery, thank you,” she said in a quavering voice. “You do good work, young sir,” she complimented him.

Dante glared over at Francis and Alastair, suspecting they would be grinning, which they were.

With a shake of his head, he tucked the embroidery in the woman's basket hanging from her arm. Placing his hand over hers, he guided her toward the door.

Patting his strong, bronzed hand, she continued slowly out the door. Oliver, who had reached her other side, assisted her from the room.

As the door closed on the two figures moving into the hall, Sir Jacob reached out and added more brandy to his glass, winking conspiratorially at Rhea.

“Now I want to hear all about this sunken treasure,” Sir Jacob ordered, settling back in his chair as he anticipated exciting tales about pirates.

Two lads that thought there was no more behind

But such a day tomorrow as today,

And to be boy eternal.

—Shakespeare

“…and his deck bloodied, he forced that Portuguese to eat his own cut-off ears,” Conny confided knowingly while Robin listened raptly, raising a hand to touch his own ears, pleased to find that they were still where they should be.

“Really?” He shuddered, his voice barely a squeak.

“Aye, and that wasn't the worst of that blackguard's crimes, either,” Conny informed his friend as they made their way along the narrow path winding toward the two towers standing against the sky in solitary beauty.

“Aye, he was a mean 'un all right,” Conny said with obvious relish. “All black-hearted men, they were. D'ye know, Robin, there was this one pirate who actually blew himself up right on the quarterdeck of his ship!”

“He did? What happened? Did he get hit by a cannonball?” Robin asked in amazement.

“No, he put too much gunpowder in his rum,” Conny said, stumbling with laughter.

“Ah, come on, 'tisn't so,” Robin scoffed.

“'Tis so! Them pirates were famous for spikin' their rum with gunpowder. Why, ol' Longacres, the bos'n aboard the
Sea Dragon
, was a pirate. He was even a cabin boy aboard Bartholomew Roberts's
Royal Fortune
. Sailed off the coast of Africa, he did. Of course, I've sailed off there too, but not with pirates—though them slavers be just as bad,” Conny confided. “Betcha didn't know that one of them pirates, Henry Every, was a Devonshireman? They say that when the time came for him to quit piratin', he sailed from the Bahamas and made port in County Donegal, Ireland. Most of the crew got arrested, but Cap'n Every, his pockets full of pieces of eight, disappeared. They say he was last seen walkin' the streets of Bideford without a care in the world. Ye don't suppose, d'ye, Robin, that any of ol' Cap'n Every's kin could be walkin' the streets of Merleigh?” Conny asked. “Why, maybe even some of them pullets chasin' us yesterday might have been his great-grandchildren, d'ye s'pose, Robin?” Conny asked innocently.

“Aye, they might at that,” Robin replied seriously. “Of course, some of them look enough like pirates now, what with having to wear black patches over their eyes where you hit a couple of them with potatoes,” he added with a grin.

“Coooeee, Robin, ye be all right for a lad who's never gone to sea,” Conny said with a wide grin of his own. It was quite a compliment coming from a lad who had spent most of his life aboard ship.

“Aye, and ye be all right for a lad who's still got to learn the difference between the front and back end of a horse,” Robin complimented his friend, ducking just in time to avoid Conny's elbow.

The two boys, dressed in loose-fitting frock coats and well-tailored breeches, their silk stockings of the finest quality and the silver buckles on their shoes glinting their worth, wandered along the path, stopping now and again to examine a pebble or two that caught their interest. The towers in the distance loomed even closer as they walked.

“Think ye'll have to be leavin' soon for Camareigh, Robin?” Conny asked sadly, wondering how he'd keep busy when his friend had gone.

“I don't know. Francis hasn't said anything about it. And we haven't had word from home yet about it. I suppose we'll have to soon, though. Maybe within a month,” Robin speculated. Although he'd never admit as much, he was homesick, and not just for Camareigh, but for his parents and even the twins. And by the time he returned home, his cousins would probably have returned to Green Willows.

“Guess ye'll be comin' back for a visit sometime, though. Maybe even the duke and duchess might be comin' too.”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure they will, especially when Francis and I tell them all about Merdraco. And of course Rhea and Dante and Kit will come to Camareigh for Michaelmas and stay through Christmas, I'm sure. So you'll be coming too, Conny,” Robin said. “And Kirby and Jamaica too, I bet.”

“Ye reckon so?”

“In fact, I heard my mother saying to Rhea that you might want to come and stay for a while and study with me. Mr. Teasdale seems to think he could teach you a lot, Conny,” Robin told his friend.

“School?” Conny said in dismay. “Don't need any more learnin' than I've already got, Robin,” Conny reassured him.

“Can you read and write?”

“Oh, aye. Learned that from Mr. Marlowe. Always tellin' me 'twas important, especially if I was hopin' to become a captain of my own ship someday.”

“How about sums? Can you do additions and subtractions?” Robin grimaced, for that was one of his least favorite subjects.

“For sure, I can,” Conny spoke proudly. “Used to assist Mr. Marlowe some when he was checkin' the cargo, makin' sure we didn't get cheated. And then the cap'n himself taught me how to read the compass and take our bearin's and set course. Know all about points, half points, quarter points, and degrees. Oh, aye, I figure I'm as well learned as any that sails the seas,” Conny decided.

“Can you read Latin?” Robin demanded.

“Latin? Coooeee, whatever for?” Conny demanded in return. “Know how to speak some French and Spanish, and even a little Dutch. Had to, bein' in the Indies.”

“Reckon you could probably teach Mr. Teasdale a thing or two. However, now that Rhea and Francis are out of the schoolroom, he doesn't have much to do. Figure he might be real happy to see you come swaggering in, Conny,” Robin predicted with a grin, thinking that if Conny did come to be tutored by Mr. Teasdale, those long hours of study might not be quite so boring.

“Reckon it be up to the cap'n what I do. And he's a fair one. Knows I'm not in need of any more learnin',” Conny said stoutly, but Robin had put a worrisome thought in his mind.

“You know, Conny,” Robin said, reading his friend's mind, “if you did stay at Camareigh after the New Year, then Butterick could really teach you to ride. And I might even be able to beat you to the top of that tree this time.”

“Oh, ye think so, landlubber?” Conny said, challenge in his eyes. “Betcha can't even beat me to them stone dragons,” he called out, running toward the massive stone statues in the distance. But Robin was fleet-footed and had caught up with him by the time they reached the castle ruins.

“Well, what d'ye think?” Conny demanded between breaths.

“About what?”

Conny glanced to the top of one of the towers blocking out the sky. “Reckon we'd have quite a view from atop them turrets.”

“Race you!” Robin issued the challenge this time and, within the minute, stamping feet and childish voices echoed through the ruins.

Fe fi fo fum!

I smell the blood of an Englishman;

Be he alive or be he dead,

I'll grind his bones to make my bread.

Robin chanted with each step. Hearing that verse, Conny started to sing an old sea shanty he had heard countless times while watching the crew of the
Sea Dragon
climbing into the rigging.

Where is the trader o' London Towne?

His gold is on the capstan,

His blood is on his gown,

And 'tis up and away for St. Mary's Bay,

Where the liquor is good and the lasses are gay.

They were laughing as, breathless, they reached the top of the tower, and they felt as mighty as kings while staring at the rocky shore stretching away for miles in either direction.

“Coooeee, what a sight!” Conny exclaimed.

Robin swallowed, for the view reminded him a little too much of the one he'd had from the top branches of that tall chestnut at Camareigh. But conquering his trepidations, he sidled up beside Conny at the edge and, leaning over the parapet, stared down at the waves crashing against the rocks far below.

“'Twould be a long fall,” Conny said, which eased Robin's mind not at all. “Probably be flattened like a flounder when ye hit the rocks below,” Conny added helpfully.

Robin pulled his gaze away from that surging water below. He was beginning to feel dizzy, watching its rolling movements back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“Hey, ye're lookin' kinda green, Robin,” Conny said. “Here, have a bun. I snatched them from the kitchens while Hallie's back was turned,” Conny offered, holding the lightly sugared, golden crusted pastry under Robin's nose. “Freshly baked too. She sure knows how to cook, eh?”

Robin took the bun, a sickly expression on his face, especially when he saw Conny taking a mouthful of buttery bun. With a feeling of impending doom spreading through him, he took a bite, chewing it carefully. He wasn't certain he could get it to go down without it coming up again. But after a few minutes the nauseous feeling passed, and he was beginning to enjoy the heady sensation of being on top of the world.

There was shimmering water as far as the eye could see, and sky with clouds climbing into the heavens. The sea was silvered, with shafts of gold shining through the clouds on the far distant horizon.

“Guess we oughta be goin' down now,” Conny said with a sigh, for being up so high reminded him of being in the rigging aboard the
Sea Dragon
. Although he was still at his captain's side, he kind of missed hearing the flapping of the sails filling with the trades, and the excitement of setting a new course.

“Aye, reckon so,” Robin agreed, less regretfully.

“Want to go all the way down?” Conny asked.

“What other way is there?” Robin demanded.

“I mean, d'ye want to go down below, to the beach?” Conny explained. “'Twill be safe enough. The tide's out. If it were in, well, we could get stranded, I s'pose. But it looks as if there be plenty of beach. Well?” he asked.

Robin licked his dry lips. Conny was certainly the adventurous one, and because he didn't wish to look the coward before his new friend, Robin said, “How are we going to get down there?”

“Look,” Conny said, pointing to a narrow footpath that seemed to drop straight down to the beach below.

“
That's
the way down?” Robin asked incredulously, wishing now he'd acted the coward.

“Aye, unless you can fly,” Conny answered with a grin. “Race you down!” he challenged before disappearing down the steep flight of steps that spiraled down to the ground below.

Taking a deep breath, Robin followed Conny, and soon the boys were making their way along the dirt path that led to the beach at the base of the cliff where the dark towers of Merdraco stood sentinel over them. It was a steep path, apparently vertical in some places, but Conny and Robin managed to reach the bottom without serious incident, their feet sinking into the deep sands that covered the small sliver of land that had escaped the hungry grasp of the tide.

With the energy that comes of pure enjoyment, the boys raced along the sands, daring the waves to wet their shoes, their laughter drifting on the winds like the spindrift being blown about their small figures. And all the while they frolicked in the sands, the clouds at sea blackened and climbed higher into darkening skies.

Finally, Robin and Conny sank down onto the damp sand, their breath coming quickly as they lay there with nothing more on their minds than guessing what shapes the clouds would form themselves into next.

“Looks like a dragon,” Conny said, pointing to one especially swift-moving cloud.

“Do you believe in dragons?” Robin asked, his eyes full of the innocent wonder of cloud-dreaming.

“Of course! How d'ye think the
Sea Dragon
got her name? D'ye know what Merdraco means?” he demanded, but Robin shook his head. “The Cap'n says it means dragon of the sea.
Mer
is French for sea.
Draco
is Latin and means dragon, but that's the only Latin I'm ever goin' to learn,” Conny warned. “There's even a dragon in the night sky. It lies between the Dippers. Dragons have always been ferocious beasts, just like the
Sea Dragon
,” Conny said with pride of one who had actually sailed on that almost mythical ship.

Suddenly their reverie was interrupted by the distant rumble of thunder, which drew their attention to the black clouds hanging low over the water.

“Coooeee, what a storm brewin',” Conny breathed, whistling between his teeth as a bolt of lightning flashed through one of the clouds.

“We'd better get back to the lodge before we get soaked,” Robin advised.

“Be a while yet, Robin, before the storm hits here,” Conny said knowledgeably, for hadn't he sailed long enough to predict when a storm would hit?

They continued to stand there for a few minutes longer, watching the fiery streaks lighting up the stormy skies, and all the while the tide was rising, and the waves were becoming louder and angrier as they were fed by the storm.

“Reckon we oughta be goin' now, Robin,” Conny finally said, thinking the storm had built up faster than he had expected. A deafening clap of thunder sounded directly overhead, startling both of them.

During their exploration of the beach, they had made their way to the far end, which curved up higher than the rest. As they glanced back toward the distant end of the beach, where the path to safety lay, they realized that the tide had come in almost without their having been aware of it. Had it been a normal tide, they might have been able to race past it, soaked shoes and stockings the only casualties. But this was a tide rising with the storm, and it had already covered the sandy shore in swirling water that foamed against the rocks.

Robin frowned as he stared at the water racing up the beach. “Come on, Conny. We can beat it,” Robin said nervously, listening to its crashing roar.

“No, we can't, Robin,” Conny said. “There's too much of an undertow. I've seen those before, and we'd have our feet pulled right out from under us. I don't know about you, but I can't swim,” Conny admitted wryly.