DD-Michaels-END.rtf (41 page)

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the shadows as Jacko's large frame passed in front of the open door.

She'd known Jacko since the moment he'd found their hidey-ho
l
e, his wide smile and deep laugh so frightening to the child she had been. Julia, Chance's wife, had once confided that her first thought when she'd seen Jacko was that the man would smile amiably even as he cut your beating heart from your chest.

But Jacko was loyal to Ainsley. Fiercely so. And if Eleanor hadn't learned to love the man, she had learned to trust his loyalty, if not always his judgment.

Ainsley was speaking again. "I
do
mean
it, Jacko. We only began this to help the people here, protect them from the
Red
Men Gang. A laudable reason, but not one of us suspected the enterprise to grow as it has. We're bringing attention to ourselves, from London, and most probably from the Red Man again. Moving some wool and coming back with tea and brandy, helping these people survive. That was the plan, remember? Now we control most of the Marsh. Someone was bound to notice."

"So you withdraw your protection, leave everyone to find their own suppliers, their own landsmen, their own distributors in London? You watch as they run up against the Red Man on their own, and then bury a few more bodies, add a few more widows and fatherless children to the Marsh. Is that what you're saying, Ainsley?"

Eleanor held her breath. If Ainsley put a stop to the Black Ghost Gang they'd all be safe...
b
ut Jack Eastwood would never visit Becket Hall again.

"No, that's not what I'm
saying,
Jack. It's what I'm

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hoping.
A selfish return to our quiet existence for my sons
,
my men and, yes, for myself. But we all
know
that isn't possible, at least not until the war
is over and wool p
ri
ces hopefully climb again. Tell me more of your idea."

Eleanor stepped closer, not wishing to miss a word.

"All right. As I said, someone is trying to cut off our head
and
our fee
t
—
o
ur contacts both around London and in France. After this last shipment, I have no one lined up to buy our people's wool, and no one to sell the goods we, well, that we
import."

"You've been sloppy? How else would anyone know your contacts?"

Eleanor heard the hint of distaste in Jack's tone. "No, Jacko, I don't think I've been...
slo
ppy.
I think someone else has been very smart. Why confront us here on the Marsh, on the Black Ghost's home ground, when cutting off our head and feet is so much easier than hitting at our well-protected and well-armed belly? And I think it all begins in London, not France. I've
been watching and
I
have some ideas, which is why I traveled to France and why I'm here now."

As Eleanor listened
,
Jack further explained his conclusions, and his plan.

No one in France had any reason to stop the flow of contraband either into or out of that country. To the French, profit was profit, and they'd deal with the Red Man, the Black Ghost, the devil himself, as long as that profit was maintained. If the French were nothing else, they were always eminently practical.

Which left London. More specifically, Mayfair, the very heart of the
ton.
Bankers and wealthy cits, indus-

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trialists, were also suspected of acting as financial backers to the smugglers, but it was common if unspoken knowledge that many an impecunious peer had staked his last monies on a smuggling run and then suddenly found his pockets deep again.

And Jack had an idea where in the
ton
he should look to find the people who had the most to gain if the Black Ghost Gang was rendered impotent.

"I've narrowed my search down to three men," he said. "Three gentlemen who have had happy and yet inexplicable, unexplainable reversals of fortune in the past few years. We all know the major profits from smuggling go to people at the very top of society."

"
People with the money to put up to buy contraband goods in order to resell them at ten times the price, yes," Ainsley interrupted. "But these men you speak of? You said they've had reversals of fortune, which is not the same as having amassed a fortune the likes of which we know can be gotten. That would put them somewhere in the middle, wouldn't it? High placed minions, the slightly more public face of the true leaders, but still minions."

'True. But if we can get to them, hopefully we can get to the person or persons at the very top," Jack said. "And
I'm willing to wager that whoever that
is, he's also the brains behind the Red Men Gang. They may not be here
in
Ro
m
ney Marsh anymore, but they're everywhere else, like a large red stain spreading over the countryside. Noone makes a
move without them, and
if anyone dares, they're mercilessly crushed. You, Ainsley, you and your sons
and Romney Marsh? You are all that stand between the Red Man Gang and complete domination of the smuggling trade in the south of England."

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Jacko spoke up. "All very well, Eastwood, and you've made your point. But we're here, not about to budge, and you're only one man. Let's hear more of this plan of yours."

"I'm getting there, Jacko. You know I've bought a house in Portland Square, to go along very nicely with my estate in Sussex. I'm an extremely wealthy man, thanks to you, Ainsley, and
you aren't theonly one who sees the merits in planning for a more..
.
conventional future, a life after we're done with our adventure. I think it's time I inhabited that house and made, well, a rather large but concentrated splash in society."

"To get you close, you have to be noticed by these men you suspect," Ainsley said quietly. "You interest me. Go on."

"I think my way in would be through the gambler in the group, Harris Phelps. He's the most reckless, and the most stupid. He's taken to wearing a scarlet waistcoat and always betting on the red, saying it's his lucky color."

"Damn," Jacko muttered. "Sounds like we're being beaten by an idiot. That stick in your craw as much as it does in mine, Cap'n?"

"On the contrary, Jacko. It's always comforting to know you're smarter than your enemy, as long as you don't make the mistake of becoming overconfident, always remember that even idiots are successful at times if only by mistake. Go on, Jack. I imagine you plan to get close with this Phelps person, and through him, with the others?"

"I intend to lose a lot of money playing at cards with Phelps, yes," Jack said, and Eleanor bit her bottom

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lip, smiling at the cleverness of the idea. Lose some money, bemoan his shrinking pockets, wish for a huge turn of luck...
a
nd then appeal to his new friend for some way to increase his fortune.

"You're that sure Phelps is your man?
That you'd put your own money on the line?"

"Yes, Ainsley, I am. I won't always lose, either, not once I've firmly hooked our fish. Which, if I'm lucky, should be quickly enough to have only a two or three week interruption of our runs."

"You've always been a dab hand with the cards, I'll give you that."

"You gave him a lot more than a
dab of your money, Jacko, as I recall the thing," Ainsley said, and Eleanor pretended not to hear Jacko's low string of curses.

She remembered when they met Jack, and how. A gambler, that was Jack, a gentleman of breeding but little fortune, living on his wits. But that had all changed the day, two years past, when he'd ridden up to Becket Hall with Billy slung face-down across his saddle after rescuing him from a pub in Appledore, where a deep-drinking Billy had had the bad sense to accuse a man of cheating when he had no friends present to guard his back. Jack had stepped in, saved the sailor from a knife in the gullet, although both he and Billy had each suffered several wounds.

During his weeks of recuperation at Becket Hall, Jack had done more than strip Jacko of five thousand pounds as they'd passed time playing at cards. He also had gained Ainsle
y
's thanks for the rescue of one of his oldest friends, Ainsley's trust and, with that trust, a future.

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And never once in that month had he said more than "Good morning, Miss Becket," or "Good evening, Miss Becket," to Eleanor.

She cocked her head toward the doorway, listening as Jack explained more of his plan. "I get close to Phelps, who will bring me close to the others, close enough that I can find ways to bring them down, each one of them. But I need that initial entree into society. I discussed this with your son-in-law as we crossed the Channel tonight, and he's agreed to give me a letter of introduction to his friend, Lady Beresford. I'm now a gentleman who has spent much of his time these past years on his plantations in the West Indies, happily visiting my homeland."

"That should be enough to gain you at least few invitations. Chance could help you there, too, except that he and Julia plan to remain at his estate with the children until the end of summer, now that he's left the War Office," Ainsley said. "All right. What else? You have the look of a man who isn't quite finished saying what he needs to say."

"No," Jack said, "that's about it. The rest is just details I'll need to handle on my own."

"Such as?"

"I'm thinking I may need a wife."

Eleanor clapped her hands over her mouth, hoping no one had heard her short, startled gasp. Then, once back under control, she stepped closer, anxious to hear what else Jack might say.

"Wives go a long way in making a man appear respectable. It's not enough that I play the rich, amiable fool. I believe I need a wife as well. Most especially a

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wife who listens with both ears to other men's wives. Hiring an actress to play the part is chancy, but als
o
worth the risk, I believe. Phelps's wife, for one, has a tongue that runs on wheels. Ask her the right questions, and I may get answers that will help me."

"I can see you believe this Harris Phelps to be the weakest link," Ainsley said. "Who are the other two?"

"Sir Gilbert Eccles is one. But the fellow who most interests me is the strongest of the lot. If he's not the head of the Red Men, then he is very close. Rowley Maddox, Earl of Chelf
h
am."

Before Eleanor could clap her hands to her mouth again, someone did it for her, and she was pulled back against the ta
l
l, rangy body of Odette, the one woman in the Becket household who knew every secret, the Voodoo priestess who had come to England with the Beckets so many years ago.

"Ears that listen at the wrong doors hear things they should not hear," Odette whispered to Eleanor. "Come away child."

"But Odette—
y
ou heard?
The Earl of Chelfham."

"
I heard. You want nothing to do with this man. You decided. We all decided."

"I know," Eleanor whispered fiercely as she looked toward the half-open door. "But this is..
.
this is like
fa
te.
And I only want to
see.
Is it so wrong to want to see?"

"You want the man,
ma petite
,
"
Odette told her, stroking Eleanor's hair with one long-fingered hand. "He's the temptation you don't want to resist."

"You mean Jack?" Eleanor sighed, realizing protest was useless. "There's no future in lying to you, is there, Odette?
You
see everything."

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The woman's face lost its smile. "Not everything, little one. Never enough. But I do know your papa won't approve."

Eleanor wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I know. But this is my decision to make, Odette, my chance. If I don't take my chance, I'll have the rest of my life to regret it. Years and years to sit by myself with my embroidery, my paints, my music. Sit and watch everyone else live their lives, while mine just slowly, quietly runs out, like sand slipping through an hourglass. Don't you see? I have to do this."

"Born a maiden, not prepared to die a maiden. Yes, I see."

"No,"
Eleanor whispered fiercely, then sighed. "Yes, yes, that, too. And why not? I've tried being a paragon, and it's lonely, Odette. It's a lonely life. I want to hold more than other people's children. That's a dream, only a dream. But the Earl, Odette? He's real. How can I hear what I just heard, and walk away?"