Green Eyes (7 page)

The old man had regarded him as if he were a garden slug, rung a bell, and ordered him removed to the stables until “something” could be arranged. Six days later one of the grooms had taken him to London, where the “something” had turned out to be a stint as a cabin boy in the Royal Navy. That hellish voyage, complete with almost daily floggings and never-ending, violent seasickness, had lasted years. The ten-year-old Julian who had returned to England had been a far different boy from the green lad who had left.

Looking back, Julian thought that it was a near miracle he had survived. The other cabin boy on his ship, the
Sweet Anne,
had not. Perhaps it had been assumed that he himself would not survive. Julian heard long afterwards that his uncle had been found murdered not far from Gordon Hall on the very day he had left with the emeralds. The emeralds had not been on his body when it was discovered.

Somehow the gems had found their way back to Gordon Hall. While the evidence might not be enough to convict Lord Ridley in a court of law, it was enough to convict him in Julian’s mind; the earl had engineered the murder of Julian’s uncle, and quite possibly schemed to rid himself of the problem of Julian as well.

But here he was, some twenty-five years later, hale and hearty (except for his damaged head) while his doting father rotted in his grave. There was some justice in the world, after all.

He would not be satisfied until he had the emeralds that by rights should have been his anyway and seen for himself what proof they did or did not contain. If he had not been such a nodcock as to let the green-eyed little vixen’s delicate appearance prompt him to a quite ridiculous chivalry, he’d have the emeralds at that very moment. But he’d wrapped her in his cloak to protect her from the cold, and now he was paying the price for his quixotic act: the emeralds, his emeralds, had been left behind at Gordon Hall. Graham was no doubt crowing over his brother’s failure, and would certainly keep the gems closely guarded for some time to come.

But Julian meant to have them, by whatever means it took.

Tonight’s debacle might slow him down, but it wouldn’t stop him. Nothing short of his own death could do that.

VIII

T
wo months later, Anna stood on the deck of the
India Princess,
watching as the islands of Adam’s Bridge, an archipelago stretching from the southeastern coast of India to Ceylon, slid past one by one off the port bow. Taking a deep breath, she drank in the heady smell of the tropics. A scent like no other, it was rich and thick, composed of exotic flowers and spices and rotting vegetation. That, and the ever present heat, assured her as nothing else could have done that she was truly on her way home again.

Funny that she, an Englishwoman by birth and breeding, should consider a small emerald island in a sapphire sea her home. The happiest days of her life had been spent in its exotic environs, and her daughter had been born there. And Paul had died there, of course. His grave on a small knoll just beyond the Big House at Srinagar seemed to call to her.

“Mama, will Papa be there?”

The tiny voice recalled her attention to Chelsea, who stood beside her at the rail, her hand tightly enfolded in Anna’s, Looking down at her small daughter, her flaxen hair braided into a single thick plait down her back and her soft blue eyes wide and serious as they looked up at her mother, Anna felt her heart swell with fierce maternal devotion. How she loved this child! She had done the right thing, she knew, to return Chelsea to the only true home she had ever known. Even if she’d had to put her immortal soul in jeopardy to accomplish it.

“Papa’s in heaven, darling. You know that.” Anna tried hard to keep her voice matter-of-fact. She and Chelsea were close, but Paul had adored his silver-haired little daughter, and Chelsea in turn had thought the sun rose and set on her Papa. The hardest thing of all about Paul’s death—and there had been so many hard things—had been explaining to Chelsea that her beloved Papa had gone away and was never coming back. Since that time, Chelsea had changed from a giggling, romping little girl to the preternaturally serious child she was now. She seldom smiled, and Anna had not heard her laugh since they had lowered Paul’s body into the ground.

“What about Kirti?”

That question was easier to answer. Kirti had been Chelsea’s ayah since the child’s birth. Parting from Kirti had been a wrench for both Chelsea and Anna, but Graham had simply not included enough money for the elderly Tamil woman’s passage when he had sent for Anna and Chelsea to come to Gordon Hall. Not that Anna would have been entirely easy in her mind about taking Kirti with them even if there had been available funds. Kirti was as much a part of Ceylon as the rough stone Buddha of Anuradhapura—like the Buddha, which had been there for hundreds of years, it was impossible to imagine Kirti existing anyplace else. When the time had come for Chelsea to leave, Kirti had flung the end of her sari over her head and parted from her charge with loud wails of grief. Anna had no doubt that Kirti would welcome their return as a blessing from above.

“Kirti may not be at the Big House, but once she knows you’re home she’ll come running.”

“I’ve missed Kirti.”

“I know. I have too.”

“Will–”

“All right, missy, enough of badgering your poor mum with questions. Tell me something, young lady, did you wash your face like you was told?”

The fierce voice belonged to Ruby Fisher, a handsome, buxom woman of middle years whom Anna had turned to for help when she had fled Gordon Hall the morning after the housebreaker’s advent. Ruby was a former London prostitute who had had the good fortune to wed one of her clients, a tenant farmer who had been a member of Anna’s father’s parish. John Fisher had been a godly man as well as a hard worker, and he had resolutely brought his wife to church every Sunday. Ruby, with her penchant for garish dresses and occasional booming vulgarities, had scandalized the congregation. The vicar had stood her friend when his parishioners would have ostracized the sinner brought to live in their midst, and Ruby had never forgotten it. Fiercely loyal to those who had shown her kindness, because few people ever had, she had ever afterwards had a special fondness for the vicar—and for Anna.

Ruby’s attempts to pass on nuggets of worldly wisdom to his “poor motherless chick” had at times horrified and at times amused the good reverend, but it had forged a link of friendship between Anna and Ruby that never had been entirely broken. Even after Anna had wed Paul and gone to live in Ceylon, they had stayed in touch by regular, if infrequent, correspondence. Ruby was the only person Anna knew who would not be horrified by her theft of the emeralds. Indeed, Ruby was the only person Anna knew who might be able to tell her how to convert them into what she needed most: cold, hard cash. If Ruby, then several years widowed, had not been living on a minuscule income in a tiny rented room in an unsavory section of London when Anna had discovered Graham’s foul intentions, Anna would have run to her long since. But such an environment would have been unsuitable in the extreme for Chelsea, and Ruby’s income, which barely fed one, could not have been stretched to feed three.

Anna, a tired and hungry Chelsea in tow and the emeralds stitched securely into the hem of her cloak, had arrived on Ruby’s doorstep unannounced after a harrowing two-day journey by public stage and then a hackney. After her initial surprise Ruby had greeted the pair of them with open arms. Too tired to be shy, as she usually was with strangers, Chelsea had allowed Ruby to tuck her into bed while Anna sipped a restorative cup of tea. Then, when the child was settled, Ruby sat down and listened while Anna spilled the whole of what had happened into Ruby’s fascinated ear. Ruby, chuckling over the note Anna had left behind in which she had told Graham that she would sooner starve with her child in a gutter than give in to him, was not shocked by the theft; she applauded it. She was also comfortingly practical. It had taken her less than a day to dispose of the bracelet—the whole set, unique as it was, could not be sold together for fear of attracting unwanted attention, she said—through “a gent” she “knew,” and she had returned with more money than Anna had dreamed the trinket could be worth. When Anna would have given her a share, Ruby had indignantly declined. What she wanted, she said, was to accompany Anna and Chelsea back to Ceylon. After all, what was there for her in England, now that her John was dead? And who would look after Anna and her daughter, babes in the woods that they were, as they traveled to that heathenish place?

Over the course of the journey, Anna had thanked her lucky stars a dozen times for Ruby’s presence. The other woman’s fierce manner and blunt talk accomplished miracles when it came to dealing with shipping clerks and overly free-mannered sailors, and Chelsea had grown to like her very much. Anna herself was heartened by Ruby’s presence. It was a relief to have another adult to share the inevitable problems that accompanied such an undertaking as the removal of three females to such a faraway place as Ceylon.

As Anna’s father had often said, the Lord moved in mysterious ways. Who would have guessed that a henna-haired former
fille de joie
would one day prove a godsend to the vicar’s gently bred daughter?

“Poor little mite.” Ruby’s voice was low as she watched Chelsea, who had confessed all with a single guilty look and run off to wash her face. Anna smiled at Ruby. If her crimson silk dress was a trifle garish, especially when contrasted with the improbable orange of her hair, what did it matter when weighted against the priceless gift of her friendship?

“She minds you better than she minds me.”

“Because I don’t coddle her. You’re too soft, Anna, and not only with Chelsea. With everyone. Like your da before you.” Ruby stopped to fan her moisture-beaded face with a lovely scrimshaw fan, which had been presented to her with a flourish and a fusillade of compliments by one of the sailors some two weeks before. Exactly what Ruby had done to deserve it Anna wasn’t sure, and feared to inquire. Ruby had always liked, and had a way with, men. Further than that Anna refused to allow herself to speculate.

“Gawd, it’s hot!” Ruby leaned against the rail, plying the fan vigorously enough so that Anna, too, felt the breeze. Ruby was right: it was hot, despite the easterly wind that sent the ship scooting through the waves. Moisture dampened her own forehead and beaded on her upper lip. Her long-sleeved black mourning gown clung unpleasantly to her body. But except for Ruby’s fan there was no relief to be had: below deck was even hotter than above. During her years in Ceylon Anna had thought her body had grown accustomed to the relentless heat, but perhaps it would take a while to acclimatize herself again after the chill of England.

“It’ll be better in the summer. The monsoons cool things off.”

“I hope so. A body could melt in this.” Ruby turned, sighing, to stare at the cloudless horizon.

“Cap’n Rob says we should make port before nightfall tomorrow.”

“Cap’n Rob”—a very distinguished gray-haired gentleman—was another of Ruby’s numerous admirers. Whether or not their acquaintance went beyond the bounds of mere flirtation, Anna did not allow herself to consider. But everyone else on board called the autocratic ship’s captain Captain Marshall.

“How wonderful. I can’t wait to get off this ship. It feels as if we’ve been traveling for months.”

“Time would have passed a lot quicker if you’d looked back at some or those brawny gents who’ve been looking at you.”

A sidelong glance accompanied this trenchant observation. Anna sighed. They’d had this discussion at least a dozen times, but Ruby obstinately refused to let it drop.

“I’m a widow, remember?” Anna said. “I’ve been married, had a child. I’m not interested in looking back at men.”

Ruby’s nose twitched disapprovingly. “It’s unnatural, a pretty young thing like you not being interested in men.”

“Paul’s not even been in his grave a year!”

“They say if you fall off a horse, the best thing to do is get right back on.”

“Marriage is not a horse!”

“Who’s talking marriage? I’m talking about letting yourself enjoy life a little. Have a little fun. And men are the best way I know to have fun.”

“You’re shameless, Ruby.” A smile flickered on Anna’s mouth.

Ruby shook her head. “Not shameless. Honest. Come now, confess: you can’t tell me that not one of these gents makes you wonder what it would be like to have him put his arms around you, kiss you.…”

“Ruby!” Despite Anna’s half-scandalized protest, Ruby’s words summoned up an all-too-vivid, unwelcome image that had been plaguing her dreams for weeks: the swooping of the housebreaker’s darkly handsome head, the claiming of her lips with his, his hands on her breast and hips.… With an almost physical effort she shook the pesky memory off. “I’ll say it again: I am not, for the time being at least, one bit interested in men!”

Ruby opened her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the reappearance of a small figure walking sedately toward them.

“I washed my face.”

Chelsea was back, her face scrubbed and glowing. Anna, thankful to be saved further discussion of the subject of men, smiled down at her. So did Ruby.

“You certainly did a good job.” Anna ran a finger down her small daughter’s cool cheek. Her hand rested briefly on the silken head. “Your nose is turning pink. You need your hat.”

“Oh, Mama, I forgot!” Chelsea’s obvious distress over so small a transgression made Anna wince inwardly. Although she’d always been a good, obedient child, since Paul’s death she seemed terrified of displeasing her mother in any way. It worried Anna, but she didn’t know quite what to do about it,

“It doesn’t matter, chicken. We’ll simply go along to the cabin and get it.”

“How about if you and me go on up to the quarterdeck and see what Cap’n Rob’s doing?” Ruby intervened, seeing the pain behind Anna’s careful smile. “They’ve got a canopy rigged up there so you won’t need to bother with a hat. Who knows, he might even let you steer the ship. Would you like that?”