Jo Goodman (3 page)

Jack Quincy arrived at Cunnington's Workhouse for Foundlings and Orphans the following day. Everything about him was large. His voice rumbled and reverberated as though the barrel chest and throat from which it emerged were hollow. He had thick arms and legs as solid as tree trunks. His handshake was strong and warm, his manner a shade aggressive. Jack's eyes were widely spaced as if to suggest his peripheral vision was as good as his dead-on look. His nose had been broken on more than one occasion and mended badly each time. It was rumored that Jack Quincy was still looking for the fight that would set it right again.

When he swept into the headmaster's office he brought the smell of fresh air and salt water with him. And something else. Colin found himself leaning forward just to take in the scent of adventure.

Jack Quincy didn't wait to be offered the headmaster's hand. He took it in his, pumped it twice, and said without preamble, "Where's the boy you were telling me about?"

"Behind you," Mr. Cunnington said, looking past Quincy's shoulder to where Colin stood. "Won't you sit down and we'll discuss terms?"

Quincy gave Colin a cursory glance. "There's not much to him," he said in flat tones.

"He doesn't eat," the headmaster said. "At least not a lot. You won't find him terribly expensive to keep."

"And not terribly difficult to heave over the side." His eyes narrowed on Mr. Cunnington and he jabbed a thick finger in the headmaster's direction. "More to the point, I figure the fish won't take him as bait. They're likely to throw him back. Now, what kind of bill of goods are you trying to sell me, Cunnington?" He placed particular emphasis on the first two syllables of the headmaster's name. "My ship sails in two hours and you told me you had someone I could use. What do you think I can do with this boy?"

Mr. Cunnington bristled. He disliked the Yankee's boorish manner. "He's just as I promised."

"He's sick. You didn't tell me he was sick." As if on cue Colin began to cough. Quincy glanced backward again, assessed the boy's sunken features, the shadows beneath his eyes, the hollow cheeks and pale lips, and asked bluntly, "Is he consumptive?"

"It's a cold."

Quincy walked over to Colin, raised the boy's chin, then demanded, "Is that true?"

Colin thought he would be lifted off the floor by the finger under his chin but the large man's touch was surprisingly gentle. His lungs seemed to swell with the effort not to cough. "It's true, sir," he said. "No doctor's ever said as much."

Quincy was quick to understand Colin's game. There was no lie in his words—the truth was that no doctor had ever examined him. "Do you want to come with me, boy?" Quincy asked. He kept his finger on Colin's pointed chin and took measure of the grit and willfulness he saw in the boy's eyes. "Well?"

"It's Colin, sir," he said gravely. "My name's Colin Thorne, and yes, I want to go with you."

"Knowin' full well that I'll pitch you over the rail of the
Sea Dancer
as soon as look after you?"

In an effort to show strength where little existed, Colin held his thin body rigidly. "I'd like to take that risk, sir."

Jack Quincy released Colin's chin. "How much for him?" he asked the headmaster.

"Three pounds."

"That's a fortune," Quincy growled.

Colin grew suddenly afraid. What if Cunnington wouldn't negotiate and Quincy wouldn't pay? "If you wouldn't mind, sir," he said, interrupting, "I'd be honor-bound to give you recompense. With interest if you'd like."

Quincy blinked. "My God, he talks like a bleedin' banker," he said, more to himself than either to Colin or Cunnington. "How old are you, boy?"

"Ten," Colin said, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Twelve," Cunnington said at the same time.

Jack Quincy grunted, believing neither. "Hell, it doesn't matter. I need the boy this trip." He opened his wool coat, reached for an inside pocket, and drew out three silver pieces. He manipulated one of the silver coins in and out between his fingers before he set them all on the headmaster's desk. "This is what I have. Suit yourself."

Mr. Cunnington picked up the silver quickly. "Get your things, Colin, then wait for Mr. Quincy at the front gate."

Colin hesitated, looking to Quincy for direction and approval, half afraid he might be set outside the gate with his bag and no one to take him away.

Jack Quincy rubbed his mouth to hide his brief smile. Damned if there wasn't something about the cheeky little boy that he liked. "Go on with you, lad. I'm not leavin' without you."

Colin looked for the truth in Jack Quincy's eyes, then he turned and walked out of the room, wearing his dignity like armor.

Quincy watched him go. When he was certain Colin was out of earshot he turned to the headmaster. "So help me, Cunnington, if that boy dies before the
Sea Dancer
makes Boston, I'll come back and take you and this workhouse apart."

"He'll arrive in Boston. After that..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

"It doesn't matter after that."

* * *

The
Sea Dancer
left London three hours behind schedule. Half expecting that one or the other of the Cunningtons would change their mind, or that Jack Quincy himself might think better of the bargain he had made, Colin had an agonizing wait.

The knot in his stomach didn't begin to untangle until England's coastline disappeared from view.

He was half an ocean away when Mr. Elliot Willoughby arrived in London from Rosefield and began inquiring about the direction of Cunnington's Workhouse for Foundlings and Orphans. The solicitor, it seemed, was particularly interested in the information on three children whose surname was reputed to be Thorne.

Chapter 1

London, June 1841

It was the sound of thunder that roused him out of bed. Colin hadn't been asleep, or at least not deeply so, but he hadn't been particularly anxious to crawl out from between the sheets or remove the length of shapely calf and thigh that had been lying across his legs.

He padded softly to the window and drew back the yellowed curtains. Lightning flashed across the sky and for a moment his naked body was bathed in brilliant white light. He pressed the flat of his hand against the glass. When thunder rolled a few seconds later he felt the vibration all the way up his arm.

His trousers were lying over the arm of the room's only chair. He reached for them and pulled them on. Another ragged bolt of lightning illuminated the room as Colin glanced toward the bed. He had no difficulty discerning that his companion was still sleeping soundly. That was good, he thought as he unlatched the window and threw it open. It meant he had time to remember her name.

Warm, moist air swirled into the room and Colin put himself directly in its path. Drawing one leg up, he sat on the sill and rested his palms on his bent knee. The first fat droplets of rain touched his left shoulder on their way to the ground. He didn't move. The path of the water outlined his arm and elbow. One drop swelled strands of hair near the nape of his neck, darkening it to gold.

Colin leaned his head back against the window frame. This time when the thunder came it seemed to rumble through his entire body. He felt it in the soles of his feet, along his thigh, and across his chest. He breathed deeply and imagined the scent of the sea. He had only been ashore eight days and he'd been ready to return to his ship for six of them.

Rain began to fall faster and the shape of the drops changed from fat, spattering batter to thin water lances. The sting was mild compared to what Colin endured at the helm of the
Remington Mystic.
There the spray could be needle sharp and the pounding waves were known to scale the clipper's rails and carry an unprepared or unsuspecting sailor away.

The room Colin was shown at the Passing Fancy Inn faced the road to London. At this hour the throughway was quiet. Colin had been on the last coach from London and that had arrived at the inn before nightfall. He and Aubrey Jones were the only two to disembark. Aubrey had immediately caught the eye of the wench who served them dinner and they retired to his room shortly thereafter. Colin had expected to sleep alone but the serving wench produced a sister. Sibling rivalry, it seemed, had provided any number of travelers a playful romp in the upstairs rooms at the Passing Fancy.

"Here now," the voice from the bed whined sleepily. "Come away from the window. Ye'll catch yer death and toss it to me besides." When Colin didn't move or even glance in her direction she raised herself up on one elbow and patted the space beside her. "Come to Molly, why don't ye, luv."

Molly.
So that was her name. "Go back to sleep," he said. His words were not delivered kindly or as a suggestion. Colin Thorne was used to giving orders.

"No need to bark at me," Molly said, quite able to hold her own. "Didn't get quite enough of the ol' slap n' tickle, is that what's keepin' ye up? I don't mind a bit more play." She yawned hugely. "If it's all the same to you."

It was so much better when she didn't talk, Colin thought. His gaze moved away from the quiet road and into the room. It did not alight on Molly, but on the bath that had been drawn for him hours ago. He'd never had the opportunity to use it; now he felt the need. "If it's all the same to you," he said, "I'd like my bath water warmed."

That brought Molly upright and she made no attempt to bring the sheet with her. Her heavy breasts heaved as she managed quite a show of her indignation. "Yer throwin' Molly out of yer bed?"

Apparently this was a first for Molly. "You should have gone back to sleep when I told you to," he said indifferently, turning away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement just below him. It had disappeared by the time he looked down. Someone just arriving at the inn? he wondered. But there had been no stage or horses. The sound of the inn's large door being slammed suggested to Colin that he'd been right about a new arrival. Probably a lone traveler surprised by the storm. Colin could have told him there was no need for panic. The rain was already letting up as thunder and lightning moved to points south and east of the inn.

Molly was of a mind to push Colin out the open window, but she remembered he hadn't paid her. "On the nightstand," Colin said.

"So yer a bloody mind reader, too." Molly took the coins he'd put out for her and scrambled off the bed. Clutching them in her palm, she began to dress. "Me sister told me why you and yer friend are here," she said. "And here I was, feelin' like I should comfort a man about to look death in the eye. Well, I can tell ye it doesn't matter a whit to me now if his lordship puts a lead ball through yer head or yer heart."

"As long as he hits something," Colin said dryly.

"Yer too bleedin' right."

Colin came to his feet lightly. He could feel Molly's eyes on him as he walked to the door. He suspected she was glaring at him but when he turned he glimpsed something else there, something like regret perhaps, or longing. His dark eyes narrowed on Molly's pleasant, heart-shaped face. Had she imagined herself in love with him?

"Don't flatter yerself," she said sharply.

An edge of a smile touched Colin's mouth. "Now who's the bleedin' mind reader?"

Molly's reply caught in her throat. He had no right to look at her just the way he was looking now and stop her thoughts before they were formed. It was that hint of a smile that did it. That, or the flicker of interest that was darkening eyes already as dark as polished onyx. It was just as well he was throwing her out. Given the rest of the night with him she'd be a fool for love by morning.

"Arrogant bastard," she said under her breath. She finished fastening her skirt and shimmied into her blouse. The laces dangled and Molly made no attempt to tie them. He deserved to get an eyeful of what she was never giving him again, at least not unless he said please.

Colin was preparing to open the door for her when the knock came. It was a tentative intrusion, not a firm one. Colin knew it couldn't be Aubrey. His second in command had fists like hammers. Doors rattled under his pressure.

When Colin didn't respond to the first gentle rapping, the light staccato was tapped out again. He looked at Molly in question. When she shrugged, surprised as he, he placed a finger to his lips. She nodded her understanding.