Revenge of the Barbary Ghost (34 page)

The young man had been sore afraid of the excise man, given what he had witnessed, but the arrest had encouraged honesty. It was all out in the open now, Puddicombe’s long history of taking enormous bribes to fail to capture the St. Wyllow Whips, and other gangs before them. But someone would always die, the smugglers would disband, to be replaced by another. Harriet, now married to Johnny Quintrell and living with her husband at the Barbary Ghost Inn, had been a valuable informant. She had not connected all that had gone on, but she had heard much, and could repeat verbatim interesting conversations between Micklethwaite and Puddicombe.

Now that Anne had a breathing space, with Puddicombe jailed for smuggling, fraud, and murder, and Micklethwaite’s dead body buried in a pauper’s grave in unconsecrated ground, she could think about Marcus. Anne missed his teasing smile, his intelligence, and the knowledge that he was there to look after Pamela, always thinking of his sister, the bond between them solid and permanent.

Now Pam would need to be the caretaker for her little Edward. But with two days’ rest, and the worst behind her, she seemed capable of it, ready to move on, not forgetting her brother but remembering him with fondness, not pain. Edward was weaned, and Pamela was planning to book passage to Montreal. Anne’s bruised throat was healed. She missed Marcus, and already missed Pam, though she was not yet gone. She sniffed and bowed her head, pummeled by the buffeting wind on the bluff.

“No crying,” a voice behind her said. “We got the bastards, and that’s what Captain St. James would want.”

Darkefell. Anne turned and melted into his arms. “I just miss poor Marcus. But Pam is doing well, better than I thought she would.”

“She has a purpose. Her little Edward needs her.” He folded her in his arms and they stood for a while, stronger together against the battering winds. “And speaking of needing …,” he said, holding her away from him and gazing down into her eyes.

She stared up at him and knew what was coming.

“Anne, I’ve told you I love you,” he said, gently. “That’s forever. I’m a man who is very set in his ways, and once I make a decision I never change my mind. I love you, and I want to marry you.”

This was the point at which she should answer, either yay or nay. She stared up at him. A long moment passed. His expression changed, and she knew she had hurt him with her pause.

“If the answer was yes, it would have been swift,” he said.

She laid her head against his chest for a moment, listening to his heart thump, then pulled away from him. All she could be was honest, and she didn’t know if it would hurt him or not. “I just don’t know, Tony. You’re asking me to make a decision for the rest of my life. At eighteen that was easy, but for some reason, at twenty-four, it has become so difficult.”

“Do you love me?” he urged, his dark eyes full of intensity and passion.

“How can I know? I
think
I do, but … how does one know for sure?”

“If you can even ask that question, then you don’t love me.” He dropped his hands from her arms.

She stared at him for a moment, feeling bereft. “I don’t think that’s true, you know. I think, for me, even if I do love you—and I feel it, Tony, I do!—I can still be unsure about marriage.”

“My God, just take the chance!” he said, grabbing her shoulders in his hands. He shook her slightly. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it! I’m sure enough for both of us. Marry me, Anne!”

She tore herself away from him, staggering backward in the thick grass. “Just give me time to breathe! Give me time to think!” She clutched her head in both hands, crushing her bonnet yet again. By the end of her relationship with Tony she would have no decent bonnets left. She took in a deep breath and let it out, slowly, looking up at the tree from which still dangled the charred remains of the Barbary Ghost effigy. “I’m going home, Tony, home to Kent, to Harecross Hall.”

“I’ll come, too, and meet your father,” he stated. “I know he’s important to you. I’ll meet him, if it will make you more sure.”

“No!” she said, holding up one hand. He was willfully misunderstanding her. “No. Please, Tony, just let me go away to think. And promise me that you’ll not follow me. Please?”

She stared into his dark eyes, and the pain there had her almost wavering, almost taking back her words. But the trembling fear inside her was real. How could she say yes, feeling as she did? She would be less than honest if she said yes to his proposal, less than honest and less than fair, for if she ultimately decided she could not marry him, how much worse would it be if they were engaged and she had to break it off?

His expression darkened and his sensual mouth thinned to a bitter line. “Do you really think all I have to do in my life is wait for your gracious answer? Is that fair, Anne?”

“No,” she shot back, hugging herself. “Not fair to
you
, perhaps. But my task in this life is to be fair to
myself
. By saying yes, I would be giving you what
you
want, but I’m not sure if it’s what
I
want. I will not answer; I will be happy, wed or not! Give me time!”

He was silent, staring at her, his mouth drawn down. The ocean breeze lifted his dark hair from his forehead and he impatiently swept it back. “How much time: a day, a week, a month? A
year
?” he shouted. “What do you expect?”

“I know I’m not being fair to you,” she cried and turned away. She stared out over the ocean. “And I don’t expect you to wait. If you can love someone else, then go to her.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“I’m not being absurd.” She turned back and stared at him. His dark eyes were wild with suppressed anguish, and she felt her heart squeeze in her chest, constricting, knowing she was causing him pain.

“You’re being worse than absurd,” he shouted, grabbing her wrist. “You’re throwing it all away. You’re behaving as though what is between us is unclear.”

“But it
is
unclear,” she said, pulling her wrist from his grasp. “It just is not as simple for me as it is for you, Tony!” She turned away so he would not see the tears in her eyes. Silence. Staring off over the ocean, she sobbed, her voice thick with unshed tears, “Tony, please! It’s all I can do. Let me go home and think. Don’t follow me.” She turned around to him, but he was walking away, toward Cliff House. And when she got back to the house, he was gone, having said a hasty goodbye to Pamela.

Cold fear clutched her heart. Had she chased him away forever? What else could she expect? She could do no more, nor any less. This was her life and she must direct it as she thought right.

Another two days later, everything was finally settled. Anne had made good on her promise to Abraham Goldsmith to buy gem chips for the eyes of the cat on the head of the exquisite carved walking stick he wrought, and it was done, polished, wrapped in fine fabric to protect it and stowed in Anne’s trunk. Anne would always remember her time spent with Abraham and Rebecca as the most peaceful of her visit to Cornwall.

Magistrate Twynam had been back several times to Pam’s home, and it was clear that he suspected there was more to the story of the smuggling gang than he was being told. But his frequent reappearance often seemed to have more to do with Lolly’s delicious cooking than any further questions, and in the end his questions were mostly, “Miss Broomhall, have you made fresh scones today?” and “Miss Broomhall, would you care to accompany me to the village for tea?”

Anne was bemused by Lolly’s hauteur in the face of her weighty admirer’s compliments and blandishments. If they had more time to spend at Cliff House, something may even have come of it, for the gentleman was well fixed and a widower, with grown children.

But they had to leave.

Pam’s affairs were straightened out, the smuggled goods sold off to her contacts. With Micklethwaite dead and Puddicombe in jail, she had made much more money than anticipated, but she had given a good amount to Harriet and Johnny to begin their marriage properly, and made sure all of her “boys” were amply rewarded for the risks they had taken in the smuggling trade. Mrs. Gorse had been paid for her services, and Edward was now with his mother, for Pamela no longer cared about her reputation in St. Wyllow. In a sense, she had already flown from English shores to a better life in the colonies.

Alice, Pam’s little Cornish maid, was going to move with her to Canada, for she had no family, and was fervently loyal to her mistress; Anne was relieved to know Pamela would at least have some companionship, even if it was just a maidservant. Micklethwaite’s heir, a distant cousin in Devonshire, had already been to Cliff House and was to move into it the moment Pamela was gone.

Finally, it was time to go. Anne walked the halls of Cliff House, thinking how many things had changed since she had arrived. Darkefell had left Cornwall, and though she had asked for time before giving him a definitive reply to his second proposal, his abrupt departure and his anger left her wondering if he even wished for a positive answer now. If she had chosen differently, she could be going home to Kent an engaged woman. She descended the stairs to the ground floor, pressing one hand against her stomach, which had been roiling for days, since that last scene with the marquess.

What if she had made a dreadful mistake? What if she never saw him again? She hadn’t intended to mistreat him, nor was she trying to be coy, but it was her
life
they spoke of, her
whole
life. Everything about it would change the moment she said that one little three-letter word, the very instant she said “yes.”

Sanderson waited outside with the carriage once more, just as he had a hundred times before. Lolly, Mary, and Robbie were already in the carriage, but Irusan stalked beside her, down the stairs and out to the front, where Pamela, holding Edward, stood. Pam already had tears in her eyes.

“Pam, darling, don’t cry,” Anne said. “You and Edward are to come to me in Kent for a long rest before you sail. Summer crossings are plentiful, and you can come to us for a month or more. You know my father will adore seeing you again.”

“Your dear father; so kind, so gentle!” Pam said, her voice clogged with unshed tears. “But Anne, I think the break will be easier if I just leave. There is a ship sailing from Penzance in a week. I’ve already booked passage to Montreal and written to my cousin there to expect me.”

Anne felt her heart constrict. “I’m going to miss you so!” she cried, hugging her friend and Edward to her. They stood thus for a long time in the late May sunshine, but as much as it hurt, Anne knew she must go. “Goodbye, dear heart,” she said, caressing Pam’s pale cheek. “Write to me and tell me all about your voyage, and your new home.” She then took Edward’s chubby fist in her hand and kissed it, the skin soft under her lips. “And goodbye, little Eddy,” she said, pinching his cheek. “You take care of your mama for me. She is precious beyond words.”

Anne turned to leave.

Pam said, “Wait!” She set her son down on the doorstep and took Anne’s hands in hers, staring into her eyes. “Anne, I must say this. Don’t push away a chance at love. You know, Marcus cared for you very much, but sometimes he could be such a dolt. One of his friends told me Darkefell truly was standing up for you that night at the assembly, when he attacked my cloddish brother. Marcus was trying to be witty, but did it crudely. As much as I loved my brother, he would have made you a dreadful husband. The marquess … I like him very much, for there is a kindness beneath his hauteur. A man like that does not come along every day.”

Anne was silent, not sure how to answer.

“You’ve wounded him terribly. Such a man does not offer his heart, only to have it dismissed as an unworthy gift.”

“I did no such thing, Pam, I merely asked for time to think over his proposal.”

“Then think, but I hope it’s not too late. He was dreadfully angry the last time I saw him. Think about what you’re throwing away.” Pam cupped Anne’s face with one gentle hand. “Darkefell loves you; I don’t need to hear it from him to see it in his eyes, the way he looks at you, the care he takes of you. I had that with Bernard, and even though I lost him, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, the love, the care, the tenderness of a worthy man.” Pam hugged Anne again and gave her a little push toward the carriage. “Now go, and think about what I have said.”

Tears in her eyes, Anne climbed into the carriage, followed by Irusan, and waved goodbye.

First, they would stop at Bath to drop Lolly off, and thence to Kent. Home beckoned with the warm light of paternal love.

***

“Papa!” Anne cried, her skirts rucked up in her fists, racing up the stairs of Harecross Hall, along the gallery and through the library door, followed closely by Irusan, who seemed delighted to be home, too. “Papa!”

And there he was, sitting in a golden pool of light with a stack of books in front of him on the desk, his balding head gleaming, his pouched and rheumy eyes watering, his posture stooped. He straightened, his leather chair creaking with the movement, and the gladness in his eyes was a delight to see. “Annie! My dearest child! You’re home.”

She raced across the room and threw herself into his open arms, on her knees, as Irusan leaped to the desktop, scattering books and papers and crooning his own happiness to be home. The earl rocked her, holding her close while Irusan butted them both with his massive head and purred. When Anne finally looked up at her father, it was to see tears in his eyes.

“Papa, is everything all right?”

“It is now,” he said. “You’re home. I’ve missed you so, my darling girl.”

“I’ve missed you, too. I have so much to tell you! But right now, this is good enough.” She hugged him close, breathing in his ineffable smell, of old books and hair pomade, pipe tobacco and port. “Oh, Papa, I have missed you so terribly.”

Two weeks later—the middle of June—life had settled into familiar patterns, though there were a few unfamiliar problems to deal with, as well. In Anne’s absence a distant cousin with her several children had entrenched herself at Harecross Hall, and it would take some diligence to rid the manor of their pestilential habitation.