The Lady of Secrets (15 page)

If Blackwood chanced to look back, he would only be amused. But he appeared to have found a new quarry to torment. Mr. Johnston’s expression was far from welcoming as Blackwood approached.

Another man would have taken the hint, but Meg doubted
that anything short of a clout to the ear would have rebuffed Blackwood.

He greeted Johnston with a hearty clap on the shoulder and a hail-fellow-well-met grin. Even from across the deck, Meg observed Johnston grit his teeth. Johnston made it quite clear he preferred to be left alone and Blackwood persisted in approaching the man at every opportunity.

Meg suspected the doctor did so just to annoy the dour Mr. Johnston. Blackwood seemed to possess a mischevious streak, treating even the most serious matters as a jest.

His heated speech regarding the injustices dealt to England’s Catholics had astonished and confused her. She wondered if Blackwood, like his friend, was also a recusant. Yet she had difficulty imagining Blackwood that devout.

Still, he and Sir Patrick had been close friends at Oxford, poor struggling students. That was another remark Blackwood had made that surprised her. Sir Patrick claimed he came from gentry, a landed family from Middlesex. They certainly should have been able to afford a good education for their only son.

But like many recusant families, they may have been impoverished by the crown. If that were the case, Sir Patrick displayed no bitterness. Unlike Blackwood, Graham was completely devoted to King James. Or he seemed to be. For all of his kindness and courtesy, Meg was not sure that she understood Sir Patrick any better than she did Blackwood.

Meg was distracted from her thoughts by the unexpected sight of Seraphine stumbling toward her. Deep shadows pocketed her eyes and her lustrous hair tumbled in tangled waves about her shoulders, but a faint hint of color crept back into her pale cheeks.

“So you did not die after all,” Meg greeted her.

Seraphine’s steps were cautious as though she still expected
the deck to heave, or her stomach. “I have decided to live, at least until we get to shore. I am damned if I will die on this floating coffin.”

“We are drawing near Gravesend.”

“Yes, I am,” Seraphine said with a dramatic sigh.

“I mean
Gravesend,
the port where we will disembark …”

Seraphine brightened.

“… and catch the barge to London.”

Seraphine groaned and joined Meg at the deck rail, taking great care to keep her gaze averted from the river. The mist had burned away and Meg spied a trio of children playing upon the distant embankment. They waved at the passing ship and Meg lifted her hand in acknowledgment.

“So where is your devoted swain this morning?” Seraphine asked.

“If you mean Sir Patrick, I have no idea. I daresay he may still be below, asleep in his hammock.”

“While I was dying in that wretched hole of a cabin, it gave me much time to think about you.”

“Heaven help me,” Meg said, but Seraphine ignored her and went on. “I have always believed you too preoccupied with the past and your mother. But I think I know what your true problem is, Margaret Wolfe.”

“Pray enlighten me.” She might as well invite Seraphine to do so, because her friend would speak her mind anyway.

“You live far too quietly on that island of yours. You are thirty-one years old, unwed, and still a virgin. If you had more experience of the world, you would not be so spellbound by Sir Patrick, too ready to trust the first handsome man to cross your path.”

Meg glared at her. First Blackwood and now Seraphine
accused her of being smitten with Sir Patrick; this was beyond irritating.

“I am not entranced by Sir Patrick. Nor am I a virgin.”

Seraphine had her eyes half-closed as the breeze played across her face. But they flew open wide. “What! You don’t mean because of that Naismuth boy who kidnapped you and held you to ransom? That villainous music tutor ravished you?”

“No! Sander was reprehensible, but not evil enough to despoil a ten-year-old girl.”

“So who then?”

Meg regretted her outburst, but realized that Seraphine would give her no peace until Meg confessed. “I took a lover, a Spanish sea captain who made berth on Faire Isle.

“As daughters of the earth, we are taught to believe that the union between a man and woman is a most natural thing and I confess I have always been curious. The experience did not disappoint. It was warm, comforting, and very pleasant. There was nothing shameful about it.”

“Of course, there wasn’t. The only shameful thing is that you never confided about this man to
me.
But I know you too well, Meg. Natural or not, you would have never given yourself so intimately to any man if you had not given your heart as well.”

“I did believe I loved Felipe. I even thought of marrying him.”

“So what happened?”

“I felt obliged to tell him about my past … all of it.”

Seraphine groaned. “Why must you always be so infernally honest?”

“Should one not be with the person one loves?”

“No! Certain small deceits are often necessary to keep love alive.”

“Withholding the truth of my past was far too large a deceit.”

“And how did this Captain Felipe receive your honesty?”

“Just as you might expect. When I told him about the coven of the Silver Rose and about Maman and all her witchcraft, he was horrified and shrank away from me. But only until he had time to think about it. Then he was intrigued, wondering what I had learned from Maman and the
Book of Shadows,
what power I might be able to wield with my knowledge, what riches I could acquire. Just like Sander Naismuth, the dear and trusted friend of my childhood.”

Meg fetched a wearied and bitter sigh. “With deep regrets, I was obliged to send Felipe away from Faire Isle and ask him never to return.”

“Oh, Meggie! I am so sorry.” Seraphine enveloped her in a hard, compassionate hug, only to draw back with a frown. “But you have a rejected lover out there who knows all your secrets.”

“Felipe would never betray me. He swore upon his medallion of the Blessed Virgin to keep my secret and he would never break such an oath. He had that much honor in him and in any case he is now on the far side of the world. He sailed to make his fortune in la Florida and found it. From what I heard, he was appointed governor of one of the new Spanish colonies there.”

“Good. That saves me the trouble of going to find the wretch and cut off his—er—heart.”

Meg smiled. “You need not harbor such vengeful thoughts on my account. I have long ago recovered from any hurt Felipe dealt me.”

“Except for the urge to burrow deeper into your island and never trust again.” Seraphine eyed her shrewdly. “How long ago was your liaison with Captain Felipe?”

“Three … no, perhaps closer to four years ago.”

“Far too long. When one is tossed by a mean-tempered steed, it is well to get quickly back into the saddle again.”

Meg tried to protest that Felipe was not a horse, but Seraphine was not listening.

“You need to take another lover,” she mused. “But this time keep your heart and your secrets to yourself. And choose someone whose lovemaking does not inspire such adjectives as
warm, comfortable,
and
very pleasant.
Your gentle Sir Patrick will never do, despite his handsome face.” Seraphine’s gaze traveled across the deck to where the doctor was harassing the very annoyed Mr. Johnston.

“Blackwood should be your man.”

“Blackwood?” Meg laughed. “You don’t even like him.”

“I don’t need to. I am not the one who should bed him.”

“Neither am I.”

“You should at least consider it. Blackwood is a rogue, the kind of scoundrel who would make a good lover, but leave your heart unscathed. I know enough of men that I would wager he would bring a deal of fire and passion to your bed.”

“Is that what Gerard did for you?”

“No, I was the one who brought the fire to our marriage.” Seraphine looked a trifle wistful. “But I must admit, Monsieur le Comte kindled marvelous well.”

This was the opening Meg had been seeking, to once more urge the possibility of Seraphine reconciling with her husband. But she was prevented by Sir Patrick joining them.

With Seraphine and Blackwood both insisting that she
was enamored of Sir Patrick, it was all Meg could do to meet the man with any degree of composure. But she refused to allow their nonsensical accusations to turn her into some foolish blushing chit. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she greeted him cheerfully.

“Good morrow, Sir Patrick.”

“Good morrow, milady.” He took her hand and bowed over it, his lips curving into his shy half smile that touched Meg in some way she could not explain.

She was not infatuated with Sir Patrick. Meg was sure of that and yet she could not deny she was drawn to him, something in his sad blue eyes calling to her like the haunting rhythms of the sea.

He retained her hand, his gaze meeting hers for a long moment until Seraphine gave an exaggerated cough. He released Meg and turned his attention to Seraphine.

He bowed. “Madame la Comtesse. I hope you are feeling better?”

“Somewhat. I will not feel entirely well until you get me off this ship.”

“Your ordeal will be over soon, I promise you. I hope to have both of you comfortably installed in my own house by tonight and then arrange Mistress Wolfe’s meeting with the king for tomorrow or the next day at latest.”

Seraphine’s brows rose with haughty surprise. “You are entirely too hasty, monsieur. You have already denied us enough time to prepare for this journey. Neither of us has brought any attire appropriate for an audience at court. We will require at the very least a fortnight to visit the shops, acquire a skilled dressmaker, and I may have to send back to Paris for some of my jewels.”

“None of that will be necessary.” Sir Patrick smiled at
Meg. “I promise you your meeting with the king will be very informal and of a most private nature.”

Meg, who had listened to Seraphine’s plans with dismay, was relieved by Sir Patrick’s assurance, but Seraphine scowled.

“You propose to sneak the Lady of Faire Isle up the back stairs of the palace as though she was some lowly spy or a hired doxy? I think not!”

“I intend no insult to the Lady. But you must appreciate the delicacy of this situation. The utmost discretion is required. His Majesty would not wish the story of his curse to become a matter of court gossip.”

Seraphine gave a derisive laugh. “It likely already is if his court is anything like the one in Paris.”

“But I agree with Sir Patrick,” Meg said. “I would prefer my meeting with the king to take place as quietly as possible.”

Seraphine opened her mouth to argue, but she was forestalled by the sound of a louder altercation taking place. Angry voices carried across the deck, drawing Sir Patrick’s attention away. Meg followed his gaze to where Mr. Johnston clearly had had enough of Blackwood’s company.

The doctor had retreated a step, flinging up his hands, but the gesture was more mocking than placating. “If I am mistaken, I beg your pardon, Guido.”

The agent’s weathered face stained a darker red. “I told you, the name is
Johnston.
John Johnston. You would do well to remember that, you drunken fool.”

He jabbed his finger against Blackwood’s chest. Blackwood continued to smile, but Meg saw his hands curl into fists. Sir Patrick had clearly noticed as well.

“Excuse me,” he muttered and sprinted across the deck. Crew members had paused in their work, faces avid in the expectation of a brawl. But Sir Patrick insinuated himself in
between Blackwood and Johnston. Meg could not hear what was being said, Sir Patrick’s voice low and intense.

The doctor relaxed, but Johnston remained rigid, as tightly coiled as a snake that could easily be provoked to strike.

“There is something dangerous about that man,” Meg murmured to Seraphine.

“Which man? Sir Patrick or Blackwood?”

“Mr. Johnston.” Meg frowned. Something about him had rendered her uneasy from the moment he had come aboard, and she struggled to articulate the feeling. “He neither behaves nor dresses like other merchants I have seen. He carries himself like a soldier, erect, vigilant, looking over his shoulder as though in anticipation of an attack. I do not think Mr. Johnston is at all what he claims to be.”

“You could easily say the same for Dr. Blackwood or Sir Patrick Graham. This Johnston joined us in St. Malo?”

“Yes, when you were first confined to your cabin.”

“And he was quite unknown to anyone before?”

“Mr. Johnston behaved as though he was unacquainted with Sir Patrick or Dr. Blackwood.”

Seraphine’s gaze narrowed as she studied the three men still engaged in low conversation. “They do not act as if they are strangers.”

Meg was receiving the same disquieting impression. Seraphine turned to her, her face earnest. “There is still time to turn back, Meg. When we reach Gravesend, we could slip away and find a ship to carry us back to Faire Isle.”

“I would like nothing better, but I can’t, ’Phine. At least not until I have met with the king and judged the truth of this troubling matter for myself.”

“Then insist upon His Majesty receiving you properly at
court. You are not some Gypsy girl. You are the Lady of Faire Isle.”

“You would enjoy such a public reception, but you know I shudder at such a thing. I always prefer to attract as little notice as possible.”

“There is a great danger in that, Meg. Fade into the woodwork and no one will notice if you disappear.”

“You would.”

“But perhaps not in time to save you.”

“Sir Patrick has said—”

“Damn Sir Patrick. You place far too much blind faith in that man’s assurances.”

“Not a blind faith, but I do trust his honor enough to see me safely through one meeting with the king. And one meeting is all I require. If I am to uncover the truth of this curse and the connection with Maman and the Silver Rose coven, I do not believe I will find my answer at Whitehall, which is just as well. Could you imagine me trying to make my way among a palace full of ambitious, gossiping courtiers, up to my ears in intrigue?”