The Rogue's Return (20 page)

“We can at least kiss,” Simon said, so she sat beside him, and they did.

“Care to share with me what put that sparkle in your eye?” he murmured against the corner of her mouth.

“No.”

“Ah-ah. Something wicked. Tell me. Perhaps I can make it come true.”

She chuckled. “I don't think so.”

“Now you really have to tell me. I promise not to be shocked.”

“How can you promise that?”

His brows rose. “That outrageous? My imagination is running riot. You'd better tell me before I assume worse than the truth.”

She pushed him playfully. “Oh, you. Very well then. I was wondering . . . I was there with three fine gentlemen. . . .” His brows rose again, and some bold part of her
wanted
to shock him. “I was imagining a woman with a harem of men.”

“Jancy, you treasure! Of course I'd never permit it any more than you'd permit me a harem of blushing damsels, but you are full of surprises beneath your sober plumage.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No. I like it. You're like a set of puzzle boxes. Each day a new delight, and one day I'll reach the secret heart of you.”

Jancy smiled, praying that never come true.

She soon realized that it wasn't going to be easy to keep her secrets. Simon grew stronger every day, but many movements still hurt and he preferred to sit most of the time, either in the cabin or on deck. Hal and Norton joined them for cards but also frequently left them together. Sometimes he read to her as she sewed, but often he wanted to talk—about her.

“Was it strange to move from a large house to a small one?” he asked one day.

The sun was shining so they were on the deck, warmly dressed, watching nature's colorful display pass by.

She had to think how it might be. “We had our own rooms, and Mother and I rarely entered the school proper.”

“Didn't she have care of the boarders?”

Help.
She'd never thought about these things. “I suppose so. But she didn't take me. I was only just ten when my father died and we left for that smaller house.”

“I saw a picture.”

She looked a question at him.

“In your room, when I took in wood. Your cousin was very skilled.”

Jancy suddenly wanted to talk about Jane, even if in deceitful terms. She missed her so much. “Yes, but houses and landscapes weren't her forte. She loved portraiture. She created quite a stir last year. Our chapel—we attended the Evangelical chapel, not the Anglican church—decided to raise money for soldiers wounded by the war. We held a summer fete, and the minister persuaded . . . Nan”—
Be careful!
She'd almost said Jane—“to do portrait sketches at two shillings a time.

“She took some persuading, for she was shy, but she also had a most generous heart.” She smiled at him. “She raised over five pounds, because those who could afford it gave her much more. It was for a good cause, of course, but people were truly delighted. I do believe she could have made it her profession, but as I said, she was shy and then Aunt Martha fell ill.”

“Aunt Martha?”

Ice ran down Jancy's spine. “Her Aunt Martha.”

He seemed to accept that. “When did she come to live with you?”

Still shocked by her mistake, Jancy hunted through her answer for traps before saying, “When I was ten. She was nine, but our birthdays were only four months apart.”

“And she was an orphan from Scotland? No Otterburns up there to take her in?”

This was becoming an inquisition. Did he suspect?

“I assume not. Why do you ask?”

“I merely wondered.”

Jancy grabbed on to the well-practiced lie that Martha had drilled into her. She'd lived this story so much that in a way it seemed true. “I gather Nan's father was a black sheep. He gamed and drank himself into disaster, so his family cast him off, and her mother had died when she was young.”

“So they sent the ‘bad blood' to England.”

The words “bad blood” sank into her stomach like a stone.

 

Simon was enjoying this drifting time apart from life. He grew stronger by the day, and his ribs pained him less. Now that they had leisure, he was learning more about Jane and his old feelings of mystery seemed foolish. He might have seduced her if she hadn't been in her courses, but as it was, he was content to wait, talk to her, and simply look at her.

Not that there weren't problems ahead.

Though she hid it, she was clearly unhappy with the distant prospect of becoming a countess, and not even comfortable with Brideswell. She'd probably prefer a small home like the one she'd had in Carlisle, which made no sense to him.

She was as frugal as a miser. At this moment she was setting neat stitches that made a hole in her coarse stocking almost invisible. Admirable in a cottager's wife, perhaps, but he was used to women wanting to marry into wealth and position, not fearing it.

He looked away and saw a vee in the sky. He pointed it out and smiled at Jane's excited pleasure as the honking geese flapped overhead, heading south. Driven on their appointed course—as were they all. His course was to property, duty, responsibility, and a place in the heart of his world. Her course was now to be by his side.

He didn't want to compel her to anything, but he hoped she'd agree to a new wardrobe soon after arrival in England. She'd be more comfortable if properly
dressed. If she wished, she could wear the muted shades of half-mourning, but he longed to see her in sky blue, clear green, and buttery cream.

Or out of them . . .

She turned to him then, and something in her parted lips showed that she'd picked up a message from his eyes. Her lovely blush rose like dawn.

“I hope you never stop blushing,” he said.

“I only blush because you're a very wicked man.”

“I hope I never stop being a very wicked man. Blame it on the hair.”

“The hair?” she asked.

“I must have told you of Black Ademar's hair.”

She nipped off her thread with her teeth and rethreaded her needle. “No, I don't think so.”

“Another ancestor. Ademar de Braque was a Gascon adventurer who found favor with the young Edward I by his brilliance at jousting. The king was inordinately fond of jousting, and thus Ademar became rich and a great lord and married a fair lady. But he was famous for his ‘devil's hair'—black shot through with red, like mine.”

She cocked her head at him. “Was he wicked, then?”

“Trust me, my love, any nameless adventurer who rises to fame and glory is wicked. But it's the adventurousness that comes with the hair. Whenever the devil's hair appears in our family, it means the child will be a wild wanderer.”

“Like you?” She slid her stocking off the smooth wooden lump she used to sew against and glanced up to tease. “What happens if your fiery hair falls out?”

“Cruel woman.”

“Or goes gray?”

“Perhaps that's why we devil-heads tend to cool with time. So, would you want children with the hair?”

She colored again at the mention of children. Their children.

“I hope they all have sunrise hair,” he said softly. “A different, gentler fire.”

“Or they could be little Trewitts,” she pointed. “Solid and brown.”

She meant it to disconcert him, so he smiled. “That would be perfect, too.”

That night in bed, Jancy lay spooned against Simon's back, pretending to sleep.

Trewitt blood. Ademar's devilish hair. Hereward's urge to fight for justice.

Blood will out.

Blood will out.

Children did take after their parents, or their parents' parents, or their ancestors. She ought to tell him the truth.

But she never would.

J
ancy rose the next day to find they were approaching Kingston, where they changed to a shallow-bottomed boat that could pass through the tricky water upstream. The talk on the Kingston wharf was all about the harsh weather, and people who had come upriver from Quebec or the Atlantic carried rumors of an early freeze.

A captain reported that the
Eweretta
had been in Montreal five days ago, but ready to sail. Jancy had hoped to visit the shops here for supplies not available in York, but they decided to leave immediately.

The boat could navigate the rapids, but she persuaded Simon to walk around them with her. He appeared recovered, but she knew he still felt some pain and still had trouble sleeping in the night because of it.

“You don't want to risk an accident that could set you back.”

As they watched their boat hurtle and swirl through the rapids, she was grateful for their decision but a little wistful, too.

“Jancy,” Simon said with surprise, “you wish you were on that.”

She glanced at him. “A folly, but yes.”

He grinned. “So do I. I've shot rapids for the sheer excitement.” When she frowned at him, he shrugged. “It's the hair.”

“I think I'll pluck out every red strand.”

“Confess, you wouldn't really want me tame.”

She pretended to glare and they walked on, picking their way over rough ground. She didn't want him tame, but she didn't want him plunging into any more dangerous adventures, either.

As they passed between more densely populated shores, getting close to Montreal, a flurry of rain turned to hail. Jancy felt everyone's tension. Even though they had passage booked, the
Eweretta
would not risk being trapped by ice.

The tin-roofed city came in sight, startling Jancy with its size. As they approached the harbor, Simon called out to a passing vessel. “Has the
Eweretta
sailed yet?”

And the blessed reply was “
Non, monsieur.”

Jancy hugged Simon—carefully—for joy.

“Not many ships left, though,” Simon said, scanning ahead.

The harbor looked busy to Jancy, but she supposed there weren't many grand oceangoing vessels. “I hope we have time to buy some supplies.”

“No matter if you can't. The
Eweretta
is famous for providing well for its passengers.”

As they worked their way closer, weaving between other boats, she pointed to a tall monument. “What's that?”

“In honor of Lord Nelson. Strange, don't you think, that they've positioned him looking inland? But then, he apparently was plagued by seasickness.”

She squinted at him, wondering if he was joking. “Nelson was? Then why become a sailor?”

“It would seem his love of the sea outweighed the pain. Love frequently drives men mad.”

He clearly meant nothing by it, but it felt like an ill omen to her. She'd pinned the rightness of her actions on love, hers and his, but was it enough?

They pulled into the riverbank and a rough plank slammed down onto the muddy earth. They climbed carefully down it.

“I wouldn't mind an hour or two on solid ground,” she said.

But Simon took her hand. “Come on. Once we've announced ourselves, perhaps we can explore the city.”

They'd already decided that she and Simon would walk to the
Eweretta,
while Hal, Norton, and the servants took care of their possessions.

Though it was unlikely the ship would up-anchor and sail before their eyes, they hurried toward the wharf and along it. The
Eweretta
was huge and very grand with its fresh paint and gilding. Even the plank for them to go aboard was solid and had a handrail, with a smartly turned out sailor at top and bottom as guide and guard.

Once on board, however, Jancy saw the main deck had little more free space than the
Ferret
and was as crowded with crates and barrels. Some might be going below, but most seemed to be lashed in place. She saw pens containing animals.

“Pigs?” she asked Simon.

“Roast pork on the trotter.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Didn't you have fresh meat on the ship you came over on?”

“I fell sick so soon. Perhaps some of the hellish screams I imagined were real.”

“Squeamish? But then you're a town girl, aren't you? Used to your meat already dressed.”

“I suppose so,” she said, remembering helping skin rabbits and gut chickens. Stolen chickens.

A blond, fresh-faced man hurried over and introduced himself as Lieutenant Jolley. Once Simon identified himself, he said, “Very glad you've arrived, sir. We can be off. Kirkby!” he bellowed.

This summoned the cabin steward, whom Jancy knew would be chiefly responsible for their comfort. The steward on the
Wallace
had been a dour young man who seemed to resent anything demanded of him. Kirkby appeared a little old and thin for the job, but he was
sprightly and cheerful as he led them directly off the main deck into a large room. Jancy saw what people meant about the
Eweretta
.

She and Jane had been cabin passengers on the
Wallace
—the ones traveling in style. The
Wallace,
however, had been primitive compared to this.

Kirkby proudly showed off the central common room, or cuddy, and it could have graced a fine home. Three large, curtained windows lit its white-painted walls, and a carpet lay upon the floor. No, she realized, the carpet was painted on, but skillfully done. A carpet would certainly be difficult, for in an ocean storm, water could slosh in here, even over the raised barrier at the doorway.

The thought of ocean storms stirred her stomach, but she commanded it to behave. She'd been fine on the
Ferret
.

A gleaming mahogany table and chairs ran down the center of the room but left space for some easy chairs, a couple of small tables, and a desk. There was also a glass-fronted bookcase and other cupboards with solid doors. The room was warmed by a large stove covered with blue and white tiles. In her cloak and gloves, she was already hot.

Six doors opened off this room, three on either side, and Kirkby opened one. “Neat as you like,” he declared, gesturing them into their stateroom.

A way of saying “small,” Jancy decided, but their bedroom was still astonishingly elegant, and passengers were expected to spend most of their time in the cuddy or on deck.

Unless ill.

Don't think of that.

This room had only a small porthole for light, but the walls were glossily painted, and a mahogany washstand was built into one corner with a mirror above it. Only hooks were provided for clothes, but there was also a polished wooden chest for their possessions. When
closed, as Kirkby demonstrated, it made a convenient seat.

The beds were provided with clean mattresses and bedding, he assured them, but in other respects they were like the ones she and Jane had used on the way out—narrow and one above the other. Suddenly the dirty bed on the
Ferret
seemed like paradise.

“You just let me know, sir, if there's anything you want,” Kirkby was saying. “We prides ourselves on our passengers' comfort, we do, on the
Eweretta
.”

“I can see that,” Simon said. “Are there any cabins with larger beds?”

His eyes met Jancy's with a smile.

“Bless me, sir, but no. We're full, and the two family cabins have been taken by Colonel and Mrs. Ransome-Brown. They have their children with them, you see. Mrs. Ransome-Brown has one room, with her older daughter, her infant, and the governess. The colonel has the other with his two sons and his batman.”

“Clearly their need is greater than ours. Whom else do we travel with?”

“Well, sir, apart from your party, we have Mr. Shore, a clergyman, and we're to pick up a Mr. and Mrs. Dacre in Quebec. An excellent company, as I'm sure you'll find.”

When he left, Jancy smiled. “Does he protest too much?”

“Perhaps the colonel is a tartar, or his children monsters. Or the Reverend Shore a prosy bore. The hazards of sea travel. I'm more concerned about the beds.” He eyed them. “I do believe two people could sleep in one if they had no objection to being very, very close.”

Their eyes kissed again, but she said, “Your ribs?”

“Are fine. And besides, you'd stop me rolling about.”

“There's a high board on this side for precisely that purpose, sir.”

“All the better to tuck us together, my dear. We could test it out. . . .”

Jancy laughed as she drew him out of tempting privacy. “You are to behave. I'm quite in awe of all this and determined to create the right impression.”

She said it lightly, but she meant it. The
Wallace
had been a much simpler vessel, and her fellow passengers simpler people. She'd not expected this grandeur and knew she had neither the wardrobe nor the training for it. It couldn't be helped, but she'd insist on best behavior to compensate.

“Perhaps we have time to go to the shops,” she said as she led the way out onto the deck. A new bonnet. A fancy shawl. Some pretty caps. Some items to smarten up her plain clothes.

The ship was now a merry dance of sailors doing mysterious things under barked commands. A rotund, rather hard-faced man with short, brindled hair marched up to them. “Captain Stoddard, sir, ma'am. Welcome aboard. If you have no objection, sir, I intend to get under way as soon as your luggage arrives.”

Jancy wondered whether to beg for a little time, but Simon said, “No objection. The weather?”

“Reports of freezing in the gulf, sir. No problem if we leave promptly, though I've not seen a year like this. That infernal volcano.”

Simon nodded. “Astonishing how widespread an effect an eruption in Asia can have. I gather parts of Europe are in a bad way.”

“Aye, sir. I hope it doesn't affect the price of furs. I've summoned the rest of the passengers from shore and I had them on orders to be ready, so we should be under way shortly.” As if he could read Jancy's dismay, he added, “You'll find everything of the finest on board the
Eweretta,
ma'am. Fresh bread, meat, eggs.”

Jancy realized that clucking and squawking was coming from the longboat that hung the length of the deck. It was packed with crates of poultry.

Somewhere a cow lowed.

“Milch cow and nanny goat,” the captain boasted.
“Goat at the request of Colonel Ransome-Brown's lady. She prefers goat milk for her youngsters. If you have any special requests, ma'am, do not hesitate to make them known. We can delay long enough for a last-minute purchase or two if you will allow me to send a man. Can't afford to lose you.”

“Do you have a doctor aboard, Captain?” she asked.

“No, ma'am, but the bosun is quite skilled and we keep good medical supplies. And I assure you, you will not find us lacking for such things as fresh fruit and good wines.”

She suppressed a sigh. “Then no, thank you, Captain. I think we have all we need.”

He nodded and marched away to bark orders at someone.

“He seems eager to please,” she said.

“That's because we're his perquisite.” When she looked a question, he said, “Didn't you know? The carrying of passengers on a merchant vessel is at the captain's discretion and to his profit. He fits up the accommodation, provides the amenities, and pockets the passage money.”

She wanted to ask how much passage on the
Eweretta
cost but didn't even dare.

They worked their way around the busy deck to look out for Hal and Norton and saw them coming along with a small army of barrows. They paused to let another party come aboard, led by a stately lady in a green fur-lined cloak, an enormous fur muff, and a large tartan Scottish cap tilted modishly to one side.

Jancy wanted to slide down out of sight. Mrs. Ransome-Brown, for sure.

Simon leaned to murmur, “A Grand Panjandrum herself.”

Jancy saw that the beret had a button on top and bowed her head to hide an explosion of laughter.

When she'd recovered, the lady was aboard, accepting the captain's bow as her due and revealing a sinewy man
behind her, presumably the colonel. He was escorting a young man and woman who looked to be perhaps twelve and fifteen but were dressed in the latest adult fashion. The lad's starched shirt collar covered his ears, and the girl's flower-trimmed bonnet added a foot to her height. The procession was completed by a soberly dressed woman carrying a toddler, a maid with a child by the hand, and a soldier who was presumably the batman. They all disappeared into the cabin area.

“Oh, dear,” Jancy said.

“What's the matter?”

“She looks as grand as the queen.”

“I'm sure she'll be a source of great amusement, she and her Picninnies, Joblillies, and Garyulies.”