Virgin Star (2 page)

So he bought the historic Hanover House.

The most conventional use ever made of the grand entrance hall was the time Seanessy and one of his ladies played out an engaging game of chess on its checkered marble floor. The housemaids stood in for the lady's white pieces, while the gardeners and grooms stood in for his black. Seanessy was a master chess player, iconoclastic and nearly unbeatable and he would have won if only the treacherous maids had not cheated for the lady every time he turned his back.

Cursing silently, Sean gave up calling for the butler, cursing Tilly for having hired him—" 'cause 'e goes to my church, ye see"—and he turned to Kyler.

"Sir?" A proper accent sounded at his back.

Sean swung around to confront the older man. "Curse you, Charles! You move like a ghost through walls, but only after I give up calling your Christian name arid start cursing your mother."

"Completely unnecessary, I'm sure. She has after all been dead all these long years; one could hardly expect the good woman to answer your summons. Perhaps, though," he grinned widely, "I might be of help?"

A contrived smile and all farce, which Seanessy noticed. "Charles, you are full of more pretenses than an aging and fat whore. Now where's my cloak? It's still raining out there. I do have a cloak?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," the butler answered.

"Well, I'm making it your life's extraordinary mission to find out. And if I do have a cloak, I know you will be good enough to bring it to me."

"Indeed." Charles quickly withdrew, as silently as he had come.

Seanessy picked up one of his pistols from the polished mahogany table, a table, Tilly kept reminding him, that was meant to hold gold-engraved cards and a jeweled glove box, "not a man's armaments." He checked the fuse, a routine procedure ever since his last butler—not really a butler but rather a crew member filling in until Tilly could hire a properly trained manservant—fired one of his pistols at a large white rat. The bullet hit the rat, then ricocheted off the decorative knight's armor nearby to blow a hole in the portrait of sober-eyed Thomas Moore. The seaman set the pistol back down on the mahogany foyer and forgot the incident.

The next day as Seanessy rode through Covent Garden on his way out of town, he had come upon five brutes beating a young woman to the ground. Needless to say, the empty round he fired did little to deter the beasts. He had had to dismount and do the business by hand, which he would not have minded so much if not for the two daggers/a cracked bottle, and a rusty pipe they used. For his trouble he had received a neat slice across his arm and a ripped shirt, and he had almost missed the fourth birthday party for his nephew, little Sean.

He slipped the pistol into his shoulder harness. The night promised better than even odds of seeing it fired. They were first meeting with Keegan O'Connell, the leader of the Irish rebels, then they were to meet with none other than Robert Banks Jenkinson, Second Earl of Liverpool and Prime Minister of these merry ole shores. O'Connell no doubt wanted guns and money, while Earl—Seanessy's affectionate nickname for the man, one that never failed to irritate him—no-doubt wanted guns as well, the larger kind that came attached to a fast and sleek clipper or frigate. The earl would get a flat no, while O'Connell—bless his Irish heart—would receive, as he always-did, the full benefit of Sean's generosity.

For Seanessy was many things, but all flew beneath the green and white banner of Ireland. As the unlikely product of an illicit mating between an Irish peasant woman and Patrick Shaw, a rebel priest, Seanessy, like all his countrymen, owned a deeply felt love and passion for the Emerald Isle, despite the many fine trappings bought by his numerous relationships among the English aristocracy. One of these relationships was that of half brother to Lord Ramsey Barrington, for while Ram claimed the Barrington title, the identity of his real father was Patrick Shaw as well.

If O'Connell knew any one thing, it was how to exploit an Irishman to the cause of a free Ireland. Exploit them he did. All O'Connell, indeed all any Irishman wanted was a free Ireland. The first step was parliamentary representation in the English Parliament, with the fervent hope that someday this would lead to reinstitution of an Irish parliament and a separate country at last.

Sean wanted it as much as any Irishman living.

Watching the captain don the long cloak Charles finally brought, Kyler mused, "I doubt you'll convince Keegan of the wisdom of patience."

"You are no doubt right," Seanessy said. "The man's as stubborn as a mule looking uphill,"

"Like yourself Sean—'tis the Irish curse." Through the window Kyler caught sight of Butcher—one of Sean's first mates—and a groom bringing around their mounts. "Here's Butcher now."

"Dear Lord, is there a personage in our midst with the unconventional name of"—Charles forced himself to pronounce it, and did so with an incredulous lift of brow, "Butcher?"

"Don't look so alarmed, Charles." Sean slapped the old gent's back as he opened one side of the wide doors. "I'm sure the good man earned the name by a conventional use of the knife."

"Oh, aye." Kyler chuckled behind Sean. "A regular meat monger, he was."

"Meat monger?" Seanessy pretended surprise. "I was sure he told me he had been a tree pruner."

"A tree pruner, of course," Charles said, as if this were very likely. Though nothing in this house was very likely; indeed everything fell into one of three categories: fantastic, inconceivable, and absolutely unbelievable. Like the sheer volume of unattached females. Or the numerous oddities like the barrel of live snakes at the door, put there amid much humor the last time a group of religious zealots got past soft-hearted Tilly to interrupt the captain's supper hour. Of course, the most outrageous aspect of this house was the wild men who apparently made up Captain Seanessy's crew, men Seanessy affectionately called "the boys," an ill-fitting title for the dozens of barbarians who roamed this grand old house.

Men like Butcher, Charles saw as he stepped out behind Seanessy and Kyler. His gaze focused on the unlikely form of this meat monger or tree pruner.

Raven-black hair and a thick beard, a man as large as any person's worst nightmare. His face appeared badly scarred too, no doubt the result of his illustrious career hashing about with sharp objects. A number of archaic sabers hung from his wide black belt, this last fitted around animal pelts that only a savage might consider high fashion.

Charles pretended to look impassive, turning from Butcher to the captain himself. The unconventionally tall man had a startling, frightening, and yet somehow utterly imperial appearance; to see him once was to remember him always. Today he wore gray riding pants, tall black boots sporting gold spurs, a loose-fitting white cotton shirt, a loose neck cloth, and a wide belt, all covered in the long black cape that billowed out behind him. A wide-brimmed black hat topped his shoulder-length blond hair like a crown.

Charles placed his white-gloved hands behind his back, watching as Seanessy took hold of the reins of the enormous beige stallion. The wild steed turned in fast hard circles until Seanessy managed to pull him up. Yet Seanessy's hazel eyes abruptly focused hard on Charles, who straightened instinctively. "Charles, what the devil's that?"

Charles turned to see it. Despite his certainty that not a thing more could shock him, his face paled as he realized what it was. "Why, it appears to be a dead person." A brow raised, he looked rather dispassionately back at Seanessy. "Shall I send for the gravedigger's cart?"

Alarming words. Seanessy dismounted, handing his reins to the waiting groom before rushing up the steps to kneel at the side of the body. Butcher and Kyler followed.

Seanessy gently turned it toward him. Strong hands pulled the sackcloth apart to reveal a thick long stream of wet gold hair over a face. "My God, it's a child!"

He swept aside a good foot-long rope of hair. The hair was as thick with curls as a Negro's hair but colored dark gold, matted and bloodied about her head. Thin black brows arched over her closed eyes. Mud covered the deathly pallor of her pale skin.

Butcher took one look before swearing, "Good Lord! Seanessy, you are the only man I know who, when he gets a bedraggled and beaten lass dropped on the doorstep, she turns out as comely as a queen's jewel box. A little frail and too young, I see, and look at that bump!" He shook his head sadly. "May God damn the villain who did it."

Kyler asked, "Is she still alive?"

Sean laid a gentle finger against her month. He could not tell. He lowered his head to her chest, catching the faintest trace of a musky perfume, so incongruent with the battered, seemingly lifeless form. The faintest beat of her life remained. "Aye."

"Who the hell could she be?"

A powerful feeling washed over Seanessy as he stared down at the comely child, and this premonition was neatly summed up in the one phrase: "Trouble, that's who," he answered, irritated now, wondering just how much trouble she would be and if he could possibly avoid it. "Curse the blasted luck. Well, maybe I can give her back. Kyler, round up some boys and try to find the whoresons who dropped her off—-they can't be far. Butcher, go and fetch Toothless. She looks like she needs more than a bit of patching up. He should be at the Bear's Inn and if not there, try Lord Huntington's. And meet us over there." Because of Charles's presence, he did not say the name of the tavern where they were to meet O'Connell and his rebel outlaws. O'Connell was wanted by each and every redcoat, and if ever caught, he would no doubt be executed on the spot. Although Charles was probably no more than what he appeared to be—an aging manservant with absolutely no political interest or persuasion—Sean still did not know yet if he could trust him. "We're already late."

"Aye, aye."

The two mates stepped quickly out in the misty rain, mounted, and kicked gold spurs to their horses—-all Sean's men wore the ancient symbol of chivalry. Sean swept the girl up into his arms, and knowing Charles would be absolutely useless in this situation, he called out to Tilly, his favorite and so often his salvation. For Tilly, bless her grating, sensitive soul, loved nothing more than caring for and tending the multitudes of stray waifs and cats and beggars littering the streets of London.

Carrying two bowls of goat's milk for her cats, Tilly stepped into the hall from the kitchen when she heard the rich timbre of the master's voice. "Oh, no, trouble; I can always tell," she said in a whispered rush as she set the bowls down in the hall. With a sweep of her long black skirts, she ran into the spacious lower gallery, appearing in the entrance hall just as Sean and Charles entered.

"There you are," Sean greeted his head housekeeper. He knew the good woman's penchant for charity was nearly as bad as Butcher's; the girl would be fussed over and nursed like a babe. As if he offered a present, Seanessy said, "Tilly dear, look what I found for you!" "

The plump, middle-aged woman took one look and gasped. "My Lord! What is it—"

"Your new pet, Tilly," he explained, stopping as Tilly came close to see. "I found her on the portico."

"Good'eavens! What'appened to 'er?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know—that's where you come in." Seanessy moved toward the staircase. "Butcher left to fetch Toothless. He'll patch her up, and it will be your duty to nurse her back to health and good spirits, give her a bag of coins and some motherly advice about the company she's been keeping, and send her home."

"Oh, Lord, the poor thing, the poor, poor thing." Tilly rushed after him, stopping to tell Charles and two maids to fetch hot water bottles and bandages.

Seanessy waited impatiently through Tilly's quick orders. "Now," he said, looking down the long gallery, "where should I put her? What room is farthest from my apartments?"

Seanessy headed up the east staircase.

"Well, we just had the east wing waxed today— quite a chore 'twas too—"

Seanessy turned from the east wing rooms.

"And the upper gallery rooms be nearly all taken with th' boys this week, and la!" She imagined the crewmen mistaking the girl for one of the "others"— the numerous women who frequented the house and still made her blush. The horror of the men making that kind of mistake made her grab her heart. "Wouldn't do to set her among yer men now, would it?"

Seanessy stopped at the staircase and in a pretense of patience said, "Tilly, what room should I put her in?"

"Well, if ye ask me and I believe ye did, then I would say the green room, 'tis lovely in the fall light, an if'in I were an poor invalid tryin' to recover my 'ealth and spirits—"

"That's too close, Tilly—"

"Mercy, cap'n, mercy. Does th' poor, poor girl look like she's goin' to be a bother to ye now? And 'twould be convenient for me as well, for I wouldn't ’ave to climb three flights to wait on 'er and I can sleep right next door—"