Though several weeks passed, no official came out from town to make an arrest. Gage cautiously breathed a sigh of relief, as did his wife, and their lives began to take on a new significance. To their amazement visitors from the hamlet began to bring small gifts as token offerings of friendship to Shemaine, as if to declare their acceptance of her and their desire to get acquainted. It was mainly through the persistence of Calley Tate (by way of callers coming to her bedside), Hannah Fields, and Mary Margaret McGee that a change in attitudes was beginning to take place. The three women fervently lauded the praises of their new friend, declaring to everyone who would listen that Shemaine was a genteel lady who had been wrongly convicted.
Life was not altogether idyllic, however, for Shemaine began to suspect that Jacob Potts had recovered from his wound and was back in the area. She could hardly walk outside without sensing that she was being spied upon by someone hiding deep within the wooded copse. Gage searched the forest time and again, but he could find only some freshly broken twigs and recent disturbances of the rotting leaves that covered the forest floor. A deer or some other animal could have done as much. Even so, Shemaine could not escape a feeling of foreboding, and for the sake of caution, she began toting a flintlock with her whenever she went outside. Whether she went to play outside with Andrew, to wash clothes or to do some other chore, she was intent upon being prepared for the worst. If her apprehensions proved to be nothing more than an overly active imagination, then she had lost nothing, but if Potts was really out there somewhere, she wanted to stop him before he harmed one of them. After Gage gave her further instructions on the use of the firearm, her accuracy improved to the degree that she began to feel quite tenacious about using the weapon if circumstances warranted it.
Gage kept up a constant vigil even though his young wife remained unaware of the depth of his concern. Every morning and afternoon, he or one of his workmen would either ride in a wide sweep through the woods or tread more stealthily on foot to see what they could find or even surprise. None of them were experienced trackers, and they only noticed what was apparent, which was very little. If Potts was hiding in the trees, then he was being extremely cautious about it.
After bidding his men to keep a protective eye on his family, Gage ventured into Newportes Newes to question Morrisa again. But the harlot had been ordered to go down to the docks with some of the other strumpets and meet the large ship that was just coming into port. The London Pride would be setting sail soon, now that her cargo holds were full, and the girls were expected to find new customers among the incoming male passengers and crew. If their earnings diminished, Freida had threatened, they would soon find their victuals limited to the bare necessities. Except for a curt retort denying the whereabouts of Potts, Morrisa refused to be delayed unless Gage could promise her a full evening’s entertainment upstairs with her fee paid in advance, for she could not chance arousing the madam’s ire.
“That li’l pipsqueak Myers complained ta Freida ’bout me, an’ now I’m havin’ ta drum up twice as many gents ta placate the shrew. ‘Tain’t ’cause I’m fond o’ bein’ at her beck an’ call, ye understand. I’d just as soon stay here with ye an’ give ye me services free, just ta show ye how much better I can pleasure ye than that li’l bogtrotter ye married. But if’n I cheat Freida out o’ what she thinks is due her, she’s threatenin’ to sell me ta one o’ them mountain men what comes in here. Do ye ken how mean an’ nasty those brutes are? Why, one took a bite o’ me so hard he drew blood. Made me scream, he did!”
“You should be used to such behavior after being with Potts,” Gage remarked without a trace of sympathy.
Morrisa squawked in outrage and swept up a heavy pewter mug from a nearby table. She hauled back an arm to send it flying, but the unperturbed smile on Gage’s lips made her pause in sudden wariness.
“Freida is watching,” he warned with a full measure of satisfaction. The harlot’s rage rapidly dwindled as he raised a hand to direct her attention to the stairs, where the madam stood like a well-fortified fortress. With her pale, flabby arms folded in front of her and her slippered toe tapping an irritated staccato on the step, Freida readily conveyed the fact that Morrisa would forfeit more than a few victuals if she aroused the ire of another customer.
Morrisa carefully lowered the tankard to the table as Freida strode down the stairs and came forward. Gage had no wish to hear the stern rebuke that promised to be forthcoming, and he took his leave of the tavern, almost colliding with Mrs. Pettycomb, who was hurrying along the boardwalk in front.
“Well, if it isn’t Gage Thornton!” the matron declared in surprise. She readjusted the wire-rimmed spectacles on her thin, hawkish nose in an effort to see every minute detail as her small, dark eyes swept over him. Any man who wed a convict could well expect recompense in some form or another if he didn’t defer to his wife’s whims, but much to Alma’s disappointment, Gage had no blackened eyes or bruised jaw. Curiously Alma peered through the open door of the tavern and probed the interior until her gaze settled on Morrisa. Her thin eyebrows lifted sharply, and with a smug smile, she returned her attention to the tall man. “Out visiting, Gage?”
The brown eyes chilled to a penetrating coldness at her erroneous conjecture. “Merely taking care of business, Mrs. Pettycomb.”
“Oh, of course.” Alma smirked. “I’m sure that’s what all the men say when they’ve been caught sporting with loose women.”
Gage snorted, irritated by her assumption. “That’s hardly the case, Mrs. Pettycomb, but think what you will!”
Alma pursed her thin lips in complacent haughtiness, but in the very next instant, she had to step hastily aside as Morrisa stormed out of the tavern. The harlot seemed oblivious to the flustered matron as she glowered at the man.
“If’n ye weren’t so caught on that bogtrotter ye married, Gage Thornton, ye’d see how good it could be betwixt the two o’ us. But no! Ye’ve got ta be a proper husband ta M’liedy Sh’maine. Well, I hope ye’ll be satisfied with the bundle o’ brats ye’ ll be gettin’ from her, ’cause that’s all she’ll be givin’ ye. She don’t know anythin’ more’n that! As for me, I’m goin’ ta see what gents’ll be arrivin’ at the docks. Maybe I’ll catch me a looker this time.”
Stalking past him, Morrisa made her way across the thoroughfare as Alma, much agog, stared after her. The matron snapped her mouth closed as Gage turned away.
“Going to meet the ship, too, Gage?” she prodded, unwilling to relent. “It should be of some interest to you, being an English ship, but I’ll warrant this one is far too fine to be carrying a cargo of convicts.”
Glancing back over his shoulder, Gage gave her an enigmatic smile. “I have no reason to go to the docks, madam. As Morrisa has rightly determined, I have all that I want at home, and I can think of absolutely no one who might be aboard the vessel who would be of interest to me. Now, good day to you.”
With that, Gage strode off toward the riverbank, where he had left his canoe. His curt riposte left Mrs. Pettycomb feeling much like an old hen whose feathers had just been singed. Bristling with indignation, she glared after him, yearning to unleash her ire full in his face. But it was safer by far to go behind the man’s back with her little tales and seek her revenge through ignominious means.
After making her own way to the docks, Alma Pettycomb approached the newly arrived vessel and stood nearby, closely perusing the passengers as they disembarked. She noticed Morrisa wandering off on the arm of a fairly young man, but she gave no further heed to the harlot as a tall, gray-haired man of notable appearance was escorted down the gangplank by the captain. The clothes of the older gentleman tastefully attested to his wealth, yet he was quite handsome and needed no costly raiment to attract attention. For a short time he and the sea captain stood conversing on the quay, and Alma Pettycomb found herself greatly intrigued by the respectful esteem exhibited by the captain. Anxious to hear their discussion, she moved within close proximity of the two.
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�If you should require assistance in any way, my lord, I’ll be happy to do what I can to expedite your search,” the captain of the vessel offered graciously. “I wish I knew more than what I’ve already told you, but I’m afraid I saw no more of my passenger after he left my ship that day.”
“Hopefully the information you’ve given me is still useful despite the years that have passed since you first dropped anchor in these waters. If providence is with me, then ‘twill be only a matter of time before I find the one I’m seeking.”
The captain beckoned to a sailor who was making his way down the gangplank with a large leather chest on his shoulder. “Judd, you’re to stay with his lordship and assist him with his trunk until he has no further need of you, then you may return to the ship for shore leave.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
The two men parted, and his lordship waited a moment until the tar had joined him, then he turned to make his way toward the hamlet. Immediately he found himself confronting the pinch-faced Mrs. Pettycomb, who had approached so close that she was in danger of being trodden upon.
“I beg your pardon,” the man apologized, and stepped aside to pass around her.
“ ‘Tis your pardon I must beg, sir,” the gossipmonger responded, eager to hold him there until she gained knowledge of the man and his search. “My name is Alma Pettycomb, and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with the captain. I was wondering if I might be of some assistance to you. I know this area well and have a wide knowledge of the people living hereabouts. I understand you’re looking for someone. Perhaps I might know of him.” She waited expectantly, but her question gained no immediate response.
His lordship looked at her cautiously. Perhaps it might have been his imagination, but when he had taken note of her shadow being cast beside his own, it had almost seemed as if the matron had been leaning forward in an effort to hear his conversation with the captain. But then, a busybody was probably the best one to ask, for they usually knew more about everybody’s business than anyone else. “Have you knowledge of a man named Thornton living in the area? He left England almost ten years ago and the ship on which he sailed docked here at Newportes Newes.”
Alma Pettycomb could only wonder why a lord of the realm would be seeking a lowly commoner, especially one as cantankerous as the cabinetmaker. “There’s a Gage Thornton who lives upriver a ways,” she informed the stranger, puffed up by her own consequence. “Would he be the one you’re looking for?”
His lordship smiled suddenly, as if in great relief. “Aye, that’s the one.”
The woman couldn’t resist asking for more information than she was entitled to. “Your pardon again, my lord, but I’m curious to know what Gage Thornton may have done that would cause a gentleman like yourself to pursue him all the way from England. And after so many years have passed.”
His lordship’s eyes chilled suddenly to a cold, amber-brown. “He has done nothing that I know of, madam. Why would you assume that he has?”
“Well, he’s certainly done enough here to make the good citizens of this hamlet fear for their lives,” Alma readily rejoined. “They say he murdered his first wife, yet he walks around as if he owns the world. Now he has taken to wife a convict, and there’s no one who’ll dare say what crimes she committed in England. I warned him the day he bought her that he was doing this town a disservice.”
“Where may I find this Mr. Thornton?”
The curtness of the question failed to discourage Alma, and she hastened to give directions, as well as the names of several men who would be willing to take him upriver for a fee. His lordship politely expressed his gratitude and beckoned for the sailor to follow him, but Alma made the gentleman pause again.
“May I have the pleasure of knowing your lordship’s name?”
The nobleman gave her a sparse smile, somewhat reminiscent of one she had received earlier in the same hour. “Lord William Thornton, Earl of Thornhedge.”
Mrs. Pettycomb’s jaw sagged briefly before she brought a trembling hand slowly upward to cover her gaping mouth. In a stunned daze she asked, “Any relation to Gage Thornton?”
“He is my son, madam.” With that, his lordship moved past the astounded woman and strode toward the river as Judd followed. In a few moments he was on his way upriver and waving farewell to the sailor.
The rap of knuckles on the front door awakened Andrew and Shemaine from an afternoon nap, and though the boy hurriedly wriggled off his father’s bed and ran toward the portal, Shemaine scurried after him in sudden fear. She could not believe Potts would be bold enough to come right up to their cabin, especially after being wounded, but she couldn’t take any chances.
“Don’t open the door, Andrew, until I see who it is,” she bade in an anxious tone.
The boy halted obediently and then waited as she went to the front window and looked out, but the man who stood on the porch was a total stranger to Shemaine, someone she could not remember even catching a glimpse of in Newportes Newes. He had a proud look about him and bore himself with a dignity that was unmistakable.
Joining Andrew at the portal, Shemaine lifted the latch and allowed the child to swing open the door. The man’s attention was first drawn to the boy, and Shemaine could not help but take note of his surprise and the subtle softening of his visage. Then, after a moment, the amber-brown eyes rose to look at her in stony detachment. A gasp of surprise came from her lips, and it was all that Shemaine could do to meet that stoic regard and not retreat, for there was no doubt in her mind that there stood Gage’s father. The resemblance was too close for her to mistake.
“Is Mr. Thornton here?” he asked in a cool tone.
“I’m sure he must be by now,” she answered, somewhat flustered. “One of the men said he went into Newportes Newes earlier, but if you’d like to come inside and wait with the boy, my lord, I’ll run to the cabinet shop and see if he has returned.”
Amazed at her perception, William stepped inside where he could look at her more closely. Noting the delicately refined features and the wedding band on the third finger of her left hand, he arched a brow at her. “You know who I am?”
Shemaine laid her hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I believe you’re Andrew’s grandfather . . . and my husband’s father.”
William’s lips tightened slightly as he sought to hide his irritation. The gossipmonger was right! Not only had Gage gotten into some kind of trouble over his first wife, but he had given his name to a convicted felon. Still, the girl was far more observant and obviously a lot smarter than he had expected a common criminal to be.
“Does it disturb you that your son and I are married?” Shemaine asked quietly.
His inquiry was far more blunt. “Are you the convict Mrs. Pettycomb told me about?”
Shemaine lifted her chin in defiance. “Would it matter to you that I was unjustly condemned?”
“It might, if there was a way of proving your innocence, but the colonies are a long way from England, and I would presume there is no one here who can confirm what you say,” William answered crisply. “No father would fancy his son taking a criminal to wife, and I am no different.”
“Fancy it or not, my lord, the deed is done,” she murmured. “And there’ll be no undoing the vows unless you would have your son set me aside with an annulment. I’ll tell you truly, though, ‘tis gone too far for that.”
“My son has already proven he has a mind of his own,” William stated tersely, and then heaved a sigh as he remembered his last altercation with Gage. It had taken several years before the truth had come out, but he had been struck by the loneliness of his loss from the first. “It wouldn’t matter what I may advise, Gage will do what he thinks best, and I’m sure he would be reluctant to give up a young woman as winsome as you despite the crimes you may have committed in the past.”
Aware of the antagonism sprouting between them, Shemaine felt her heart grow cold with dread. This man had set his mind to the fact that she was a felon, and nothing s
hort of proving her integrity would content him. It was the same kind of trap in which she had found herself after being arrested by Ned, the thieftaker. Though she had been innocent of all that little man had claimed, no magistrate had been willing to believe her.
“Will you stay with Andrew while I go out to see if Gage is here?” As his lordship nodded, Shemaine swept her hand to indicate the settee. “You may sit down if you’d like. I won’t be long.”
Andrew balked at the idea of being left with a stranger and let out a shriek of fear when Shemaine started toward the door. He ran after her, and though she sought to console him, the boy clung to her in desperation. William was closely attentive to her soothing words as she caressed the boy’s cheek and took his small hand in his.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” she apologized. “Andrew doesn’t care to stay with you right now. After he gets to know you better, he’ll be more willing to make friends.”
“I understand.”
As they left the cabin, William leaned back on the settee and looked around at the interior. Recognizing excellence when he saw it, he was overwhelmed at the high quality of workmanship in every item of furniture his eyes touched upon. After he had been put ashore with his trunk and had enlisted Gillian’s aid in carrying the chest to the porch, he had paused near the building slip to admire the half-finished vessel and to question the old man, Flannery, about his son’s design. The two shipwrights had been eager to show him through the vessel and had been just as quick to laud the praises of their employer. His heart had swelled with pride as he took everything in and finally began to comprehend what Gage had once tried to talk him into building in England. After nearly ten years’ estrangement from his son, looking at what Gage had created was almost as enlightening as finally being able to understand why his son had left the family home and England.
Three years short a day from the time Gage had left, Christine had succumbed to a bout of pneumonia (or a broken heart, as she had raspingly maintained). On her deathbed, she had tearfully confessed to her father that she had been so enamored of Gage that she had sought to entrap him in marriage by claiming he had gotten her with child. She had died a virgin, having sullied her own name, but, according to her, she had deemed her attempt well worth the price, for she had never wanted another man as much as she had wanted Gage Thornton.
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