“I think so. Higgins is well-spoken of in the town and seems to be an honest man. One who does not overcharge!” he added with a twinkle.
“And, Mr. Nicholls . . .” She felt suddenly shy. “I have been very poor all my life and yet such wealth as this will permit me to move with the gentry. In Barbados will you keep silent about my background? Say only that I am a wealthy heiress about whom you know nothing but whose affairs you were chosen by London solicitors to manage?”
Nicholls’ eyes twinkled again. A voyager to China and back, he was used to rags-to-riches stories and sometimes riches-to-rags as well! “You can count on me,” he promised. “Indeed”—he hesitated to say this, but Philip had not made a very good impression on him on the voyage down—“I gave young Dedwinton the figure of a thousand pounds because I thought it possible you might want to keep the extent of your fortune from him. Permanently.”
“Why?” she challenged.
He looked uncomfortable. “His ideas of business did not sound promising,” he confessed. “He was eager to venture upon tangled Rhode Island land deals that I thought unsound. But of course, as your husband he would be entitled to the management of your affairs.” He was smiling at her now. “If he were apprised of their extent.”
“Philip is not in charge of my affairs yet.” Lorraine was looking at him with a level gaze. “In the meantime, I would have my plantation purchased in my own name. Indeed”—she cocked her head at him—“I would test Philip. Would you do me a great favor, Mr. Nicholls? Write a short note to Philip, explaining to him that, as my husband, from now on he will be responsible for my debts?”
“But every man knows that!” he protested.
“Even those made prior to marriage.”
His shrewd eyes lit up with understanding; his whole face took on a gleeful look. “You are planning to make him think you have already squandered the thousand pounds?”
“Just so.” Lorraine nodded.
“Well, that will bring him out,” he agreed, “and make him show his true colors, whatever they are. I will do it at once, at the same time I give your passage money to the landlord for safekeeping. Mistress London, I feel I am going to enjoy being your agent!”
The deed was soon done. Higgins, the landlord, had taken her money in a small wooden box sealed with red sealing wax and stamped with Nicholls’ signet ring. Then he carried it off to put it in a safe place.
Nicholls left the next day. The Matilda had sailed away downriver on the first leg of her journey to Barbados.
Lorraine was glad she had not sailed with him. She would have her revenge! Her eyes glinted dangerously. Oh, she could hardly wait until the morrow to get her claws on Philip!
But the next day came and Philip did not.
After breakfast she walked along the bluffs in the bright weather. Below her, riding at anchor somewhere among the other ships, would be Philip’s, the one that had brought him, and one he would be returning on tomorrow night. She inquired of a man who walked by with a rolling gait which ship was the Lizard and he pointed out a small square-rigged two-masted merchant ship.
“That be her,” he said. “Named for Lizard Point at the south tip of England, she was.”
Lorraine stood and contemplated the ship for a long time. Once she would have been thrilled at the thought of Philip Dedwinton following her anywhere. Now . . .
Now she turned with a shrug and took a stroll through the town. Fall was in the air. The breeze from the sea had freshened and sharpened. Soon the leaves would be changing color and falling, floating in showers of scarlet and gold down past the enormous brick chimneys of the white clapboard houses. A few of the town’s houses were of brick but most were of clapboard, some a story and a half tall, though usually only one room deep. They were straggled along atop the bluffs, and white picket fences surrounded their inviting gardens of fruit trees and roses and box.
A pleasant town, such a town as she had thought she might someday live in with Raile—and bear his children, and give meaning and beauty to his life. With the thought, her nagging heartache at his having left her returned.
She walked soberly back to the inn and took lunch in her room. By midafternoon she began to regret that she had not sailed with Nicholls on the Matilda, away from everything that would remind her of the tall Scot. Yesterday she had been blinded by a wild desire to get back at Philip, but now she saw things in a clearer light.
By evening she even regretted the pact she had made with Johnny Sears when he had told her in amazement, “The landlord says you’re an heiress!”
“Yes, a thousand pounds from a venture of my father’s,” was her answer. And then she asked him to do her a favor, in return for which she would give him money to attend tomorrow night’s cockfight, as well as enough “to make a wager if he cared to.” She knew that next to his adoration of his captain, Johnny’s main interest lay in cockfights.
Johnny quickly agreed.
Lorraine passed an uneasy night in her room, dreaming brokenly of Raile, and by morning she had decided what she would do. To the devil with Philip! A ship from Bristol lay in the harbor. It was picking up cargo now and next week would leave for Jamaica. She would be on that ship. From Jamaica she could easily procure passage to Barbados.
Having made up her mind, she felt better. It was late when she sauntered down the stairs, rustling in her pink silks. After breakfast, she went to the Jamaica-bound ship to make her arrangements with the captain. She promised to bring her passage money when she boarded, and strolled back through the town. On the way she wandered into a little shop and considered buying a warm woolen cloak, for the air was unseasonably nippy.
“ ’Tis a good value, Mistress . . . ?”
“London. I’m sure it is. . . .” Lorraine passed a hand over the soft dark blue fabric lovingly.
“Cotswold wool,” the proprietor told her hopefully.
Lorraine sighed. She loved pretty clothes. “But ’tis made for cold weather and I’m off to Jamaica next week.”
She left the shopkeeper shaking his head over the folly of females who would waste a shopkeeper’s valuable time looking at winter cloaks when they well knew they were off to warmer climes!
Lorraine returned and lounged about her room all afternoon, soaking in a hot bath, taking a long nap.
Finally she decided that she would dine in the common room, and dressed quickly, for the hour was late.
Lifting her pink skirts, she hurried down the stairs. She came to a sudden halt at the bottom of the stairs. For there, looking every inch as handsome and as possessive as he had in Rhode Island, was Philip Dedwinton, his brown head thrown back, his brown eyes smiling down at her.
“Lorraine!” He moved toward her and caught her impetuously by the shoulders. Holding her back from him for a moment, he devoured her with his eyes and then crushed her to his breast.
Lorraine was unprepared for the warmth of his greeting. She gasped and tried to pull away, for she could feel her treacherous heart begin to race. Philip had always exerted a powerful tug on her heartstrings, and seeing him just when he had dropped from her thoughts completely had dredged up old memories.
“I have searched the length and breadth of Accomack for you!” he cried. “And now I return and the landlord tells me you have been here the better part of a fortnight!”
The landlord had done his part—he had told the lie Lorraine had requested. But now she did not want that lie told. She wanted to tell Philip the truth—and send him away.
“No, Philip, I—” she began.
Thinking that her “no” meant for him to unhand her, he did so instantly. “Come,” he told her happily, his voice overriding her protests. “I have arranged for a private dinner for us—we will have time to talk. The ship departs tomorrow morning at dawn.” And with the words he led her back upstairs into the inn’s tiny private dining room.
The room held a table already spread with a white linen cloth and set for two. As Lorraine sat down, there was a patter of
feet on the stairs and a smiling serving wench, with her apron tucked up proudly to reveal a red petticoat, hurried in carrying a savory platter of roast waterfowl garnished with scallops and oysters.
Philip was silent until the meal was served and the door closed, but his brown eyes never left her face.
He leaned over and took her hand.
“Lorraine, I have treated you very badly,” he said huskily.
“You did indeed,” she agreed.
He looked a little daunted but persevered. “I came back to the Light Horse Tavern the next morning looking for you, to beg your forgiveness—as now I do.”
“Very well, I forgive you, Philip,” she said crisply, but she drew her hand away. “Shall we have our supper? Your ship will not wait, you know.” Her voice was even.
“I see that you have not forgiven me in your heart.” He sounded aggrieved.
“Did you expect it?” she challenged.
“Perhaps not,” he said sadly. “But I hoped. I have never ceased thinking of you, Lorraine. Your face has always been before me.”
“Except when Lavinia Todd’s was there,” she corrected him in a brittle voice.
He looked hurt. “How can you say that?”
“Oh, very easily.” She shrugged. “I had meant to say quite a lot to you, Philip, but now I find it doesn’t matter.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nicholls told you of my inheritance, I take it?”
“Yes, but I hope you do not think that is why I have come all this way to find you!” He sounded so righteously indignant that Lorraine decided to play the game out as she had originally planned. She laid down her fork and leaned back, suddenly enjoying herself.
“Indeed I did think it,” she said energetically. “When I discovered you did not set out to search for me until you knew I had come into a thousand pounds!”
“That’s not true! I did search for you. All we knew was that you had run away on horseback with a stranger. I searched everywhere! It was not till Captain Bridey came back from Bermuda that we knew where you had gone.”
“And as soon as Mr. Nicholls arrived, the two of you dashed right off to find me.”
“Yes.” Sukily.
With a shrug, Lorraine began to eat her dinner again. “Did the landlord tell you my new profession? I am a gambler now.”
“He said you had offered to play him double or nothing for the price of your lodgings on a single cut of the cards,” Philip mumbled.
She laughed. The landlord was playing his part. “How did the Light Horse Tavern catch fire?” she asked. “Mistress Oddsbud was careless with fire, I know. Oddsbud was forever scolding her about it, but—”
Philip’s jaw dropped. “You mean you did not know? There is little left in Rhode Island. The Indians have well nigh burned everything in sight.”
“Then that was how . . . ?” gasped Lorraine.
“Yes. The Light Horse Tavern was burned and so were many other good buildings. King Philip’s War has been raging since you left, Lorraine. You are lucky not to have been there. The Oddsbuds had no chance at all! The main attack was on a Sunday when everyone was going home from church. The savages butchered many of us. The MacAldies were killed, all but Andy, and the Paines, every one, and Mary Wickham and the Jarvises and Matthew Stokes and the Rawson children and more others than I can count. So far Providence has been spared, but most of New England is in flames. The war still goes on.”
Lorraine shuddered. “And your family, Philip?” She was almost afraid to inquire.
“All gone.” His face had gone somber.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He seemed not to hear her. “And our house burned to the ground, all our outbuildings and grain destroyed, the livestock run off and slaughtered. I was saved only because I had gone out to study the site for the stone-ender I had meant to build for you.”
Lorraine gave him a sharp look. There had been a false note in his voice when he said that. It brought a turning world back into focus. Philip’s home had been destroyed, he needed money to build a new one, to buy new livestock, grain. A thousand pounds would more than do it—it would give him money to speculate in land as well. . . .
A knock on the door interrupted them. Higgins, the landlord, hurried in.
“I did forget to give you this note that Mr. Nicholls left for you,” Higgins told Philip, handing him a folded parchment.
Lorraine met Higgins’ gaze with amusement as he left.
Philip opened the note, read it—and frowning, reread it. “What is this?” he asked slowly. “Why is Nicholls warning me that I could be responsible for debts you made before . . . ?” His voice sharpened. “What does he mean by it, Lorraine?”
“I do not know what he may have written, Philip, but pay no attention to it. I have told you that gaming is now my profession, and of course such a life does have its ups and downs.”
“You told me, but I did not believe you.” His voice had harshened and he crumpled the note. “Speak plainly, if you please! Are you trying to tell me that you have gambled away your inheritance in the space of a fortnight? For if you are, I will not believe it!”
“I do not know why you are so upset.” Lorraine regarded him with big innocent eyes. “My debts do not concern you, Philip.”
“Everything about you concerns me,” he grated. “I have a mind to throttle the truth out of you!”
At that moment Johnny Sears opened the door and stuck his head in, right on cue. “That up-country planter is downstairs asking where you are,” he whispered. “Says you owe him fifty pounds.”
“Oh, bother!” Lorraine laid down her spoon. “Can’t you get rid of him? Tell him I have gone to Accomack. I have paid all the rest!”
“I will try.” Johnny closed the door—and went on unconcernedly to his cockfight. He had done what she asked.
But Philip was pale. “Can it be true that you have really managed to gamble away your inheritance?”
“And a trifle more, as you have just heard,” Lorraine told him in a bored voice. “But it is a temporary setback, I assure you. The gaming life has its ups and downs. Why, the very planter they are trying to get rid of downstairs—I won three hundred pounds from him before he broke me!” She managed to put real excitement into her voice, remembering those lighthearted games on the deck of the Likely Lass for mythical thousands.
“Then it is gone!” He rose and flung down his napkin. There was real heartfelt grief in his voice.
“Yes, it is gone, Philip.” Lorraine rose to face him. “And that changes everything between us, does it not?”
He came around the table and stood over her, breathing hard. His expression was anguished but she was unprepared for his next move.
“It changes only one thing,” he murmured. “I cannot marry you now.”
And with the words his right fist shot up and caught her squarely on the left jaw. The impact would have sent her spinning across the room except he reached out and caught her, breaking her fall as she crumpled. Her pink silk figure—so slight, after all—collapsed unconscious against him. As he stood looking down at her, myriad emotions played over his handsome face.
But he knew he must be quick. He would have to chance the angry planter demanding his fifty pounds, have to hope that the lad who had warned Lorraine of his presence had got rid of him somehow. But the innkeeper—and who knew how many others in the common room—would never let him leave with the girl unless . . .
Inspiration seized him. He always carried a flask of brandy with him. He took it out and poured some of the liquid over Lorraine’s face and hair, wiped away the excess with a handkerchief. He hesitated, then poured some more down the pale cleft between her breasts so that it would saturate the top of her chemise. Satisfied, he took his limp and reeking burden in his arms, being careful to see that her left jaw, reddened and swelling where he had struck her, was hidden against his chest.
Thus burdened, he trotted downstairs.
“I’m off to my ship lest she sail without me,�
� he told the landlord breezily.
“But what’s this?” Higgins cried, stepping forward in alarm.
“She’s a secret drinker. ’Tis why we quarreled,” whispered Philip—and indeed the landlord could smell for himself the brandy that drenched her. “But ’tis her only fault!” Philip added merrily. “I believe I paid you for her lodgings and our supper before we went upstairs?”
“Aye, but wait,” cried the innkeeper, remembering the small sealed box left in his charge. “I’ll just—”
At that moment there was a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a medley of shrieks. The door burst open and a frightened face appeared.
“Meg and Cook are fighting again! Meg tripped over the dog and spilled boiling soup over Cook’s arm and Cook says she done it on purpose—best come quick!”
With a curse, Higgins sprang forward and plunged toward the kitchen. By the time he returned, Philip was gone.
CHAPTER 25
The Lizard
LORRAINE WOKE WITH a throbbing pain in her jaw and saw nothing she recognized about her. Somewhere overhead in the dimness a ship’s lamp swung, and beneath her was the lumpiest pallet it had ever been her misfortune to sleep on.
Confused, she looked about her. For a moment she thought she was back on the Likely Lass, somewhere belowdeck. Then she saw that there were half a dozen women in the cabin, getting dressed.
“Where ... am I?” she managed painfully, for her jaw hurt.
The nearest woman, massively built and struggling into a green sarcenet dress, said harshly, “We don’t talk to the likes of you, coming aboard dead drunk!”
“What?” cried Lorraine. “I did no such thing! What ship is this?”
“Ignore her, Polly,” sniffed a thin woman in brown taffeta, and they moved away from her.
Lorraine sat up. She saw that she was still fully dressed.
“You’re aboard the Lizard said a calm voice from a dim corner across the room. “Bound for Rhode Island.”
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