Emerald looked up at him, her eyes moist. Then they both looked off toward the place where the earthly remains of Mathias rested until the promised day of resurrection. A moment later they walked back toward the buggy.
“I’ll begin at once,” he said as they drove toward the Great House. “The first rascals who’ll be rounded up for a class of three will be Jette Buckington and Timothy and Titus.”
Emerald laughed. “You’ll have your hands full, Sir Cecil. They’re as rowdy as a class often!”
“So I’ve already discovered.”
8
JETTE’S IMPORTANT SECRET
Lady Sophie had retired to her room by the time Sir Cecil arrived, escorting Emerald and followed by Minette and Zeddie. Emerald had seen to it that Minette was dressed like a little princess, her amber ringlets arranged in a profusion of French curls. Even Zeddie had on a new frock coat, a new hat and boots, and a new eye patch—made by Minette.
“That old frayed thing makes you look worse than that pirate Lex Thorpe.”
Surprisingly, Earl Nigel was there to welcome Emerald. He was as forbiddingly royal as she had remembered him at their first meeting in Port Royal when he had come up with a scheme to keep Baret from marrying Lavender. That scheme had been to pretend a betrothal to his grandson. Was he still pretending?
The earl’s wealth of silvery hair was drawn back from a tanned face, making a striking contrast with his dark eyes, as cool and hard as gems. At first he made no response and stood looking at her, a commanding presence who, despite tropical heat, was immaculately garbed in an olive green satin doublet, thigh-length jacket, and black leggings.
Under his regal stare she felt herself wilting and wanting to turn and flee like a frightened rabbit. He stood taking her in, as though deciding whether or not she passed the test. Emerald struggled to keep from flushing.
Sir Cecil cleared his throat, and Nigel’s dark gaze was diverted to the scholar. Nigel’s brow lifted, making him look too much like Baret.
“You know Baret’s soon-to-be betrothed, of course?”
The earl gave a laugh. “I do indeed, Cecil. But I hardly recognize her. You have done yourself well,” he told her. “Baret will be enchanted. And so will the king,” he added wryly. “We best keep you far afield of Charles.”
“Your lordship,” she said and gave a curtsy, wondering that her practiced manner turned out so well and that her voice didn’t shake.
There was the flash of sapphire ring, and lace spilled from his cuff as he stepped forward, caught her hand, and bowed over it. “Lady Harwick.”
Emerald kept her eyes lowered, afraid she would reveal her tears. The earl of Buckington had deigned to call her Lady Harwick!
Cecil was smiling, evidently pleased that she had neither fainted nor broken out into a Gin Lane dialect.
“Ah!” came a voice from the stairs. “So my new niece has arrived, looking every bit a soon-to-be countess.”
Felix Buckington walked up, greeted his father and Sir Cecil, and then, following Nigel’s display, bent over her hand. His dark eyes danced maliciously. “Sophie tells me you’ve sent our overseer to the boiling house and elevated a slave to the position. I must say, my dear Emerald, Baret has indeed chosen himself a bride to keep the gossips in London overworked.”
“I acted too hastily perhaps—my order has been revoked. But the man is odious and doesn’t deserve the position on so fine a plantation as Foxemoore.”
Nigel looked at Felix and gave a laugh. “She seems to know how to answer you, Felix.”
“Assuredly so. I agree Pitt is a disgusting fellow, but he gets the job done. And after all, that is what Foxemoore is about—sugar production, not the coddling of Africans. They’re born sullen, and one must lay the beam to their backs to get them to do anything.”
Sir Cecil cleared his throat again. “I doubt this is the moment to discuss the evils of slavery. Baret’s betrothed has just stepped through the front threshold. Shall we not allow her a few minutes of peace? I think,” he said, “that Baret would expect it.”
“He’s quite right, Felix. There is no need to discuss the overseer now,” said Nigel. “We best wait until Baret arrives. Don’t forget that, between him and Emerald, they will have as much voice in how Foxemoore is run as you and Geneva. And I shall cast the deciding vote.”
Felix’s face hardened, but he was the essence of charm. He smiled at Emerald. “Yes, I didn’t mean to upset you, my dear. Your sprightliness is most refreshing after Lavender’s indifference. You’ll come by and say hello to Geneva? She’s waiting to welcome you. I can’t say the same for Sophie.”
“Yes, of course,” murmured Emerald and deliberately turned toward the door. “Come along, Cousin Minette. Tonight you’ll share my room. I’m sure a room of your own will be arranged tomorrow.”
Minette had hung back in the doorway and now came forward with a flush on her cheeks as though she expected Earl Nigel and Lord Felix to speak disparagingly of her.
Neither man welcomed her but turned away to speak of Foxemoore.
It wasn’t that they were deliberately being offensive, thought Emerald. It was just that the pride of blooded nobility afforded them a natural environment for arrogance. To them Minette was like a servant disguised in ribbons and lace. But because she was pretty and young, they were more merciful than to order her out of the house, as Lady Sophie might have done.
Emerald smiled at Minette bravely, looped her arm through hers, and together they walked toward the magnificent stairway, followed by Sir Cecil. Zeddie had gone to the back of the house to take up his residence with the serving men. Since he knew old Henry well, they were probably already sharing a secret glass of Madeira wine.
As Emerald walked with Minette to the stair, she looked up to see Lavender standing above on the landing. Automatically, Minette paused, and Emerald felt her stiffen and try to draw back. But Emerald tightened her hold on her arm.
“Don’t you dare cower as though you are less than she. You’re a daughter of the King, remember?”
The words must have bolstered Minette, for she went forward again, her silk skirts rustling softly.
Emerald had often thought that Lavender was the embodiment of the British view of beauty: fair complexion, golden hair arranged in lustrous waves and coquettish curls, and graced with outward poise. Having expected her blue eyes to show icy scorn for her and Minette, she wondered that Lavender smiled and came down the stairs, hands held out in sisterly welcome.
“Cousin Emerald and Cousin Minette, how glad I am you’ve come.” A moment later her cool lips brushed Emerald’s cheek, then Minette’s. “How sweet you look, Minette. We’ll definitely need to find a young gentlemen for you at the ball. And Emerald—you do look so like a countess. How anxious Baret must be to sweep you away!”
What’s gotten into her?
“Hello, Lavender,” said Emerald.
Lavender stepped between her and Minette. Then, taking their arms, she led them up the stairs, chattering as though they were the best of friends.
Minette’s eyes were wide, but she fell into step and carried herself well.
“I would have come to see you days ago, but I don’t like to even look at the slaves,” Lavender said with a grimace. “It brings back the uprising and the death of Mother. Shall we say hello to Geneva before I show you both to your rooms? Oh, yes, Minette has her own. We know how you’d want that. And after all—” she smiled sweetly at Minette “—she’s one of us now.”
Later that afternoon, the sunlight filtered in through the bedroom curtains as Emerald, alone, fell across the lush four-poster bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, dazed. She had made it through the horrendous ordeal of walking into the Great House and meeting the family on equal terms. She was emotionally exhausted. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, especially when she thought of Minette, two bedrooms down the hall in a room as grand as her own with satin coverlet, lace curtains, and a wardrobe that would soon be brimming with p
retty frocks and slippers! Who would ever have thought Emerald Levasseur Harwick and Minette Levasseur would be living here like the Buckingtons?
One week before the betrothal! She closed her eyes and smiled as the image of Baret came to life within her heart. He’s mine. She touched the ruby pendant with her fingers, then looked at her left hand and laughed. Soon now she would be wearing the Buckington family ring…
“Psst! Emerald! You awake?”
She sat up, startled by a child’s whisper coming from beneath her big bed. She stood and lifted the edge of the coverlet. “Jette! What are you doing under there?”
He crawled out on all fours and looked up at her with luminous gray green eyes showing from under a shock of dark hair.
Emerald, forcing a frown she didn’t feel, pulled him to his feet. “Why are you sneaking about? And don’t think I didn’t see you in Geneva’s room the other day. It was only my kindness that allowed you to keep hiding.”
The boy, small for his age because of a year’s illness upon his first arrival at Foxemoore, didn’t blanch at the scolding but smiled, and her heart contracted. He looked so much like Baret.
Jette knew he was blooded royalty and that there wasn’t much anyone would do to him without Earl Nigel’s approval. “Sorry, Emerald, but I had to talk to you alone.”
She folded her arms. “And what excuse do you have for hiding beneath Geneva’s bed?”
He shrugged his small shoulders and glanced cautiously toward the door. “I wanted to hear what that old Spaniard had to tell her about Porto Bello.”
“What old Spaniard—oh, you mean Dr. Vasquez.”
“He’s still here, you know, though nobody sees him much. I don’t like him any more than I do Uncle Felix.”
“Jette, you mustn’t say things like that about your uncle.”
“I know, but it’s true. He doesn’t like me much either. I know, because Timothy and Titus heard him say so to Carlotta.”
Timothy and Titus were orphan twins that Jette had saved from being sold to another plantation by buying them himself. The idea was outlandish to Emerald, but it often happened in the Caribbean. Jette, the twins, and a spotted hound were seen together often.
She lifted a brow. “I suppose the twins were snooping about the house as well?”
“Yes, and it’s a good thing they did, too. ‘Cause Cousin Carlotta found ’em. Then she told them to find me and bring me to see her before they locked her in her room for good.” His eyes brightened like polished green stones. He stepped closer and whispered, “Carlotta’s my friend. She trusts me and my brother with anything. She gave me something to hide. Something for Baret when he comes. When’s Baret coming, Emerald?”
Her mind halted. Something for Baret? She knelt until they were eye level, and she held his shoulders.
“What did Carlotta give you?”
His eyes gleamed. “She told me not to tell anyone but Baret. Not even Sir Cecil.”
“But you just told me about it. So you might as well tell me what you have. You can trust me, can’t you?”
He nodded, then looked away, as though he wanted to tell her.
“Did she tell you not to inform me?”
“No-o-o …”
“There, you see? Jette, what did she give you? What did you do with it? Maybe you should give it to me. I’ll keep it in a safe place—”
He cast his eyes downward. “I can’t tell you yet. Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow. Or the day when you get engaged to Baret.” His smile widened. “I’m glad you’re going to be my sister instead of Lavender.” Then he went on, “Me and the twins hid it so no one can ever find it unless we get it. It’s like buried treasure. And we’re the buccaneers.”
She sighed. “Where is Carlotta now?”
“Locked in her room. Uncle Felix and Dr. Vasquez won’t let her out until the night of the betrothal. They’re afraid she’ll run away again. The doctor keeps the key. His room’s next to hers. But Timothy and Titus and me, we got in before they locked her inside. She knew they would lock her in, so she was smart. She gave me a box to hide for Baret.”
Emerald cast about in her mind, trying to come up with what might be in the box. The jewels of Levasseur? But why would Carlotta have had them? Unless Baret had given them to her to keep safely. But no, somehow the idea didn’t seem quite right. Then, what?
“Jette,” she began—
“Are you going to help Sir Cecil with my tutoring?” His eyes pleaded silently.
“Both Baret and Sir Cecil have requested my help, so it looks like I will.”
“And Sir Cecil said he’s going to rebuild the singing school. Timothy and Titus have a song they thought up. Wanna hear it?” He drew in a breath and stood tall and straight.
“The Lord built—”
“That ain’t how it goes, Jette. You cain’t sing like we’s can sing.”
Emerald eyes closed as the voice of one of the twins sounded from beneath the bed. So they were all there.
“Is the hound under there, too?”
“He goes where we goes, Miss Emerald, but he don’t bark. He’s a good hound.”
Two pairs of eyes peered up from beneath the coverlet, and the hound’s tail flapped hard against the floor.
“You sing it for Emerald, then.” Jette ordered them.
They crawled out, two small thin boys dressed as richly as Jette, because they were wearing his hand-me-downs. The spotted hound lay with his head on his front paws, his tail whipping from one side to the other. In a moment Timothy and Titus were crooning.
“Der once was a man named Paul,” said Timothy.
“He once had de name of Saul,” Titus chimed in.
“An’ he found two boys in de boilin’ house, an’ he tells ’em their names is Timothy and Titus—”
“That doesn’t even rhyme!” scoffed Jette. “You changed it. A song has to rhyme.”
Timothy gave Jette a sullen look. “No, it don’t. Sir Cecil say it don’t.”
Jette’s mouth tightened. “If it doesn’t rhyme, it sounds wrong.”
“No’m, it don’t,” said Titus. “Uh-uh, no sir. Jesus loves us, ain’t it right, Timothy? We was found in the boilin’ house when Mama died there. Not everybody’s lucky enough to be found in a boilin’ house. Sir Cecil said so. Takes lots of blessing to be discovered in a boilin’ house. That’s why we has black skin. Jesus had black skin.”
“No, He didn’t,” Jette said stubbornly. “He had brown skin.”
“No matter. You don’t got either kind. You only has white skin, and the Lord likes us a whole lot more’n He likes white skin.”
Jette frowned. “My skin’s tanned—look, it ain’t white.”
“You can’t say ain’t,” scolded Timothy. “You has to speak like Sir Cecil.”
“But we can say ain’t anytime we wants to,” said Titus and gave a stout nod of his head for affirmation. He looked at his twin.
“Sure we can, but Jette can’t. There’s lots o’ things we can do that Jette can’t do.”
“I can do anything I want—even say ain’t.”
“No, you cain’t. Even de hound can do more things than you can. Hound can roll over and bark three times.”
“Because I taught him!”
“Stop!” Emerald ordered, covering a laugh. “All three of you! Sit down! Now!”
They did so, looking up at her with guilty eyes.
Emerald looked from one to the other. “All right, I want to know what you did with the box Miss Carlotta gave you.”
The three of them looked at each other. They locked arms and pretended to button their lips. The hound whined in agreement.
“I don’t think there is any box,” whispered Emerald. “I think you made it up.”
Timothy started to speak, but Jette elbowed him.
Emerald folded her arms. “You’re not going to share your secret with me?”
Their eyes dropped.
Jette unbuttoned his lips. “I’ll tell you when the big dinne
r and the ball come. All three of us will tell you—and Baret. We’ll bring you to the buried treasure.”
She might threaten them, but she believed that would do more harm than good. “I’m disappointed you won’t tell me now, but maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“Maybe, Emerald.”
“Remember, you mustn’t tell anyone else first. It’s a secret for Baret.”
Jette nodded gravely. “A present for his betrothal.” Then he turned to the twins, and they went through their ritual. Timothy placed his small hand over the mouth of Titus, who did the same to Timothy. Jette crawled over to the hound, placing his palm over the hound’s wet snout. He whispered: “Our secret is bound to death in the ground.”
They walked to the door in single file and peeked out, then slipped away silently.
Emerald stood thinking. Perhaps it was Carlotta’s own jewels she wanted kept safely away from Dr. Vasquez or even her father, Felix? But why give them to Baret?
On the evening of the betrothal, the pillared veranda encircling the lower level of the Great House was thronged with guests. Upstairs in her bedroom, Emerald and Minette practiced waltzing and curtsying, as Lavender sat glumly watching.
“No, m’lord,” said Minette silkily, fluttering her white lace fan toward Emerald. She drew it back with a tilt of her head. “Yes, m’lord Buckington. How kind of you to say so, m’lord!”
Lavender moaned her boredom. She was seated on the cane daybed, while her chin rested in her hand. “Minette, you’re not playing Shakespeare.”
Minette cast her a doleful look but brightened as she gazed at her image in the mirror. She whirled, her skirts flaring like yellow butterfly wings. “Anything you say, m’lord!”
Emerald was busy pretending she was drawing near to Baret to accept the ring.
Again Lavender groaned. “It just isn’t fair. There’s no romance in my life at all. And I’m going to be a duchess!”
“You have Lord Grayford,” said Minette. “How can you say there’s no romance?”
Lavender wrinkled her nose and primped in front of the gilded hand mirror she held. “I always did think Sir Erik Farrow was an exciting man.”
Buccaneers Series Page 94