Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

“America,” Tori gasped. “What would I do in America?”

  “Well, for one, your folks are there. You could go to them and start a new life.”

  “Are you sure it would be all right?”

  “Aye, lass. I’ll personally make sure ’tis all right.”

  “And Granger, could he come, too?”

  “Aye,” Josh agreed sourly, “providing he takes a bath!”

  “I’ll personally see to it,” Tori laughed. “Won’t Mother and Father be surprised when we both walk in.” She giggled at the thought of Lord Nelson’s face when he laid his eyes on Granger.

  * * *

  With the gelding, his last personal possession, Granger plowed his way through the deep snow. As he lurched in the saddle he thought of the coming conversation with Lord Fowler-Greene. Would he help Tori? Would he help Tori’s bandit?

  Probably, Granger snorted, since the lord was so in love with love he would no doubt agree to anything.

  Startled, Granger looked up at a commanding voice which ordered him to halt. Cold, numb, weary, Granger waited for the onslaught of questions.

  “Have ye seen any men on horseback riding this way?” the voice shouted.

  “Not a soul have I seen these many hours,” Granger lied.

  “Where are ye headin’, man?”

  “To the home of Lord Fowler-Greene. What seems to be the trouble?” Granger asked fearfully.

  “’Tis none of yer concern. Ride on, man.” With this command the snow-covered figure herded his men in the opposite direction.

  Granger heaved a sigh of relief and spurred his gelding forward. The next posse might head for the Boare Inn, and with the way his and Tori’s fortune had been running of late, one of the men would know that Josh was not the innkeeper. Suddenly a vision of Tori swinging from a rope in a gentle breeze appeared before him. He gulped and again spurred the horse. He was almost there.

  Every bone in his body ached for attention. A warm bath, some wine, and a soft woman. Ah . . . since these pleasures were to be denied him, temporarily at least, he continued to ride to the estate of Lord Fowler-Greene.

  The gelding approached the wide, corded road that had been cleared of snow and wound to the fine house nestled in a grove of trees. Granger blinked at the beauty of the surroundings. The trees were covered with the gleaming snow and ice. He rode under their boughs, thinking it was like an arched shelter for a bride. He could almost see himself and the lord’s sister Lady Helen, walking under these same bowed branches not so long ago. His stomach turned and he banished the thought from his mind.

  Dismounting proved to be more of an ordeal than Granger had anticipated. His foot caught in the stirrup and he fell to the ground. Cursing under his breath, he lay for a moment on the drive. His foot free, he grasped the stirrup and regained his posture. Clapping his hands together to restore their circulation, he mounted the stone steps on shaky legs. He pulled the bell and listened to the deep sound of the gong.

  The heavy door opened and a small woman peered out at him. “What can I be doin’ for ye?” she questioned.

  “Granger Lapid to see Lord Fowler-Greene,” he said imperiously, not forgetting how to deal with insolent servants.

  Cowed by his commanding tone, she softened her approach. “Aye, come in and warm yerself. I’ll announce ye.”

  Granger stood by the roaring fire and held out his frozen hands to the welcoming warmth. Praying silently, he looked around the huge room. Wealth! Ah, to have such a lovely home and no pecuniary worries. Perhaps one day he, too, would have such a room.

  Shaken from his silent prayers, Granger looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps entering the room. “Ah, Lord Fowler-Greene, how are you this fine day? And how is Lady Fowler-Greene?” As an afterthought, he then asked after the health of Lady Helen.

  “Fine, just fine,” boomed the lord. “And yourself, Granger? How are you bearing up under this storm we have just witnessed?”

  “Fine, fine,” Granger mimed him. “My Lord, I’ve come here on a matter of extreme urgency and to implore your aid.”

  Lord Fowler-Greene looked puzzled. Suddenly, his expression changed to fear: someone had found out about Dolly. “What?” he almost shuddered.

  “It is the highwayman, Scarblade. He’s been captured.”

  “Are you sure, man? How have you come by this knowledge?”

  “From Josh, the Blade’s first-in-command.” Quickly, breathlessly, Granger recounted the story that Josh and Tori had told him.

  Lord Fowler-Greene rubbed his jowls thoughtfully. “And what is it you want from me, Granger? How can I help? I’ve no connection with this highwayman!”

  “My Lord, Josh feels that you would know where they have taken the Blade.”

  “Did I not make myself clear? I had no idea they captured him? Perhaps Lord Whimsey would know,” Fowler-Greene said thoughtfully. “And if I find out where the man is, what then?”

  “We need your help, Your Lordship.”

  “You’re asking me to go against the Crown. My boy, what makes you think I would be a party to such an escapade?”

  “’Tis not my idea, your Lordship. It was Josh’s. He seems to think you would help.” Granger could read the indecision on the man’s face. Would he help?

  “You know what would happen if I were found to be aiding Scarblade?”

  “Aye,” Granger said sadly, “how well I know.”

  Lord Fowler-Greene paced the floor. He nibbled on his knuckles and watched Granger through slitted eyes, quickly considering the alternatives. To deny help for Chancelor he risked a greater chance to be discovered in his friendship with the man. On the other side, he might show his hand in trying to help. Still, the risks were greater were he to refuse his services.

  “Very well, I shall send a rider to Lord Whimsey with a note. That’s as far as I’ll go. The rest will be yours to do on your own. I warn you now, the man will be under a heavy guard. And I doubt if you can bribe the guards.” He shook his head. “’Tis a fool’s errand you come on, Granger. I fear there is no chance to save Scarblade.”

  “My Lord, when one is in these . . . circumstances . . .” Granger said delicately, “would one be permitted a visitor? Say a dear sister?”

  “’Tis happened before; depends on the time and the place. It would be worth a try.”

  “And the chances of a bribe, you say it won’t work?”

  Lord Fowler-Greene shook his head. “’Twould be worth the man’s life to accept a bribe, and so it would have to be a large one. Gold, hard gold, I’d say would be best.”

  “I hesitate to ask this of you, Your Lordship, but we are desperate? There anything that you could contribute?”

  “You go too far, man,” the lord said heatedly. “You ask me to contribute when Scarblade has stolen a year’s taxes from the Crown? The man is far richer than I!”

  As the two men waited for a response from Lord Whimsey, they sat silently lost in their own thoughts. Lord Fowler-Greene rang the bellpull and a maid appeared presently. “Fetch some wine and perhaps some honey cakes. My guest looks in the need of some refreshment. Tell me, Granger, what do you hear from your dear cousin, Victoria?”

  Granger gulped. He was in no mood for cat-and-mouse games. He blurted out Tori’s story, omitting nothing. Lord Fowler-Greene nodded sadly. “I helped all I could,” he said softly. “I pleaded Lord Rawlings’ case as best I could. Seems I was a little too hasty. What will become of the child now? And you, Granger, what will become of you?”

  “My Lord, do not concern yourself with the likes of my cousin or myself. Somehow, we will manage.”

  “Have you given any thought to sailing on the ship with your . . . er . . . friends to America?”

  Granger looked stunned at the question. He shook his head.

  “I will pay your way, the both of you, if it is what you desire. ’Tis the least I can do for the happiness you have found for me. Aye, Granger,” he said, noting the disbelief on the man’s face, “I have found such happines
s! I never thought it possible to love one as much as I love Dolly. But,” he said, holding up a plump finger, “I would rest easier if all the perpetrators of that little deception were somewhere far away. A place like America,” he said smiling.

  Granger smiled knowingly, conveying his agreement.

  “I would even be willing to throw in a handsome purse to make sure that it is a happy occasion. One that you want, of course.”

  Granger was quick to note the lord’s eagerness in having himself and Tori a long distance from England. “My good Lord, you are too generous. But I’m afraid Tori would not think of leaving her lover, Scarblade, behind. Even if it were only to place flowers on the poor man’s grave.”

  The havoc that Tori could wreak on the lord’s plans for Dolly’s social debut rankled Lord Fowler-Greene. If he wanted Granger and Tori where they could do no embarrassment to him it was clear he would have to do all he could to help Scarblade and see that the American was safely escorted out of England.

  Granger soon held a heavy leather pouch in his hand. “’Tis a most generous thing you do, milord. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “My dear boy, I’ve been rewarded enough!” The lord spoke lovingly of his wife and the happy event that would transpire in the summer. “A son, I hope,” he laughed, “to carry on the name. ’Tis wonderful, beyond belief!” Granger listened to his happy talk with half an ear. So it ended happily; whoever would have thought that Tori would have been an instrument of happiness. He still found it hard to believe.

  The sound of the closing door jarred the lord from his happy thoughts. “’Tis your answer, Granger.” He accepted the stiff paper from the rider and dismissed him. He weighed the letter for a moment. “Are you sure that this is what you want? From this moment on, there will be no turning back for you.” When Granger did not respond, Lord Fowler-Greene broke the seal and said quietly, “Very well.” His face blanched; he looked at Granger with worried eyes. “’Tis the dungeons of Newgate!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tori gazed at Granger with tear-filled eyes. “The dungeons. We’ll never get him out.” She looked imploringly at Josh. “What are we to do?”

  The big man was at a loss for words. “I wish I knew, lass.”

  Granger, noting the anxiety on both faces, quickly told them of Lord Fowler-Greene’s thought.

  “You’ll be able to pay him a visit as his sister, and you, Josh, as a friar. I took the liberty of procuring a friar’s robe from the village monastery. It might be short in the hem for a man of your height, Josh, but I’m sure it will do, though to what end, I have no idea.” His heart was heavy in his chest as he watched tears well in Tori’s eyes.

  “What do you think, Josh? Should we leave now? Is it worth a try?”

  “We have nothing to lose, lass. Bundle warm, for it will be a good ride.”

  “Here then is the letter from Lord Fowler-Greene granting you permission to visit the prisoner.”

  “Thank you, Granger,” Tori whispered, and within minutes she and Josh were dressed to leave, Tori wearing the iridescent green gown she had worn to the opera with Marcus. When they left Scarblade’s encampment, Tori had packed all her belongings into her saddlebag. Could it have been only a few days ago she had sat next to Marcus listening to the ethereal strains of music?

  They rode silently, and when they reined in their horses they were before the tall gray-walled prison. Tori wailed, “It looks so like death!”

  “Aye, lass. It is a house of death. You understand they will hang Marcus? There’s no pretending, lass; it’s a fact.”

  Tori nodded solemnly as she followed Josh up the worn stone steps. They entered a dim, dark hall and waited for one of the jailors to come to them.

  The man who approached them sported a huge circle of keys and limped heavily on one leg. He was a coarse, burly man with a shock of matted, sandy-brown hair. One side of his face was distorted by a long scar pulling down his upper lip. Just seeing his cruel, ugly expression sent a chill of horror through Tori’s body.

  Josh presented the sealed letter from Lord Fowler-Greene and stood with a bowed head, correct for a holy friar.

  “Ye be in toime, th’ thievin’ bandit is ta be ’ung as soon as them orders can be signed. Owin’ ta th’ snow, it migh’ be longer’n we ’ope fer. An’ ye be good, Friar, pray fer ’is damned soul.” The jailor laughed raucously, muttering something about what a sight it would be to see the great Scarblade getting his comeuppance on Tyburn Hill.

  They walked for what seemed an interminable time, down one rancid, filth-infested corridor after another; down stairs so steep and dark, Tori reached frantically for Josh’s supporting arm. The deeper into Newgate they went, the worse the smell, and Tori fought the retches that threatened to choke her. Finally, the jailor stopped and withdrew a large key ring. The clanking of the metal against the bars seemed to echo and thunder in Tori’s ears.

  “Highwayman!” roared the voice of the jailor, “there be a friar and yer sister ta visit ya. Look smart now!” He withdrew a safe distance and waited, his pistol held loosely in one hand, the ring of metal keys in the other.

  Tori, eyes for naught except the tall figure that stood by the bars, his hands clenched, looked into raven-black orbs and felt herself sway with remembered feelings. She could not bring herself to speak.

  “Marcus, lad, what is it we’re to do? What can we do to get ye out of here?” Josh whispered.

  “There is no way, good friend. This is the end of the road for me. Have you followed my instructions?” he asked Josh, all the while keeping his eyes on Tori, drinking in her beauty and remembering the feel of her in his arms.

  “There has to be a way,” Tori said suddenly as she raced to the bars and grasped Marcus’s hands. “I won’t let them hang you, I won’t!” she cried as the tears fell down her cheeks. “I love you, Marcus,” she whispered, “I love you!”

  Marcus stamped the sight of Tori on his memory. “You’d best go now,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want you to see me this way.” Looking at Josh, he said commandingly, “Promise you’ll not allow her to be on Tyburn Hill! Take her away from here! Away from me!”

  Tori’s head throbbed dully. How could he do this to her? Cast her away as though she meant nothing to him, as though there had never been anything between them. To deny her this one last comfort, a kind word, a kiss, a hint that she meant something more than just a woman who had warmed his bed one night. A conquest, nothing more, and once conquered to be done with, not even leaving her the comfort of dignity.

  Tori had blurted out her deepest emotions to a prisoner in the mouldering, foul-smelling dungeons of Newgate and he wanted none of her. She heard the echo of her words. “I love you,” she had cried, and he ordered her taken away.

  Staggering beneath the blow of his command, Tori shrank back into the shadows, despising herself for her weakness, then exulting in her strength. She loved him, this man called Scarblade, and she knew she would love him in spite of his indifference to her until the day she died.

  Josh’s voice broke through to her. “We can try bribing the jailor, Marcus. Surely somewhere, someplace, there must be something that could be used as a bribe. I know ye won’t permit us to touch the tax money, lad, but perhaps . . .”

  Suddenly, Marcus’s eyes lighted. “There is one thing. I don’t know if it would work. Once, not long ago, a young lady entrusted something to my care. Actually, I pilfered it from her in one of the robberies. A valuable ring. She said I was to guard it, the little minx, and one day return it to her. Perhaps it could be used,” he said, a faint ray of hope in his eyes.

  “Aye, lad. Where is this ring you speak of?”

  “In my saddlebag atop one of the spare horses, wrapped in a pouch. Try, Josh. There’s nothing to lose!”

  Tori almost fainted. She knew what he spoke of, that stupid glass trinket he had taken from her. Did he really think it valuable? She cursed the day Granger had given it to her. Only
a piece of glass. Looking deeper into the black eyes, she saw there a faint ray of hope. She could not take it from him; there had to be some other way. Her mind raced as she noted the jailor lumbering toward them.

  Josh followed her eyes. “’Tis time to leave, lad. I’ll see to the task you gave me.”

  Tori looked longingly at Marcus, her heart in her eyes, a smile on her lips. She wanted to say something, but his glance at her was forbidding and the words died in her throat.

  “If I do not see you, Tori . . .”

  “But I shall see you, Marcus, I promise you.”

  On the way out of the dungeons, Josh asked the jailor the question bothering Tori. “Tomorrow, may we return?”

  “I see no ’arm in this,” the jailor laughed, eying Tori lewdly, “as long as ye ’ave that letter of admission.”

  Outside in the cold, bracing air, Tori gasped deep breaths. So disheartened was she, she had not the heart to tell Josh of the glass ring. He would know soon enough when they got back to the inn and removed it from Marcus’s saddlebag. What would he say then? That this was the end? What else could it mean? A glass ring was not the answer! She doubted seriously if the jailor could be bribed at all.

  * * *

  Having no other safe accommodations to go to, the dejected trio returned to Marcus Chancelor’s rooms. Huddled before the blazing fire, Tori sat next to Josh while he fingered the fake jewel. She told him the story haltingly. Granger tried to comfort her, to no avail.

  “Then ’tis truly the end; for the gold is already aboard ship and cannot be touched. Cap’n Elias would sooner part with his head than go against Marcus’s own orders and part with a shilling of the booty,” Josh said pitifully. “After all he has done there is naught to be done to free him.”

  “Not so quick, my friend,” Tori interrupted; “there may be a way. Listen to me carefully. Did I not do a good job of convincing the sheriff’s men that I was a dimwit?” At Josh’s nod, she continued, “Then why can’t I play the harlot? What else in the world would distract the jailor? If you had seen him look at me you’d know what I speak of.”