Envy the Wind

by Anita Davison

  “Nothing at all?” Grace asked, disappointed.

  “I'm sorry, I know this might seem inadequate, but you need to be patient. I've only just learned about this, I need to ensure Keogh is held responsible without ruining your reputation or your business.”

  “I realize this is a lot to ask, but I cannot stop thinking about all those bottles sitting there waiting to be discovered. I want them gone.”

  “Was Keogh present when the assignment arrived?”

  “No, Leon said Keogh turned up after the rum was delivered.”

  “We need proof he’s directly involved, and for that we must catch him in the act.”

  “We don’t have much time. He’ll be back for his money at midnight tonight.”

  “Midnight? Who does he think he is, Dick Turpin?”

  Grace giggled. “I thought the same myself. But that’s what he told Leon.”

  “You don’t have the money? Because if not I could always help you?”

  “Of course I do, but I refuse to hand a cent over to him.”

  “That’s more like the Grace I know,” he whispered, sliding an arm around her shoulder. “If we’re going to stop him, you need to be patient. When Keogh returns, go along with what he says. What he wants now is your co-operation.”

  “Huh! From our past encounters, that isn’t the impression he gave me.”

  “I see. Then do your best to keep the conversation on a professional level. Say you have reconsidered and need the extra income and will sell the rum through the hotel as he demands. Keep him sweet, Grace. Don’t make him nervous.”

  “Don’t make him nervous? What about me, I’m shaking. Look.” She held her hand out to demonstrate.

  “Shall I send for my carriage to take you home?” He grasped her hand in both his and pressed it against his chest.

  “No. I don’t want that man hanging about outside the hotel to see your carriage, especially as Mr Cahill’s has been there already this morning. I’ll walk back to the hotel.”

  “You appear more confident than when you arrived, Grace. Even though we don’t yet have a firm plan.”

  “I know, but strangely I feel better. I needed someone on my side."

  "Pity. I thought you were going to say you needed me?" He held her gaze steadily and did not release her hand.

  "I do. That's why I'm here.” Was his touch meant to be a comforting gesture or something more? She daren’t ask, while wishing she could. “I won’t let that awful man get the better of me.”

  “I rather like this forceful side of you. It’s impressive.”

  “Did you expect me to collapse into your arms and weep?”

  “I suppose I did, yes. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed.”

  A bubble of laughter worked its way up into her throat as he rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh linen smell of his shirt and the cologne he wore, the same one as he wore on the ship. His lips brushed lightly against hers as if testing her reaction. When she didn’t move away, he increased the pressure and when she kissed him back, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Finally, he pulled back a few inches.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice a whisper against her mouth. “For trusting me enough to ask for my help.”

  “After John's visit, what else could I do?” She looked up into his face. “You do realize that was our first kiss?”

  “Was it a disappointment?”

  “Not at all, but I wasn’t prepared for it. Would you mind repeating it?”

  “With pleasure.”

  Chapter 25

  After Grace left Andrew's house, she returned to the hotel through streets which looked brighter and more beautiful than they had on her way there. She could barely keep the smile from her face which attracted both odd and bemused looks from passers-by.

  At the door of Grace and Favor, she called a bright good morning to a couple of departing guests, taking time to accept their compliments and thanks for a wonderful stay.

  “Well, you look happier than you did this morning.” Aoife looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table with Jake.

  “That’s because I have everything in hand.” She pulled a chair out from the table and sat. "Good morning, Jake. How's your eye?" His cheek was puffy and purple up to his eyebrow, but the skin was not broken.

  "Morning, Miss Grace." Jake looked suddenly wary. "I've had worse."

  “In hand?” Aoife scoffed. “What does that mean?”

  “I can't explain just yet," Grace replied as she helped herself to tea from the pot on the table. A pot which was always being refilled but it had become a habit she quite liked. "Everything is going to be all right. You'll have to trust me.”

  “Whom do you trust?” Aoife dragged her chair closer to Grace. “The alcohol inspector could turn up any minute, not to mention the police.”

  “Aoife!” Grace warned, shooting a quick look at Tilly who was on her way past with an armful of clean linens. She shot each of them a frightened look before hurrying out.

  “That won't happen. We'll carry on as usual and no one is to go into the cellar."

  "I need some flour and raisins," Leon said from his position at the stove.

  "With one exception then." Grace smiled at him.

  “I could get rid of the rum for you,” Jake volunteered.

  “Thank you, Jake, but I've already been told trying to dispose of it could make matters worse. I'm going to do what I was told.”

  “Told by whom?” Aoife asked, apparently still suspicious.

  “Never mind. If it works you’ll see for yourselves. Everyone back to work. It's almost time to open the tea room.”

  They dispersed slowly, muttering to themselves, obviously not happy with Grace's half-hearted solution to a problem which affected them all. She couldn't blame them. Like her, they had expected a rescue party to come swooping in and solve the problem.

  The day wore on with no message from Andrew or, thankfully, Mr Keogh. Grace dealt with tea room customers, residents and tradesmen with false smiles and quiet, if nervous attention.

  “Why don’t I stay here for the next couple of nights?” Leon suggested as he was about to leave after dinner. “Only until this business is sorted out. I could put up a truckle bed in the storeroom.”

  “Thank you for the offer, Leon. Jake has already suggested it,” Grace replied. “I don’t think either of you should be on the premises in case something goes wrong.”

  “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.” Leon nodded his goodbye, shrugged into his jacket and left.

  “Where did you go this morning?” Aoife set mugs of tea in front of them at the kitchen table after ushering Jake out amid protests and sent Tilly to her room to listen out for residents' bells calling for late night drinks.

  “Mr Jardine's house.” In response to the girl's suggestive look, she added. “I was wrong about him. He isn't married. Mary is his sister-in-law.”

  “Ain't that a turn up for the books?” Aoife put the mug down with a thump. "Of course. He could be a bootlegger himself, I'll bet he knows all the right people.”

  “Whatever makes you say that?

  “Don't look so shocked. It might not be so bad to marry one of the more successful bootleggers on the Island. They do pretty well from what I've heard.”

  “It would be a bad idea!” Grace snapped, though deep down she knew she would take Andrew on any terms, no matter how flawed. “And what makes you think he'll ask me to marry him?” Her casual tone belied the wish inside her head. “Even if he does propose, and I'm not intimating for a second that he would. What if he wants a large family? I doubt I can give him that.”

  “How do you know?” Aoife looked up from her tea, her eyes round. “Have you ever tried?”

  “Not tried exactly, but I was married to Frederick for five years and I didn’t conceive once. My father-in-law always insisted it must have been my fault as no man in his family ever failed to breed.”

 
“Your husband’s health was delicate wasn't it? Did he have the mumps as a nipper?”

  “Mumps? I don’t-. Actually yes, he did, along with every other childhood illness. But he was hardly a child then, he was twenty-two.”

  “Uh-huh, and did his, you know,” she made a vague wave at her nether regions. “Swell and get tender?”

  “Really, Aoife, what a question.” Grace’s cheeks warmed, and she buried her nose in her tea.

  “Well, did they?”

  “What do you mean, they? Oh, I see. Yes, now you mention it. He was in considerable pain for a while.”

  “There you are then.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It were your fella that had the trouble, not you.” In response to Grace’s puzzled frown, Aoife sighed. “My second brother had the same thing. His face blew up like a frog and he was sore - down there - for days. The doctor told him he wouldn’t be having any more bairns. Not that he cared as he and his slattern wife already had five.”

  Grace clamped her lips together to prevent a laugh, while her eyes pricked with unshed tears. Could it be possible she might one day be a mother after all? After Angus MacKinnon’s censure, she had always assumed she was not destined for that role in life.

  The clock on the mantel ticked away the minutes as they sat there, absorbed in their own thoughts.

  “Stop kicking the chair, it's irritating,” Grace snapped.

  “I'm restless. Why did Mr Jardine tell you not to look in the cellar?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “Mr Keogh is coming back tonight. What's he going to do about that?"

  "To be honest I don't know. All he said was he would sort things out. He didn't explain how.”

  “It's getting late, Grace. Maybe Jardine isn't coming at all?”

  “Shh.” Grace cocked her head, listening. “Did you hear something?” Was it a bump, or the gate to the yard opening? She couldn’t tell. Whatever it was it set her nerves on edge.

  “No. What did it sound like?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “Well I’m not just sitting here all night.” Aoife rose and moved to the cellar door.

  “No, Aoife, he said-” But Aoife had already gone.

  Grace followed, gingerly descending the steps onto the concrete floor.

  “Maybe this is why.” Aoife nodded towards the back wall.

  Grace hardly dared to look. When she did, her heart leapt into her throat. Apart from wicker baskets of root vegetables and sacks of dry goods stacked in one corner, the cellar was empty.

  “Oh my God. It’s gone.” Grace clutched the rail. Did Jardine somehow get Keogh to take back the rum? Or was it stolen by another gang of bootleggers? Frantic, she grasped the wooden rail to stop herself keeling over.

  “Suppose it was all a double bluff and Andrew is a bootlegger with his own operation and this was his chance to put Keogh out of business?” Aoife said.

  “We have to think about this,” Grace said, trying to be reasonable, though she was terrified. “Maybe Andrew threatened to expose Keogh and made him take the rum back?” She couldn’t think the worst of Andrew. Not now. He wouldn’t be that cruel.

  “Or another gang of bootleggers found out and they took it.”

  “Did Jake tell anyone it was there?”

  “He wouldn’t do that. I know him.” Aoife twisted her hands in front of her, wrestling with the idea. “Look, why don’t I go and find Jake? He knows some bootleggers. Maybe he knows who took it.”

  “What for? It’s not as if I would want it back.” Grace snorted.

  “If it was another gang, chances are they’re more scared of Keogh than their own boss, so we might be able to get out of this. Turn the scum against each other and let them fight it out between them.”

  “That’s one way to resolve the problem, I suppose. If I could be sure it would work, I might let you do it.”

  “We’ve still got time, it's only nine-thirty. Let me go and talk to Jake. I won’t be long.”

  “Wait. Let me telephone Andrew first. He might be able to tell me what’s going on.”

  “If he was going to, he would have done that already. Not just helped himself. No, Grace, if it was him he’ll only give you some story. You’re mazed enough about the man to believe everything he says. Let me see what I can find out from Jake first.”

  Indignation, doubt and confusion took turns to make her unable to decide what to do. By the time she did, Aoife had gone.

  She returned to the kitchen and poured away her cold tea and occupied herself with washing up the cups.

  Should she call Andrew anyway? If he did not answer, she would doubt him more. Aoife was wrong. Andrew couldn’t be involved. Confusion muddled her thoughts. One moment she had a cellar full of rum she did not want, then it was gone as if she had dreamt it. She suspected everyone. A sudden thought occurred. She went to the front door, turned off the porch light and peered into the gathering gloom.

  The man on the corner was no longer there. When had she last seen him? Earlier that day? Before? She couldn’t remember.

  Was he a policeman, or one of Keogh's men? If a policeman, were they on their way to arrest her?

  She returned to the kitchen, her elbows propped on the table and her chin in her hands, her mind such a turmoil that a headache throbbed behind her eyes.

  Dread churned her insides at the thought she might have ruined her future in this country and be sent back to England. There was nothing left for her there, and the Grace and Favor was her own achievement, one she couldn't bear to part with.

  She loved the Island and all the people she had come to know here. Aoife, Mrs M, Leon, even Tilly. Then there was Andrew, whom she loved.

  The clack of the door latch made her jump. She looked up, expecting to see Aoife but Charles Keogh stood with his back to the door.

  “Hello Grace.”

  Chapter 26

  Grace removed her elbows from the table and leaned back in her chair as the tension drained out of her, leaving her strangely calm.

  “All alone, I see Grace. Or were you waiting for me?” He gave the immaculate kitchen a slow, almost possessive glance.

  “You’re early.” She rose slowly from her chair while at least ten scathing insults ran through her head. None of them reached her lips.

  “I couldn’t wait.” His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Sorry about the unexpected visit, but I had to unload the stuff quickly and you had all that cellar space empty.”

  Not as empty as it is now.

  “I would have thought you had no trouble finding willing distributors for your - product. Why me? Why my hotel? I couldn't sell that much liquor in a year.”

  “Ah, Gracie, so stubborn. So angry, when you could have made this all much easier.” He moved closer, resting his hand on the table.

  She winced at his abbreviation of her name and backed away, keeping the vast pine table between them. She silently pleaded for Aoife, who had only been gone a few moments, to return. Tilly was a heavy sleeper, but even if she weren’t, she would be of little use to anyone in a situation like this.

  Keogh crept closer, apparently in no hurry. “Had you accepted my offer in the first place, I wouldn't have had to resort to this sort of behavior. I'm not fond of strong arm tactics myself.”

  “A pity that you have used them now.” She took another step, so the entire length of the table was between them.

  “A means to an end, perhaps?”

  “What end?” she asked automatically, aware he wanted much more than money.

  “Oh, come on, Grace. You're not a child. I have a particular liking for widows. They know what to expect and you don't get all that shocked indignation when it comes right down to it.”

  “Trust me, Mr Keogh. We shan't be getting down to anything.”

  “Now that's not very cordial, is it? Considering what you owe me.” He skirted the end of the table unhurriedly, apparently enjoying himself.

&nbs
p; Grace matched his stride in the opposite direction. “Owe you?” She debated whether or not to mention the rum was no longer in the cellar. Or would that make things worse?

  “I don't give my product away. And besides, the margins are good. You could make quite a bit from what I supplied. I'm not greedy, so seeing as it's your first consignment, I’ll give you a better rate.”

  Grace swallowed. Andrew had had all day to arrange something, anything. Surely he hadn’t planned to leave her alone with this man?

  Where are you?

  “Why do you keep looking at the door, Grace?” He eased closer with a smug smile. “There's no one there. I saw that Irish chit leave a little while ago and I know your staff don't live in. Oh, apart from that little red-haired lass. Not that she could do anything. How about you relax and spend some time with me? I'm in no hurry to collect.”

  Her skin crawled, her first instinct being to run from the room but she resisted. Andrew would be here. He must. She had to play for time and hope he was on his way.

  “I don't think so, Mr Keogh. Just tell me how much I owe you and then go.” She released an understated sigh and turned to leave, showing she wasn't afraid to turn her back on him. “Or you could simply take your rum and leave.”

  If you can find it.

  It was a mistake. He let out a bellow of fury and circled the table in two strides. His fingers closed on her shoulder and he swung her around, tearing the sleeve of her blouse.

  “No! I tell you when this meeting is over.” A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye, his lips thinned to a grimace. "In fact, I think you should be a whole lot nicer to me. Who do you think you are anyway? You’re nothing but Jardine's tart."

  She gasped, a combination of pain and the shock of his grip on her flesh. Her stomach knotted as he hooked his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her close, his breath laden with spirits.

  “Get away from me!” Terrified, and yet furious, she scored her fingernails across his face as hard as she could, tearing two in the process.

  “Ach!” He flung his head away, releasing his hold on her. His hand went to his face where his cheek oozed blood from three long scratches.