Envy the Wind

by Anita Davison

  For long seconds, he stared at the red stain on his hand in obvious disbelief. “Bitch!”

  With a snarl, he slammed his balled fist into her cheekbone.

  She saw the blow coming and tried to duck, but wasn't quick enough, releasing a sharp cry as her head jerked, the force of the blow sending her backward against the table. Pain radiated through her hip and she half turned, braced both hands on the top in an effort to remain standing.

  “I'd better not have a scar.” His voice was harsh as he brought an arm around her waist from behind and pulled her against him.

  Grace struggled to free herself but he was too strong, his hip ground into her back making her want to retch. Frantic to break away, she flicked a foot up behind her, catching his knee cap.

  He gave a furious yell but did not let go. He pushed his other hand into her hair, gripped it at the roots and twisted, pulling her head painfully backwards.

  “Feisty one, aren't you?” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck. His fingers tightened in her hair, his feet spread to prevent her kicking out again. Her stomach cramped as he pressed her harder into the table, but she refused to cry out. His arm around her waist tightened, forcing a bone in her corset to dig into a rib. Through pain and anger she searched for a way to fight back but she couldn't move.

  Her struggles were useless, her breathing grew rapid with terror and revulsion as his hand moved from her waist slowly upwards. She summoned all her strength and braced to throw her weight backwards, when without warning, he released her. His hand dropped from her midriff, his fingers slid from her hair and his weight no longer pressed against her.

  Grace froze for a long, uncomprehending, second. She registered a dull thump and swung around.

  Keogh lay on the floor. Aoife, her face screwed up into her cross pixie expression as she stood over him, held an iron skillet in both hands.

  “You all right, Grace?” she said, her voice oddly calm as she glared at Keogh's immobile form, the skillet still held ready.

  “I-I think so. I doubt you need to hit him again. He's out cold.”

  “Just makin' sure.”

  The sound of hoof beats sounded in the lane beyond the backyard, followed by voices shouting. In seconds, four uniformed men in peaked caps strode into the kitchen, followed by a white-faced Jake with an equally horrified Andrew Jardine.

  “Blimey!” Jake stared at Keogh. “Aoife, I said you were to wait.” He appealed to Grace, his hands held out to his sides. “When the police jigger and horse drew up, I told her to stay in the lane, but she ran past me.”

  “No time to explain,” Aoife responded, stone faced. “I knew something was up.”

  “I’m very glad she did.” Grace swayed on her feet as blood rushed to her head.

  Andrew Jardine pushed roughly through the policemen and wrapped her in his arms. “Are you all right, Grace?” At her nod, he turned on the man in charge, evident by the stripes on the arm of his dark jacket. “I told you Keogh would probably come early. You should have listened to me!”

  “We had our own enquiries to make first, Mr Jardine. Then we had to secure the consignment.” He gave Grace a swift up and down glance. “The lady looks unharmed to me.”

  “That’s all you know!” Grace stared back at him, a hand cupped to her face where Keogh hit her.

  “No thanks to you.” Andrew elbowed him away, a protective arm clamped around Grace.

  “You're here, which is what counts. I think I’ll fall into your arms now,” Grace murmured as she half collapsed against him.

  Did I hear right? The police took the rum?

  “About time,” Aoife muttered, her pixie face exhibiting a broad smile.

  “I must admit I expected more than four policemen to come to my rescue.” Grace said into his jacket that smelled of the outdoors.

  “What do you mean?” Andrew drew in his chin, smiling down at her. “I brought half the Charlottetown Police force with me.”

  “Half? You only have a force of eight in this town?”

  Andrew shrugged, and Grace rolled her eyes.

  Keogh started to come to, moaning, a hand clamped to the back of his head. Two policemen hauled him roughly to his feet, holding his arms tightly behind him.

  He glared at Grace, swaying a little between the officer's grip. “I want that Irish slut charged for assaulting me,” he snarled. “What’s it come to when a chap visits his lady friend and gets his head bashed in?” He laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound, adding. “What’s the matter, Jardine? Don’t like to share, eh?”

  “You bast-” Andrew jabbed a clenched fist at Keogh's face so fast, no one saw it coming. Especially Keogh, whose head snapped back, and his eyes rolled upwards in their sockets. The two officers released him abruptly and for the second time in five minutes he had a close view of the kitchen floor tiles.

  One of the policemen sighed, the other propped his hands on his hips and gave Andrew a 'did-you-have-to' look.

  “What are you waiting for,” their commanding officer shouted. “Get him out of here!”

  “He might have a point,” Grace said as Keogh was dragged from the room slung between the two policemen. “What are you arresting him for?”

  “A little matter of a dozen cases of rum found in Mr Keogh's warehouse will do to begin with, Ma’am.” The sergeant saluted Grace and Andrew, nodding in Aoife and Jake’s direction before he re-entered the yard, the fourth policeman trailing behind.

  “You can put that down now, Aoife,” Andrew smiled, indicating the skillet in her hand.

  “Oh, yes. Sorry.” Sheepishly, she returned it to the stove.

  * * *

  While Aoife went to see if any of the guests had been disturbed by the commotion going on in the kitchen, Jake secured all the locks. Grace excused herself to her room where she changed her torn dress and did her best to repair the damage to her hair which had been tugged free from its pins.

  “Tilly didn’t even wake up,” Aoife said, miffed. “And wait ‘til I tell Leon about this. He’ll be sorry he missed all the excitement."

  With the premises secured, the four of them sat down at the kitchen table.

  Despite repeated enquiries, Grace convinced them she was unhurt, although the tingling in her cheek told her she would have a bruise in the morning. She and Jake would make a fine pair.

  “Did I hear that policeman say they found the rum in Keogh's warehouse?” Grace accepted a steaming mug of tea from Jake, whom Aoife had enlisted to help. “So he did take it back?”

  “No. Actually I did,” Andrew said. “I engaged some friends of mine to remove it earlier. For the plan to work, the rum had to be found somewhere registered as Keogh's property. I could hardly have it delivered to the hotel he uses as his address."

  “Isn't that a little unethical?” Grace winced and eased her painful hip that was crushed against the back of the chair.

  “Would you prefer the police to have found it here?” Andrew’s lips twitched, and Grace looked away, knowing he was teasing her.

  "How did you know he owned a warehouse?" Aoife tidied away the empty cups, replacing them with clean ones.

  “Um-there’s a man in a brown suit with a very sore head at the police station who told us. Eventually.” Andrew said.

  “So the man watching the hotel was Keogh’s man?” Aoife nodded, as if answering an internal question.

  “The same. As soon as we got it out of him, we transferred the cases from your cellar into Keogh’s warehouse and then came here.”

  “How long can they keep Keogh in jail for owning some rum?” Grace asked.

  “That’s not the issue. He’ll be out of commission for some time once those he employed make statements against him. And they will. He might even be drummed off the Island.”

  “I hope it will be that easy,” Grace sighed. “I sense drinking is something most people don’t regard as a crime.” Mrs Mahoney was evidence of that.

  “I’ll wager there'll be plenty more like him waiting to t
ake his place,” Aoife said.

  “Don’t be cynical, Aoife,” Grace frowned at her. “I should have avoided him from the start, but then if I had, I might not have this place.”

  “When you told Keogh about opening a hotel, my guess is, he saw you as a likely prospect, whether you agreed or not,” Andrew said

  “He’s done this sort of thing before?” Grace asked, unsurprised.

  “It appears so. He makes an unsolicited delivery, then pressurises the victim for payment. If they refuse, he threatens them with exposure. Most people are too scared of him and his thugs to go against him. The man is too clever and keeps just the right distance between himself and the people who work for him.”

  “I’m impressed by the police acting on your word and keeping me out of it.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with Marshall being my godfather.”

  “Who's Marshall?” Grace looked up from her tea. The hot brew was doing its job reviving her, although her cheek stung, and her scalp was sore from Keogh pulling her hair.

  “Charles Cameron, the Police Chief, but everyone knows him as ‘Marshall’”

  “So there is such a thing as Prince Edward Island aristocracy?”

  “Maybe.” Andrew grasped her hand beneath the table and they exchanged an intimate smile.

  Aoife scraped back her chair and gave an exaggerated yawn. “Time you went, Jake. It’s late and I have to work in the morning.”

  When he didn’t move, she punched him lightly on the arm. “What already?” He stared at her, indignant. “I haven’t finished my tea.”

  “Stop mithering and sling your hook. I’m worn out by all the excitement.” Aoife cocked her head to where Grace and Andrew sat before ushering him unceremoniously into the yard. She locked the door behind him and her gaze fixed straight ahead of her, retraced her steps back to the door to the hall, calling as she went, “Goodnight then. See you tomorrow, Grace.” She paused on the point of pulling the door closed behind her and turned back. “Goodnight, Mr Jardine and thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome, Aoife,” Andrew inclined his head, smiling.

  Aoife flushed shyly, delivered a wink at Grace and closed the door behind her.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Andrew cupped Grace’s face with his free hand and ran his thumb gently beneath her eye. “This is going to look spectacular in the morning.”

  “The one you gave him will be equally as colorful, I expect.” She removed his hand from her sore cheek and brought his fingertips to her lips. “I was more furious than scared. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so badly, but I was powerless. I’m better now you’re here.”

  “Do you plan on keeping the Grace and Favor open when we are married?” Andrew asked.

  “What did you say?” Grace pulled her chin back, bringing his face into sharp focus.

  “I think you heard me.” He took her hand. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

  “As a proposal, it’s not a very good one.”

  “I knew I wouldn’t do it right. I’ve been trying to work out a strategy for weeks but didn't know how to ask you.”

  “And that’s what you came up with? A fait accompli?”

  “Hmm, it does sound like one doesn’t it? Perhaps it’s because I’m not used to people saying no to me, so I assume they’ll go along with my decisions.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go along with it, but I might need some time to mull it over?”

  “What for? Everyone loves the idea. Mary and Isla are delighted.”

  “Are they? You’ve told them already?”

  “I might have mentioned it. Once or twice.” His gaze held momentary panic.

  He was so obviously unsure of himself that she loved him all the more. Nor was she disappointed that he had not proposed properly. But then, Frederick hadn’t either. Angus MacKinnon simply announced their betrothal at breakfast one morning having convinced Grace she owed him gratitude for his years of protection.

  Perhaps this was the way her life was meant to be. Unconventional, impulsive, but still utterly romantic in its own way. It would be a story to tell their children one day. She couldn't wait to tell Maud.

  “Why did you wait so long?” Grace asked. “I don't mean for me, but surely there are other young women in Charlottetown you could have chosen?”

  “It’s only recently I realized marriage and a family was something I wanted.”

  “How recently?” Her new confidence in his feelings made her want to flirt.

  “Since the day I met you.”

  “And those feelings didn't change, even when I wasn't very nice to you?”

  “Hmm, I did wonder at times if I was on the wrong track. But then Mary told me you were jealous of her and I was determined not to be put off. Thus I enlisted John Cahill to give you a little nudge in the right direction. Now, never mind all these diversions. You haven't answered my question.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes, I want to keep the Grace and Favor after we’re married. Which means I do want to marry you. It occurs to me we might need it if you lose any more of your ships.”

  His burst of uninhibited laughter was interrupted by the kettle Aoife had refilled coming to the boil.

  “Would you like more tea? I think there are some of Leon's pastries in the tin.”

  “Tea and pastries aren't much of a celebration. By rights we should toast each other with champagne.” Andrew slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

  “I'm afraid it's all I have since someone stole my rum.” Grace leaned closer and kissed him lightly on his lips.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “Because I have some rather fine Dom Pérignon in my cellar.”

  “Andrew!”

  The End

  Bibliography

  Acknowledgements and Sources

  A Writing Life - A biography of Lucy Maud Montgomery by Mary Rubio and Elizabeth Waterston

  If You're Stronghearted - Prince Edward Island in the 20th Century by G Edward Macdonald Associate Professor of History at PEI University.

  This book provided me with some fascinating reading into a unique view of what life was like during the early 1900's on Prince Edward Island. His insight in the minds of the Islanders' personal pride in their history and way of life drew images for me which have made me long to visit a place I only know through books and the internet. Of the now extinct railway, he says:

  ‘Special trains were put on to shuttle mourners from funerals to cemeteries; to carry hockey teams and their raucous supporters to critical matches; to take chattering excursionists, complete with brass bands, to any one of the Island's yearly crop of tea parties. School children were made to memorize the stations along their stretch of the line. Fares and timetables were part of the everyday lexicon. Housewives and field workers timed their day by the train whistle. More often than not, it was the train that freighted Islander's produce to market, and the train that carried their emigrant sons and daughters away to distant places. The train stood for what had been on Prince Edward Island and what still might be. What matter if it ran a deficit?'

  Elizabeth and Her German Garden by Elizabeth von Arnim.

  This, her debut novel was published anonymously by Macmillan in 1898

  Australian Marie Annette Beauchamp became Mary, the Gräfin von Arnim on her marriage to Graf Henning von Arnim-Schlagenthin, a member of the Prussian aristocracy.

  Her future works were usually published with the phrase ‘by the author of Elizabeth and her German Garden’ as the only guide to their authorship.

  She also wrote 'The Solitary Summer' [1899] 'The Benefactoress' [1901] 'The Caravaners' [1909] 'The Pastor's Wife [1914] 'Christine' [1917] 'Christopher and Columbus' [1919] 'In the Mountains' [1920] 'Vera [1922], 'The Enchanted April' (1922) and 'Mr Skeffington' [1940] as Elizabeth von Arnim’s memoir, 'All the Dogs of My Life' [1936]

  Boo
ks by Anita Davison

  From BWL Publishing Inc.

  http://bwlpublishing.ca

  The Woulfes of Loxsbeare

  The Rebel’s Daughter, Book 1

  The Goldsmith’s Wife, Book 2

  Royalist Rebel - Published by Pen and Sword Books

  https://www.pen-and-sword.co.uk/

  [under the name Anita Seymour]

  The Flora Maguire Mystery Series Published by Aria Fiction

  https://ariafiction.com/

  1 - Murder on the Minneapolis

  2 - Murder at Cleeve Abbey

  3 - A Knightsbridge Scandal

  4 - Murder at St Philomena's

  5 - Murder at Paddington [Coming October 2018]

  Published by MuseItUp Publishing

  Trencarrow Secret

  Culloden Spirit

  As a Londoner constantly drawn back to the city, Anita connected with its history at a young age. When the rest of the school trip were busy throwing the contents of their lunch boxes across the school coach, Anita daydreamed about men in high white wigs, long coats and petticoat breeches climbing into sedan chairs on the cobbles of Paternoster Row, where the sight of Christopher Wren being lowered down the outside of the half built St Pauls Cathedral in a basket was a daily occurrence.

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  Books by Victoria Chatham

  His Dark Enchantress, Berkeley Square Book 1

  His Ocean Vixen, Berkeley Square Book 2

  Loving That Cowboy

  Cold Gold

  On Borrowed Time

  Shell Shocked

  The Buxton Chronicles Boxed Set