A Shadow's Bliss

by Patricia Veryan

  Breathless, she whispered, "I nigh got caught, and had to hide. Is that Duster?"

  "Morris brought him."

  "We're both here, ma'am," said Falcon. "Wet, but willing."

  "You mean to help Johnny, then? Oh, how splendid of you!"

  Jonathan squeezed her hand. "You're all splendid. We'd best get started. I'm glad you wore a cloak, love."

  "And I'm glad you brought a lantern. We'll need it, Come—it's this way…"

  The rain and mud made the four miles seem more like a dozen. They were all breathless and tired by the time Jennifer halted amid a cluster of boulders on the hillside north of the mine, and pointed out the narrow opening between two boulders. " 'Tis a difficult tunnel, and we'll need your lantern now."

  Jonathan slipped inside and began to scrape at the tinder box he'd borrowed from Holsworth. "Are we safe in showing a light?"

  "Yes. We'll not come to the main workings for a way. This—this was a side tunnel and has long been—abandoned." She shrank back as the lantern sent out a bright beam.

  Jonathan brushed away cobwebs, but even with her hand tight clasped in his, it took all Jennifer's resolution to enter the passage. The familiar smell of dank, chill air was in her nostrils, and memory blew its cold breath on her spirit so that she longed to run outside.

  Jonathan could feel her trembling. Tilly had said she'd not been sleeping well, and he guessed she must be very tired. He suggested that they rest for a few minutes before going on, and they all sat on the ground, glad of the chance to catch their breath, amused by Duster's antics as he scolded and flapped his wings, sending a shower of rainwater down Jonathan's neck.

  They soon went on again, picking their way along the narrow passage. It was littered with rocks and boulders, the roof so low in places that they had to stoop. Jonathan held the lantern in one hand, and kept the other at Jennifer's elbow. After a while they came to a wider passage leading off to the left, and he turned into it. Jennifer pulled him back. "We must stay on the narrow path. That way leads to the sea. Listen."

  They halted and, muted by distance, came a deep rhythmic booming.

  Morris asked, "Is it another way out, Miss Jennifer?"

  She said threadily, "I'd not recommend you take it, Lieutenant. I believe it runs far under ground."

  "But how charming," said Falcon. "Why not give it a try, dear dolt?"

  Morris chuckled. "He's trying to be rid of me, ma'am. But he'll not succeed. 'Foolish the frog who whips the fog.'"

  Falcon mumbled something that appeared to be an impassioned plea for patience in his hour of tribulation.

  A moment later they were faced with a real tribulation in the form of a great fall of rock that so blocked the way there was no choice but to climb over.

  Jonathan said, "You had best—" He broke off, to catch Jennifer's swaying form and steady her. "How tired you are," he said remorsefully. "Small wonder! Wait here for us."

  She gave a little embarrassed laugh. "I'm afraid you've… found me out, Johnny. I—I'm quite a coward, and this place—I'd hoped I would be over it by this time."

  In belated comprehension, he said, "I knew you'd been hurt in an accident. Never say this is where it happened?"

  "We were playing here, which Papa had straitly forbidden. The boys liked to prove how brave they were, and I would not be left at home. I think this is the—the very spot where the roof came down…"

  He held her close. "Yet you come in here, to help me. My love, how brave you are."

  "Pluck to the backbone," agreed Morris. "You're a Trojan, ma'am. Er, if you know what I mean."

  Falcon said dryly, "Clumsy as it is, I agree. But Jack's right, ma'am. We'll leave you the lantern and you can rest here."

  "You'd never find the way." Pale but determined, she said, "The path divides several times between here and the main entrance, and there are places where the ground drops away into deep crevices. I am very well now."

  Nothing would deter her, and at length Jonathan helped her over the pile of boulders while Duster clung to his shoulder and offered a stream of throaty comments.

  As she had warned, they had to negotiate a narrow ledge beside a yawning chasm. Here, they were obliged to proceed in single file, Morris holding one of Jennifer's hands and Jonathan the other as they inched along until the danger was past and the passage widened again. After that it twisted and turned and was intersected by other passages leading off to right or left, so that without her sure guidance they would certainly have become lost. Gradually, the tunnel began to slope upwards, and soon they could detect a difference in the air—the smell of cooking and of wood burning.

  Morris halted abruptly. "Hold up!"

  Falcon muttered, "His sole attribute. Ears like a hawk."

  Jonathan felt a quickening excitement. At first it was a distant hum, but gradually, as they crept on, he could hear the mumble of voices and then a louder outburst of jeers and laughter.

  He said, "Not one step farther, Miss Britewell! No, I'll hear no arguments. Morris, I daren't leave her alone. Will you guard her for me?"

  "Well, I will of course, dear boy," said Morris, clearly disappointed. "But it seems to me that you should be the one to keep at her side."

  "The man who can tell me the truth of my past is in there," said Jonathan grimly. "If 'tis humanly possible, I mean to find him."

  Jennifer protested staunchly, but Jonathan pointed out that she was the only one who knew the way out, and they could take no chance she might be hurt. She agreed reluctantly to that wisdom, and he pressed a quick kiss on her hand and left the lantern with Morris before going on with Falcon. The tunnel continued its upward slope. There was a flickering glow on the walls ahead, and the voices became ever clearer. They rounded a bend and were abruptly at the top of a downward slope in full view of a wide open area just inside the main entrance to the mine.

  Falcon gasped, " 'Zounds!" and they both leapt back into the shadows.

  The glare thrown out by several wall braziers was dazzling. Blinking, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Jonathan saw that this central area was very neat and orderly. Rows of blankets and bedding were arranged along one wall. Far across the chamber a larger tunnel yawned, and he could glimpse a stove and shelves crowded with provisions and pots and pans. "The galley,' he thought. To the right, near the entrance, were racks holding row upon row of muskets, blunderbusses, swords, and other weapons. In the centre, about forty men were gathered at long tables and benches. He was taken aback by their appearance, for here, rather than the fierce soldiers of fortune he had expected to find, were men from all walks of life. Some were clad in rags, some in the humble smocks and gaiters of farm labourers, others wearing the simple dark coats and breeches of clerks and city dwellers. There were several members of the clergy, and a smattering of uniforms, both military and naval.

  A well-dressed gentleman of means stood before them, watching a street vendor, who was striding up and down, waving his arms about, apparently harranguing the onlookers.

  "We need Morris's ears," whispered Falcon. "Can you make out what they're saying?"

  Jonathan shook his head, and they ventured closer, staying close to the wall and trying to keep in the shadows until, gradually, words could be distinguished.

  "… asks yer. One after another of 'em. Plain as the nose on yer face. How long is we to go grinded into the—"

  "No, no, no!" The well-dressed man began to cuff the performer, while screaming that his stupidity was unsurpassed and that he spoke either too well, or incorrectly. "Will you never learn?"

  Falcon whispered, "Is a play, then. Though why they'd put on a dress rehearsal in—"

  Jonathan's heart gave a painful leap. He gasped, "Taylor!" his narrowed eyes fixed on a man dressed as a merchant seaman, with a square, ruddy face, his greying hair pulled back into a short pigtail.

  "Hey!" Falcon clutched Jonathan's arm. "Where the deuce are you—"

  "I'm going to join the cast. If aught goes amiss, get my lady clear."


  "You really are mad! You can't hope to—"

  But Jonathan was gone, sauntering down the slope towards the gathering. As he approached the benches, a lean tinker grunted, "Where'd you get that there bird?"

  He'd forgotten Duster. He shrugged. "Mr. Bronwys thought it a good touch."

  A violent altercation had broken out between the well-dressed man who appeared to direct the "play," and an aggressive individual who declared at the top of his lungs that he couldn't be expected to remember what he was to say when his instructions were changed every day. Others joined in, and under cover of the ensuing uproar Jonathan edged closer to his quarry.

  Coming up very close behind him, he gripped his shoulder, and murmured, "You're wanted over here, Joe."

  The pigtail jerked around. Taylor's pale eyes bulged, his jaw dropped, and his ruddy face faded to the shade of pastry dough. "C-Cap—" he croaked.

  "Quiet!" Jonathan grinned at him while adding grimly, "I've a pistol 'gainst your liver, friend. Move!"

  "They said… you was… dead," stammered the erstwhile ship's carpenter, allowing himself to be propelled along. "Lor', sir. You can't never—"

  "Just keep on," said Jonathan, moving steadily away from the brightly lit area. "If you want to live a while longer."

  A beefy hand closed on his arm. A red suspicious face thrust at him, and a large baker with a heavy French accent growled, "Who gave you the leave to escape this practice?"

  His own hand tightening on Taylor's shoulder, Jonathan replied, "My friend has eaten too much. His stomach protests. Stand clear."

  With an apprehensive glance at Taylor's stricken countenance, the baker moved back hurriedly. "You are the fine friend, I think," he said, and lurched off.

  Taylor whispered, "Sir, I dunno what you're about. But I want no part of this lot, if you can bring me off."

  "Come, then. Up there, out of the light. Not so fast, man. Easy."

  They were almost to the slope leading up to the passage where Falcon waited, when the uproar quieted abruptly. A man who looked more like a pirate than the farmer his clothes proclaimed him to be, strolled out of another tunnel offshoot and blocked their way.

  "Well, if it ain't his lordship," he muttered.

  Glancing around Jonathan saw Hibbard Green coming in at the main entrance, shaking water from his tricorne, and followed by Howland Britewell and the dock foreman, Bronwys. At once all the men were on their feet, crowding around.

  Bronwys roared an order for quiet, and his lordship's voice boomed out. "Miss Britewell has been abducted by a sneaking spy who calls himself Crazy Jack! They can't have gone far. A hundred guineas to the man who brings him down!"

  Taylor was as if rooted to the spot.

  Jonathan shoved him urgently. "Get on, man!"

  And in that same instant, Britewell pointed up at them, and shouted. "There he is!"

  The piratical farmer jerked his head around, and pulled a horse pistol from under his smock. Jonathan leapt at Mm and levelled him with an uppercut, but two more men ran from the same tunnel and joined the attack. Dodging a flying cudgel, Jonathan struck home hard to a midriff, and whirled in time to see Taylor knock down a "clergyman." An almost animal howl rang out. From the corner of his eye he saw men racing at them, pistols clutched in eager hands, knives gleaming, cudgels flourished.

  He shouted, "Run for it!" and snatched up the farmer's pistol.

  Taylor ran.

  "Come on!" yelled Falcon.

  The staccato roar of a shot sliced through the uproar. Duster emitted an alarmed squawk. Taylor lurched, and staggered. Jonathan came up with them, pulled the man's arm across his shoulder and half-carried him into the tunnel.

  Falcon drawled, "A sorry reinforcement, Captain. He'll slow us."

  Jonathan thought, "They're too many, and too close.' He said, "Take him, and get my lady out. I'll hold 'em here!"

  "You're well named, Crazy Jack!" Falcon grabbed Taylor's arm. "Come on, then. Whoever you are!"

  Jonathan followed them for a short way, and turned to face the attack.

  They came at him in a clamouring mass, the flickering light of the braziers shining on faces that reflected the greed inspired by his lordship's "hundred guineas." Jonathan's sole advantage was that they wouldn't be able to crowd into the narrow confines of the tunnel all at once, and they were already jostling one another to be first.

  The big fellow wearing a butcher's apron took the lead, pistol aimed. Jonathan fired, the deafening explosion awakening a barrage of echoes from the other tunnels. The butcher howled and went down, causing an instant melee as his comrades rushed, not to help him, but to get past. A muscular chimney sweep was also aiming a pistol, and a tongue of flame stabbed from the muzzle. Jonathan ducked and the ball hummed past his ear, but his boot slipped on the dank floor, and he staggered.

  "Got him!" howled the chimney sweep exultantly. "He's mine!"

  At this disappointing news the uproar quieted into a brief hush.

  Perhaps the reverberations of the gunfire inspired Duster, or perhaps he had some desire to perform also. Whatever the case, he spoke at last, uttering a shrill "Bobby!" that was magnified by the tunnels into a weirdly echoing and re-echoing, "Bobby!… Bobby!… Bobby!"

  The chimney sweep halted abruptly. "Ma?" he cried, peering about in scared bewilderment. "Be that you…? Ma?"

  "You're daft," declared another clergyman, trying to shove past.

  The chimney sweep threw out his arms, halting the advance. " 'Tis what she allus called me," he declared, quite pale with fright. " 'Twas her voice, I tell ye. Me dear old Mum, and her dead and gone these ten years! She's come back to haunt me fer me wicked ways!"

  "Bobby! Bobby!" shrilled Duster, and pleased perhaps by the effect of his debut, he began to flutter about excitedly.

  Morris ran up, lantern in hand, the light throwing an elongated shadow of those small wings onto the wall.

  The sight finished the chimney sweep. With a sobbing howl he turned back and fought to escape, only to encounter oncoming bounty hunters with less troubled consciences. Tempers flared and confusion reigned.

  Morris said, "My tulip, shall we trot?"

  Chapter 14

  There were no longer any sounds of pursuit when they reached the hidden entrance to the mine. Taylor was barely conscious, and Morris, who had half-carried him most of the way, lowered him to the ground. Falcon held the lantern close while Jonathan took off Taylor's bloodied shirt and inspected the injury. He was relieved to find that although the ball appeared to have made a deep score across the man's side, the wound did not look to be of a deadly nature. He fashioned the arm of the shirt into a pad and found Jennifer beside him with a tired, dirty face, but willing hands that were tearing the shirt into strips. Smiling his thanks, he was quick to see the troubled expression in her eyes, and said understanding, "My dear, this has been very hard on you."

  "I'm quite all right. Only…"—her hand closed over his—"Johnny, I am so sorry. I'm afraid you have lost Duster."

  He darted a glance at his shoulder, realising that he'd not heard the bird's throaty remarks since they'd begun their mad dash to escape. The widow's conversation with the Spirit of the Ocean came into his mind, and he wondered if this was what she'd meant. He felt saddened to have lost his small pet, and muttered, "The poor little fellow must have fallen."

  Jennifer leaned to kiss his cheek unashamedly. "Someone will take him up, dear. He is so pretty."

  "Aye. If he don't get trampled." Morris looked aghast as Jennifer frowned at him, and he changed the subject hurriedly. "I wonder what our peerless peer is about."

  Busied with his first aid, Jonathan said, "They likely all took different branches of the tunnels and have lost themselves. Hold the pad for me, will you Morris? Can you lean 'gainst me, Taylor?"

  The injured man propped his head on Jonathan's shoulder as the bandage was wound about him. "Very… good 'f you, sir," he mumbled.

  "I'm only sorry you were hit. I'm afraid we'l
l have to move on in a few minutes."

  "If this is the price for getting clear o'that lot, it'll be worth it a—a… a hundred times over! Captain, I can't tell you how… glad I am to—to find you're alive, after all!"

  They eased him down again. Holding an obliging finger on the knot of the bandage, Morris asked, "Acquainted with this gentleman, are you?"

  Taylor's answer was faint and halting. "That I am, sir. I was ship's carpenter o' the Silken Princess when… Captain Armitage took her out o' Calcutta, and a finer…"

  Jonathan had thought he was prepared, but to hear his name after all this time was like a knife slicing through his brain. He groped blindly for the support of the wall. As from a great distance he heard Jennifer's frightened cry, and Morris's voice raised in anxiety, but the past was rushing back, obliterating the here and now.

  He was Jonathan Greville Armitage, of London and Hampshire. His father was the world-renowned artist Greville Armitage. His family—He thought, 'My God!'

  Falcon said an irritated, "What the devil's wrong with him?"

  "Seems to have just found out who he is," explained Morris. "Bit of a shock, I collect. Can't blame him, August. Suppose you'd lost your memory and suddenly found out who you were. Gad! What a blow!"

  Jonathan became aware that someone was clinging to his arm. He blinked into Jennifer's concerned eyes, and she said, "My poor dear. Are you better?"

  "Heaven be praised, but I am!" He pushed himself away from the wall and bent over Taylor. "We must get on, but I'll have a quick answer. Was I drunk throughout that voyage?"

  Morris gave a shocked gasp.

  Taylor said feebly, "That's what…"

  "This is no time for post-mortems," said Falcon. "We should—"

  Jonathan whirled on him. "Damn you, will you keep quiet! I'll know the truth—now! Taylor, was I responsible?"

  His voice a thread, Taylor whispered, "Not only… powerful gents… One of 'em… Squire, but…" He sagged, his voice fading into silence.

  "The Squire!" cried Jennifer clasping her hands excitedly. "Isn't that what they call the leader of that horrid League of Jewelled Men?"