A Shadow's Bliss

by Patricia Veryan

  "Enough!" He snatched the letter, and said in French, "You will at once up-anchor and—"

  Half a dozen men ran along the deck, brandishing weapons. A seaman crept up behind Morris, knife upraised to strike. Falcon sprang to push Morris aside. The razor sharp blade that would have plunged into Morris' back slashed through his own coat. He caught the flying wrist, pulled hard, and with a cross-buttock twist sent the would-be assassin flying over the rail.

  Simultaneously, Holsworth whipped his hook about the throat of the small Frenchman and held him goggle-eyed and powerless.

  Tummet levelled the birdcage as though it had been a blunderbuss and roared, "In the King's name!" and the muscular seaman running at him with cudgel upraised, halted, staring in confusion at this strange weapon.

  Shots rang out from the dock. Waving recklessly at that murderous fire, Jonathan howled, "Boarding party! Advance!"

  What they could have been expected to advance in, had there been a "boarding party," was debatable, but the crew of this illegal vessel did not stay to argue the point. As one man, they abandoned ship.

  The victors sent up a ragged cheer.

  Holsworth's captive cried, "Me, I 'ave surrender, mon capitaine! I am ze prisoner of ze war!"

  Falcon panted, "Well, we've pirated her! Now what do we do with her?"

  Exhausted, in considerable pain, but elated, Crazy Jack said, "We sail her, friend! We sail her!"

  August Falcon opened the door to the capitaine's cabin, then stood aside as the widow came out carrying a torn sheet and the remains of the mop handle they'd utilised for splints.

  "How does he go along?" enquired Falcon.

  She shrugged her plump shoulders. " 'Twas hard on the lad, but he's full of pluck."

  "It looked more than a trifle ghastly. Will he lose the arm?"

  "With myself tending him? He will not! Though," she muttered limping away stiffly, "I'd have gone on better with some rhubarb and a black cat."

  Falcon stared after her.

  She turned and waved the sheet in his face. "Tomorrow, I'll use this to try and clean that cupboard they call a kitchen! If ever I saw such a filthy lot! And let him rest—he's worn to a shade!"

  "Er—yes," said Falcon and went inside.

  Jonathan lay on the bunk looking exhausted. Morris was at the low cupboards that lined one side of the cluttered cabin, pouring rum into a chipped mug. He glanced around as Falcon entered, and said, "Good thing you've come. He wouldn't take any of this till—"

  Jonathan sat up. His arm ached wretchedly and he felt considerably wrung out, but he asked, "Did that fellow Armand follow my orders? Who's watching him? I'd not trust—"

  "Peace, peace, mon capitaine." Falcon drew up one of the crude chairs and dusted it with his handkerchief before lowering his muddied person onto it. "The Frenchy seems eager to please, now he's turned cat-in-pan and decided to work for us. Tummet is watching him with the aid of a blunderbuss, for the time being. Not for long, I fancy. Already he's looking greenish about the gills, and if it blows, we'll have him at the rail all night. He's a poor sailor."

  "Not the only one," said Morris, handing Jonathan the mug.Falcon sighed. "I do not love an ocean voyage, I'll own." Jonathan took a healthy swallow of the rum, and coughed. "What about Miss Jennifer?" he croaked.

  Morris said, "She was fast asleep when I laid her on the bunk. It ain't the cleanest of cabins, but I think 'tis a bit less redolent of spirits than this hovel."

  Falcon drawled, "The poor lady is properly compromised, you know."

  "I do," Jonathan said. "You must know it was my intention to make her my wife, but…" He shrugged and didn't finish the sentence.

  Morris handed a mug to Falcon, kept one for himself, and carried over a plate of some chunks of cheese and broken biscuits. Removing Duster from Jonathan's shoulder, he sat on the end of the bunk and offered the bird a crumb of cheese.

  Duster recoiled in disgust, and fluttered back to Jonathan.

  Morris shook a finger at him, "Your master needs his sleep, you stubborn ingrate."

  Fighting that need, Jonathan said, "First, I'll know what it is that you keep from me." They exchanged a quick glance, and he went on with a trace of impatience, "When first I met Mr.—ah, September, I'd a fleeting impression of familiarity, and you, Falcon, were sure you knew me."

  Falcon inspected the contents of his mug.

  "I believe," Jonathan went on, "that 'twas your name and—er, reputation I knew. I cannot recall that we ever actually met. Yet you knew me—or knew of me. The truth, if you please." He saw Morris's troubled expression and added, "I'm not a child, Jamie. If a price has been set on my head, or some such thing, I will not fall into a decline." He gave a wry smile. "I am no stranger to disgrace."

  Morris said unhappily, "The fact is, we could neither of us think where we'd met you. Which was logical because—we hadn't. We recognised you—or Falcon did first, of course—by the er, strong family resemblance."

  Jonathan jerked forward, then winced and cradled his arm painfully. "Do you say you are acquaint with my family? Are they well?" and still disturbed by the widow's conversation with the Spirit of the Ocean, he asked, "Is my dear father—"

  Morris interposed with a look of desperation, "We—ah. That is to say, er—no, we didn't meet your papa, er—exactly. But we chanced to visit the Chandler estate, and—"

  "Ye Gods and little fishes!" cried Falcon explosively. "Do you mean to take a year and a day to caper around the simple truth? Your sister is now betrothed to Gordon Chandler, Captain Jack. A most eligible match. Your father is dead. He died a year after your ship went down."

  Jonathan lay back and closed his eyes, and the mug sagged in his hand. So it was truth. Papa, always loving and unfailingly proud of them all, was the person he was "specially fond of who would not be there to meet him…

  Springing to snatch the mug, Morris exclaimed, "Damn you, Falcon! Your tact is exceeded only by your compassion! He's in no state to weather a shock like that!"

  "He'd as well hear it tonight rather than wait till next week whilst you try to get your tongue from 'twixt your teeth! It gets no easier for beating about the bush, Lieutenant Mealymouth!"

  Jonathan pulled himself together. "No—I am all right now. I think I have—feared this for some time… Do you know how—what happened? Please do not wrap it in clean linen."

  "As you wish," Falcon said. "From all I heard, your father refused to believe the charges against you. He spent a fortune trying to prove your innocence."

  Jonathan smiled. "Yes, he would have done that. He is—was—the very best of—" He bit his lip, then went on, "His fortune was small, unless—Did he sell the house? The country place?"

  Morris gestured sharply, but Falcon ignored him. "I believe he lost everything."

  "My… God!" Jonathan put a trembling hand over his eyes for a minute while Morris glared at Falcon, and Falcon looked back at him enigmatically.

  "My—apologies," said Jonathan trying to keep his countenance. "The last time I saw him, my father was in excellent health. He is—was a relatively young man. Did—did his health break down because—of my disgrace?"

  "No, no, dear boy," said Morris kindly. "Never blame yourself. Anyone can suffer a heart seizure, you know, and—"

  "A heart seizure!" Jonathan shot a narrowed glance at Falcon. "Is that truth?"

  "Ask not for truth, if you want rather to be spared it."

  "Yes," said Jonathan numbly. "Yes. The inference is—sufficiently obvious." He took a deep breath. "I know you are both very tired. But—would you be so kind as to tell me of—of the rest of my family…?"

  Jennifer climbed up the companionway stiffly, and stepped into a radiant morning, the skies dotted here and there with fluffy clouds, the sea sparkling in the sunlight, and a brisk breeze billowing the sails. The distant loom of the coastline was off the port side, which meant that Johnny had decided to go around Land's End rather than head north towards Bristol. Briefly, she wondered why, then thou
ght, 'Plymouth! Of course! He's running for the fort and the Harbour Master!'

  She was surprised to see that the fiery Frenchman they'd captured last night was manning the tiller quite cheerfully. Two sailors were swabbing down the decks. Enoch Tummet, a blunderbuss across his knees, and an expression of profound gloom on his faintly green countenance, sat on the hatch, keeping watch over the prisoners. He rose and bowed, and she called a "Good morning" to him. Towards the bow, Falcon and Morris sat on some coiled rope examining the contents of a small bag. They both stood to greet her.

  "I am very ashamed," she said, extending a hand to each of them. "To think I would fall asleep at such a moment! I don't even recollect going down to my cabin."

  Morris said, "You were exhausted, ma'am. Faith but I was astounded any of you could walk about at all after your wild boatride! 'Twas my very great pleasure to carry you. Falcon would have, but he has frippered about Town too long, and lacks the stamina to—"

  Falcon said, "You'll find out how much stamina I have if you ever summon the gumption to face me!"

  "The scowl you see on his handsome phiz"—Morris grinned and ducked the bag Falcon hurled at him—"is because he saved my life last night. Major tactical error."

  For just an instant Falcon looked disconcerted, then he drawled, "I mean to ensure that when you meet your just deserts, 'twill be at the point of my Colichemarde!" He bowed to Jennifer, and sauntered away to confer with Tummet.

  Looking after him curiously, she murmured, "I stand in his debt, Lieutenant. But—I cannot but wonder why you cry friends with such an acid-tongued gentleman."

  "Oh, I don't," he said cheerfully. "This business of the League chances to throw us together."

  "And I believe you said you hope to marry his sister. Is that why he threatens you with a duel?"

  "Er—not exactly. I made a—er, small error." She looked at him questioningly, and he added with a sigh, "I chanced to shoot him. Accidentally. Took him for a highwayman, when he was actually escorting a carriage. He—ah, takes rather a dim view of the matter."

  She chuckled, "I can see that he might. But—surely, if you apologised, he would forgive."

  "There's rather more to it. Still—don't let him throw dust in your eyes, ma'am. In Town they dub him the Mandarin, and mock him because of his mixed blood. But if a fellow had his back to the wall, he could do worse than have Lord Haughty-Snort at his side."

  Jennifer liked him the more for that generous remark. She said, "I think he could do no better than accept you for a brother-in-law. What a pity he is so proud."

  "Eaten up with it," he agreed. "For instance, mark how gracefully he walks. Wouldn't dream he can scarce set one foot before the other, would you?"

  "Oh, dear! I had forgot. He lost his boots when we were coming across the moor, yet walked all those miles barefoot! And he managed to help us by donning the cloak and pretending to be the Lady. How was it that he seemed to glow?"

  "We couldn't keep up with Jack, but when it began to look as though he might need a diversion, we lit a small fire between two boulders and Falcon put on your cloak and climbed up so that the light shone on him."

  Puzzled, she said, "It was a wonderful diversion! But—'twas not my cloak, Lieutenant. How did you come by it?"

  "It was lying on the boulders, and we thought you must have dropped it." He said remorsefully, "Jupiter! We've stole some poor lady's cloak!"

  'How very odd,' thought Jennifer. 'Why would a lady leave such a garment lying about on a stormy night…?"

  There were more pressing matters on her mind, however, but before she could ask the all-important question, Morris said kindly, "Never look so worried, ma'am. The Widow Newlyn set Jack's arm last evening."

  "Thank goodness! She is as good at healing as any apothecary. What did she say of it? Was it very bad for him?"

  "If it was, he made no fuss. A good man is Armitage. The widow says the bone will take some weeks to knit."

  "Poor soul," she murmured fondly. "And I suppose you gentlemen were obliged to stay up all night?"

  "We took it in turn, ma'am. Had to keep an eye on the prisoners. Fellas like that would smile at you one minute, and slip a knife 'twixt your ribs the next."

  Falcon rejoined them. "I think I am without a man." His rare grin blazed at them, and his dark eyes twinkled. "Tummet has turned me off."

  "Your own fault," said Morris. "You know he cannot abide sea travel."

  "With luck he won't have to abide it for long. That fellow Armand says that if the wind holds we could very well be in Plymouth Sound by afternoon, though I fancy he would very much like to steer us to Le Havre! I wish Captain Jack would wake up. We cannot afford to go off course."

  Jonathan was already up, and with Holsworth's assistance had shaved. His arm ached this morning, but the ache of grief was keener. It was very clear that his beloved father's death had been brought about by his own disgrace. And if he had earned that disgrace, then he alone could bear the guilt. He had racked his brains last night in a frantic need to remember what had really happened on the Silken Princess. The snatches of memory that had come before he at last fell asleep had been muddled and there were the same long blank intervals, so that he was desperately anxious to talk with Joe Taylor.

  Duster uttered a fair approximation of "drink" and preened his feathers, as though proud of his effort.

  Staring at him, Jonathan muttered, "I'd give a deal to know how you came up with us!"

  Holsworth helped him into his coat and draped the left side over the sling Mrs. Newlyn had insisted upon. "Blest if I can understand it, Jack," he said. "Mr. Falcon and the lieutenant were sure the bird was lost somewhere in the mine, but that man of Mr. Falcon's says he come upon the cage after Miss Jennifer had followed you to Roselley, and there was Duster sitting inside so cool as any cucumber!"

  "A small miracle," said Jonathan, thinking there had been several large ones for which to give thanks. "How is Mrs. Newlyn?"

  Holsworth gave him an oblique look, and reddened. "Fair aside of herself because of the filth in the galley. She's in there now, making breakfast for all on us."

  "I can smell it. She's a rare woman, Noah."

  "And ye're thinking I could do worse, eh?" The big man nodded. "I've been thinking the same, I've a brother living in Plymouth who's long been wanting me to go into the building trade with him. I've a mind to leave the widow with him whilst I go back and see if there's anything left of my cottage, or if all my goods burned with the rest. There's a strongbox in my cellar will provide a fresh start for us, if the widow'll have me."

  The remark sent Jonathan's thoughts to another strongbox that was, hopefully, still in the care of his faithful Indian general steward. He'd been given command of the Silken Princess so unexpectedly that there had been no time to retrieve the box prior to leaving Calcutta. It had been a vexation then; now 'twould appear it was a blessing, for it seemed it was his entire fortune. He realised that Holsworth was looking at him expectantly, and he said quickly and honestly that he had no doubt the widow was destined to be the second Mrs. Noah Holsworth and that he wished them happy.

  Holsworth thanked him and said with a knowing wink, "I'd not go far wrong in wishing you the same, I'll wager."

  Jonathan smiled, took up the capitaine's glass, and made his way on deck.

  The vessel heeled over, and the freshening breeze dashed salt spray into his face. The flapping of sail, the hiss of the waves foaming back from the bow, the roll of the deck brought the old panic. He fought it away. He had no time for fear; but it took all his strength of will to look out over rank upon rank of waves. His hand was sweating when he raised the glass, but he triumphed, and scanned the horizon. There was no sign of a following ship. Turning about, his practiced eyes lifted to sun and sails. He greeted the unhappy Tummet, instructed the obsequious Armand to keep her on a steady northeasterly heading, and sent the two Spanish seamen scrambling to raise the topsail on the mainmast. Only then did he go forward to where Jennifer waited wit
h Morris and Falcon.

  She reached out to him, and he clasped her hand, marvelling that despite the ordeal she had endured, and the lack of such vital necessities as maids and cosmetics and curling tongs, she managed to look fresh and beautiful. Her loving eyes were searching his face also, noting the dark smudges under his eyes and the smile that did not quite reach them. She rested her fingers very lightly on the sling that supported his left arm, and asked, "Are you better today, Johnny?"

  "Much better, I thank you. Are you sadly bruised?"

  She said with a twinkle, "Alas, yes, and am horridly stiff. But I slept well, and feel guilty to have done so under… the circumstances."

  "I very much doubt that Green will inform 'gainst your family. It couldn't fail to draw attention to his own activities, and you may be sure the villagers will have turned on him for burning down their homes."

  Falcon said dryly, "You will pardon if I interrupt to wish you a good morning, Captain Jack."

  Jonathan reddened, and mumbled an embarrassed apology.

  Touched, Morris said, " 'There's precious little scrubbing done, when two fond hearts they beat as one.'"

  "I rather doubt that Armitage means to ask that Miss Britewell scrub the decks," said Falcon witheringly.

  Something nudged Jonathan's boot. He glanced down and bent to take up the small bag that lay there.

  Jennifer said, "Don't!" and pushed his hand away.

  Falcon snatched up the bag and tossed it over the side. "A pretty gift," he drawled.

  "Nothing in it but feathers," said Morris.

  Jennifer asked, "How did it—come here?"

  Morris grinned. "Falcon has such charm for the fair sex. One of his admirers tossed it at him when we were driving up to Castle Triad yesterday."

  "Did you pick it up, Mr. Falcon?"

  He looked at her curiously. Her eyes had a scared expression. "Yes. I hoped it might contain at least a pair of bedsocks, but—" Amusement came into his dark face. "Aha! 'Tis one of your quaint Cornish spells, eh? Tell me, Miss Jennifer, have I been—what is it you say?—ill-wished? Am I doomed to be passed under the belly of a piebald horse?"