A Shadow's Bliss

by Patricia Veryan

  "We've not made such a mull of it, all things considered," he argued. "We closed his mouth effectively enough.

  He may have survived, but his mind was gone. And even if he was to remember what he saw in Suez—"

  "Whom he saw!"

  "Oh, very well, whom he saw—the chances that he'd ever have put two and two together are so remote as to be practically non-existent."

  Lord Kenneth grumbled, "They'd have been wholly nonexistent had we put a period to him then and there."

  "But consider what a waste that would have been. Instead, the Squire took an awkward incident and turned it to good account. Armitage served our purposes nicely and took all the blame whilst we garnered a splendid cargo, and the owners collected the insurance. He was removed, his name was thoroughly disgraced, and his foolish sire played right into our hands. Besides, at the time, the Squire wanted no attention drawn to the meeting. You know how set he is on secrecy."

  "Justifiably so. We walk a very tight rope, my friend. If our negotiations with that gentleman were guessed at, the fox would properly be in with the hens!"

  'True. But that was three years ago, and Armitage can have had no least knowledge of our organization."

  "He's a knowledge now! I make no doubt but that the Mandarin and that dullard of a cavalryman—Er, your pardon, my lord, but your young cousin ain't very bright, is he?"

  Lord Kenneth uttered a resentful grunt, and Pen went on, "At all events, they're sure to have told him about the League—Oh, for Lord's sake, man! Why must you jib like a nervous colt? There's not a soul in sight and we cannot be overheard here! As I was about to say, I've paved the way for them, nicely. They'll be delayed for another half hour by which time our man will arrive with his—er, troop, and…"

  Jennifer waited no longer. She would surely be seen now if she crossed the courtyard to the gate. She looked about in desperation. A stone deer was placed artistically under a small tree near the wall. It was no time for maidenly modesty, and she had grown up with three adventuresome brothers. She advanced on the deer and hoisted her skirts. A moment later, panting, she peeped over the wall. There was no one in sight. It was the work of a moment to sit on top, then turn and lower herself. She heard a ripping sound and moaned inwardly but walked on, her thoughts in turmoil, her eyes stinging with tears. This man she had known all her life, and whom she had judged pompous but very kind, was in fact a traitor! Lord Kenneth Morris, the father of Caro and of the boy she might have wed, had sat there and discussed without a trace of remorse wholesale murder and the deliberate destruction of her beloved. She felt betrayed and lost and longed to run to the comfort of Johnny's arms. But she dare not run. She dare not even hurry. She schooled herself to stroll around to the back of another building and paused there to tidy her hair and brush her skirts to which had been added a tear and a moss stain. Then, praying her guard acquaintance would not come after her, she walked across the quadrangle to the office where she had left the three men. She ran past the startled orderly, and flung open the inner door.

  Jonathan was leaning aggressively over the desk of the young naval officer, and she staggered towards him. Falcon and Morris whipped around to face her. Jonathan sprang to her side. leaning against him, she stretched out her hands to the other two and gasped out their names so that they came to her at once.

  Anxious, Jonathan asked, "What is it, ma'am? Are you ill?"

  She emitted a loud moan, whispered, "This is a trap!" and wailed, "I think 'tis the heat. I feel so horribly… sick!"

  The officer jumped to his feet. "You had best take her into the open, quickly!" he advised, and ran to send his orderly for a glass of water.

  Leaning on the arms of Jonathan and Morris, and with Falcon fanning a thick sheaf of papers at her, Jennifer whispered, "The Squire's people are coming for us!"

  The officer hurried in again. "Is the poor lady any better?"

  Jennifer gulped convincingly, and, alarmed, he moved back.

  Falcon said, "Oh, bother!" and the papers he held flew in all directions.

  Exasperated by this disastrous scattering of requisitions it had taken him all day to arrange and categorise, the officer swore under his breath and began to rush about retrieving them.

  When he looked up, Miss Britewell and her escorts were gone.

  "They'll be hot after us, if you're right, ma'am," said Falcon, leaning back in the carriage they'd hired at the gate.

  Jonathan's eyes were on the west inlet from which their pirated schooner was conspicuously absent. He said, "We'll have to make a run for Town and East India House, or the Navy Board."

  Following his gaze, Falcon said, "I doubt the authorities took them in charge. Our pressed crew have made off, I think."

  Jonathan nodded. "Just as well. They'd likely have lied at all events, and made Green out to be an angel of light." He turned to Jennifer, "My dear, you told us about the men you overheard. I suppose you had no chance to see anything of them?"

  She sighed. "One was called Pen, but I only saw his back. I knew the other gentleman, which is—which is why I went there."

  Glancing at Morris obliquely, Falcon murmured, "Dare I hazard a guess?"

  Turning to Morris also, and finding him pale and un-wontedly grim, Jennifer touched his clenched hand and said gently, "Jamie—I am so sorry!"

  He forced a smile. "You're very sure, Miss Jennifer?"

  "How I wish I were not. I was so happy when I saw the Deliverance, for I was sure Lord Kenneth would help us. He's such an old friend. And then… oh, it is so dreadful!"

  "He is the head of our house. My Papa will be—" Morris broke off and looked squarely at Falcon. "I owe you a most humble apology. You were right about him."

  Falcon shrugged. "I am always right. But there's no cause for excesses of despair. There are dirty dishes somewhere in every family."

  "In mine, certainly," sighed Jennifer. "I am only glad that Johnny can now clear his name."

  Jonathan was thinking ahead. He muttered, "They'll be bound to try and stop me from telling what they think I know. We'll have to drive straight through." He looked at Jennifer worriedly. "It's likely to be grim."

  "Perhaps," suggested Falcon, "we should leave Miss Jennifer with Holsworth and the widow."

  "No!" cried Jennifer. "I must keep with you, Johnny! I can bear witness to so much of what's happened."

  He smiled into her anxious face. "Yes, but Falcon's quite right. I want you somewhere safe. Hopefully, a place not too far from Town so that I can come for you as soon as we know where we stand. Have you any family living within a day's journey of London?"

  She looked at him rebelliously, but in her heart she knew that, if only for the sake of all their reputations, she could not stay with him. And so, she ran her various relations through her mind, then said reluctantly, "I've not seen her for years, but my great-aunt is fond of me, I know. She lives near East Bourne. I'm sure she would let me stay with her. But surely you will take up Tummet and Mr. Taylor? And Noah and the widow must be warned."

  "Never worry, we'll warn them. I owe my life to the future Mrs. Holsworth."

  "Do not be looking to stay for the wedding," said Falcon. "We've a race to run."

  Jennifer said hopefully, "I expect there will be other weddings I can attend."

  Jonathan said nothing.

  On a bright morning three days later, Jennifer stood on the drivepath of her great-aunt's house near the village of East Bourne, and watched the carriage rumble away Londonward, taking with it the man she loved and her every chance of happiness.

  Watching her with faded but wise eyes, Lady Lyme-Rufford gathered the shawl closer about her bony shoulders, fastened a claw-like hand upon her great-niece's arm, and said, "Well, they're gone, thank heaven. I like Neville Falcon, but that boy of his has honed the art of arrogance past common decency. I'll own he's a handsome devil and has broke half the hearts in London, so they say. Has he broke yours, my love?"

  The endearing term brought a lump into Jennifer's
throat, and she squeezed the thin fingers gratefully. "No, ma'am."

  My lady led the way back into the great house that seemed less lonely now that this seldom-seen grand-niece had arrived. "Then I must pray 'tis that young military fellow with the kind eyes. If the fair boy with his arm in a sling has brought the lost look to your pretty face, you've chosen poorly my dear."

  A footman closed the front door behind them. Accompanying her great-aunt across the wainscoted hall, Jennifer said proudly, "Jonathan Armitage is the finest, bravest, most gallant gentleman I ever met. And the only man for me, ma'am."

  "Then you must resign yourself to eating black bread and wearing rags." Lady Lyme-Rufford waved to the hovering footman and ordered tea and cakes brought to the back parlour. "He is quite penniless, you know," she went on, leading the way down the long hall.

  "So I had thought, ma'am," said Jennifer, as they entered a charming little room where a fire blazed brightly on the hearth. "But he has found that he is the son of Greville Armitage. You will have heard of him, I know. He is the most famous artist in all England, save for—"

  "He was, certainly." Her ladyship sank with a sigh into a cushioned chair, and glanced up at Jennifer's puzzled face shrewdly. "Ah—the boy did not tell you, I see. Greville Armitage died—let me see now, it must be well over a year since. I am not acquainted with the family, but I heard he died a pauper having spent his fortune in trying to prove his son's innocence."

  Jennifer gave a gasp and sat down abruptly.

  Lady Lyme-Rufford asked, "Did he have the effrontery to offer for you?"

  "Yes—no—I—"

  "I should hope not! But you will be a fine prize for fortune hunters my dear. Now, I am more than pleased by your visit, and hope you may stay for a very long time, but you gave me the sketchiest of mangled nonsense as excuse for your descent upon me. I want the whole! And then, fair exchange, I will tell you what little I know of Greville Armitage, and how his son broke his heart. After luncheon we will drive into Lewes, for you must have a new wardrobe, and Lewes shall have to suffice till I can take you into Town. Ton my soul, that gown makes me shudder! I never thought to see a relation of mine in so shabby—Enough! Begin child. And don't forget—the whole! I want to know what that fool of a father of yours has done, to cause you to ruin yourself by rushing all over England with three young rascals!"

  Half an hour and many interruptions later, Jennifer finished, "But they were too close behind us, so we turned about at Yeovil and fled down to Weymouth. August—Mr. Falcon arranged passage for us on what was, I fear, a smuggler's vessel and we reached Seaford at dawn this morning. The rest you know, ma'am."

  Her eyes very bright, my lady clasped her hands and said, "What a splendid adventure you have had!" Recollecting herself, she added hurriedly, "But highly improper! And there are still little bits I do not understand. For instance, if 'twas not your cloak Falcon wore to frighten the mob—whose was it?"

  Jennifer shook her head. "I cannot guess, ma'am. It was a fine garment, but I don't know any lady in the Penwith Hundred who would be tall enough to wear it."

  "You… never think…?" Lady Lyme-Rufford's eyes were very round.

  "We were—in Cornwall, dear aunt," Jennifer reminded gravely.

  "Fiddle-de-dee! I never believed all that hocus pocus! Am I to suppose that Fate—or the Lady—or King Arthur and all his knights aided that strange bird to come up with you after he was lost in the Blue Rose?"

  Jennifer said with a faint smile, "You must own, ma'am, 'tis something incredible that Duster could have escaped from the mine at all. More incredible that he was able to find his way to his cage at night, when he cannot do much more than flutter about."

  "Hmm," said my lady again. "Then he must have hooked his little claws into one of your garments, or—Well, there is some explanation, I am very sure, so we will not waste our time with it. What we have to think of now, is your dear self. You are quite ruined, of course. Or would be, if the word got out. You were very wise to come to me, my love, for—"

  "'Twas not my idea, ma'am. Johnny insisted."

  "Yes," My lady said musingly. "From what you have told me, I see that he is the type, all right. All high ideals and gallantry. Lud, but those pompous fools at the Navy Board will crucify the boy! Unless… I've still some friends in high places, despite my gout. Now—let me see… Ah! My wicked admiral! The very man! And he owes me a favour. Indeed, was I to look back forty years, he owes me a great deal more than—" She coughed, and said briskly, "But that is neither here nor there. Ring the bell, child. We must have tea, and then I've letters to write."

  "But—dear ma'am, we just had tea! And you promised—"

  "Oh, so I did, so I did! Good gracious, if ever I enjoyed a tale more! You must tell it to me all over again this evening. But now we must have luncheon, for I cannot write a letter without I am fortified. Poor child, how deliciously heartsick you look!" Her bright eyes very steady on Jennifer's face, she asked, "Did your Jonathan think to mention his wife…?"

  Despite London's sultry weather, all was stir and bustle at East India House. Stern directors, secure under their mantle of power and authority, sent clerks and young officers scurrying to obey their commands; anxious captains waited about the halls for news of ships or sailings or ports of call; equally anxious merchants pressed Company officials for the award of contracts, or protested the unfortunate allocation of those same contracts; and the stifling halls rang with talk, the slamming of doors, the stamp and jingle of spurred boots.

  In one small office several men had gathered. A naval commodore and a Company director were seated at a long table. A slim young midshipman with dark luminous eyes and thin nervous hands hovered behind the director's chair. Jonathan Armitage stood before the table, an impressive figure in an immaculate dark blue habit, a snowy cravat at his throat, his left arm still carried in a sling. At the side of the room August Falcon, James Morris, and Joe Taylor sat on straight-backed wooden chairs. All were silent. It was an ominous silence, as though the lightning that flickered occasionally over the city on this sultry afternoon added to the tension in the room. At length, the commodore, a heavy-set florid-faced gentleman, wrenched his gaze from the sheaf of papers in his hand and said with an air of barely suppressed amusement, "I give you credit, Captain Armitage, for adhering to the adage that attack is the best means of defence. But your tale, while most—er, enlivening, has not one point in common with these statements made by the survivors of the wreck. By Gad, sir, you would have done better to have kept your attack within the realm of credibility!"

  A faint flush lit Jonathan's features, and his grey eyes held a glitter of anger. He turned to the director. "If to tell the truth is to attack, Lord Hayes, then I must—"

  The mighty director, gaunt, hard-eyed and thin-lipped, over-rode with slow deliberation, "You stand accused, Captain Armitage, of gross negligence in the performance of your duties as master of the Silken Princess. Your first mate reported you to have been in an intoxicated condition for most of the voyage. His statement was verified by the supercargo—" He glanced at Falcon and Morris and clarified, "That being the title of the senior merchant sailing with a ship. It was also sworn to by the surgeon and by your personal servants, Captain Armitage. You are held directly responsible for the subsequent wreck and tragic loss of life. You appear now, after an absence of more than two years, and hand us a flamboyant tale of having been lured to the cabin of a beautiful woman and clubbed down with a subsequent—and highly convenient—loss of memory. To substantiate your astounding claim of being held prisoner on your own ship, you offer nothing more substantial than the word of your ship's carpenter Mr. Taylor, who is known to be devoted to you. Now, if you had some proof, some names of those responsible, some reason for such dastardly conduct, I should be glad to hear it."

  "As I said, sir, Mr. Taylor discovered the reason. They had stolen the cargo before we sailed, and—"

  "Impossible!" snorted the commodore. "Such a feat would require widespre
ad collusion and the cooperation of trusted gentlemen both in the employ of the East India Company, and in the service of their King. Preposterous, I say, sir! A most confoundedly irresponsible piece of nonsense!"

  "Unless," murmured the director, "Captain Armitage can substantiate his claim in—er, some way."

  Gritting his teeth, Jonathan said, "I have given you my sworn word, my lord. As have Mr. Taylor and these gentlemen who—"

  Once more the commodore interrupted. "Who have already made themselves ridiculous in Whitehall and elsewhere with their farcical tales of a treasonable conspiracy 'gainst the British government. Poppycock, I say sir. Poppycock!"

  Falcon drawled, "Do you consider treason to be ridiculous, Commodore? You are lenient."

  Lord Hayes added to an impression of dyspepsia by opening a small and beautifully enamelled box, selecting a tablet and swallowing it with the water the midshipman rushed to offer. "We consider it ridiculous, sir," he said, "to attempt to besmirch the reputations of the high-ranking aristocrats and military officers you accuse of being involved in your so-called League of Jewelled Men. You offer us nothing more than allegations lacking any shred of supporting evidence. Yet I am told that Gideon Rossiter, the leader of your foolish club, or whatever it is, had the unmitigated gall to point the finger at his own father-in-law, the Earl of Collington, who is a very fine gentleman, and chances to be a good friend of mine."

  "And you emulate his disgraceful behaviour, Lieutenant Morris," said the commodore, "by having named the head of your house, Lord Kenneth Morris, another conspirator. I wonder, sir, that you would sink so low as to bring such wicked charges 'gainst your own kinsman! One can only assume there is bad blood between you, and that you choose this shabby means for revenge!"