"Don't bother yourself over these derelicts. They litter the waterfront," interrupted the young man at her side. And she turned her gaze from Aaron and walked away. But she stood by the railing closest to him, watching silently amid the hustle of the other guests when Jennings came up to him, and she was gone.
"My God, man! What's happened?" Jennings exclaimed.
Aaron gave no reply, for he had lost consciousness.
Jennings looked him over, knowing well enough there was a good reason Aaron had deposited himself at their agreed point of meeting. He picked him up as if he were merely a few coils of rope and carried him back to his lodgings, enlisting the aid of one of the girls he paid handsomely for her careful attention to his needs during his stay. Between them, they cleaned and dressed the wound, with no assistance from Aaron. The pain was enormous and he was very weak.
"Couldn't be all his blood or 'e'd be dead, Mr. Jennings," the maid observed, looking at Aaron's blood-soaked clothes.
"I guessed as much myself, Jenny. And it'll be a while before he tells us whose blood it is." He sighed heavily. "I've got some business to tend to, girl. You watch him carefully."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Jennings."
Aaron slept soundly at first, then a fever settled in his wound, and he lay fitfully in sweat and pain. Jenny tended him as best she could, cooling his brow, feeding him liquid, trying to make him comfortable.
"Aye You've had a bit o' trouble, I think, and you got some more ahead."
Aaron heard her, but couldn't focus on her.
"Juliet? Juliet?" he called, and then sank again into a dull haze as a roaring filled his ears.
Jennings went immediately to Aaron's flat, and looking around he had no difficulty imagining something foul had happened, and where the quantity of blood on Aaron's clothes had come from. A few houses from Aaron's, he stopped a woman as she left her door. "What happened to the pretty girl?" he asked, motioning to Juliet's door.
"Ah, her husband murdered her last night, I 'ear. What's it your biznus?" She stepped back from the giant, all at once regretting she'd spoken to him. "It's none o' my affair, mind ya,"
"Where's the husband, lady," he said gruffly, demanding a response.
"I dunt know. I said it's none of my affair. They're lookin' for 'im though. Killed another man this morning, too. Seems he's gone mad. Seemed like a nice enough sort. It's kinda odd."
"Very," replied Jennings, turning on his heels, not believing for a second that Aaron had raised his hand against Juliet, "but against another man for hurting her, that I know for certain."
Chapter Twenty-eight
AARON barely remembered the next several days as he lay submerged in a fever and hallucinations. The inn where he was staying was owned by Mae, a worldhardened matron whose girls were renowned on the docks for their enthusiasm and their skills. Fortunately for him, they extended their talents beyond what was usually expected of their profession, for one or another of them sat with Aaron around the clock, ministering to his struggle between life and death. Finally, after five long days and nights, Aaron woke with his vision clear and his other senses intact. He felt the burning wound in his shoulder for the first time, the pain somehow reassuring. At least, he could feel it.
He focused on the pretty face of a plump, energeticlooking young woman. He could remember seeing her by his bedside throughout the night, but he was not able to imagine why they would be together, especially with her sitting next to him and not in his bed, though he could not summon the strength to take advantage of her presence, a fact which briefly worried him.
He stared at the small, crudely furnished room with no memory of it, remembering only that he'd seen many like it before. He looked again at the woman who had sat by him most of the night, and she smiled at him, recognizing a look she hadn't seen in his eyes before. "Ye'll be all right now!" she laughed, leaving the room briefly.
Aaron sat back, trying to recall how he had arrived here. And all too quickly, his memory returned. "Juliet," he murmured, aghast at what he recollected. "Why the hell didn't I die," he wondered bitterly. Then Louisa's face came into his thoughts to torment him further. He suspected he'd only imagined seeing her on the pier, but his memory of her cut into him like another knife. In his mind's eye the innocent faces of both Louisa and Juliet drifted around him, and he mourned the loss of love. He felt now as if he could never love again―in fact, he would deliberately see to it. Love was always wrenched from his grasp and he believed that pain was more unbearable than any other wound he might suffer.
He thought over recent events and concluded again that Mason Jennings offered his only viable escape. He wondered how long it would be before he was fit enough to be of any value to Jennings.
Just then, the man burst through the doorway in his hastily pulled-on pants, obviously overjoyed to have the news that Aaron's condition was looking hopeful. "Didn't know if you'd make it, but you had the most expensive, if not the best night nurses in the city!" he said, smacking the ample behind of Aaron's latest nursemaid.
Then Mason turned serious. "I'm sorry about Juliet," he began, noticing Aaron's expression did not change at the mention of her name. Odd, he thought. Then he added quietly, "You've been accused of her murder, and also Jake Collins'."
Aaron blanched, seeming to retreat into his thoughts. "It's a lie," he said harshly. "But it's just as well. It couldn't matter what they accuse me of, the result is the same." He paused again. "You've got an extra hand, Mason, if you want one. I guess it'll be a while, though, before I'm of any use."
"You can't travel yet, but I've got to get back to my ship, or they'll give me up for lost. Stay here until you're fit. Then go to the Sow's Inn in Dover, and wait for me till I show up. It could be a while, but I'll turn up." He grinned "Ask Max for Angela. She'll set you on your feet again," he roared. Then he sobered. "Keep off the street. You never know. Collins was widely known, and plenty around here are not above collecting the price on your head."
"I'll be cautious."
"You weren't so cautious with all those witnesses to your fight with Collins!"
"I was mad with grief, man. But I won't be so impulsive again." He sank into the pillows, overcome by exhaustion. "I don't last long," he grinned weakly at Jennings.
"Just glad to see you made it, friend. See you in Dover," he added in farewell.
Aaron could do nothing but take Jennings' advice. He slowly regained some of his strength, and he laid low, never appearing publicly. Soon Mae's girls became even more solicitous of Aaron's health, but he put them off, which was as much of a surprise to him as it was to them. But they didn't stop pursuing him for as long as he stayed under the same roof. " 'E's in mournin', let 'im alone," snorted Mae as they discussed his lack of interest. "Some do. But from the looks of 'im, it won't last."
Finally, he knew he was ready to leave London, and he made his arrangements. He left on foot one night, meeting a companion with horses on a deserted road some miles outside the city limits. When he settled into the saddle, he quickly realized how stiff he still was from his illness.
The ride to Dover seemed longer than it should have been, and he knew it might be some time before he would regain his full strength. He worried about the extent of the damage to his shoulder and arm, and it was his only worry now, for he had succeeded in burying the recent past somewhere deep inside of him. It was as if the previous year of his life had never happened, as if he had only yesterday gone ashore from the last Vanguard ship he would ever sail on, as if he had traveled directly from Liverpool to Dover for some predestined meeting with Jennings, as if all the loving he'd enjoyed with Juliet had never touched him.
When he arrived in Dover, Aaron was not much different from the man who landed in Liverpool. A vicious animal was again just below the surface of his personality, waiting to be goaded into action. Over the past year, Juliet had begun to heal his earlier scars, but the recent fever seemed to have reopened those wounds, and now he had fresh scars that might never be repair
ed. As Aaron descended on Dover, he felt like a hunted, injured animal and no less dangerous than any other cornered, wounded beast.
Chapter Twenty-nine
IT was readily apparent why Jennings had suggested the Sow's Inn: the food was plentiful and so were the innkeeper's daughters. He had five, but Aaron turned his back on them. At first, they were reluctant to let him go by without their attentions, but something black in his nature, something fearful that surfaced in his long nights of drinking, a look about him, soon convinced them he was best left alone. It was obvious he was waiting for someone, but he never said who it was. He stayed close to the inn, eventually finding some relief in walking the streets, venturing into the countryside. He built his stamina more slowly than he might have, each night drinking well beyond the point where his physical discomfort became a remote sensation. Yet he found he couldn't drink enough to ease the undefinable pain that also gnawed at him.
Finally, one early morning he realized that no amount of whiskey could drown his grief. He stared at the almost empty bottle he held in his hand, and with a vicious yell threw it violently into the fireplace. The bottle shattered with tremendous force, scattering slivers of glass back into the room. And slowly he began his ascent from questionable survival to certain recovery. When Jennings arrived, Aaron looked more like the man he last saw in Liverpool than the one he'd met in his London flat, but he was sober and alert and gaining strength daily.
From the way his arrival was heralded at the Sow's Inn, it was obvious Mason had spent a good deal of time and a reasonable share of his money in the cozy establishment. "Have you had your fill of Angela," inquired Mason as the girl squirmed eagerly in his grip. "Even if you haven't, she's mine tonight. Aren't you, lass?"
"Aye!" she laughed. "He's your friend?" She pointed to Aaron in astonishment. "I'd never guess. Not a bit like you, he isn't," she said, rubbing her well-endowed body against him. Mason groaned. "Hold on, Angela, I've got some things to say to my friend." He stroked her body with his huge hands, then shoved her aside good-naturedly to speak privately with Aaron. "You don't say you turned it down?" he asked amazedly. Then without waiting for a reply, he added, "We leave tonight. You look like hell! Do you think you're fit?"
"I'll manage as well as any greenhorn."
"Good enough." He slammed his fist on the table, a wicked gleam filling his eyes. "And now some food for a hungry man. Bring us something to eat, honey," he called to Angela.
He ate ravenously with hardly a word. "Didn't you eat after you left London?" Aaron asked as he watched the trencherman go after an enormous third portion. "You said you ran a tight ship, but you do provision it, don't you, Mason?" he laughed, watching his friend devour the hearty crusts of bread and thick meat-and-vegetable stew.
"We won't find anything like this aboard," he said, leaning back from his plate, reaching for Angela as she whisked past him with a tray full of dishes. "Now for a little food for my soul!" He grabbed Angela roughly, ceremoniously handing over the tray to Aaron. Angela shrieked and laughed for her audience as he tossed her over his shoulder. "Wait for me," he said to Aaron. "I may need help getting back to the ship after a roll over with this one."
Aaron put the tray down and leaned back to wait for his friend. Soon, one of the other girls approached him, ostensibly to take the tray. "Ya sure ya don't want some, too?" she purred. "It'll be a long while 'fore ya git 'nother chance," she said, offering him a good look at her breasts when she bent over to pick up the tray.
Aaron stared at her and took a long drink from his mug, as if deciding whether to take her offer.
"Besides, I 'ave a bet ridin' on ya. Wouldn't want a poor girl to lose a wager?" she coaxed. "I'll make it worth yer effort."
"You were foolish to bet," he said calmly.
She was annoyed. "What's the matter with ya?" Then her eyes narrowed. "Ye're not one a them, are ya? Or, can't ya git it up? Gi' me a chance to help ya," she offered before she saw the murderous look in his eyes.
"Get away from me," he ordered making a great effort to control himself. The girl instantly recognized she was in danger, and hastily retreated from the table. Aaron stood up, not bothering to right his chair as it crashed against the floor. He grabbed his jacket from the peg on the wall, and stepped out of the tavern, badly in need of some fresh air. His mood was black as he walked briskly but without aim. He wanted nothing more than to strike out at something or someone, but not a woman, not with Juliet still fresh in his brain.
He wondered why life had taken him along the paths it had, why nothing but bitterness and alienation seemed to be his compensation. Hatred festered in him and he knew he was perfectly suited to the life he was entering. It would be a sincere pleasure for him to sail with Jennings. He saw it as a sweet sort of vengeance, perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prey on the class and probably the very men who had made his life a living hell. He now welcomed the chance to do damage, to cause grief to men like Simon Hudson.
Aaron returned to the Sow's Inn to be left alone for the now brief wait he had for Jennings. He collected his few belongings and met Mason when he came down the stairs. As they headed toward the water, Mason challenged him. "You created a stir back there," he said, nodding to the inn. "You left them panting and disappointed. Never thought I'd see the day," he laughed.
"Get off my back!" Aaron flashed with unusual heat toward his old friend.
Jennings stopped in his tracks, trying to see Aaron's face in the darkness. "Sure, friend," he said, hugging him roughly with one arm in a gesture of comfort. "I guess it will take more time than you've had before the world rights itself."
"I'm not wanting any favors. All I want is a crack at giving back some grief to the bastards."
"That you'll have plenty of chance to do. Plenty. They're after our butts good, now, but the profits are up. The opium market will make us rich in no time. Might even have to turn respectable and live high somewhere."
"I'm not making any plans."
"Take 'er as she comes, Aaron. Bend in the wind. You're in the hurricane, but she always blows over."
Aaron reflected on what Jennings said as they continued toward the water. In the last few years, his life had progressed like the phases of a hurricane, beginning just as a storm gathers, growing ominous, becoming violent, eventually overwhelming. Then he had entered the calm eye of the hurricane with Juliet holding him fast in her embrace, where a pervasive peace lulled him into hoping and believing the storm had passed, making him forget the eye always passes over, and in its wake is the holocaust.
It was in this final assault, in the furious wind and enormous tides, that Aaron presently found himself. As he reached for something to lash himself to, against the forces of the universe, he hoped he could remember what Jennings had said: "She always blows over."
Chapter Thirty
MASON had only come into port to retrieve his friend and the two men left Dover quietly that night. They met two of the crew in a large shore boat and rowed out into the channel and traveled along the coast for several miles before they sighted the Marbella. She was an undistinguished schooner, a factor which suited her purposes; a working ship with few comforts, but neither the vessel nor the crew actually wanted for anything in the way of equipment or provisions. Jennings ruled her with his enormous iron fist, but he proved a kindlier master than most aboard her could recall. The crew was an odd sort. All were outlaws by virtue of their duty, but they seemed to be a reasonably agreeable band of seamen. Mason tolerated no breach of his authority, weeding out the malcontents, demanding unquestioned loyalty, and offering a fair shake to his followers. He'd seen enough misery himself, and his lust for money in this venture was not so overpowering that he was reduced to running a ship at the low level those he wished to escape.
Though she was a commercial vessel, the Marbella was as handsome as any ship of her class, and with the wind filling her sails she skirted the coast as if dancing across the water. In addition to her nefarious duties, she was known t
o engage in legitimate trade in ports on the Continent, and she was kept in careful order to insure acquisition of legal cargo when it was desired, as well as to make certain her unlawful profits were as high as possible.
It was understood that Aaron would make himself useful however he could, expanding his tasks as his recovery allowed. He didn't quibble over any work that presented itself, soon losing himself gratefully in the endless cycle of keeping a ship in working order. His attention to lesser tasks freed others to do heavier work, and he spliced countless lines and ropes, scoured decks, cleaned the brass, charted the course, anything to keep himself constantly occupied.
He kept to himself as much was as possible in the tight confines of the ship; he' was solitary, but not unfriendly. He was known to be a particular friend of the captain, but, in this instance, the fact did not go against him. Physically, he pushed himself hard, watching the progress of his injury but taxing himself to the limit with each advance, almost welcoming pain for its distraction from any useless inclination to regret his current situation, or worry over his future.
The Marbella was a compact ninety feet with a crew of twenty-four. Mason became distant and gruff as he assumed command, not tolerating any laxness on the part of his crew. As a result, the Marbella was unusually secure. The schooner kept a careful eye along the coast, secluding herself in obscure coves along the shipping lanes, changing position frequently to avoid possible confrontation with armed watchmen whose duty it was to protect coastal shipping.
The Marbella was clever and elusive, successfully catching small and large prey at random, and she was armed with weapons not usually seen on vessels her class. She wielded her power with notable accuracy, occasionally combining her skills with another pirate vessel to comer her selected victim. Usually her prey had no alternative but to surrender.
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