by Gwyn Cready
“Then there is the gray one, of course. ’Tis embroidered with black fleurs-de-lis.”
“Och, verra elegant.”
“Aye, but too funereal, I think.”
Spread your two center fingers and wrap the rope three times around the existing loops; thread the rope through the middle again.
“There’s a green one with embroidery at the cuffs,” he said. “Not white. Something warmer. About the color of your skin here.” He drew his finger along the inside of her elbow.
She had to hold herself to keep from starting.
Stretch your first and fourth finger away from the middle two fingers and wrap the rope three times again; remove your fingers.
He said, “But the last two are the ones I favor most—a Highland wool the color of your nipples and a French velvet the color of your pelt.”
The knot slipped from her hand and skittered across the tavern floor.
“But you dinna know the color of either of those things, sir.”
“Not yet, no. Though I should very much like to find out.”
“Here? In the middle of the dining room?”
“If you wish. No one is watching us. So long as we talk like friends, no one will have any reason to turn in our direction. Just loosen your gown, then rise from your seat to extinguish the candle and sit back down.”
“Would it not be easier for me to simply tell you the colors?” she said.
“Easier, aye. But not nearly as gratifying.”
“There is a hole in your logic. Doing as you suggest will only provide you with the answer to one of the things you wonder about, not the other.”
“You are correct, milady. But perhaps with a little help, I can ascertain the answer to that one too.” He put the bowl of marmalade in front of him and pushed the cup of dark coffee beside it. Then he waited.
She waggled her finger at him. “You are a verra wicked man.”
“And I suspect you are a verra wicked woman. Tell me,” he said, “if you dare.”
She pursed her lips and let her gaze travel from the cup to the jam. Then she reached for the coffee and lifted it to her mouth. He gasped.
“I’ve heard it’s possible to double one’s investment in a single voyage,” she said. “That canna be true, can it?”
“Oh, aye. I’ve done it just recently. Are ye black, then? As black as velvet?”
She chuckled and put down the cup. Then she ran her finger around the rim of the marmalade bowl—once then twice, each time causing Hiscock’s pupils to widen. “What sort of cargo can be sold for double in so short a time?” she said. “You must be a verra talented investor.”
He flushed proudly. “It’s a number of things. Tea and tobacco mostly.”
“Aren’t they notoriously hard to store?”
“’Tis not the humidity of the storage that’s a concern in the case but the seclusion. There are a few rules we’re bending, you see.” He lowered his voice. “Are ye saying marmalade then?”
“Secluded?” she said in a tone heavy with meaning. “Is it nearby? Should we stop there on our tour today?”
“In fact, it’s no more than a few hundred—”
A voice said, “Don’t say another word, you fool.”
Hiscock jerked the table so hard, the cup rattled in the saucer.
Serafina instantly recognized the man peering down at them, though she doubted he knew her. He was the army officer Hiscock had mentioned—Colonel John Bridgewater, the brute who ran England’s northern armies. He was the sworn enemy of Undine and her colleagues. He had been a customer of Undine’s and had nearly beaten her to death once when he’d not liked the fortune she’d given him.
“Get up,” Bridgewater said.
Hiscock rose, flustered. Serafina wanted no part of whatever was coming. She pushed the chair from the table, and Bridgewater’s hand came down on her shoulder.
“Give me your room key,” Bridgewater said to Hiscock.
“But I—”
“Give it to me.”
Bridgewater grabbed the key and pulled Serafina to her feet “Don’t say a word,” he said to her, adding to Hiscock as he swiped the key from his hand, “Stay down here.”
She grabbed Hiscock’s cup and flung the steaming contents at Bridgewater. He roared, and she pulled herself from his grip. In two steps, he tripped her. She hit the ground hard, and he jerked her to her feet, saying loudly, “Poor dear, are you all right?” and adding in her ear, “There’s a dirk at your back. Don’t say a word.”
He pulled her toward the stairs.
“She’s ill,” he said to the innkeeper. “Bring sherry, aye?”
The last thing Serafina saw as they reached the top of the stairs was Hiscock’s stunned face, staring up at them from the dining room below. In the distance, the clock struck the first note of nine.
Thirty-two
Gerard climbed the long hill toward the castle. The sun was shining, and he could see the lush, verdant hills that stretched beyond the city. He loved New York, and he could feel many of the same things here—the industry, the humanity, the sense that everything can and would change but the core of what made the people who they were would never be altered. And yet so much here was different. The hills, for one, and the vast swaths of green and blue. The quiet drumbeat of a nation on the rise. The Age of Enlightenment had just begun, spilling across the Channel from the salons in Paris, replacing superstition and faith with scientific inquiry. The kilts had something to do with the unbounded energy he felt here. It was very freeing to move about with the wind on your flesh, and he regretted the necessity of the trousers more as each hour passed. Everything about the place hummed with a fundamental and engaging harmonic. Even the grittiness of Edinburgh’s streets—horses shitting, babies crying, vendors flogging their wares—made Gerard feel the world was nascent and alive in a way even the always-vibrant Manhattan was not.
Of course, his delight with the place was clearly related to the time he’d passed in the company of one of its most beautiful citizens—beautiful and maddening. He’d always been drawn to women who would give him the freedom to come and go, but being free and being irrelevant are not the same, and he was starting to feel the sting of the difference.
She’d left with a man. That meant nothing to him on its own, though clearly Duchamps thought it did. Gerard did not nurse jealous pique. If a man wanted a woman to choose him above all others, it was up to him to earn it. The trouble was, Gerard had nothing with which to earn a treasure like Serafina—no money, no power, and no promise of either. Not here, at least. He imagined for a moment a life with her in New York. He would buy her a sailboat as big as his grandfather’s and a condo towering over the Upper Bay so she could see water all day, and he could see her seeing it. She could run a charter business, drain some money from the pockets of those ridiculously wealthy hedge fund managers. Throw in an onboard chef and berths designed by some edgy designer. Gerard, of course, would create a brand and ad campaign for it. Sailing with Serafina would be the pastime every would-be trendsetter ached for.
He caught himself. All of that relied on convincing Undine to send them both back—if that was even possible—not to mention winning Serafina’s hand and convincing her she’d want to accompany him. And given that he didn’t even know where she was at the moment…
“Hey!”
He turned and found himself across the street from the Squeak and Blade, which had lost its off-putting sign and now boasted an outdoor grill filled with sizzling sausages. John Dawes, the tavern owner, waved him over.
“Twice the customers,” he cried happily, “and three times the sausages!”
Gerard grinned. “And the sign?”
“A new one’s being carved as we speak.”
“Well, it certainly smells great.” His stomach complained loudly of its lack of breakfast.
“’Tis not pork,” he said, handing it to Gerard. “I’ve been trying out a few things. It’s actually—”
“Probably best not to tell me,” Gerard said, taking a cautious bite and enjoying the meaty and thankfully unrecognizable taste. “Secret recipe and all.”
“Och, I like that.”
“Do you happen to know the way to the Hollow Crown?”
He pointed up the street. “Turn left at Castle Wynd Close and follow it to Grassmarket. If you reach Ferguson’s stables, you’ve gone too far.”
Gone too far. Given the events of the last thirty-six hours, that should probably be written on his headstone.
He had gone no more than a block or two before recognizing the building before him as the one Serafina had identified as the one in which she lived from the carriage.
Since he’d last seen her dressed in the clothes of a sailor, it seemed a reasonable bet she would stop at her lodgings to change before going anywhere else. He immediately scanned the carriages stopped in the area, looking for Serafina or the sort of man who might be waiting for her, though what that sort might entail, he wasn’t entirely sure.
He approached the building with caution. It wasn’t that it looked dangerous in any way—unless you considered a fat orange cat sunning himself beside the front door dangerous—but trespassing the unspoken boundaries surrounding a lover’s abode without first receiving an invitation was a recipe for unhappiness.
The drab wattle and daub structure rose four stories above the street. The door was propped open, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock or simply enter. As he debated, someone said, “What do ye want?”
He turned. The woman behind him scowled and moved a basket of laundry from one hip to the other.
“I’m looking for Miss Fallon.”
Her gaze raked him, from his shoes to the cock of his hat. “Are ye her fiancé?”
“No.”
“Sent by the judge?”
Judge? “No. I’m a friend.”
“Fallen to that then, has she?” The woman scoffed. “Well, she ain’t going to be doing such things here. Do ye have money for her?”
“No.” Gerard didn’t care for the woman’s assumptions.
“A shame. She owes me nearly six shillings.”
“Is she here?”
“She ain’t. And she won’t be again. I’ll be letting her room to a girl who can help me with laundry. Miss Fallon’s belongings are in a sack around back. I may not be rich, but I’m a respectable, churchgoing woman. I was doing what I thought was right by taking her in. ‘Let he who is blameless cast the first stone.’ But I canna afford to keep her here without payment.”
“I’m sure she’ll pay you. I can guarantee it.”
She laughed a bitter laugh. “Just as ye can guarantee me a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
He thrust his hand in his shirt pocket, extracted the coins, and counted out six. He put them in the woman’s hand. She stared at them, aghast. “The room is rented. There’s nothing I can do about that.”
“She has another,” Gerard said. “She doesn’t need your room.”
The woman slipped the money in her pocket and brushed by him to enter the door.
“Wait,” he called, and she stopped. “What has Miss Fallon done to require your very generous mercy?”
The woman softened. “I’m not one to judge, sir. Nor gossip. But a woman without a husband, with a known reputation… ’Twas nearly impossible for her to find a room to let, she told me so herself. I dinna agree with those who shout their love for the Bible and live not the words within it, but the world is not mine to change. She’s not welcome in any genteel home, ye ken, though I have no complaint with her apart from her debt. She was a quiet tenant and kind. But I canna feed my children on kindness.”
“May I?” Gerard took the basket from the woman’s hands and followed her to the back of the house, where a cauldron bubbled over a smoky fire.
“You can take her things to her if ye wish,” the woman said.
That felt like a far more dangerous trespass than appearing on her doorstep uninvited.
“Keep it, please,” he said. “I know she’ll be back for it. And please don’t tell her it was me who paid her debt.”
Thirty-three
Serafina clamped her mouth tightly to keep her teeth from chattering. Bridgewater threw her on the bed in Hiscock’s room and took a seat at the desk.
“Let me be clear. This is not going to end well. Though how it ends will be up to you.” He took off his frock coat and laid it over his chair. “If you scream, I will throw you from the window. I brought you here to recover, you see, and you revealed yourself to be a rebel spy and attacked me with a dirk.”
She sat up, cross-legged, and scanned the room, looking for traces of Undine’s search. She found none. That either meant she had gotten away safely or never made it to the room. Serafina hoped it was the former. If she was going to die or be raped, she’d like it to be for something that helped Scotland.
He slipped the wet shirt over his head and tossed it into the corner. “Now open that lovely mouth and start telling me why you were questioning Hiscock or I’ll crawl between those pretty thighs and make you wish you had talked. Do you understand?”
Intimidation is not action. Keep your wits about you.
“If it came to that, I’d toss myself from the window on my own.”
He laughed. “A spirited lass. I like that. Why were you asking about a ship?”
Serafina realized she must have been betrayed by Undine’s contact, the groom. He was the only person other than Undine and Abby who knew Serafina was here and that she’d be asking Hiscock about the cargo. She wondered if Undine was being questioned right now by another officer in another room.
“I’m the daughter of a sea captain,” she said. “I’m interested in everything related to the sea.”
He slapped her. “Hiscock’s a fool. I’m not. What did he tell you?”
The slap had been light, meant to get her attention. It had. “He invests in voyages,” she said. “And apparently makes good money at it.”
“Did he tell you about the cargo?”
She considered lying, and he saw her thoughts.
“You know I’ll ask him when I’m done here,” he said.
“Aye,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tea and tobacco.”
“What else?”
A knock sounded.
“It’s me,” came the voice.
Bridgewater opened the door and took a small cask and glass from the innkeeper “Don’t come back,” he said, and shut the door. He placed the items on the room’s small table. “Do you want some sherry? Tell the truth.”
Serafina nodded. He filled the glass halfway and handed it to her. She took a sip, not too much.
“Good girl.”
He sat down on a chair and pulled off his boots. His arms and shoulders were broad and taut. He was definitely going to be able to outmaneuver her in a struggle.
“What about the warehouse?” He peeled off his stockings.
She didn’t care for the direction this was going. “’Tis secluded.”
“Location?”
“He didn’t say. He was interrupted.”
“Fool. Not that it matters now.”
Serafina looked up, and Bridgewater caught her curiosity.
“Know about the theft then, do you?” he said, fixing her with cold interest.
“Everyone knows. ’Twas all over Leith a quarter hour after the ship docked.”
“Everyone but Hiscock, though he’ll know soon enough. He’s lost as much as I have, though he can’t afford it as well as I can.” Bridgewater scratched his cheek and leaned
back in the chair. “Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Undine?”
Serafina said nothing, and Bridgewater snorted.
He said, “Tell her I haven’t forgotten the insights she shared with me when she read my fortune, and that I intend to revisit that conversation very soon. She’s become an annoyance the English army can no longer tolerate.”
Serafina wondered what it might be like to read the fortune of a man like John Bridgewater.
He stood again and began to unbutton his breeks. “Was she the one who asked you to question Hiscock?”
“No.” Serafina turned her head when he let the breeks drop, but not before seeing the bright red scald marks that reached from his belly to his knees.
He snorted. “Too modest to look, are you?”
She heard his footsteps and clenched. This slap nearly knocked her to the floor.
“That’s for the burn. Now, shall I dress? Are we going to have a rich discussion about why you were asking? Or perhaps you’d prefer me to crawl between those pretty thighs right now instead?”
“Dress,” she said and hid her face.
“Are those tears?”
“It hurt.” Her voice caught. She tucked her knees under her chin and began to sob.
He stepped before her and touched her chin lightly. “Come, let me look.”
She reared back and shoved the heel of her boot directly into his stones. He collapsed to the floor, making a noise like a clogged sewer. She flew from the bed and flung open the door. In an instant she was on the stairs and a moment after that she was hurtling into the street.
Every face looked like paradise—a potential savior. The sky was as bright as heaven. The air filled her lungs with life. She would never complain about anything again.
Suddenly, an arm brought her to a hard stop. She screamed and found herself face-to-face with the happiest sight in the world.
She threw her arms around Gerard’s neck and kissed him.
“What in the name of God are you running from?” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Your heart is hammering.”