Billy jerked his shaggy head to Mitchell. "He did. He was with Slope. Says he's from London."
Beach stared at Mitchell, and snapped his fingers. "Give it here."
"Not likely," said Mitchell. Beach swore and started his horse forward. "I've orders to hand it to Monseigneur and no one else," said Mitchell. "Of course, if you mean to countermand my orders, Beach…"
The newcomer hesitated. "Damned Quality," he muttered. ''Wouldn't trust one so far as I could throw him.''
"Sanguinet would be pleased to hear that," Mitchell observed jeeringly.
"I 'spect you love the Frenchy, eh?" said Billy. "I 'spect—"
"Shut yer jaw," contributed Beach. "He's likely from the Admiral. Just his stamp, he is." He spat contemptuously.
"Slope's done fer," called the small Perce.
''And so will we be if we stand here jawing much longer,'' said Mitchell boldly, wondering which admiral was involved in this ugly plot.
There was a brief pause.
Billy said dubiously, "Wotcha think, Beach? This 'ere cove wouldn't want to go if he wasn't in on it."
"Might," Beach argued, glowering at Mitchell. "If he was a government spy. And Monseigneur wouldn't like that."
Billy chuckled. "I dunno. The Frenchy'd give him to Gerard. He'd have a jolly time getting the truth outta him.''
"What's your name, Mr. Flash Cove?" asked Beach roughly.
"Rivers," said Mitchell, grasping at the first thought that offered.
"All right," Beach said. "Come on, then. It's your funeral if you're lying."
''What about Fritch ?'' called Perce. ''He's alive, I think. And these others might—"
Beach turned his horse impatiently. "Leave 'em be. They knew the risks when they hired on. Bring up a couple of them nags. And quick. There's a wagon coming."
In the cold light of dawn, Mitchell stepped onto the gangplank of a sleek schooner tied up at the Birkenhead docks. Glancing inland, he wondered if Tonio had been able to get help for Diccon, or if he would send word to the gypsy, Daniel. At least in that way someone would know what had happened. His attention turned to the men who watched from the rail. A hard-faced lot. Rogues, by the look of them; soldiers of fortune with not a soupçon of patriotism, who would give him short shrift if he was unmasked, but fortunately, containing among them not one familiar countenance. If he survived this journey, his prospects were very slim. He had not met Claude Sanguinet, but he had been to the great chateau in Dinan; he had fought a duel with Guy Sanguinet—purely by accident, because he'd mistaken the silly fellow for Claude—and Claude's lieutenant, Gerard, had good cause to remember him.
He had started out with the simple, straightforward goal of facing Claude Sanguinet across twenty yards of turf and doing his level best to rid the world of the obscenity. And now look at the complicated bumblebroth he'd got himself into. "I'm ripe for Bedlam, that's what it is," he thought, his heart sinking. But Diccon's words echoed in his ears, "I may rely on you?" and he went on up the gangplank.
Despite her apparent frailty, Charity was a good sailor, and even when they encountered bad weather on the third day out, she did not become unwell. To a degree she had been treated with consideration. A woman was allotted to attend to her needs; her food was excellently cooked and served, and for the most part she was spoken to with civility. The servant, however, was a surly creature named Ella, and Charity summoned her as seldom as was possible, fearing that with too easy familiarity her true identity might soon be betrayed. A trunkful of clothes had been placed in her cabin, and she lost no time in selecting a long shawl and binding it daily about her middle. Since the garments, having been obviously purchased for Rachel's more bountiful figure, were slightly large on herself, the resultant extra fullness of the skirts was a godsend, and all in all, she judged the effect believable.
Her initial debilitating despair had eased somewhat. At least during the hours of daylight she was able to stay relatively calm, knowing that Claude was not on board and that so long as she was on this voyage she was safe from him. Each night she knelt beside her bunk and whispered fervent prayers for rescue, but when she lay staring wide-eyed into the darkness she felt alone and small and afraid, and the demons of imagination conjured up images so horrible that her trust in a merciful providence would waver, and she would tremble and weep until Little Patches ran up the bed and tried in her small way to be of comfort.
The kitten was Charity's one link with her happy life in Sussex. More than that, she became the means of providing an unexpected champion. Charity was permitted to take a stroll around the decks, morning and afternoon. It was evident that her captors were afraid she might try to kill herself by jumping overboard, and always a guard accompanied her on these excursions. On the first morning after their sailing, the guard was the surly Clem, who spoke not a word, but looked as though he had rather be eating ground glass than spending his time in such fashion. That afternoon she had a new companion; a sturdily built youth of rather unprepossessing appearance in that he had no eyebrows and his hair was a flaming red that did not seem to match his rather sallow skin and hard dark eyes. Charity was struck by the notion that she had seen him somewhere before and under different circumstances. He seemed a little less hostile than Clem, but when she questioned him, he shrugged and refused to answer. She was mildly surprised that when they returned he had the courtesy to help her over the step of her cabin door, but when she thanked him he only muttered a gruff, "Ain't no need," and stamped away.
Little Patches had been provided with a box of earth for her personal use and seemed to adapt quite easily to her new surroundings. Next morning, Charity tied a ribbon around the kitten's neck and took her along when she was allowed to walk out. Once again, the red-haired youth was her escort. His eyes lit up when he saw the kitten, and he begged, rather gruffly, to be allowed to hold her. Charity withdrew that privilege, and the youth sulked and said, "Much I care, lady." But she knew that he watched the kitten constantly, and when Little Patches took exception to her leash and went into a mighty acrobatic feat, trying to climb up it, the boy laughed hilariously.
On her next excursion, Charity allowed herself to be persuaded into letting him take charge of her pet. The boy was overjoyed, and Charity's walk was considerably extended so that he could play with the kitten. By cautious questioning, Charity learned that his name was Lion, and that he haled from London, where he had been employed by a "gentry cove." They began to exchange comments on the kitten's antics, and soon a tenuous friendship had sprung up between them. Charity made not the slightest attempt to enlist his aid, however. The time for that was not yet. But when he showed her into her cabin late in the afternoon, she said with a wistful smile, "Thank you, Lion."
"Here's your tiger, ma'am," he said, grinning as he thrust Little Patches at her.
The kitten decided his strong hand was a mortal foe, and pedalled furiously at his arm with her tiny back legs.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Charity. "Do not let her hurt you!"
He ruffled Little Patches' head playfully. "Never you mind, Mrs. Leith. She wouldn't hurt me, would you, fleabait?"
Charity murmured, "Lion—if… if anything happens to me, I want you to have her.''
Stark horror came into his face. Without a word, he backed away, then hurried off. But after that, she caught him watching her from time to time, a troubled expression on his face, and once, when a member of the crew uttered a crude remark as they passed, Lion turned on the man in a fury, snarling that he'd best mind his mouth. A tiny flicker of hope lightened Charity's heavy heart.
It was from Lion that she eventually learned their destination. Two days after they sailed, her straining eyes had glimpsed another coastline, but the following morning it was out of sight. They were becalmed and progress was minimal, but even so France's coast should have been visible and Charity murmured a puzzled,"Why ever is it taking so long? Surely we should have been off Brittany long ago?"
"Brittany?" scoffed the boy with the lofty authority of youth. "
Cor, ma'am, we ain't heading south. I'd a' thought even a landlubber'd know we was heading nor'west."
"Oh dear," she said innocently, "I know so little of such things. Can you read the stars and navigate, Lion?"
He declared that he was not so bad at such stuff, and regarding him with patent admiration, she sighed, "So we are bound for Ireland. You see, I do know something of what lies to the northwest."
He laughed and fell into her small trap. "Not no more it don't, Mrs. Leith. We left Ireland off our stern yesterday, so we did."
"Oh, Lion, never say we are to sail all the way to the Americas?"
His eyes kindling, he exclaimed, "Cor, but I'd like that I would! But we'd need a sight more food an' stuff than we got on this old tub!" He glanced around the deck and leaned a little closer. "I dunno as I'm s'posed to tell."
"I won't breathe a word—I swear it."
Lion made a show of playing with Little Patches and murmured, "The Hebrew-didies, ma'am. That's where we're bound fer. And you know what? That there Frenchy's put a lot of lettuce in them four ugly old islands. But if I was rich as Golden Ball and could go anywhere what I'd like, I'd stick them Hebrew-didies right up at the top o' my list of places what I never want to see again!"
At this point they were approaching a little knot of sailors busily engaged with ropes and tackle, and the boy said no more. The information he had imparted, however, appalled Charity. Returning to her cabin she sat on her bunk, plunged into despair. The Hebrides? What on earth had possessed Claude to choose so remote and inaccessible a location? But of course that was precisely why he had chosen it. She thought achingly of her loved ones, so far away. Even dear Tristram could have no possible inkling that Sanguinet was ensconced in such an unlikely spot. "I shall never see you again, my darlings," she whispered, in an agony of grief. "I shall not see you, or my dear England, ever again…" And she wept until she was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep.
The following night, she was disturbed several times by the violent plunges of the vessel. Lion had told her that afternoon that the glass was falling, and at dark the sky had been gloomy and overcast. At dawn she awoke to the sound of a crash, and starting up in fright, she saw that the cabin was tilting at an impossible angle. From outside came shouts, the howling of a mighty wind, the creaking of protesting timbers, and the snapping of sail. Staggering to the porthole, she peered out. The morning sky was a boil of dark, angry clouds that, even as she watched, began to be blotted out by sheeting rain, and the sea that had been so deceptively quiet yesterday had become rank upon rank of mountainous waves. It took all her strength to return to her bunk. She huddled there, alone and terrified as the storm raged on, wondering if this was to be the final chapter of her uneven life, and if Claude was to be cheated of his revenge after all.
Hour after hour crept past, and still the stately ship climbed the soaring waves, hung breathlessly at the peak, then dropped sickeningly into the next deep trough. The rending crash of a snapping mast sent Charity to her knees beside the bunk, fearing that this was the end indeed, but despite the chaos that raged beyond her small cabin, they contrived to remain afloat.
She was sitting braced in a corner of the heaving floor, a blanket wrapped around her and Little Patches trembling in her lap, when the door flew open and Lion swayed in the aperture, then came in with a rush, fighting to keep a tray of crockery from tumbling.
"Hey, here's a proper turn-up, eh, missus?" he cried cheerily. "So you ain't sick! Good fer you. Most of the other passengers is so green as grass, and a lot o' the crew as well. I brung some tea and cakes, but you'll have to go careful or you'll get it over you, 'stead of in. And here's some fish fer you, fleabait!"
He plunked the tray on the floor, then stayed to help Charity enjoy the small meal. His efforts to tempt Little Patches with the fish failed; the kitten refused to eat, although she did lap at a little dish of milk.
"Shall we be blown miles off our course, do you think?" Charity asked hopefully.
"Should've landed hours back," Lion said rather indistinctly, his mouth full of currant cake. "Captain says we can't put in to the Channel in this weather. Have to stand off, he says, and from the look of the glass," he added importantly, "it'll be several days."
He was right. Although the fury of the storm abated somewhat, the seas ran too high for the Captain to dare take his ship into harbour. And the rain was so heavy and so constant that, peer as she would, Charity could catch no glimpse of the island whereon Claude Sanguinet was no doubt waiting impatiently.
For three days they rode out the weather, while the Captain raged, the crew grumbled, the cook swore, and even Charity, dreading the next phase of her captivity, began to long for this waiting to end. Her friendship with Lion deepened during this time. Despite his lack of education, the boy had a quick intelligence and a mind hungry for knowledge. He had taught himself to read and write, and when Charity exclaimed over these accomplishments he was rather pathetically grateful and told her shyly that it was his dream to become a physician. "Much chance I got," he added, reddening in anticipation of ridicule. Inwardly astounded, she would not dream of belittling his hopes and said all she might to encourage him, writing down the titles of several books for him to read and urging that he work hard at improving his vocabulary. Instead of thanking her, he stared in silence at the list she handed him. When he did look up, his eyes held abject misery, and he left her without another word.
That night, Charity awoke to a sense of strangeness. It was quiet. The room was no longer heaving erratically. She lay in her bunk listening to the officers shouting orders, to the creaking of winches and the flapping of sail, and very soon the motion of the ship changed. They were under way again. She slipped from her blankets and ran to the port, but it was too dark to see anything, and she went back to bed, falling at last into a troubled sleep.
Ella brought her breakfast next morning. The woman looked drawn and wan, but vindictiveness glistened in her dark eyes as she demanded that Mrs. Leith get up at once. The motion of the great ship had gentled to a lazy rocking and Charity's apprehensive enquiries were met by the grim confirmation that they were tied up to the dock, that Monseigneur was waiting, and that Mrs. Leith better look sharp.
The moment of truth had come. Involuntarily, Charity shrank. The immediate satisfaction in Ella's eyes stiffened her spine. Whatever else, she was an English lady. Her bones might be jelly and her heart thumping a tattoo, but no one must see those weaknesses. She told Ella her services were not required, waited until the sour-faced woman went grumbling off, and then ran to the port.
Had she not known this was an island, she would have thought them docked along the Thames, or the Clyde, or some such great inland waterway. Certainly not at a small island, for peer as she would, she could see only land. Directly before her eyes was a scene of frenzied activity. Cranes were swinging loads of bales and barrels onto the dock, and brawny labourers swarmed like industrious ants around the small mountains of supplies thus created, swiftly transferring the goods into waiting wagons and wains. Sailors, their meagre belongings carried in rolls over their shoulders, struggled down the gangplank, vying for space with the passengers Charity had glimpsed from time to time on the lower deck. A motley lot she had thought them, but she noticed now that they were uniformly tall, sturdily built, and aggressive, shoving the sailors aside as they disembarked, quick to raise voice or fist against any who impeded their progress. Once on land they milled about uncertainly, but a tall individual, soberly clad in black, relayed orders through an aide and soon the new arrivals were lined up neatly enough. Charity watched the dark figure of authority with sombre dread. He turned and glanced up at the ship, and she spun away from the porthole and pressed against the side, a cold perspiration bathing her whitening features.
So Gerard was here! Gerard, Claude's icily remorseless lieutenant who had lusted after Rachel when she arrived at Dinan as Claude's affianced bride, and who had never forgiven her for the rebuff she'd handed him. Gerard
who had suffered a broken jaw when Tristram and Devenish had battled with such invincible courage to get them all safely away from that nightmarish chateau… She closed her eyes, sick and shaking with fear for what was to come.
Because she was so terribly afraid, she took great care with her toilette, for Claude must not fancy her so disheartened she had given up all hope. She was sitting on the bunk when the knock came, and she nerved herself to meet Gerard's soulless black eyes. She had seldom been more relieved than when Lion's bright head came around the door, and she could not restrain an involuntary cry of relief.
The boy came quickly inside and closed the door behind him. To her surprise, he ignored Little Patches, who frisked about his boots, marched straight to her side, took her hands, and drew her to her feet.
"I 'spect you know what I am," he said in a low, hurried fashion. "I ain't never been nothin' but gallows bait. Never had no mum or dad. I was a foundling—a love child." His lip curled. He muttered bitterly, "Some kind of love! I was sold to a sweep when I was five—a sight of love I got from him, I can tell yer! So I hopped the twig—runned orf, and got slammed in a flash house. More love—cor! They put me on the padding lay—and the dubbing lay! Thieving, ma'am. Pickpocket. And I was flogged if I did and whipped if I didn't. No one never give me nothing but a stripe or a box aside the ears. Then I tried ter prig orf a gentry cove, and he caught me. Broke me arm, but then he see I was just a nipper. He took me to a'pothecary, and when I was better, he let me work fer him."
Her kind heart touched, Charity whispered, ''Oh, poor little boy."
"A ugly customer he is," Lion went on grimly. ''Got hisself all mixed up with this Frenchy. And made me—" He broke off, eyeing her uneasily. "You don't want to hear all that. Thing is, he don't beat me much and I gets fed reg'lar. So I puts up with the rest. Only…" He took up the kitten and stroked her soft fur absently. "I thought as they was going to keep yer to stop the Colonel from sticking his nose in. I thought they didn't mean you no harm, account o' you being in the family way. But that Frenchy on the dock''—he glanced broodingly at the porthole—''he talked to me like I was a slug. I told him I been looking arter you. And he said…" He put the kitten down and grabbed Charity's arms. "Don't you be scared, now. Lion ain't good fer much, but I'll see they don't hurt you. I promise. I ain't sunk so low I'd let no lady be hurt. 'Specially you.'' He was scarlet, and his eyes fell away bashfully. But he looked up and reiterated, "Don't be scared, mind."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown Page 14