Amanda smiled and stepped close to Gussie so she wouldn’t have to shout her reply. “That may be, Gussie, but this house needs us both. Anyway, I’ve only just gotten the attic rooms ready for Mrs. Jones and her niece.”
Gussie looked at her curiously. “Were you working in the dark? I looked up the staircase but saw no light.”
She started to tell Gussie about going into the storage room, the one Gussie had told her was locked. But she thought better of it.
“No, Gussie. I finished before dark but sat down to rest for a while, and before I knew it the sun had gone down. Did you finish your work in the garden?”
But Gussie was out of earshot and did not reply. Nor could Amanda hear the little laugh she gave beneath her breath as her snaillike pace took her out the door.
***
“Good evening,” Amanda said, somewhat taken aback to find Ryne in the dining room. He stood looking out the window toward the river, his back to her, legs planted wide, hands locked behind his back. His black outfit was not the same as the one he had worn in the morning. It was far more elaborate. The waistcoat was embellished with gold embroidery and his breeches carried the same needlework around the buttons at the knee. For a man without money, he dressed exceedingly well.
Ryne turned briskly around. “And a good evening to you, cousin,” he responded. “I trust you have had a pleasant day.”
She supposed that since Gussie was present he saw fit to amend his bad manners and help her be seated. As she approached her chair he drew it out and waited for her to sit. She wondered if it was by chance that his hand brushed her shoulder or if he knew the act would have a disquieting effect on her.
A moment later he was in his chair and sipped the ruby liquid from his wineglass. Amanda hadn’t thought they would be taking their meals together, but she supposed as a matter of choice he preferred to humor Gussie rather than refuse to sit at the table with the new mistress of Wicklow.
She was glad Gussie had chosen the small family dining room, which was nearest the kitchen, instead of the large formal one. Being with Ryne in this otherwise cozy room was uncomfortable enough, particularly when she must abide his feigned good grace. She was annoyed with him still, and even the sweet-scented bowl of wildflowers between the pewter candlesticks did not help her mood.
Gussie brought a basket of bread and while she was in the room exchanged lighthearted banter with Ryne.
“Run away with me, Gussie,” he said.
Gussie’s smile broadened. It seemed to Amanda she had little difficulty hearing Ryne’s words. He rarely raised his voice and yet she responded to each question or comment. But perhaps that was because they were accustomed to one another.
Amanda spread a white linen napkin in her lap while Gussie poured another glass of wine for Ryne. A sudden burst of laughter from across the table startled her into glancing up.
Ryne was laughing at some jest Gussie had made for his ears only. Amanda eyed him covertly. Had she any other companion for dinner, she could enjoy the meal. But Ryne’s mood dominated everything. She resented him for it. It should be her disposition that set the tone at Wicklow. However, with Ryne in the house, it seemed his strong personality always overruled hers.
Amanda sighed softly and reached for a blossom from the bouquet of wildflowers. She inhaled deeply of its fragrance and wondered how Ryne had idled away his day. In a tavern, she’d wager, intent on a game of cards or dice.
While she pondered how Aunt Elise’s son had fallen into such slothfulness, Gussie brought a tureen of soup. Amanda felt a pang of hunger. She had had little to eat all day and now her appetite had caught up with her all at once. She almost forgot Ryne as a wisp of steam rose from the bowl and reached her nostrils. The aroma was so appealing she immediately took up her spoon to eat.
Amanda sipped her soup, making a point not even to glance in Ryne’s direction. But when her eyes did chance to stray that way she saw he had put his spoon down and was watching her in a peculiar manner. He had a hint of a smile on his lips and Amanda couldn’t help her curiosity at his line of thought. As always with him, it was impossible for her to tell if the expression hinted of warning or warmth. She averted her eyes as she once more dipped her spoon into the soup bowl.
“Gussie says you cleaned the attic rooms today.”
So startled was she when Ryne spoke, Amanda nearly dropped her spoon, and did succeed in making an embarrassing splash on the shiny cherry wood table.
“Yes, I did,” she replied, dabbing at the spill with the corner of her napkin. “I’m taking in the two boarders, a Mrs. Emma Jones and her niece, Trudy. And please do not tell me I have no right—”
“My dear Amanda, must you always expect the worst from me?” he cut in. “I approve wholeheartedly. Wicklow needs people. Poor Gussie could never keep this enormous house, not at her age. And she tells me the women will be a help to you both.” He pushed his soup bowl away and wiped his lips. “I was merely expressing my surprise that you have no aversion to a scrub bucket and hard work.” He grinned as she shot him a hard look. “Isn’t it just possible that we have misjudged each other . . . a little? I may not be as irascible as you think, and you may not be as frivolous as I thought.”
“It is possible, yes,” she answered stonily. “But I, more than you, have based my judgment upon some degree of truth. And without, I remind you, a preconceived idea of your character.”
Amanda was beset by misgivings even as she spoke. If he meant to make a gesture of friendship, she should not have spoken so harshly. But with Ryne she couldn’t help wondering if he had not calculatedly decided he could not continue to reproach someone who had agreed to show him charity.
“Ahh, Amanda.” He sighed. “How wary you are. And not without cause,” he added. “I admit to being a boor. But then, there must be a dark sheep in every family, I have heard. In ours it seems my brother garnered all the good graces.”
“I’m sure that’s only as true as you choose it to be.”
“Well spoken.” He chuckled. It seemed that no amount of goading would stir his surly temper tonight. This was a new Ryne indeed, mellow and open-minded to the point of admitting his faults. He went on. “I do not propose we settle all our differences. That may come in time. I do propose we declare a truce while we are within the same walls. And since you are intent on keeping Wicklow, I will do my part to help. After all, it is only fair that I earn my keep while you allow me to stay here.”
Amanda hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to say. Could anyone have witnessed the change in Ryne Sullivan and claimed women were unpredictable? But how could she refuse? It was what she had hoped for, that both brothers would accept her and her determination to live at Wicklow. Gardner had done so and now Ryne was offering to do the same.
“Come now,” he urged. “It can’t be as difficult as that to say yes.” He smiled warmly. “I propose to have my men restore the gardens and grounds, which I’m sure you would like. The work must wait a few weeks until they have finished another job, but I promise it will be done.”
He looked particularly attractive, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin, his eyes soft and placating. Amanda kept thinking how gentle his hands could be on her shoulders and how tenderly his lips had pressed to hers. She could almost believe he had never been that angry, insulting man she had suspected of such foul deeds.
“A truce it is,” she agreed. Better that than a constant state of antagonism. “And I accept your offer to restore the grounds. It is generous of you.”
Ryne smiled. It was then she again had cause to doubt her assessment of Gussie’s hearing. The old woman entered the dining room the moment the matter was closed, though they had long since finished the soup course. Had the thought of it not been preposterous, she’d have believed Gussie and Ryne had a prearranged signal to avoid an interruption.
***
Amanda was in bed when she remembered the old book she had brought down from the attic. Her curiosity came back with
a rush and she quickly fetched it from the table and took it to her bed. With a brass candlestick and its bright flame beside her, she opened the cover and started to read. “Jubal Wicklow, log of the Golden Dawn.” The dates had faded out and there was water damage to many of the pages. Others were obliterated by age. Those she could make out at all would be exceedingly slow reading. But she was able to determine that the log included the account of his last voyage, the one he made from England to Virginia with his young bride, Evelyn.
The handwriting was not easy to follow and many of the entries seemed to be rhymes. Like those Ezra quoted. But with each sentence read, she knew more of Jubal Wicklow’s character and began to get a clear image of him in her mind. She could picture the old villain in his captain’s cabin logging the whereabouts and activities of the Golden Dawn.
There was blood on his hands. He had killed and looted his way to wealth and had made no attempt to hide the methods of his success. Jubal Wicklow had possessed a keen mind and quite probably a devious one. Nevertheless Amanda was fascinated by his acute observations of life on his ship and in the ports he visited.
The entry he had made before setting sail that last time was particularly intriguing: I'd have slit John's throat and let the fish clean his bones. But Evelyn would not have it. It is one of the greatest mysteries of my life, that this diminutive maiden should bend me, a man who has filled his lifeblood with danger and death, like a willow to her will. But she does it with the sweet magic of her voice and the silver sparks deep in her eyes. I can see that she will bid this scourge of the seas to become a gentleman and that I will obey.
Amanda must have read for a long time, though it seemed only a few minutes, before the book grew heavy in her hands and tilted down, to be lost in the covers. Much that she read of Jubal Wicklow’s adventures repulsed her. He had indeed been a hard man. But one thing above all others stood out clear and true. Jubal Wicklow had loved Evelyn to the very depths of his soul. What had really happened to them? she wondered as her eyes slid shut and her head lolled to one side on the pillows.
A short time later Amanda dreamed she was slipping like a stone into the inky deep waters of the ocean. She could not breathe. Vile black water filled her nostrils and swelled her bursting lungs. She gasped desperately for air and clawed at the murky liquid walls that were sucking her down. She could hear the eerie whispering voice calling her name from the still surface of the ebony water. She thought she heard another voice too, and she wondered if someone else were sinking into the blackness.
“Come out, Amanda. Out,” the whisperer said. She listened, her terror unbounded. She believed she had only the flash of an instant to do as the voice commanded, or else she would be lost forever in the bottomless black water that drew her down. With a fear-inspired strength and a violent flailing of her arms she made her way to the safety the whisperer offered.
Amanda awoke, her lungs burning and struggling uselessly for air. She flung aside a suffocating pillow that somehow had been placed over her head and had blocked out all the life-giving air. Gasping and choking, she drew in large gulps of air until finally the oxygen filled her blood and she could again breathe and think normally. At last she was able to sit up and take stock of her surroundings. The little candle still burned by her bed. The door to her room was still locked. But she was consumed with the dreadful doubt that it had not been her who had pulled the pillow over her face.
Before she slept again, Amanda locked both the feather pillows in the armoire, and even then she rested only lightly. But by morning when she woke once more, there was a peculiar cheeriness in the air and the horrid dream seemed far away and unreal. She was filled with thoughts of all the wonderful promise Wicklow offered. Gussie was pounding on the door and asking if she wanted tea. She smiled softly. It occurred to her that Gussie was beginning to treat her with some affection.
With a lighter spirit in her heart and a determination that there would be no more nightmares, Amanda greeted the day. As she threw back the covers on her bed, she found the ship’s log where it had fallen and been hidden. After the morning meal she would read more, but for now the book would be safe in her desk.
***
Gardner came early in the morning and would not be dissuaded from having Amanda accompany him into Williamsburg.
“You’re looking more rested now.” Gardner gazed at her with approving eyes as she swept into the drawing room, where Gussie had been fussing around him like a mother hen. “But from what Gussie tells me of your activities, you are due an afternoon of relaxation and I have come to provide it. Get your bonnet, my dear. I am taking you into Williamsburg.” Amanda allowed him to take her hands and press them gently within his own. Gardner gave her a wonderful feeling of contentment with his bright, beaming smile. She was surprised at how glad she was to see him. She made a small protest to his plans, but it was one that lacked conviction.
“Oh, Gardner, I couldn’t. There is so much to do here. I’ve hardly begun my work on the house. Has Gussie told you there are to be boarders?”
“Cecil Baldwin told me the plans have been made.”
“Are you pleased?”
“Pleased if it will be a help to you,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leading her across the drawing room. “I want you to be happy here. Mother loved this house and I can see that you have inherited her fondness for it. But, my dear, you cannot spend all your time scrubbing and dusting. And, you see, the work will wait. The day I have planned will not.”
Amanda laughed softly and raised her eyes to Gardner’s face. He was right, and today she did prefer the fresh smell of country air to the dusty rooms at Wicklow.
“I believe you have your mind fixed that I will go.”
“I do. Now, get your bonnet while I have Groom bring the carriage down.”
He hurried out and Amanda went upstairs to get her bonnet, a wide-brimmed straw one with pink silk flowers pinned to the brim. She lingered a few minutes to splash a bit of scent behind her ears and to find a silk shawl of Aunt Elise’s she had noticed in the wardrobe. By the time she reached the first landing of the stairs, the carriage was waiting out front and Gardner was mounting the front steps to fetch her.
He entered the door and paused, not seeing Amanda above him for a moment as his eyes went to the Turkish King. Just briefly, his gaze reflected the glassy stare of the king’s crystal eyes. He stood quite still, and from her vantage point Amanda could see that his expression had become somber.
She had been about to call his name but held her words as she felt an air of uncertainty descend over her. Instead she gripped the lacquered rail and watched as Ezra, like a black winged shadow, swooped from his perch on the king’s shoulder and flew above Gardner’s coppery head. Gardner raised his arm to warn the bird away. Ezra squawked and dipped low, just missing Gardner.
“Blasted bird! I’ll wring your pesky neck!” Gardner threatened. But there was little danger of his catching the bird in flight and soon Ezra was perched in another of his favorite spots, the ledge of one of the grille-covered windows above the front door.
“He knows! He knows!” Ezra said harshly as he lifted his wings and turned his neck so that his curved beak looked as if it had been set oddly into the side of his head. He made a menacing silhouette against the window, but he was there only a moment before he showed the flash of color under his wings and took flight to return to the king’s shoulder.
Gardner could have wrung the bird’s neck and his brother’s too. Ryne had trained the bird to pester him by teasing it with strands cut from a red-haired wig of his mother’s. And that devilish bird never forgot a thing.
His eyes angrily followed the bird’s movements, as if he expected another attack. Instead he spotted Amanda on the stairs and the smile quickly returned to his lips. He watched intently as she descended, his eyes on the slender hands that tied a pair of pink ribbons under her neck as she secured the straw bonnet to her head.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder
at Ezra. His small eyes, like two rolling beads, followed her steps. Quickly she turned back to Gardner and gave a wide smile.
“I’m ready,” she called gaily, the lightness in her voice masking the questions in her mind. He knows. Had there been any meaning to Ezra’s words?
Gardner came up the stairs to meet her. If Ezra’s attack had bothered him for more than a moment, it did not show. Now an easy smile played upon his lips and a faint light shone in the blue depths of his eyes.
He offered Amanda his arm. “It’s a splendid day for a drive,” he said. “You’ll not be sorry to have come.”
The carriage awaited them but Groom had left the horses tethered at a hitching post and had returned to the stable. They were a fine pair of bays but were no equal to the grays that pulled Ryne’s carriage.
It occurred to Amanda as Gardner helped her into the seat that she had not yet talked with Groom. And as Gardner had told her there were horses in the stable which now belonged to her, she made a note to speak with the man soon. She hoped there would be a good saddle horse. She was fond of riding and looked forward to exploring the countryside around Wicklow.
“The house is the dividing point, you see,” Gardner was saying in a serious voice as he urged the bays to a trot. She had been lost in her own thoughts but quickly gave him her attention. “The land below Wicklow is mine and that above it belongs to Ryne. More than a thousand acres each, and fairly evenly divided. My mother was wise enough to have deeded it to us some years ago.”
Amanda looked at him inquisitively. What was she seeing in the intense gaze he was giving the land? Was it pride of ownership, or did he wish all of Wicklow had remained intact and belonged solely to him? What an odd thought, because if she knew anything about Gardner it was that he would be extremely fair.
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