by Georgie Lee
‘How could you have known, you arrogant fool?’ she hiccupped.
‘The same way I know I love you.’
She let go of his jacket as two tears spilled down her cheeks kissed with red by the morning chill. Justin slid his hand behind her neck and bending down, took her warm lips with his, not caring for anyone or anything except the flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers and her hot breath mingling with his.
Epilogue
Four years later
‘Did the delivery to Lord Pallston go well?’ Susanna asked Justin as he stepped through the door of her bedroom.
Pausing on the threshold, he took her in, as awed by her beauty today as he’d been the night she’d first climbed in his chaise. She sat in the chair by the window, nursing their infant son. Behind her the sheer curtains softened the light which fell over her chestnut hair and danced in her green eyes. Beside her on a small stool sat Emily, reciting her letters from her horn book, her hair as dark as her mother’s and bound up in a large red bow.
‘Exceedingly well, as always.’ He dropped his hat and gold-tipped walking stick on the table by the window, then made for his wife. ‘I told you a thirst like his could make us rich.’
‘His and all his friends,’ Susanna added with a lopsided grin. ‘I’m quite impressed with your ability to make the lords pay their bills. You’re the envy of every merchant in London.’
‘I suppose my reputation for collecting money for Philip precedes me.’ After the duel, most of London had read of the incident in the paper and even the toffs had gained a new respect for Justin, leading to a flood of orders which had poured in from every corner of London, including the better parts.
He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in to lay a swift kiss on Susanna’s lips. Between them, their infant son gurgled and fussed before settling back to his suckling. Justin pushed himself up, ruffling Emily’s big bow.
‘Daddy, don’t!’ She swiped away his hand and he reached in again, truly mussing her hair this time, much to the girl’s amused irritation. ‘Daddy!’
He tapped her on the nose, then straightened. ‘I think it looks better that way.’
‘Daddy, are you going to take me for a drive in the new chaise like you promised?’
‘I will. I’ll even show you the new shop with its cavernous cellar.’ He picked her up and whirled her around, making her squeal with laughter. ‘Perhaps we can convince your mother and brother to come, too.’
‘Grandpa,’ the girl screamed in Justin’s ear.
Justin came to a stop at the sight of his father in the doorway. A wide smile drew back the wrinkles at the sides of his father’s mouth and made his faded brown eyes twinkle. His coat was well tailored, if not a little large to accommodate the fullness of his body.
‘Spin a young lady around like that and you’ll bring up her nuncheon,’ he warned. His grey hair was as wild as ever as he entered the room, with his arms held out to Emily. ‘Besides, that’s what her Grandpa is for.’
‘Good afternoon, Father. We weren’t expecting you until supper,’ Justin greeted him as he set his daughter down and she ran to hug her grandfather.
‘I had to bring you this.’ He withdrew a slender newspaper from his coat pocket and held it out to Susanna. ‘Have you seen it?’
Susanna took the paper with her free hand and read the headline, then gasped. ‘Lord Rockland is divorcing Lady Rockland.’
Emily let go of her grandfather’s leg and rushed to her mother’s side. She peered at the paper with her green eyes, her mother’s eyes, studying the words she couldn’t yet read before she wrinkled her freckled nose. ‘Who’s Lady Rockland?’
‘No one of any importance.’ Susanna rubbed the small girl’s back. They hadn’t had anything more to do with the Rocklands after the morning of the duel, each family leaving the other in peace.
‘But I want to know,’ the child insisted as only a three-year-old can, as unaware of her mother’s heritage as her own.
‘You’re too little to hear about grown-up things,’ Justin chided, hoping she never learned the truth. He loved her as if she was his own and he never wanted her to learn the truth.
‘Come on, young lady, we’ll leave your parents to talk and see if Mrs Robinson has any of those mince pies we love.’ Justin’s father took Emily by the hand and led her out of the room in search of a treat.
Justin turned to his wife, who continued to read the paper, her lips twisting into a small frown. Reaching the end of the piece, she laid the paper on her lap and shook her head. ‘Lady Rockland cheated on her husband with the Earl of Colchester and Lord Rockland has brought a suit of divorce against her in Parliament.’
‘He certainly has the means and influence to do it.’ He took the paper from her and skimmed the story. ‘Makes for quite salacious reading. I suppose what is good for the goose is forbidden of the gander.’
He handed the paper back to her, but she didn’t finish the story.
‘It serves the nasty woman right to taste the poison she spewed on so many for so long.’ Susanna did up her bodice and laid the squirming boy on the pillow across her lap. ‘She can have her troubles. I don’t care.’
She tossed the paper in the glowing fire beside her. In a rise of flames it ignited, the story turning black beneath the curling paper.
Justin knelt beside her chair, perching his elbows on the arm and laying a kiss on the top of his son’s head. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s hungry, as always, like our daughter was.’
He rose up, taking Susanna’s face in his hands. ‘And how are you?’
‘In love with you, as ever.’
‘As I am with you.’
As their lips met, the fire crackled in the grate, consuming the gossip and all the memories attached to it, the sound of it eclipsed by the contented snore of their infant son in his mother’s arms.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from SAVING MARINA by Lauri Robinson.
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Saving Marina
by Lauri Robinson
Chapter One
Massachusetts, 1692
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”
Exodus 22:18, King James Version
The beast of burden beneath Richard Tarr was aptly labeled. With a broad, short back and powerful hindquarters, the horse was more suited for labor than riding. No amount of prodding could urge the massive brown steed into a pace faster than the jarring trot that had threatened to rattle the teeth right out of his mouth. Appreciating the teeth that had never given him any trouble, Richard resigned himself to letting the animal trod along. Unused to such travel, Richard found the saddle awkward, and the hot summer sun had sweat trickling down his back. All of it, the horse, the heat, the very mission, spurred his frustration.
His own two feet would have been faster. Or a rowboat. That would have been his choice. Water travel was in his blood, even when his feet were on solid ground.
A boat hadn’t been an option, not unless he’d wanted to portage across several miles of swamp. Therefore, he was atop the dull brown beast, plodding along as if time made no difference.
He’d traveled this land route before, the road of less than twenty miles that led from the Boston Harbor to the village of Salem. It was a long and lonely trek, and he was accompanied only by a dark dread that sat in
his gut like a sleeping giant awaiting an opportunity to wake. Stretching and yawning, the giant seemed to take great pleasure in rising from an eternal sleep to trouble Richard’s mind and soul. Sometimes it was for no more than a flickering second; other times it would fully wake and haunt him for hours, never remembering its presence did not need to be verified.
That sleeping giant had taken root years ago, and though Richard chose to believe it rested comfortably while he was at sea, his soul knew differently. It knew he’d made a choice based on carnal and selfish needs and that the outcome of it had left a heavy grudge inside him. Therefore, the inner part of him that housed the sleeping giant relentlessly assured Richard he’d never know complete peace again.
This, he thought as the horse clip-clopped over a crusted trail sprouting barely a blade of grass, is my punishment. My sentence, and I have no choice but to abide by it as if it were decreed upon me by the king of England.
The child wasn’t to blame. No child ever was. He’d come to accept that years ago. Born a seaside waif, he’d never known his parentage. Never knew how he came to be living on the streets of London, stealing scraps of bread and drinking from rain barrels. Those were his earliest memories. Whether he actually remembered those incidents or whether they’d been placed in his memory by Captain Earl Burrows, Richard wasn’t sure. Earl claimed Richard had been about five when Earl found him scavenging along the docks. Although not known for deeds of charity, Captain Burrows had taken Richard aboard his ship. Perhaps Earl had figured that was the only act of benevolence he needed to provide. Either way, some twenty-odd years ago, Richard had begun his life of sailing. He rose up the ranks from cabin boy, and five years ago, when Earl knew his days were numbered, the captain turned over the love of his life, the Concord, to Richard.
All his years at sea had played well in Earl’s favor, and that too had been bequeathed upon Richard. The Concord was but one sea vessel—albeit his favorite—in his fleet, which sailed from England to the colonies, then on to the West Indies and Spain before returning to England. The fleet served Richard well and would continue to for years to come.
The trail upon which the horse trod widened, suggesting they would soon arrive at their destination. Bracing himself, for he knew the inner giant would soon stir, Richard scanned the horizon. Blocked by trees, it was nothing like the image he was used to seeing, where if a man didn’t know better, he might believe he’d sail right over the edge of the world. From the deck of the Concord, the horizon was always a glorious sight. Water as far as one could see—an image that always stirred the part of his soul he did know. The part of him that relished his life at sea. The life he was born to live.
That wasn’t so today. Around the bend would be a village. The one after that was where he would collect his daughter. A child spawn from his loins and born on land after he’d taken to sea again.
His breath tightened in his chest, and he transferred the reins to his other hand in order to dig into his shirt pocket for the crisp slip of paper. It was a brief note, simply stating the death of his wife and where his daughter was awaiting his imminent arrival. A daughter he had no idea what he would do with other than collect. That much he understood as his duty.
Without guidance from him, the horse rounded the corner. Then the heavy hooves stopped, and everything about Richard went still as he lifted his gaze.
The horse stomped and tossed its broad head, sensing the death Richard’s eyes had locked onto. A single large and gnarly tree stood upon a hill on the edge of town, next to a rocky cliff that bespoke an ominous aura even as the summer sun shone above. Off the lowest branches hung several ropes and at the end of those ropes was the most catastrophic sight his eyes had ever gazed upon.
Eight—he counted them twice—bodies dangled eerily. Although he was a distance away, it was apparent the poor souls, whoever they may have been, had their hands tied behind their backs and their legs bound.
Closing his eyes, questioning the sight, Richard drew a breath before lifting his lids again. The image hadn’t changed. If anything, it appeared darker, more sinister. A curse rumbled deep in his throat. The majority of the bodies were clothed in dresses.
A shiver crawled up his spine at the evil gloom that seemed to penetrate the entire hilltop and block the otherwise bright sunlight from shining down upon that singular tree.
It was then he noticed the crowd gathered lower on the hill. Not on the rocky side, but the grassy side that gently sloped downward and eventually opened up into the village green of the community. A plethora of sounds reached him, or perhaps they had always been there and he’d been deaf to them, too stunned by the sight to take in more.
The horse tossed his head again and took a step backward, as if unwilling to go any closer. Richard didn’t blame the animal. There wasn’t crying or protests. Instead, an almost joyous chant echoed through the air. As if the bodies swinging from the tree were a glorious sight to behold.
Richard reined in the horse to keep it from twisting about. In doing so, the note crinkled in his hand. Once the horse was settled, he flattened the paper on his thigh before holding it up to read where his daughter would be located. Urgency arose inside him. The sooner he completed his business, the better. He’d entered corrupt ports during his voyages and instinctively knew this place hosted a sinister core.
Staying near the outskirts of Salem, as far from the hill as possible, he steered the steed onward. With little more than a tap of his heel, the horse’s speed increased, putting distance between them and the hill. Like him, the animal was leery of entering the town.
The note described a large home between Salem Towne and Salem Village. The two were no more than five miles apart and, as he’d learned before, very separate communities. One more welcoming than the other. However, the spectacle he’d just witnessed had him wondering if his recollection was correct.
Not that it mattered. He’d leave both villages before nightfall and never return.
A short distance later, he crossed a bridge. On the other side farms scattered the road, some close by, some set back. Locating the one he was looking for among the smaller, more crudely constructed homes became an easy task. It stood out, if only because of its size.
Richard rode to the back side of the house, where a water trough would quench the animal’s thirst and hopefully keep it occupied while he gathered his daughter. He was thankful the tree upon that rocky hill was miles behind him and far from sight, yet he couldn’t help but turn in the direction from which he’d traveled, wondering again if he’d truly witnessed what his mind continued to recall. The roadway had been empty, the yards and houses along the way quiet, which added to the growing foreboding inside him.
With the horse secure and drinking, Richard made his way around the house to the wooden stoop of the front door. It was indeed a large home. Whitewashed and rectangular in shape and shaded by tall trees. The steeply pitched roof framed two tall and wide gables, and the sunlight glistened against the four symmetrical windows on both floors.
A long, narrow awning shadowed the stoop, blocking the sunlight from shining on the windowless door. Richard raised a hand to knock, but the door opened inward before his knuckles touched the wood.
“State your business.”
The woman’s tone didn’t match her structure. She was tiny, with a mass of curls as golden as the sun rays on his shoulders. The straps of her stiff cap were tied beneath her chin, leaving the curls to burst out from beneath the cloth like a bundle of wool tied in the middle. He’d expected an old woman, not one with skin as milky white as her linen cap.
“I’m looking for—” His mind went momentarily blank. Lifting the note still clutched in one hand, he scanned it for the name at the bottom.
“Step inside, Captain,” she said briskly.
Richard made no attempt to move. Having noted the signature on the paper, he stated, “I’m looking for Mrs. Lindqvist. Mrs. Marina Lindqvist.”
“I’m Marina Lindqvist,” she answ
ered, stepping aside while moving her arm in a graceful wave to indicate he should cross the threshold. “Your daughter is here. Please enter.”
An unusual chill rippled his spine. His daughter. Richard had acknowledged he had a daughter. A small infant the one and only time he’d laid eyes on her. Yet having this woman say it aloud made the child more real than his own thoughts ever had. “I’m here to collect her,” he said, not taking a step forward. “To take her back to Boston. If you’d be so kind as to call to her, we’ll be on our way.”
“That’s impossible. Do come in.”
Richard refused to take a step. “How can that be impossible? Your note said I was to collect her posthaste.”
“I’d prefer not to stand on the stoop and discuss this matter, sir. It requires more privacy than that.”
The sharpness of her tone couldn’t cover how her voice shook; nor did it hide the apprehension shimmering in her blue eyes. When she shot a nervous glance around his frame, he instantly recalled the sinister hillside and revolting tree. Anger rose, burning his throat as he growled, “What kind of trap have you set here? Where is my daughter?”
“There’s no trap,” she insisted. “Your daughter is here. Just, please, enter before you are seen.”
An uneven clip echoed inside the house, drawing his attention beyond the woman.
A short man with a wooden leg crossed the room. “She speaks the truth, Captain. Enter swiftly. I swear on my sailor’s oath there is no trap set in this house. However, I give no promise for what lies beyond my yard.”
The blood in his veins turned so cold Richard tightened his shoulders to ward off a shiver. He held no doubt the man was a sailor. His aged face was leathered from the sun and sea, and the lower part of his left leg, now a wooden stick, had been carved from a ship’s rail. Only a man of the ocean might recognize that, and only another would know the severity of swearing upon his sailor’s oath.
The woman moved farther to the side, giving him a wider entrance path. “Please, for your daughter’s sake, I beg you to enter.”