‘And Grandfather?’
‘Dead these six years.’
Daniel reached for the jug of wine and poured them both another cup. ‘If the King returns will you go on being the Comte D’Anvers?’ he asked as he handed the cup to Kit.
Kit shrugged. ‘I have no choice. Kit Lovell is dead.’
‘Where does that leave me?’
‘You, brother, are the rightful heir to the title and the estates. You are now Lord Midhurst. I have a clever lawyer in London who can sort through the mess.’
Kit gestured for Daniel to sit and resumed his own chair, taking a draught of the wine.
Daniel swirled the wine in his own cup, watching the blood-red eddy he created. ‘One thing I don’t understand. If I was being used as a hostage for your loyalty, why did they send me all the way to Barbados?’
He looked up to see a smile lighten his brother’s face. ‘Because if they’d left you in England, Thurloe knew damn well I would have moved Heaven and Earth to help you to escape, and we’d have both been safely on the Continent before he had time to react. I was too valuable to Thurloe to let that happen.’
‘That explains my relatively civilised treatment,’ Daniel said. ‘That is until … ’
‘Until Pritchard’s health failed?’ Kit leaned forward. ‘I told you yesterday. I know the story, Dan. I know what Outhwaite did.’
Daniel sighed, flexing the muscles in his back and feeling the scars contract.
The gesture did not escape Kit. All humour drained from his brother’s face. ‘Show me.’
Slowly Daniel rose to his feet, removed his jacket and lifted his shirt, revealing his back to his brother. He heard Kit’s sharp, indrawn breath and hastily restored his clothing.
‘It was all I could do not to kill the charmer there and then,’ Kit said.
‘You met him?’ Daniel resumed his seat and reached for the wine, his hand shaking.
Kit nodded. ‘I told you Thamsine and I went to Barbados. We had to see for ourselves that you were truly dead. We saw to it that Outhwaite met his just end but we left with more questions that no one could answer.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you ready to tell me how you got away from Outhwaite?’
Daniel sucked in his breath. He had never once spoken in detail of those dark months between Jennet’s death and Outhwaite’s attempt to kill him. Not even to the man who had rescued him. He refilled his cup and took another deep draught of the wine. At this rate he would be soused before lunch.
‘Outhwaite – you met him. Black, white, male or female — to him we were no more than chattels to be used and dealt with at his whim. If he had been hanged six times over it would be no compensation for the crimes he committed.’ Daniel licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘He fancied himself a suitor to Jennet Pritchard’s hand. Neither Jennet nor her father ever countenanced that match. Jennet fancied herself in love with me, and … ’ he looked away, ‘I’m not proud of the fact I encouraged her. If I had married Jennet I would have gained my freedom and become heir to Pritchard’s estates in Barbados. It didn’t seem such a bad lot in life. Unfortunately Outhwaite saw me as the rival to Jennet’s hand, and in his cups one night promised, rather melodramatically I thought at the time, vengeance.’
‘Ah, why else do people kill?’ Kit said. ‘Love, money … power.’
‘He wanted all three, but most particularly money and power,’ Daniel agreed. ‘My pleasant future came to an end when Jennet contracted a fever and died. Pritchard succumbed to the palsy that left him bedridden and I was left alone in a power struggle with Outhwaite. He had the law on his side and I was quickly disabused of any thought I might have had of continuing to run the plantation on behalf of the sick man. After all, what was I? Just another prisoner, who had enjoyed some privileges denied to most.’
Daniel rose to his feet and paced the room, struggling to find the words for the events that had followed. ‘I interrupted him sporting with one of the girls, and while he had his breeches around his feet, gave him a beating. I hardly need add that she was not a willing party to the transaction.’
Kit let out a harsh breath. ‘I had him pegged for a bastard the moment I met him.’
A wry smile twisted Daniel’s lips at the memory of Outhwaite rolling on the ground, his eyes bulging in pain as he clutched his privates, into which Daniel had sunk his boot.
‘He made me pay for that moment of triumph. He had me whipped and thrown into the Pit … ’ Kit’s head jerked up at recognition of the word and Daniel shook his head. ‘You’ve seen it? A space not large enough to stand in or to lie down – exposed to the elements.’ He shuddered at the memory, unable to even begin to describe what it meant to endure the Pit for a day, let alone many days. ‘After a week, he hauled me out and sent me out into the fields with the other slaves.’ He looked away. ‘I should have just bided my time, kept my peace, turned a blind eye … ’
‘To the murder of an innocent man?’ Kit put in.
Daniel shot his brother a sharp glance. ‘You know?’
Kit nodded. ‘You had friends willing to tell the story. According to their account you witnessed Outhwaite beat one of the other prisoners to death.’
‘Outhwaite and two of his overseers killed one of the Scottish prisoners. The man had tried to escape, and it was supposed to be a lesson to us all. Unfortunately not one I took to heart. I made my own attempt to get away, to raise help in Holetown, but Outhwaite set the dogs after me. They hunted me down like an animal.’
Kit rose to his feet and laid his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to tell me any more.’
But the veil of his silence, kept so closely for all the intervening years, had been breached, and the words tumbled out. Shaking off his brother’s hand, Daniel continued. ‘This time he beat me with a scourge, left me in the Pit, and when he thought I was dead, threw me into the jungle like a piece of refuse to rot into oblivion.’
Wine slopped on his hand and he put the cup down, clutching at the table to stop himself shaking. ‘I don’t remember much, except that the base instinct to survive must have prevailed. I dragged myself through the jungle to the beach. That’s where Broussard and the crew of the Archangel found me, barely alive. They took me back to the boat, nursed me back to health … ’ He took a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘I owed those Frenchmen my life, and I repaid it as a faithful member of Broussard’s crew for the last four years.’ He looked up, aware that tears were streaming down his face and he was helpless to stop them. ‘And now I find I have been a free man all that time. I could have returned to England … I could … ’ He broke off, unable to continue.
So many could-have-beens.
Kit’s voice cut through, harsh with emotion. ‘God knows we tried to find you,’ he said. ‘We left Barbados with enough evidence to give us the faintest of hope that you may have survived, but as the years passed and we heard nothing more, that hope died.’
He drew Daniel toward him and into his embrace. Daniel surrendered to the gesture.
‘Forgive me?’ Kit’s voice cracked.
Daniel broke the embrace and held his brother by the forearms. ‘Forgive you for what? You have nothing to blame yourself for. It was my decision to follow you to Worcester. Mine alone. I never once blamed you for what befell me. It’s you who must forgive me.’
Daniel sucked in a shuddering breath and laid his hands on his brother’s shoulders. No more words were needed.
‘It’s almost over,’ Kit said, breaking the moment and turning away. ‘Do you suppose we can start again in a peaceful world?’
Daniel forced a smile. ‘It is something of a shock to find myself a free man and, apparently, Lord Midhurst. But you … ?’
Kit shook his head and turned back, spreading his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘My life has always been a tangle. To the world I am a dead man, but I married a wealthy woman and we live a comfortable life, so I have little to complain about, alive or dead.’ He smiled. ‘I look forward to you meeting Thamsine. Y
ou’ll like her. She has had her own share of trouble in the past, but we are content now.’
‘You mentioned daughters?’
A fond parent’s smile softened his brother’s sharp features. ‘Two. The youngest, Maria, is but a baby and then there is Jane, named for Tham’s sister. She is my heart’s delight, but unlike her namesake, I fear she takes after me. I worry for any man who would take her on.’ Kit stretched his arms and folded himself into the nearest chair as if finally allowing himself to relax in his brother’s presence. ‘We also have two wards — Tham’s nieces — as well your mother and Frances … ’
The breath tightened in Daniel’s throat. ‘Did you tell Mother that I have returned in one piece?’
Kit shook his head. ‘She didn’t take the news of your death well the second time. I dared not risk a third resurrection unless I was certain.’
There were hundreds of questions battling in Daniel’s mind, but there would be time enough to fill in those missing years. He studied his brother for a long moment, his gaze moving from the crooked fingers of his right hand – another gap in the story that needed to be told – to the deep lines etched on Kit’s face.
Daniel considered that the decisions he had made in his life had never been moral decisions, just life and death. Yet Kit had thrown away everything he believed in, and his actions had led directly to the judicial deaths of three innocent men. Small wonder he lived with their ghosts.
‘Come back to Seven Ways with me,’ Daniel said, adding. ‘Lady Thornton insists the beds here are lumpy.’
A slow smile lit his brother’s lean face. ‘They are indeed, but there’s no hurry. Pass that wine jug.’.
***
Essie had lit a fire and Agnes hunkered down beside it, poking it into life. She could hear the distant sound of laughter drifting through the house. Daniel had returned with Kit, late in the afternoon. Both in high spirits. Their return had been greeted with warmth by the Thorntons and dinner in the Great Hall had been ordered.
Agnes had sent Essie with her regrets and the message that she was indisposed, and she didn’t think she would be missed. Kit Lovell’s arrival, his reconciliation with Daniel, and the reunion with his old comrade in arms belonged to the Lovells and the Thorntons, not to her.
She rose to her feet and paced the room, her arms wrapped around her body to still the tears of self-pity that rolled down her face. She knew she should be pleased that the lonely, anguished man she had taken to bed only the previous night had found his brother but his happiness only served to drive home her own loneliness. Kit had given Daniel back something she could never match – his family — and that left a hollow emptiness in her heart.
She told herself that Daniel was no better than James Ashby. He had taken what she had offered, wrapped up in soft words and a consideration that James had never demonstrated, but as she had with James, she had been in danger of mistaking lust for love.
Agnes sank down onto the edge of the bed and lowered her head, twisting the chain around her neck. Her fingers closed around the worn, familiar shape with the lock of Henry’s baby hair, unable to explain the feeling of dread that circled her chest like a band as she thought of the child. She seemed to hear him calling for her. She clenched the locket tighter. She had a son who needed her, and she couldn’t tarry any longer.
She didn’t need Daniel. Back in London she had been grateful to find a man, any man, willing to help her, but as the days had gone by she had gained in confidence. She could, she would, go on without him.
The small matter of money could be overcome, somehow. Perhaps she could prevail on Daniel to lend her some coins, and if she got desperate, sell the locket. After all, it was only a thing, a means to an end.
Filled with this new resolve, she rose to her feet and began to pack her few belongings into the worn leather satchel. She hesitated over the delicate square of cambric Daniel had given her when they were attacked by footpads. By rights she should have returned it, but in a gloomy inn room she had washed it clean and folded it carefully, stowing it away with her few precious belongings. She pressed it to her lips. He wouldn’t miss it, and she wanted some small thing to remember him by.
At the bottom of the satchel she found James’s book of poetry, forgotten and unread. Pulling it out she pressed it to her face, breathing in the scent of leather and glue, but all trace of James himself had long since evaporated.
Idly, she riffled through the pages of The Faerie Queen, nearly dropping the book as a piece of paper worked itself loose from where it had been concealed and fluttered to the floor. She set the book down and picked up the paper, her eye drawn to her name scrawled across the top of the page. Holding it close to the candle, she read:
To my darling Agnes.
James had never called her “his” or “darling” in all the years of their acquaintanceship.
I have not been the best a man can be to a woman who has loved him as you most assuredly have done, but know this, I have, in my own rough fashion loved you and regret that I must now leave you mourning once again. I have charged you with the care of my children and I fear for them should they be taken from your charge. Agnes as I once shewed you of my schoolroom pranks, look again at this work of Spenser and remember me, Your James.’
Agnes dashed the fresh tears from her eyes and looked at the paper in her hand. As I once shewed you … She frowned as a small fragment of memory came back to her.
It had been one of their rare moments of intimacy, a sharing of childhood stories. He had told her of a secret code he and a friend had devised in the schoolroom. Her hand shook as she raised the paper to the wavering candlelight, and her heart skipped a beat as tiny motes of light trickled through holes in the paper.
‘No.’ She breathed the word aloud, recognising the holes for what they were – evidence of the code James had told her about.
Setting the paper down on the table, she took a deep breath. The answer was in the pages of The Faerie Queen. If she could match the holes to a page of verse, the hidden message would be revealed.
‘Which page?’ she asked aloud. Like most of Spenser’s work it was a long, rambling poem.
She sat down at the table and, opening the book, laid the paper over the first page. The paper fitted the page size exactly but none of the holes aligned with the text. On the second page the holes aligned but the resulting letters were nonsensical.
On the fifteenth page of the poem she ran her fingers over the page, feeling the slight indentations he had used to mark the letters. Holding her breath she laid the paper over it and, painstakingly extricating each letter, read the message James had left.
“The children guard that which they seek.”
Just to be certain she checked all the other pages of the poem, but this was the only one that made sense and the only page with the indentations.
‘What does that mean?’ she asked the dead James.
But he deigned not to answer.
The children were the clue. Her mind ranged through the well remembered corridors and rooms of Charvaley. The nursery. Who would think to search for gold in a children’s’ nursery?
She jumped at the gentle rap on the door, but before she could answer, the door opened and Daniel sauntered in, his jacket unlaced and the cloth loose around his neck. She set the book and paper back on the table and rose to meet him.
‘Lady Thornton said you were unwell,’ he said.
‘I was … I am,’ she replied.
‘But I would like you to meet Kit.’
‘I have met him,’ she responded, conscious of the hard edge to her words.
‘I wanted you to know that you were right, Agnes … Kit paid a heavy price for my Pardon.’
‘And all is resolved between you?’
He nodded. ‘Much lost time to catch up on but I think we have reached an understanding and for that I have you to thank.’
She shook her head. ‘Please don’t thank me.’
I couldn’t bear it.
She knocked his hand aside and took a step back.
‘No,’ she said, before he could speak.
A flash of anger creased his brow but was gone as quickly as it came. He dropped his hand and stared at her, a frown creasing his forehead.
‘I don’t understand … ’ he began.
Fuelled by her latest resolution, Agnes brought her chin up and glared at him. ‘You presumed because I came willingly to your bed once that I would do so again. You were wrong. I will not be used or presumed upon again.’
As I was by James.
He reached out and stroked her cheek, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Is it something I said … something I did? I thought … that you and I … ’
At his touch, Agnes’s resolve began to waver. His gentle caress sent shivers of desire running down her spine.
It took an effort, but she batted away his hand.
How could she explain that it was precisely because the nature of their relationship had changed that she had to turn him away? For both their sakes she had to make the cut and make it deep.
‘I came to you last night for one reason only. Because you needed me. But not tonight. I am not a whore to be used at your convenience.’
He flinched and she knew her barb had struck home. ‘That is harsh, Agnes. I will never think of you that way.’ He touched the tip of her nose and when she turned her face away, he withdrew his hand, the wolfish gleam dying in his eyes.
‘I will be leaving in the morning,’ she said.
He frowned at her. ‘Leaving?’
‘You are recovered and no doubt you will be returning with Kit to Hampshire to see your family. I will continue on to Charvaley … alone.’ Even as she said the word, her resolve wavered. What genteel woman travelled the roads of England alone?
His eyes narrowed. ‘How? I made you a promise, Agnes.’
‘And I’m not holding you to it. Your circumstances have changed in a way you could not have foreseen. Mine have not. I still have two children who need me and I have to find my way to Charvaley.’
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