"No! No, honestly. The captain is fine. This was my own piece of folly, not his."
"Thank Gawd fer that," she exclaimed, a hand on her heaving bosoms. "Ooo I didn't mean about yer folly. Just about my Jay. Now off wif yer coat an' let's 'ave a look afore ye bleed all over the rug."
Bessy helped him out of the coat and the bloodstained shirt. "Sly devil, my Jay," she murmured, admiring the breadth of his shoulders. "No wonder 'ee never introduced us proper."
A tight smile was her response. "Through no fault of mine, I can assure you."
"Gawd, wot done this ter ye, luv? Or should I ask who done this ter ye? No. No, never mind, it's more'n I need to know. Yer just set there an' I'll fetch a needle an' thread an' ye'll be no worse for the wear quick as yer can blink."
He leaned his head back against the chair. "You wouldn't happen to have a dram of whiskey to spare for a dying man, would you?"
"'Ere, press down on this towel an' I'll fetch us both a glass."
"You are a true angel of mercy," he said, smiling as he watched the motion of the plump breasts straining against the silk of her robe. "I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you."
"Ooo...yer just leave that ter me, luv," she said, giggling. "I'm sure 'twixt the two of us we can think o' somethin'."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The wedding was now two days away. China woke that morning from a restless night of tossing and turning and reliving the events of the previous day as if they were happening anew. Luckily Ranulf had not been at home when she had arrived by hansom. Mrs. Biggs had been ominous enough with the news that Chambers had come and gone again, livid, dispatching a second coach and driver to search the streets of Portsmouth for her. Lady Prudence had not been impressed with her lack of consideration either and had retired early to her rooms with a migraine.
"There are ways and means of doing things," Mrs. Biggs had said, looking down a very long nose. "If you need time to run errands of a personal nature, you need only have instructed the driver where and when to meet you. Sir Ranulf will not be pleased when he hears of this."
"Indeed, and I suppose you will stand here at the door waiting to inform him," China countered, beyond caring what the Dragon Lady thought about her. She was exhausted, worried about Justin, and not the least concerned if the housekeeper's eyes bored a hole through her shoulder blades as she brushed past and climbed the stairs to her room.
She remained there, pacing and listening for sounds of Justin's return. Twice she thought she heard a footstep passing by and opened her door a crack, but there was no sign of him, no sliver of light showing beneath his door. In truth, she would not have even minded if he appeared in her room using less than conventional means. By the time she heard a distant chime count out three bells, she had given up and crawled into bed. The next thing she knew, it was morning and Tina was knocking discreetly on the door.
"I brought you a pot of chocolate, Miss, hot as you like it."
"Thank you Tina, just set it down on the desk. I have some letters to write."
The girl curtsied and did as directed, then drew back the heavy velvet curtains, tying them back with gold cording.
"It's a lovely warm day, Miss, shall I open a window?"
China nodded absently, wondering how she would word the letter to Constance Pickthall expressing her reservations about the upcoming nuptials and whether or not she wanted to go through the wedding at all. It was a decision she had reached while pacing. Things were happening too fast. Good things, bad things. Two weeks was not nearly enough time to decide if she truly wanted to be Lady Cross.
"Always were a bugger to open, this one," Tina muttered, straining to lift the window sash. "Master Justin used to curse it regularly each morning."
"He did mention this used to be his room."
"Oh yes, Miss. Wouldn't know it now though, would he?" Her glance took in the dainty lace bed curtains and spread, the elegant French furniture, the decidedly feminine colors splashed all around the whitewashed room. "Master Justin was all about wood and leather. Heavy trunks and bookcases....lord, he did read something fierce. Books, books, books all over the room, mostly about navigation and the sea. Taught himself how to read one of those funny brass things that tells you where you are on the middle of the ocean. The room was full of charts and books on astrology. He used to have his desk right over there so's he could...."
She stopped and tapped her lip with a forefinger, studying the corner of the room. Two rather insipid paintings of flowers were hung either side of a bookcase that had been built into the wall itself. Beside each was a brass wall sconce. There were Louis XVII chairs and a delicate writing table in front of the bookcase, daintily perched on a thick Oriental carpet.
China looked from Tina to the corner, back to Tina. "Is something wrong?"
"No Miss, not wrong," the maid said slowly. "Nothing really, it's just..."
"Just what?"
"Well...there's a scratch on the wall there, where there oughtn't to be a scratch. These walls were freshly painted not a fortnight ago."
China looked again and, after a moment of hard searching, saw it too. The paint was slightly scored at the base of one of the brass sconces, the marks so faint she would never have noticed it, but Tina, who cleaned the room every day, would.
The girl was already moving closer, squinting to have a better look, but China's voice stopped her abruptly. "A scratch in the paint is of little importance to me at the moment. Please fetch the day dress and jacket I wore yesterday and have them washed and pressed. Take special care with the hem, for there was a great deal of mud along the bottom of the underskirt. There is a button missing on the jacket as well. I would also like you to...to--" she searched around, looking for any excuse that would remove the maid from the room-- "to take these flowers away. I dislike the smell of lavender and would prefer roses. Lots of roses."
As hoped, Tina forgot the scratches right away and hastened into the dressing room to fetch the articles of clothing. China was waiting when she returned, thrusting a large porcelain vase in her overburdened hands.
"I don't wish to be disturbed for an hour or so."
Tina spoke through the enormous bouquet of flowers, spitting at some as they caught on her lip. "You have the final fitting of your wedding dress at noon."
China groaned inwardly, having forgotten all about it. "Yes. Yes, thank you. I shall, of course, make myself available at noon."
She ushered, all but pushed Tina toward the door and when the girl was gone, she closed it, and leaned against the panel, her heart pounding in her breast.
Approaching the wall with the bookcase, she could see the scratch marks clearly. An object that was supposedly fastened securely in place had somehow shifted back and forth. Moistening her lips, China reached up and grasped one of the three brass tapers that formed the ornate sconce. She pulled it in the direction of the scrapes and felt, rather than heard, a ratchet turning and releasing a spring. Almost immediately the bookcase beside her swung forward an inch.
Lowering her hand from the sconce, she stared at the case for another long moment before curling her lower lip between her teeth and grasping one of the scrolled edges of a shelf. The entire bookcase swung outward easily, revealing a space between the back of the shelves and the inner wall.
This was it. This was the entrance to the passageway that allowed Justin Cross to come and go as he pleased without being seen.
China leaned forward and peered through the opening, but it was black and airless inside and she could see nothing beyond a few gloomy feet. She quickly lit a candle and held it high, peering again. The walls on either side of the passageway were nothing more than rough board and stone; the ceiling was adrift with cobwebs, some so thick in places they looked like Spanish moss. The light thrown off by the candle stretched ten feet or so ahead and ended in black void. Beside her, as her inspection continued, were two metal levers and a set of pulleys that lined up perfectly with the sconce on the other side of the wal
l.
Testing her own fortitude...or was it foolishness?...she pulled the bookcase shut and watched the lock ratchet into place. She then took hold of one of the iron levers and twisted it down, releasing the lock so that the false panel swung open again.
Leaving it the slightest bit ajar, China drew a deep breath and gathered the skirt of her nightdress in one hand so that it would not rub against the narrow sides of the passage. She walked slowly, carefully, the candle held high. Fear of being trapped in utter blackness squeezed like a fist around her lungs and she had to force herself to breath, slow and deep, and to keep a hand cupped around the candle flame to guard against any draft that might extinguish it as she moved another few steps along the passage.
To her surprise, it ended at a second passage, this one comprised of a narrow flight of wooden steps that led up and over what would no doubt be the ceiling of the hallway outside of her room. Common sense told her to stop there. It was enough to have found the passage, she need not explore it any further.
The steps were steep and narrow. She counted twelve as she mounted them into the black nothingness above and at the top, she nearly dropped the candle in shock.
A vast, hollow chamber stretched out on either side of her, traveling the length and breadth of the hallway below. She could dimly see a second gaping hole in the stone wall leading down between the rooms opposite her own, and although the candle was not strong enough to show it, she guessed there would be similar access points to various rooms all along the cavernous corridor.
China's heartbeat was thudding in her ears. She held the candle high again, noting the maze of low beams she would have to navigate to cross this section of attic. Looking down she could see where recent footprints had disturbed the century's worth of dust, laying down a path of sorts for her to follow.
When she reached the gap opposite her stairwell, her heart pounded to a complete standstill for several panicked moments. She had to turn and descend backward, trusting her feet to find the steps directly below. At one point, she stumbled slightly and the candle tipped, splashing hot wax on her hand. The flame sputtered but glowed bright again as she hastily held it upright.
"Gracious God," she whispered to herself. "What on earth are you doing, girl?"
Poised halfway down the stairs, she was committed and finished her descent, not surprised to find a passage similar to the one outside her room, with one glaring difference. There was a second exit leading, she surmised, to the floor below, which meant that anyone knowing about the hidden passages would be able to move freely through the walls on both storeys of the original old wing.
Cupping the flame again, she left the staircase and walked a few short feet, searching the wall until she found what she was looking for. Twin metal levers and wires that controlled another trap door. She barely hesitated before pulling down on the iron lever and, like the bookcase in her room, a section of the wall sighed and slid forward. China blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brighter light, but she was through the opening and into the room before she could debate the wisdom of it.
At first she thought she was in the wrong room. It was small, formal and cheerless, decorated in a fashion that would neither offend nor flatter anyone male or female. The curtains and bedcovering were a plain willow green. The furniture was old but well polished, with no two pieces matching or looking solid enough to satisfy a man of Justin Cross's tastes.
The panel hiding the secret passage had been built into the front piece of the fireplace, a tall white plaster column. She left it open, having no idea where the trigger would be to unlock it from inside the room.
Looking around, she saw a few personal articles that were out of keeping with the blandness of the surroundings: A pair of tall, worn leather boots were tilted drunkenly together against the far wall. A man's hair brush was lying beside the washstand. A white cambric shirt was draped carelessly over the back of a chair.
China felt a surge of warmth flush into her cheeks. She had never invaded someone's privacy quite so boldly before, most decidedly no one of Justin Cross's volatile nature. In the next breath, she reasoned it was only tit for tat, for he had no compunction whatsoever invading her rooms, her privacy.
She heard a faint sound out in the hall and whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat again. She stared at the door, fully expecting it to open and for Justin to be standing there glaring at her with those mocking gray eyes.
Gray eyes were indeed watching her, but they did not belong to Justin Cross.
A small, gilt-framed miniature was tipped half in and half out of a small leather-bound journal propped on the mantle beside her. The portrait was faded from constant exposure to harsh conditions, the surface of the porcelain scratched and weathered. Despite the worn finish, China recognized the face at once, and likely would have identified him as Sir Anthony Cross even if she had not seen the larger portrait of him hanging in the main gallery. Father and son bore a striking resemblance. Justin had the same eyes, the same sensual mouth, high cheekbones and square jaw. Sir Anthony's hair was darker but some of Justin's blonder streaks could be attributed to sea air and sunshine.
Several loose papers had slid out of the journal as well, likely jostled along with the portrait when the false panel in the fireplace swung open. The top page was covered with neatly slanted script laid out in columns, and because her own father had been involved in shipping and export, China recognized the page as being part of a ship's manifest.
She straightened and chided herself. This, indeed, was prying.
She tucked the miniature and the papers back between the pages of the journal, and stared at the door again. So much easier just to dash across the hall to her own room but then....she looked down in dismay....she was wearing only a nightdress and the way her luck was going lately, there would be ten servants out in the hallway watching her dash from Justin's bedroom to her own.
With a faint whimper, she retreated back into the wall and pulled the column shut behind her. She heard the lock ratchet into place and did not waste any more time returning to her own room.
She extinguished the candle and pushed the bookcase flat to the wall again, then quickly stripped out of the dusty nightdress and stuffed it behind a row of hatboxes in the dressing room. Her hair was full of cobweb filaments, which she furiously brushed clean. Her face was scrubbed with soap and water until it no longer felt as if she wore the dust of centuries on her skin.
Tina returned within the hour, bearing a large vase of freshly cut roses. China was seated at her writing table, melting a blob of wax over an envelope to seal it.
"Sir Ranulf says to tell ye he's waiting on breakfast, Miss."
China glanced at the clock over the mantel, mildly surprised to see it was barely gone nine o'clock.
With Tina's help, she dressed in pale blue gown, one with a softly ruffled neckline and a simple, full skirt. Her hair was gathered loosely on the crown of her head, the dark curls left to cascade down her back. She tucked the envelope into a deep pocket of the skirt and made her way to the morning room.
Ranulf was there, standing in front of one of the tall, multi-paned windows, appearing to be lost in thought as he looked out over the manicured lawns. At the sound of her rustling skirts, he turned and there was nothing casual or lost about the hard, cold edge of his jaw line. It was the look in his eyes, however, that set China instantly on her guard. They were as icy and devoid of emotion as if he were an executioner about to wield his axe.
"I am delighted you decided to join us, my dear," he said tautly. "Breakfast has likely gone cold, but I can have Cook warm something for you, if you wish."
"Thank you, no," she said quietly. "I am not very hungry this morning."
"Indeed." He held out his hand to indicate a seat at the table. "You will take a cup of coffee with our guests at least?"
"Of course." Eugene and the Berenger-Whytes were present, as expected, and she nodded politely to each in turn. Totally unexpected was the sight of Justin C
ross seated at the far end of the long table, casually chasing the last smears of an egg around his plate with a crust of bread.
China sat down rather more abruptly than planned. She could feel the blood draining from her face as his gray eyes calmly met and acknowledged her stare. He did not look any worse for wear considering he had fought street ruffians. She glanced at his arm but he seemed to be using it easily enough despite the gash on the forearm. There was no telltale bulk of bandages beneath the precise tailoring of the charcoal gray jacket. His neckcloth was white and crisp, smartly wound and tied. If anything was amiss, neither his appearance nor the gleam in the soft gray eyes betrayed it.
"And a fine good morning to you as well, Miss Grant," he said with a smile. "I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough," she agreed. "And you?"
"Like a babe in arms."
"Miss Grant." Ranulf's voice cut into the civilities. "Banalities aside, I am told by Mrs. Biggs that you deliberately defied the order I gave the other night about venturing out alone, without proper escort. Further, Lady Prudence informs me that you literally abandoned her in town, leaving her to wonder and worry over where you had gone."
China slowly turned to face her fiancé. "I have apologized to Mrs. Biggs and to Lady Prudence. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more. I had some errands to run and...and they took more time than expected."
Her answer did not seem to placate him. "In two days time, madam, you will become my wife. Is it too much to ask that you comport yourself accordingly until then?"
"For God sakes, Ran," Justin sighed and pushed his plate away. "Don't you think she has enough to contend with, without hearing lectures from you every day?"
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