China Rose

by Canham, Marsha

  Ranulf glowered at his younger brother. "I will thank you to tend to your own affairs and keep out of mine."

  "I wouldn't dream of interfering with your affairs. I find the custom one finds along Montemayor Lane is hardly suited to my tastes."

  For a moment, nothing stirred, no one breathed. Even Lady Prudence stopped chewing.

  "Is that supposed to be shocking? Or funny?" Ranulf asked quietly.

  "That would depend on how well you grasp the concept of irony. For someone apparently driven by social proprieties, one would think you would take more care to guard against your own transgressions."

  "What exactly are you inferring?"

  "I'm not inferring anything. I am simply saying what poor taste you show by sending your bride-to-be to the same dressmaker as your mistress."

  Lady Prudence's jaw dropped open. Eugene leaned forward in his chair, looking from one brother to the other in genuine astonishment.

  Ranulf balled his fists. "By God, I have had about all I can take from you."

  He was across the room in three long strides and reaching for Justin's lapels in another. Justin was already partway to his feet when Ranulf's fist came smashing toward his face. He instinctively raised an arm to deflect the blow, and in doing so, the injured forearm took the full force of his brother's rage.

  He attempted to bite off a cry of pain, but it was staggering enough to send him down onto one knee, gasping to clear his senses and catch his breath.

  Ranulf drew back to strike again, but stopped himself. As he watched, the color drained from Justin's face and his skin, beneath the tan, took on a sickly yellow hue. He held his forearm cradled to his chest and even as Ranulf watched, a bright red stain of blood blossomed on the gray wool.

  It was Ranulf's turn to stagger back. In his mind's eye he heard the bullet strike the shadowy figure on the bridge last night, saw the man throw himself over the stone rail and splash off across the river, favoring an injured limb.

  It could have been an arm, by God. It could indeed have been an arm!

  "You bastard," he whispered in disbelief. "You bloody bastard. It was you. All along, it was you!"

  Ranulf snarled and lunged for Justin's throat. He dragged his brother to his feet and slammed him back against the wall, knocking over a chair, smashing dishes on the sideboard. He clawed his hands around Justin's throat and squeezed as he cursed out his fury and banged his brother's head again and again on the wall.

  China was the first to react. She leaped to her feet and ran over to tear and pull at Ranulf's shoulders.

  "Stop it!" she cried. "Stop it! You're hurting him!"

  "By Jove!" Sir Wilfred sprang to his feet and added his weight to China's when he saw that it was not just another haranguing disagreement. Eugene was last to his feet, throwing down his linen napkin in disgust before adding his own considerable strength to the effort of pulling the two brothers apart.

  Their combined assault managed to break the grip Ranulf had on Justin's throat, but he still managed another smashing blow to the injured forearm before they could drag him off completely.

  "What the bloody hell is going on?" Eugene demanded. "Have you both finally gone completely insane?"

  "Insane?" Ranulf snarled again and pointed an accusing finger at Justin. "There is your insanity. Right there! Look at his arm. Look, dammit! That is where I shot him last night as he attempted to rob me yet again!"

  Lady Prudence's eyes rolled up into the back of her skull and she toppled face down onto the table in a dead faint. China, who had left Ranulf in the capable hands of Eugene and Sir Wilfred, was in the process of helping Justin to his feet when she almost let go and allowed him to fall again.

  "I have no idea what he's talking about," Justin rasped. "I wasn't anywhere near him last night. He's gone completely mad."

  Ranulf strained forward against the two pairs of arms holding him at bay. "Then perhaps you will oblige this madman by rolling up your sleeve and showing everyone where all that blood is coming from! If I didn't shoot you, who did?"

  Justin winced and leaned against the wall, sweat gleaming on his forehead and temples. Everyone stared at the sleeve of his coat where the blood had soaked through and spread from elbow to wrist.

  "I do not know what is going on here, son," Sir Wilfred said gravely, "but it would appear as though you do have an injury on your arm."

  "I was set upon by thieves yesterday. I earned it in defense of my own neck." "Liar!" Ranulf tried to surge forward again. "You were on Mayberry Bridge last night at precisely eight o'clock, attempting to rob me...again...when I shot and wounded you!"

  Justin spat back through the grate of his teeth. "And I'm telling you, it was not me. I was nowhere near Mayberry Bridge last night."

  "I say it again: Liar!"

  A shadow dropped across Justin's eyes and they remained dark, smoldering. China recognized the warning from the previous day, having seen the same change come over his face moments before he exploded at the pie man. She stepped quickly between him and Ranulf, blocking his path.

  "Justin no...please."

  "It won't do you any good to hide behind her skirts this time," Ranulf sneered. "Woman, get out of the way! Let the bastard fight me in daylight if he dares, face to face, instead of cringing in the shadows like a coward."

  "Stand aside, China," Justin said quietly.

  "Just let me tell him--"

  The dark of his eyes focused on her and for one frightening moment she thought he might actually push right through her in order to get to his brother.

  "I need no one to defend me," he rasped. In short, jerky motions he unbuttoned his jacket and peeled it off, then rolled the blood soaked cuff of his sleeve above the strips of bandaging. He raised his arm and took an end of the cotton between his teeth, biting a nick in it long enough to take hold of and tear the bandaging apart. As the bloody strips fell away, his gaze returned to Ranulf's face.

  "You claim you shot me last night? I assume you are a better physician than you are a storyteller--good enough to distinguish between a wound made by a lead ball and a wound made by a blade?"

  He thrust out his arm. Sir Wilfred leaned in, as did Eugene. Ranulf was the last to look down from Justin's face to the bleeding forearm. The edges of the cut were clean and sharply defined. There was no mistaking the cause, despite the rough stitching. It could only have been made by a knife or sword blade.

  "By God he has you there, Ran," Eugene murmured. "And I am no doctor."

  Ranulf's gaze rose and locked on Justin's again. It was a shocking thing to witness; the absolute, total hatred reflected in the eyes of both men.

  "I want you to leave this house," Ranulf hissed. "Now. Today. I want you to leave it and never set foot in it again."

  "Now see here," Sir Wilfred all but wrung his hands. "Let us not be too hasty. This has been a misunderstanding, nothing more."

  China could not believe what she was hearing. "Please. Ranulf, please, you have to listen to me. You are making a dreadful mistake. All of this was my fault."

  Justin laughed unexpectedly, splitting the tension in the air into fragments. "My dear Miss Grant, you presume too much. None of this was your fault, you were merely the pawn, the catalyst if you will, for Ran has been waiting for an excuse for years to banish me from the family. You were just a convenience."

  "Enough!" Ranulf balled his fists again. "From this day forth I shall instruct the groundskeepers to regard you as a trespasser and to shoot you on sight. My doors are locked to you. I no longer consider you a member of this family."

  "No!" China gasped. "No, you cannot mean that. You do not mean that."

  "I can and I do, madam," Ranulf spat. "What is more, Justin knows I mean it. As he said, this has been coming for a long time and no matter what excuses he may find convenient to use, he is as guilty as the man I shot. For all I know, Savage and he are in on the scheme together. Where was he last night? Where was the redoubtable Captain Jason Savage?" Ranulf paused and smirked. "Yo
u may tell him from me, Justin, that the games are over. From now on I shall deal with him the way one should deal with all cowardly scum. Now get out! Get out of my house and out of my sight before I change my mind and cut you down myself."

  With a slow, terrible grin, Justin turned to China and bowed. "Forgive me, Miss Grant, but it appears I will not be attending the happy nuptials after all. I do wish you all the best of luck."

  "But...your arm..." she began helplessly.

  "All for a good cause," he said. He took up her hand and pressed cold fingers to his lips. "I have no regrets."

  He retrieved his jacket from the floor and walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance. China watched him go--they all watched him go, and listened in silence as his bootsteps faded down the long gallery corridor.

  China looked up at Ranulf. "You cannot let him go like this. He's hurt. His arm is bleeding again and--"

  "He is no longer any of my concern," Ranulf said coldly. "Nor should he be any of yours. In fact, I find it extremely disconcerting that you come to his defense so readily instead of standing by the side of the man you are to marry in two days time. I would strongly suggest you return to your room until you calm yourself sufficiently to fully understand your place in this household."

  China's chin lifted slightly. "It would be my absolute pleasure to do so, Sir."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  China walked past her own door and knocked, instead, on Justin's. She waited an impatient few moments but when there was no answer, she turned the knob and went in.

  The room was empty.

  Justin was gone. The bloodied linen shirt and coat were in a crumple on the bed but all of his other belongings, meager though they had been, were gone.

  Almost gone, that is.

  In his haste to gather his things, he must have snatched his journal off the mantel and not noticed that the well-worn miniature of Sir Anthony Cross had fallen onto the floor. China picked it up and wiped a speck of dust from the surface. The gray eyes were staring up at her accusingly, as if he too was blaming her for the way the events had unfolded these past few days. Most of Justin's confrontations with Sir Ranulf had involved her in one way or another. He had earned the cut on his arm through her stupidity, and even when she tried to admit her complicity in the matter, he had cut her off, sacrificing himself...again...in order to protect her honor.

  She tucked the miniature into her pocket and went across the hall, flushing with the thought that perhaps he would be there, waiting to speak to her before he left, but again, she was disappointed. A sound drew her to the window and she reached it in time to see him swinging his lean frame into the saddle and spurring his horse across the courtyard.

  She pressed her hands flat against the glass pane but he did not look up.

  Ten minutes later, dressed in a warm woolen cloak and soft leather boots, China was tiptoeing along the hall toward the servants' staircase. She had used it once, after that first night of fumbling around to find the kitchen, and knew it led to the lower floors with an exit out to the courtyard.

  Having managed to leave the house unobserved, she hastened across the cobbled stones toward the stables. She had gone riding on several occasions over the past fortnight, so the groomsman was not entirely surprised to see her.

  "Bit windy out this morning, Miss," he said, touching his brow respectfully. "Looks like a storm brewin' up as well."

  China glanced out at the sky. Clouds were gathering overhead, dark and threatening rain.

  "I shan't be long. I just...need some fresh air. Please saddle my horse."

  The groom scratched his head but reluctantly went to fetch the small roan she had been using since her arrival.

  The next obstacle was destination. She had been driven to and from Portsmouth on several occasions but landmarks had passed by in a blur on an occasional glance out the window. She was fairly certain she could find the waterfront; all of Portsmouth's roads ended at the sea. She could ask directions and find the Pickthalls house again, which would, of course, be her most practical and logical choice at this moment.

  Unfortunately she was not in a practical or logical frame of mind, and the only place she could think of where Justin might have gone was the Boars Head Inn. The barmaid had known him, as had several of the patrons who had nodded at him when they saw him. The tavern had been a short block up from the waterfront, where Justin had hailed the hansom cab, and she was fairly certain she could find it again.

  If he was not there, or if no one knew where else he might be, she would go to the Pickthalls. The only absolute certainty in her mind now was that she was not returning to Braydon Hall.

  ~~

  Rain was coming down in sheets by the time she rode into Portsmouth. The weave on her cloak was tight enough to keep it from soaking through, but her hood kept blowing back and her hair was a wet, soggy mess. Rain and churning traffic made it nearly impossible to get her bearings and in the end, after making several frustrating wrong turns, she had to stop a hansom driver to ask for directions.

  "Boars Head Inn, ye say? Ye sure about that Miss? Place is full of sailors, pickpockets and riffraff. No place for a foin lady like yerself."

  "Please, sir. I am trying to find my...my brother. A family emergency. That was the only address he gave me."

  The driver scowled and looked around. "I've a daughter your age an' I'm not about to send you there on yer own Miss, so into the cab with ye. Sarah and I will take ye to the Inn--" he lifted a thick truncheon out of the boot of the cab-- "an make sure ye come out again safe 'n sound."

  China was too wet and cold to argue. She dismounted and tied the roan off to a post, then climbed into the hansom and collapsed weakly on the bench. Within a ridiculously short time, the cab rattled to a halt outside the familiar swinging sign with the carved boar's head. The driver helped her out then, with the truncheon firmly in hand, escorted her through the narrow door and into the tavern.

  The inside was as gloomy and cluttered as she recalled from the previous day, but rain had filled the tables and benches to overflowing. The air was thick with tobacco smoke, redolent with odors of greasy food, ale, and tightly packed unwashed bodies.

  China went up and down on tip toes trying to see over the heads and around the shoulders of the patrons, but the only face she recognized was that of the buxom barmaid. She was bobbing and weaving her way through the crowd with trays of ale and plates of food, laughing at the pinching hands of those she knew, swatting away the fingers of those she didn't.

  China pushed her way through to the long wooden counter and touched the girl on the shoulder. "Please...can you help me? I'm here looking for someone..."

  "Everyone is lookin' for someone, luv," the girl grinned.

  "I was here yesterday, perhaps you remember? I was with a man, and you served us...an ale and a brandy. He paid you with a silver coin, three times what the drinks were worth. His name is Cross. Justin Cross. We sat right over there, in the corner booth...and...and it seemed as though you knew each other. Surely you must remember?"

  The barmaid narrowed her eyes. "Lot o' men come and go in here, luv, an' it pays more to act like I remember them. Cross, you say 'is name is?"

  "Justin Cross, yes."

  The woman still seemed hesitant. She glanced at the man behind the bar, who had overheard the exchange. His eyes flicked over toward a staircase China had not noticed before, then flicked back to the girl.

  China touched her arm again. "Please, if he is here, I must see him."

  "Maybe he won't want to see you, luv."

  "He will. I know he will. Tell him...tell him China Rose is here. Please. Just tell him that."

  The woman pondered the trouble it was worth for a moment, then finally tipped her head to lad passing by with an armload of empty tankards. "Weasel...nip up an' tell the gent in room three there's someone here asking for him. Tell 'im she has a china rose or some such nonsense for him."

  China did not press her luck by correcting
either the barmaid or the boy. More and more of the grimy-looking customers were looking their way and despite the closeness of the cab driver and Sarah, she was starting to tremble in earnest.

  She heard a particularly explicit curse and looked up.

  Justin was there, standing on the steps, one hand gripping the banister, the other tucked under his waistcoat curled around the hilt of a pistol. His jaw was set in a scowl as if he had been anticipating a poor prank, but it dropped now and his eyes widened in surprise.

  "Good God! What the devil are you doing here? How the hell did you get here?"

  China shook her head to dismiss his questions. "I...I had to see you, to speak with you."

  More heads swiveled. There were some snickers, some murmured comments and falsetto echoes of her words. One of the men shouted something about her belly and Justin grinned before waving them to silence.

  "Speak to me about what?" he asked her. "If it has to do with this morning, I'm afraid you have wasted your time as well as your reputation. There is nothing more to be said."

  China's shoulders drooped and it was the cab driver who stepped forward. "Hey now, yer sister has gone to a lot o' trouble to find ye and speak to ye. The least ye can do is hear her out."

  Justin leveled his gaze on the driver for a moment, then relented and looked at China. "Very well...sister dearest...you have my attention."

  China forced her legs to carry her through the raucous crowd to the bottom of the staircase. Justin made no move to descend further or even meet her half way so she lifted her wet, heavy skirts and climbed to the first narrow square of a landing.

  "Shall I say what I came to say here?"

  "You would prefer to chat in my...private office?"

  The suggestion was greeted with another wave of bawdy laughter. China was confused and frustrated by his apparent lack of consideration. He had changed again, like a chameleon, his character perfectly fitting into the surroundings. This close, she could also smell the strong spirits on his breath.