Jane realized they were both still standing and seated herself in one of the armchairs. “Please be seated, sir. We need to talk. Will this soon be over?”
“I don’t know. We have careened from one crisis to another. If your half brother is frightened enough—when he sobers—I hope he will turn king’s evidence and offer up everything he knows of Pleasaunce, including his hiding place.”
“If he knows it,” Jane said. “I do not think I would entrust Rupert with a secret if I had any choice in the matter.”
“Does Pleasaunce know him as well as you do?”
That was a point. Men behaved differently together than they did with women, as any woman with sense knew. When Rupert and Charles Pleasaunce were children, Pleasaunce had always been the leader and Rupert the follower. In those days, there had been no test of her half brother’s allegiance, as far as she knew. Mayhap Pleasaunce assumed his loyalty, based on their boyhood scrapes. This was supported by his having put a large sum of money in his charge. Jane would not have trusted him with as much money as would buy the meat for dinner.
“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “I wish Mr. Lattimer would return to Town.”
“So do I.”
The door from the passage to the front hall being open, they both heard the rapping. She glanced uneasily at Alex. He rose and strode into the dim corridor. Heart thumping, Jane followed. By the time she reached the door into the entrance hall, he had closed it behind him. Standing behind it, she reopened it a bare inch to listen, unseen by the visitor. Now that Rupert was gone, who would be coming to call at a house with the knocker off the door?
“…Captain Daniel O’Brien to see Mr. Markham on business.”
The captain of the Sea Mew? Why would he come here asking for her uncle?
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Markham took sick and died.” Alex’s voice was no longer that of a gentleman. He sounded exactly like a footman of the less accomplished sort.
A long pause. “I am sorry to hear it. It has been many years since I last saw him, but he was a strong, healthy man then, like to live four score.”
Jane thought she heard both surprise and sorrow in the faint Irish lilt. So long a pause followed before Alex answered that she wondered if he would say anything.
“The coroner found as he was poisoned, sir. So it wasn’t what you might call a natural death or to be expected.”
“God in heaven.”
Jane heard real anguish in the utterance.
“Sir, mayhap you should sit and catch your breath.”
There was a measured tapping—a cane on the floor?—and then a deep sigh as he lowered himself into a chair. “My leg was broken badly several months ago, and I have only recently recovered enough to get around on it. I would have thought I would be buried before Markham.”
Jane realized she was holding her breath, waiting for one of them to speak again.
Alex said, “At the inquest, they claimed his niece put arsenic into some shrimps and sent them to the master. But none of us that worked for Mr. Markham believe it.” If he had been a servant in fact, she would have chastised him later for gossiping with a visitor. However, Mr. Gordon’s remark was not idle; he must be offering a little information in hopes of learning something from the man Jane thought of as “the pirate captain.”
“Was she arrested, then, the poor woman?”
“N-no. Not yet, anyway.”
“Thank God for that mercy.” Jane heard what sounded like a shuddering sigh and risked a peek around the edge of the door. She could see Alex, standing almost at attention, like a proper footman, and a man sitting, head down, forehead resting on the clasped hands that clutched the head of his cane.
“Would you have me summon a doctor, sir?”
O’Brien drew a long breath and sat up. Jane pulled her head back just in time.
“No. It’s sick at heart I am, not ill. Will you supply me the lady’s name and direction? I wish to write her to offer my sympathy. Markham did me a great kindness many years ago. It may chance I can be of assistance to her now.”
“…I don’t rightly know if—”
Jane slipped into the room. Both men stared at the intrusion. Alex started to speak, then thought better of it.
“I am Jane Stowe, Roger Markham’s niece.”
Captain O’Brien had very sharp blue eyes in a tanned, weather-beaten face, and hair the color of ivory. He began to rise, awkwardly bracing his hands on the chair’s arms, while still clutching the cane.
“Please don’t trouble to stand. I heard you had broken your leg.” She seated herself on one of the other chairs. Alex froze into immobility.
“Ah, it’s that way, is it?” O’Brien muttered. “You have not been arrested—yet—because they cannot find you.”
“Not exactly, sir. Though I am in hiding from someone else.”
He stared at her. “Not a simple matter, I think. I owed your uncle a debt, and I fear I also owe you amends for another thing. I may be able to help you, one way or another, if you will tell me your trouble. Though your footman has mentioned the…legal difficulty.”
Jane laughed. “That is certainly one way to describe it. William, please pour some brandy for Captain O’Brien, and bring us tea as well.”
“Mistress—”
Their eyes met. She could read the message in his: Don’t trust him. We know what he is. Jane hoped Alex could interpret her look as well: He is genuinely distressed. And we need whatever help we can get.
“Ay, Mistress Jane.” He took a decanter of brandy and a glass from the lacquered cabinet, filled it three-quarters full and set it on the table by the captain’s side.
He left the door into the rear of the house ajar when he went to fetch the tea.
“We will wait for the tea to arrive, sir, before I begin to explain. I fear it will take some time.”
“I have time in plenty for my old acquaintance’s niece.”
“I believe you met my uncle in Scotland in 1715?”
“You know that, do you, mistress?”
“I discovered it in connection with my uncle’s death.”
“You would be his sister’s child?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have the rearing of you? How does it come about that you are hiding in his house?”
“My mother died many years ago. My father is still alive and remarried. But my uncle and I were always close. Why I am here will become clear.”
“Stepmothers can be a terrible affliction to a child,” he said. “I had one, myself.”
Alex Gordon returned with another small table and placed it in front of Jane’s chair, and marched out, returning with the tea tray. He took a position out of O’Brien’s line of sight.
The captain did not fail to notice his inconspicuous presence. He gave her a searching look. “Mistress Jane?”
“William is in my confidence and is to be trusted,” she said.
The captain drained his glass and accepted a cup of tea. “A trustworthy crew is a treasure. Will you tell me?”
Even refreshing herself at intervals with increasingly tepid bohea, her throat grew scratchy. There was a great deal of background to be provided. She had to fill in additional details, too, and several times the captain asked for clarification of one point or another, particularly regarding the muskets’ arrival in St. Andrews. Talking about the guns to the man she knew had brought them from France was a little awkward, as she could not let him know she was aware of his involvement. She did not mention Lattimer or Gordon by name, referring to both as simply friends. She suppressed mention of Hawthorn Cottage, saying that she had been staying in the country with acquaintances, and skimmed lightly over how she had left it and returned to London. Captain O’Brien could not be considered a friend to England, making her account of the murder and its connection to the muskets a verbal minuet.
He watched her keenly. He evidently understood how carefully she was editing the story. When she finished, her shoulders slumped. She had been
holding herself very rigid, more even than her stays and good posture would have required. She had tiptoed around Rupert’s return and delivery to a government authority.
He set his tea bowl down and poured himself more brandy, Alex having left the decanter on the table, conveniently to hand.
“So the possible charge of murder against you has been quashed by the magistrate, though one might wish whoever instructed him had made up a different story. Though people do love scandal, and unrequited love and murder by a slighted aspirant to a young lady’s hand is certainly scandalous. That story will be more readily believed than any true account would be.”
She smiled wryly. “That is precisely what Sir Thomas de Veil said.”
“This ‘friend’—or is it your beau?—who is being unjustly sought for smuggling and treasonous activities: you will not want him to have to flee the country, permanently, at least?”
Jane’s face warmed; she must be blushing. “A friend.” She did not let her eyes stray to where Alex stood. “But I do not think he would wish to have to live in hiding for the rest of his life.”
“Then he must be cleared. I am not sure, either, that we should be waiting for your half brother to betray Charles Pleasaunce, who is a dangerous fellow. Oh, ay, I’ve met the man. But I believe I know someone who can deal with both problems, if he is still alive. He is another old acquaintance of mine and was a friend of Markham’s.”
“Mr. Anthony Lattimer?”
“You know him?” O’Brien’s eyebrows rose.
“His name came up in passing,” Jane replied. “I know he was in Scotland with my uncle.”
“I do not think he was employed by the government at that time, or I should likely not be here today. But I heard later he might have been offered a post in some government department. Even if not, he had many good friends in office and can help us, if he will. If he lives.”
“He does, in fact. But he is out of town.”
O’Brien regarded her thoughtfully. “Can you write to him?”
“He is said to be travelling, and his exact route is not known.”
O’Brien grinned, rather wolfishly. “Then we can assume he will be able to help—once we find him.”
“I fear that may be more easily said than done. Though we have put out word through one or two channels that he is needed here.”
“This reminds me of my youth,” he said finally. “I had forgotten what it was like. And now perhaps I should be on my way and see if Pleasaunce’s fangs can be pulled.”
“Before you go, sir, pray tell me what brought you here today? I have told you a vast number of secrets, and you have told me almost nothing.”
O’Brien sat lost in thought. Jane sat without fidgeting, as she had been taught. Alex might have fidgeted if it were not out of character for a well-trained footman. But he did very quietly refill O’Brien’s glass.
“Secret for secret,” the captain agreed finally. “I do not do much smuggling now, for that’s a young man’s occupation, and I mostly gave it up when I married. I did not wish to leave my wife a widow and my children orphans. The ordinary risks of the sea are bad enough, but Marie was accustomed to those, being a sea captain’s daughter herself. I did not wish to double or triple them and mayhap be hanged at Execution Dock.”
He sighed. “You must understand, when I was young, I hated the English Crown, which has never been kind to Ireland. If I had stayed at home, likely I would still be full of hatred—or dead. But I settled in France after I married, so there was less to rub on the old sore, and I let most of my anger go. Then a man approached me four or five months since and asked me to deliver a cargo of muskets to Scotland. My wife is dead and my children are grown, and so I agreed, not for the money, but for a chance at a little revenge on your Crown, and because the Scots, like the Irish, are Celts, and like them, are oppressed by the English government, as are Catholics. Even some of your good Anglicans believe the fat little German had no God-given right to be king over them, when there was nearer royal blood.”
“So I have heard, sir. I know Catholics and the Irish and Scots have few more rights under English law than English women. Though to be a male is always preferable, even if one is not permitted to attend university because of one’s religion.”
The captain appeared to be struck momentarily dumb. “But ladies—women of all degrees—are designed to be mothers and wives and to support and comfort their men. To cheer men’s lives and not to strain their bodies and minds with too much study.”
“That is the common view,” she agreed. “As the Irish are lazy, the Lowland Scots clutch-fisted, and the Highland Scots savages.”
Alex Gordon coughed.
“Do you suffer from a congestion of the lungs, William? I am sure either Mrs. Harrow or Mrs. Jennings has an effective remedy.”
“It’s only a little scratchiness, mistress. Nothing that needs dosing.”
“I am certain my dear late wife did not feel slighted or confined in her role,” Captain O’Brien said, ignoring the issue of the footman’s health.
“Really?”
He looked discomfited. “There were occasions when she waxed a little satirical. I cannot believe women feel themselves oppressed. Men cherish and protect them. The ladies, God bless them, would speak out if they believed they had a grievance.”
“To whom would they address their complaint, Captain? To their husbands whose property they are? Or to Parliament, which consists only of men and makes the laws?”
O’Brien laughed heartily. “You have bested me, Mistress Jane. Your argument sounds reasonable, and I am no orator or philosopher to counter it.”
Jane smiled sourly. Sounds reasonable, indeed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Alex’s lips were compressed—but the corners definitely quirked up.
“Mistress, I bear no anger against the English in general. I liked and respected your uncle and Tony Lattimer, and many other Englishmen, though there were English landlords in Ireland I would have killed as I would a rabid dog. Well! I agreed to transport the muskets, and soon after the arrangements were made, I fell on the deck. Over forty years I spent at sea, from a lad of ten or twelve, and nothing worse than cuts, bruises, a broken nose, and a pistol ball in the arm. ’Twas sheer bad luck.” He shook his head and gave a crack of laughter. And took another drink.
“Bad luck indeed. I expected it to heal in time for me to sail with the cargo. Since having a ship of my own, I never failed to deliver a cargo, and I saw no reason to suppose I would do so this time. But the doctor thought I might lose my leg entirely, and I was sick with the fever, as well. I was too ill to do more than instruct my first mate to contact the shipper and explain that he would have to find other transport. There was plenty of time for him to do so. While I was abed, I let my first mate take charge of the Sea Mew. We had no other business at hand, without the shipment of muskets, so I told him to inspect her and set to rights anything that needed work. There’s always something needs doing on a ship. I had been thinking for some time I should buy him a sloop or schooner or else go ashore permanently myself and turn the Sea Mew over to him. But I did not want him involved in the matter of the muskets. He has had little experience of smuggling, and he had never sailed into St. Andrews. In an easterly wind, the approach is treacherous.” His voice shook a little on the last word. He drank again, and Alex stepped forward and poured him another glass of brandy.
O’Brien paused, then drank again, and held the glass against his chest. “He told me we had been offered a cargo of fine furniture to be taken to London, if I cared to let him take it. He wanted to prove himself. I agreed. I would not have him think I did not trust his ability. Not until I was finally on my feet and able to leave the house did I find out from a friend that he had not cancelled the musket shipment.”
Alex Gordon was maintaining the impassive face of a good servant, but his ears were on the prick. Her own must resemble those of a cat who has heard mouse feet in the pantry. “That is very interesting
, Captain O’Brien. I can understand that you must have been very worried for your ship. Has it not returned? Did you come to London to seek news of it?”
“Oh, she returned. My first mate reported to me that his voyage had gone well, and the furniture was delivered. There was not a great profit, shipping charges being as they are, but profit was not the object, after all. Before I could ask him about the muskets, he said those had been delivered also, with no trouble at all.”
Jane glanced surreptitiously at Alex, whose eyebrows had climbed toward his wig. “You must have been very angry with him.”
“I was. When I told him to cancel the shipment, he did not argue with me. By way of excuse, he said he did not want me to lose my reputation for reliability, and he was certain he could make the delivery. He has done the like before, though never such a serious thing. He would do what he was warned against and rely on success to win forgiveness.
“I was not easy in my mind about it. I paid a call on the second mate’s woman and left word I wanted to see him without anyone else knowing. I learned that Gabriel—my first mate—had demanded more money before delivering the arms. Sébastien said he was surprised, but thought I had ordered it, because Gabriel was not familiar with the difficult approach to the harbor. But there was something worse than Gabriel’s cheat. There had been some difficulty in London though Sébastien did not know the details. But he had heard that someone knew my ship had been a smuggler’s vessel, and there was a rumor aboard the Sea Mew that Gabriel had taken care of the problem with a gift and seen to it someone else paid the bill. Sébastien was worried about that, though he did not know why. ‘It sounded wrong’ was all he could tell me. He could not come by a true report of how the rumor started, and we all know what is said is not always true.”
Jane swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in her throat before speaking. “It does sound very peculiar, Captain.” Her hands clasped tight in her lap, mimicking the hard weight in her chest.
“I came to London to make my own inquiries, because I did not want to question any other crew member, lest it should come to Gabriel’s attention. If he took some…desperate action here, I thought I could find out from one of my old partners or friends. I came to see Markham first, and now I have learned he is dead, perhaps by a poisoned gift, said to have come from you.”
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