“So the man who delivered the shrimps claimed. But the magistrate was able to cast enough doubt on it that I was not arrested, and then the story about my supposed suitor was put about.”
O’Brien sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Could they obtain no description of the sender of the shrimps from the delivery boy?”
“They were unable to locate the man who brought them, although they had a good description of him. He made a very favorable impression upon the kitchen maid.”
“What did he look like?”
Jane obliged with a verbal sketch of the handsome, smiling young man with sapphire-blue eyes, who had so charmed Molly.
O’Brien closed his eyes. “God in heaven.”
“Was it your first mate, sir?”
“Ay.”
“You are not responsible for his misdeed, Captain O’Brien, and if you have known him for many years, I’m sure you are fond of him. I can understand you would not want to inform the authorities or give evidence against him. There is no need, I believe, as the authorities are apparently satisfied I did not cause my uncle’s death. Though it must be hurtful that he betrayed your trust. Do you mean to dismiss him?”
The captain regarded her with no expression whatsoever. “You are kind to say I am not responsible, but in my heart, I know I am. Gabriel is my son.”
Alex poured more brandy into the captain’s glass. A great deal more, and Jane could not feel he was wrong to do it.
“He would not have known Markham was someone I owed a favor. I would not have mentioned his name, when I told Gabriel and his brothers about my wild youth. If he had known, he might not have murdered poor Markham.”
Or perhaps he would have.
“But to throw suspicion on you, Mistress Jane. That, I cannot forgive. How could he even know you existed, when I did not—and I have occasionally heard news of Markham, over the years.” He took a long drink.
I have never been a weeper. I will not start now.
When she was sure her voice would not break, she said, “My half brother, Rupert, may have mentioned my name.”
“But there was no need to give anyone’s name as sender of the shrimps. To implicate you seems like pure malice. It would have been a mystery, and no one would have been in serious danger of prosecution.”
She sighed. “My family is not wealthy, merely comfortable. They all knew I was my uncle’s heir. Possibly Rupert mentioned as much, and your son simply thought to benefit him.” Or Rupert suggested casting the blame on me. The thought was deeply dismaying but not unimaginable. Both her stepmother and Rupert regarded her expectations from Uncle Markham as being their own. She remembered hints that she should ask for money from her uncle for this or that, or that he should make her an allowance. She had always refused to do so; her father had the means to support the family, and she herself was not a spendthrift. Her family would only come to rely upon the extra income and feel pinched when she eventually married. Which led to the question: did that explain why Stepmama had ceased making the slightest push to find her a husband once Uncle Markham let it be known she would inherit a fortune? It might be annoying to have an adult stepdaughter underfoot—although that stepdaughter’s services as housekeeper were an economy—but if she remained a spinster, living at home, she would quite likely contribute to the family budget once she inherited. If she chanced to die unmarried before her father or half brothers, the fortune would pass to them. She must think longer about that possibility, but not right now.
“Family can be a source of great happiness,” O’Brien said sadly. “Or of great pain. I suppose I must take comfort that my other sons and daughters turned out well.” He bowed his head, lost in thought. She knew how he must feel. She could not bear to look at his private grief. Alex was watching him closely, though he could not see O’Brien’s face from his position. Now why—?
The captain’s hand, still holding his empty glass, was resting on the arm of the chair. She did not even realize it was sliding off until Alex sprang forward and caught the tumbler near the top between thumb and forefinger, a second before O’Brien’s hand slipped off to hang limply over the side. His eyes were closed, his jaw had dropped, and Jane heard a faint, purring snore.
The decanter was empty. Alex drew her away to the far corner of the room.
“He did not show any sign of the amount he had taken, did he? I wondered how much more he could hold,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on the slumped figure in the armchair.
“Did you intend this, Mr. Gordon? I noticed how assiduous you were in keeping his glass filled, but I thought you meant to loosen his tongue.”
“That, too, mistress. I believe he was telling the truth, but I did not want him leaving here and perhaps divulging your presence to someone. By the time he wakes, I hope to have decided what to do.”
“I hope we have decided what to do.”
“Ah, quite. Certainly. I don’t want to turn him over to Sir Howard.”
“No, I agree, Mr. Gordon.”
“But if the choice is between his son and you, I fear love of his son will prevail.”
“Do you think so? Why would he have told us, then? And Gabriel is not here, is he? I’m sure Captain O’Brien implied that he was not, when he said he had come here secretly so Gabriel should not know.”
“However angry he may have been at his son’s disobedience, the captain is not likely to testify against him, is he? And he himself was the one to agree to transport the muskets.”
“He would be incriminating himself,” Jane agreed. “Yes, I can see that it would be too much to expect of him. But what will he do?”
“If I were he, I’d go back to France and turn the Sea Mew over to Gabriel.”
“And wait for him to come to a bad end?”
“Ay.”
She gazed at him unhappily. She was resigned to that outcome with Rupert now, but she liked Captain O’Brien. And he had had two shocks: the murder of her uncle and the fact that his own son had committed it.
Mr. Gordon chewed on his lower lip. “I think he should stay here, until he’s slept off the brandy, if you do not object, though having two strange men sleeping under your roof is surely more than twice as improper as one. By then, we may have had news of Mr. Lattimer, who would know what to do. Or we may have devised some clever idea of our own.”
“Pray, how can it be improper, sir, when there are none here but servants who have permitted an old friend of their late employer to stay when he was overcome with travel weariness and grief? Mistress Jane Stowe is not here, for she is visiting in the country.”
He grinned at her and her heart gave a thump. He had a very infectious grin, better even than his smile.
“I will have Jessup assist you in taking him upstairs.”
“No need. He is a sailor. If he can be waked, he will probably be able to walk with my assistance.”
Chapter 32
He looked in on Captain O’Brien shortly before supper. Their guest was sleeping soundly; it would be a pity to wake him. Not only had he had a great deal of brandy, but he must still be recovering from his injury, and he was not a young man. He could eat when he woke.
Conversation at supper was subdued. The senior members of the staff were feeling the tension as much as he and Jane were, though for different reasons, perhaps. They were serving in a house in which shocking improprieties had become the rule rather than the exception.
The only one who spoke much was Molly, who under ordinary circumstances would have been hushed by either the cook or the housekeeper. There was as strict an order of precedence among servants as among the gentry, and kitchen maids were near the bottom. Under the strain of the last few days, the social order had broken down: the mistress dressed as a maid, eating with them in the kitchen, an unrelated man living in the house, mysterious comings and goings. What did it matter if Molly chattered on? Besides, it filled the silence.
“There was a peddler came to the door this afternoon, with such a smile. I wishe
d I could have bought something of him.”
“You’ll buy yourself only trouble and that without a penny to your name, if you encourage strange men,” Jessup said.
Alex saw Jane struggling to suppress a smile. She must be thinking of his admitting to being a strange young man, early on in their acquaintance. Was it only a month ago? It seemed longer.
“When was this?” Mrs. Harrow asked. “I don’t recall a peddler coming today.”
Molly blushed and looked down at her plate. “You was out of the kitchen, on personal business, like.”
Ah, a visit to the necessary house in the yard.
This time the cook’s face reddened. “Oh! Ay, there was a few minutes I was gone.”
And perhaps a few minutes spent chatting with one of the servants in the house next door, over the backyard wall.
“What was he selling?” Mrs. Jennings asked. “I need some green embroidery silk.”
“He hadn’t any o’ that. But he had thread and buttons and ribbon and some broadside ballads and pins and all manner of things.”
“Trumpery, it sounds like,” Jessup said.
“He give me a ribbon as blue as his eyes.” Mollie sighed.
“You shouldn’t take gifts from a man that’s not your father, brother, or husband, girl,” Mrs. Harrow pronounced.
“He must have expected to get something in return,” Mrs. Jennings said.
“What was it?” the butler asked. “I’m sure Mrs. Harrow wasn’t gone long enough for you to have done something that’d make your ma weep, but peddlers don’t give things away for free.”
“He didn’t touch me…hardly. He did kiss me, but only to thank me for being so friendly and not turning him away, he said. And the ribbon was a bit frayed at the ends, and wrinkled.”
With a feeling of foreboding, Alex asked, “Did he ask you who else was here that might buy from him?”
“He’s new to the neighborhood and wondered if he could get any business here.” The girl’s chin trembled.
Which meant that he had indeed questioned her about the inhabitants.
“And what did you tell him, Molly?” Jane asked, as if it were not important at all.
“I only told him there’s Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Harrow and Mr. Jessup and me. I didn’t mention you, Mistress Jane, nor Mr. Gordon, only that we had a new maid and footman.”
Jane glanced at him. Alex heard Jessup make a sort of throat-clearing sound.
Molly seemed to find her mistress less intimidating than her fellow servants—they would be the ones who scolded and disciplined her, after all—and he was trying to think how to prompt Jane to ask the question that had occurred to him several minutes ago. He had not asked it himself, so as not to alarm the maid or cut off the flow of information. But Jane had thought of it, too.
“Had you ever seen him before? Or someone like him?”
“I can’t have, mistress, for he said he was new to the area. He did remind me of the man that delivered those potted shrimps that killed poor Mr. Markham. I’m that partial to men with blue eyes and blond hair.”
“Molly! That blackguard told a terrible lie about Mistress Jane!”
Alex wished Mrs. Jennings had not spoken out. She might silence Molly.
“P’raps he was told by whoever did send them, Mrs. Jennings,” Molly said timidly.
“Very likely that’s true.” His response appeared to reassure her. She flashed him a little smile. “Were they much alike? Or was it only that their hair and eyes were similar?”
She puzzled over the question, while Alex fancied he could see gears turning in her head.
“N-n-o-o-o. They looked as if they’d spent time out in the sun without a hat.” Then she added, “He—they both—talked a bit funny, too.”
Mrs. Harrow said, “I’d forgotten that, about the fellow that came with the shrimps. He did have an accent. It sounded almost French but different. Some kind of foreigner, anyway.”
Molly sucked on her lower lip. “It couldn’t have been the same man? Could it?”
Alex locked gazes with the others. “No, it doesn’t seem likely, does it? It’s an odd coincidence, but London’s full of all sorts of people. I’d wager there’s some girl who looks like you and someone who looks like me, or Mrs. Harrow, or any of us.”
“Ohhh,” Molly sighed. “That must be it.”
“Mrs. Jennings,” the butler said. “Perhaps you would give our Molly a lesson in fine sewing? You do it so well, and it’s a good thing for young staff to be taught a bit outside their usual duties, and with things as they are, there’s not much work.”
The housekeeper raised her eyebrows, then caught his meaning and smiled. “What an excellent idea, Mr. Jessup. Come, Moll, we’ve finished our meal. We’ll sit in my room, and I’ll show you how to mend net and lace before you go up to bed.”
When they were gone, Jessup said, “That girl has no sense. Not a thought in her head but men and courting.” Mrs. Harrow began to do Molly’s chore, clearing the table. They all understood that there were things to discuss that Molly should not hear.
“To be fair,” Jane remarked, “that’s true of many girls of all classes.”
“What’s to be expected and no harm in a young lady is a fault in a servant, mistress. A maid has to be practical.”
“I concede the point, Mr. Jessup. What I would like to know is why he would come back, if it were the same man?”
“You would think he would avoid coming back,” Alex agreed.
“It can’t be to do with Rupert, can it? Would he come here seeking my brother?”
“I can’t think why he would. Their business was done, and returning to London could only endanger the fellow.”
Mrs. Harrow put the dishes in a pan of hot water to wait Molly’s attention.
“Mrs. Harrow? Could you deliver a letter to the penny post?” Alex asked apologetically.
While she went up to her chamber to fetch her shawl, he penned a few lines and waited impatiently for the ink to dry. Jane peered over his shoulder. When the cook came down, he sealed it and inscribed the outside “Cuthbert (Cuddie) McDonald, in care of Mr. Anthony Lattimer, Bloomsbury Square.”
Jessup had gone about his duties, and Mrs. Jennings and Molly were still in the housekeeper’s room.
“Mr. Gordon…is it possible Charles Pleasaunce sent him?”
He stared at her. “They could be acquainted, I suppose. Captain O’Brien had met him, so it’s not impossible.” After a pause for reflection, he went on, “Your brother can’t have arranged the matter by himself. Not if what I saw of him was representative of his—” He broke off.
“His abilities? His intelligence? His reliability? No. He must have been doing some errand for Pleasaunce when my uncle saw him leaving the Sea Mew. Pleasaunce—or someone else—must have negotiated the muskets’ delivery.”
“Your brother went out of town with Pleasaunce, and they both came back. I suppose it’s possible that Pleasaunce and…well, it must be Gabriel O’Brien…are in contact. Unless O’Brien came looking for his father.”
“Would you, in the same circumstances? I’m a female, so it may be I don’t understand these matters, but I think I’d give my papa time to regain his temper.”
Talking with Mistress Jane was unexpectedly helpful as well as enjoyable. Now that she pointed it out, he did not think he would want to confront his father, either. In fact, there were any number of times he had made a point of not seeing his own papa. “That assumes he understood that his father was angry. Did you get the impression Captain O’Brien let him know he was displeased?”
“That is well thought of,” she confessed. “I don’t think he told his son Uncle Markham was a friend. He did leave France without telling Gabriel he was going, so I suppose if he found out, he might have come looking for him, if he believed the captain was in danger.”
“At least he did not learn he was here. Molly did not mention him. She didn’t know he had come to call and stayed.”
&nb
sp; “She didn’t, did she? So he’ll go and look elsewhere.”
“That would certainly be desirable. It’s too bad this is all mere speculation on our part. We can’t assume there’s no risk of his coming back. What if he’s a committed Jacobite himself and a conspirator with Pleasaunce?”
“Then would he have increased the price for delivering the guns, sir?”
“That might not have been greed. The captain of the ship Rupert and I took told me the approach to St. Andrews is dangerous, and we have heard Captain O’Brien confirm it. A higher fee may have seemed justified.”
****
She was in the attic storeroom, going through the trunks and boxes to see if there were anything useful stored there. It might be a vain hope, but rummaging through old draperies and antique clothing and furniture was a pleasant occupation, when she could not settle to read, and had no mending to do. She need not compose menus. With no family supposed to be in residence, Mrs. Harrow was capable of planning meals for the staff. Though she had also been adding a few treats: marmalade and coffee or chocolate (at five shillings the pound!) for breakfast in addition to the usual cold meat, cheese, and bread and beer the staff would ordinarily eat. Her pride would not allow her to feed the mistress and Mr. Gordon upon ordinary servants’ fare, and Jane agreed. She would not want Mr. Gordon to think her spendthrift—but she also did not want him deprived of his usual breakfast.
The cook had gone out to buy some nice haddock or cod for dinner and some peas. Jessup was in the butler’s pantry, very likely having a little rest. What an old-fashioned ladies’ jacket! From portraits she had seen, it must be seventy or eighty years out of date. Too old, surely, to belong to Uncle Markham’s late wife. Perhaps it had been her mother’s? People kept such odd things out of sentiment. But underneath it, carefully wrapped in a piece of worn linen was a collection of pretty old lace. She put it aside to be used for something. Perhaps on her bride-clothes—if ever she had any need of them.
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