“Like a toddling child: by lowering myself to the floor and going down one at a time, on my backside. Then I hobbled the few steps to the door. Lucky the villain had his back to me, and his attention upon your people. As soon as I stood up, I took my pistol from my pocket, so…” He shrugged in a very Gallic manner.
Jane had given the shirt to Mrs. Jennings with instructions to rinse out the blood and bring it back when it had dried by the kitchen fire. “And you will be more comfortable there, to mend the coat sleeve. And make sure Molly is all right.”
She washed the deep graze with warm water before folding a pad from the torn sheet. “Jessup, will you fetch one of my uncle’s shirts? He was much of a size with Captain O’Brien. There are several bundled up in his chamber. They are somewhat worn, I fear, but at least they are whole.” They were among the older garments she had meant to send to the parish for distribution to the poor. She glanced at the captain’s stockinged but unshod feet, and added, “And fetch the captain’s shoes and cane. Wait in the kitchen or your pantry until I send for you. Close the door as you go.”
“It’s clever you were to send them out, Mistress Jane. You will have realized I wished to speak with my son.”
“Papa—”
“And you’ve a right to hear, mistress. And your trusted servant, I suppose, if you wish?”
“Yes, Captain.”
O’Brien nodded. “Gabriel, I wish with all my heart you had not murdered my friend, Markham, but I console myself that you did not know he saved my neck in the ’15.”
“Ah, Papa, if I had known—but I wish I had not, in any case.”
“There is no remedy for it. But why in God’s name did you cast suspicion upon his poor niece?”
“I am most sorry. But Pleasaunce was a good fellow, or I thought he was. Stowe—this lady’s brother—who was a friend of Pleasaunce, said that Monsieur Markham had seen and questioned him about his visit to the Sea Mew. It worried Pleasaunce that the plan might be discovered. He said she was a harpy, only waiting for her uncle’s death, and was a trial to her papa and mama and brothers, and if she were thought guilty of murdering him, no one would look further for a reason Markham had died. It seemed a most sensible solution. Now I wish I had not let him persuade me to do it.”
“Which?”
“Either. Killing someone in a fight…eh, these things happen. To murder? That is different. I did not understand. And to cast the blame on someone else, a woman, that was worse. Afterward, when I had thought it through, I knew I had done wrong. It has gnawed at me, like the story you told us about the Spartan boy and the fox.”
The elder O’Brien sighed gustily. “You also went against my orders, Gabriel.”
“When you broke your leg and said we could not make the delivery, I was sorry to miss such an adventure with you. Also, I did not like it that your reputation would suffer. But when I met Pleasaunce to cancel the arrangement, he had so many good reasons the delivery should be made, they overbore my reluctance and I agreed to help. The true king would rule England; Catholics would be free to worship and to own property and hold government offices; Ireland would no longer suffer under brutal Protestant landlords. It seemed right.”
“Why did you ask him for another £800?” Jane inquired. The captain winced. “Was it because of the difficulty of approaching the harbor?”
Gabriel O’Brien looked at her for the first time. “Mais non! It was the cannon. The seller came to me and told me he had been able to get the cannon after all. He would send them with the muskets, but he must receive payment first. He could not reach Pleasaunce to inform him. I knew the cannon had been wanted for the Chevalier’s campaign, so I said I would pay and collect the money on delivery. Maman taught us thrift, so I had money set aside, and I sent a message to Pleasaunce, saying he could have the cannon at the price I had paid for them.” Gabriel’s expression turned grim. “Then Pleasaunce insulted me, which is how I began to suspect he was not a man of honor. He offered to compensate me for my trouble and risk in, ah…” His eyes slid toward Jane. “I refused, of course.”
“Your trouble and risk in murdering Markham.” Captain O’Brien completed the unfinished thought. “Then in the name of all the saints, what brought you here with him?”
“When I learned you had come to England, I worried for your safety. I followed you and sought out F—the man you know of and found him gone. Arrested or fled, I could not discover. I had no choice but to contact that canaille. He told me his friends might have news of you, but I must help him find Rupert Stowe, who had betrayed him. Stowe had sent word that the transaction was complete, but Pleasaunce believed it was a lie because he had heard Stowe had gambled away the money. I did not wish to assist him, but what else could I do?”
O’Brien shook his head. “You could have considered that I do not need a nursemaid, much as I appreciate your concern for me. For trying to throw the guilt upon this lady, I find it hard to forgive you. Mon fils, you are impulsive, as I was at your age. For all of that, I usually calculated the odds before acting. Gabriel, I have had the honor of meeting Prince Charles. He is charming. I am sure he believes in his very soul in his father’s divine right to rule England, Ireland, and Scotland. However, I am not sure he is intelligent in the way a good leader must be, and God does not necessarily aid the stupid. I was willing to transport arms for the cause, but I do not expect it to prosper.”
“I am sorry,” Gabriel whispered.
“I, also. I told you too much when you were a boy—about my life in Ireland, about my youth, and not enough about what I have learned since.”
Jane finished binding the wound. She did not expect it to bleed much more.
“Well,” O’Brien said, “mistress, what’s to be done depends upon your wishes, I think. Do you intend to send your man here to the magistrate? I know there is a watch house not far away and law courts as well.”
Alex cast her a meaningful glance and shook his head ever so slightly. It would have made no difference if he had nodded.
“While it might be justice, the true instigator of my uncle’s death is now dead, is he not? I would be sorry for your sake for your son to end on the gallows. May I leave you to deal with him as you think fit?”
Captain O’Brien inclined his head. “Thank you. I am more grateful than I can say.”
He straightened. “Gabriel, did you bring the Sea Mew here?”
“No, sir. She is safe at Lannion. I feared there might be a hue and cry for her. I came over in a friend’s fishing boat.”
“Good. Go home. When I return, I will transfer the Sea Mew to you. And then I will not wish to see you again for some time. Go now, and be quick and careful. As Mistress Jane has a mind to spare your life, it would be a pity to lose it by recklessness.”
Gabriel bowed. In French, he thanked his father, assured him of his undying love, and took formal leave of him. Then he bowed to Jane as well, and said in English, “I truly am sorry, Mistress Jane.”
Alex said, “If you put on my wig, waistcoat, and coat, you may pass as a footman.”
Both men stared at him in surprise. The captain glanced at Jane.
“A very good idea,” she said.
With his own blond hair hidden, and the livery coat on, Gabriel walked out the front door, a down-at-heels servant from a shabby household sent on an errand.
Alex bolted the door behind him.
Captain O’Brien turned to Jane. “It puzzles me what to do with the carcass, I confess.”
“By your leave, sir, I can deal with it. After you’ve gone,” Alex added.
O’Brien smiled wryly. “I can see why your uncle’s footman enjoys your confidence, mistress.”
“I could not do without him, sir.” She smiled.
Alex forgot to keep his face impassive.
Her own face turned warm. She hoped to divert attention from it by saying crisply, “William, please bring the captain’s shoes, cane, and coat from the kitchen. Oh, and his own shirt. Perhaps it could be
done up in a parcel. And then summon a hackney or a chair for him.”
“No, no, I will walk to the end of the street. There is certain to be a rattler there. The exercise of the last two days is doing my leg good.”
When Alex had gone out, he said, “Hmmpf. It’s not my place to advise you, but I hope you will do nothing your uncle Markham would not approve.”
“Certainly not, Captain.” She was blushing again.
“He seems a sensible fellow and good-hearted.”
The door opened, and the captain did not pursue the subject. Alex acted as valet, assisting him into his shoes and coat. The captain took his cane and the brown paper parcel containing his mended shirt.
“Good day to you, mistress.” He paused and turned at the door as Alex opened it. “If there is ever a favor I can do for you, everyone in Lannion in Brittany knows Captain O’Brien’s house in the rue Geoffroy-de-Pontblanc.”
After he had gone, they gazed at each other blankly until Jane took a deep breath and said, “And what is your plan for the late Mr. Charles Pleasaunce?”
“There are two possibilities. I can go to Sir Howard who so obligingly took care of your half brother for us—but not until this evening, when he will be at home. Or I can ask Abel Cox, the night-soil man, to help me with him, but that would be even later tonight.”
“I cannot like the idea of leaving him on the floor all day. So untidy! And if someone chanced to come to the door, it would have a very strange appearance.”
Alex laughed aloud. “It certainly would. Jessup and I might move him down to the cellar. Or I could send a message to Sir Howard at the War Department, though there would be the danger of someone else seeing it.”
“After what happened at Hawthorn Cottage, I hardly like to trust to that department’s secrecy.”
They had been standing almost shoulder to shoulder as they regarded the remains. Alex turned and placed his hands gently on her shoulders and said, “Jane, there is really no need to look at it any longer. Let us go to the kitchen. Jessup and I will put it out of sight somewhere until tonight.” The familiarity startled her, but she did not object. When he bent to kiss her, she did not hesitate to wrap her arms around him and lean into the embrace, luxuriating in the sensation of safety and warmth. When they pulled apart, awkwardly, he appeared as stunned as she felt. The upper half of his body was clad only in shirt and neckcloth. Which brought to mind a question she had been pondering.
“Mr. Gordon?”
“I do beg your pardon, mistress. I did not intend to take advantage—”
“Never mind that. I was very willing to kiss you. I want to ask you about your hair. When we first met, you wore your own. Do you intend to let it grow again? Or have you resolved to wear a wig?”
“What would the correct answer be, Mistress Jane?”
“If a man were going quite bald, a wig would be a sensible choice.” How could she phrase it? “However, he would have to wear it all the time, except in his chamber, and then if it were cold, he would have to wear a nightcap—”
“Which most do in bed in any case,” he pointed out, guilelessly, introducing a subject she had hoped to avoid. Although it did indicate he was following her thought.
“But when a man has perfectly good hair of his own, it seems a pity to sacrifice it merely for, for…” Why did men wear wigs but for baldness? It seemed such an affectation.
“Fashion. Or convenience. One need not have one’s hair fussed over and curled, or even powdered. One simply positions a wig of the desired style on one’s head and is ready for the most formal occasion. I cropped my hair because a different wig can alter one’s appearance mightily, which seemed a good idea at the time. But it makes my scalp itch, and I believe I will dispense with the wearing of wigs in the future.”
“Oh! Good.”
They beamed at each other. She thought they were beginning to lean toward each other, presaging another kiss—would Uncle Markham have approved? He would certainly have understood. The scream shattered the moment.
Chapter 35
“Back of the house!” Alex snatched the old dragoon pistol from the sideboard where he had left it before retrieving the captain’s belongings, then ran out. Jane glanced around for a weapon and grabbed the brandy decanter by its neck and hurried after him as fast as her petticoats would allow.
She caught up to him where he stood in the door to the kitchen, blocking her view into the room. His right arm hung down by his side, the pistol, uncocked, pointing at the floor. Was someone pointing a weapon at him? Could it be more of Pleasaunce’s gang?
Mrs. Harrow’s voice rang out. “Molly, you baggage! I make allowance for your having had a fright earlier, but I swear you’ve no sense at all. Here’s Cuddie, that we all know, come with a gentleman to the back door, polite as you please, and you shriek out like a mouse caught in a cat’s jaws, though much louder. And here’s William—Mr. Gordon, that is—come to save you, thinking murder’s being done.”
Jessup’s precise voice added, “Sir? Mr. Gordon? I am sorry for the kitchen maid’s outburst. She has had an upsetting day.”
“Sir,” Alex said on an oddly tentative note.
“We must talk, Gordon. In…ah…private.”
“It’s hardly worthwhile, sir. Everyone here—almost everyone—knows almost everything.”
Mrs. Harrow spoke out. “I am going to send you up to your room with a bit of my cherry cordial and some wigg buns, Molly. Stay there until you’ve calmed. Or better, until you’re summoned downstairs. Here is my market basket, with the buns wrapped in a towel and a little bottle of cordial, and there’s a tumbler. And if you carry them up careful, you won’t drop or spill them.”
Alex perforce moved into the kitchen to let Molly pass, and Jane followed him. Alex’s man, or friend, Cuddie—whatever he was—stood out of the way by the door. He grinned and dipped his head in her direction.
“ ‘Almost everything’ is not ‘all.’ Mistress Jane.” Anthony Lattimer acknowledged her with a bow. His clothing was creased, and his boots dull with dust. He was thinner than she recalled, and his face was tired.
Mrs. Harrow was arranging more wiggs on a serving tray.
“If I may relieve you of the brandy, mistress,” Jessup suggested.
“We might remove to another room later, sir, to discuss certain other matters, but everyone here is aware of a great deal and should be present to explain today’s events.”
“I see.” Lattimer did not sound as if he saw, but he did not disagree.
“Mr. Lattimer, won’t you take a seat at the table? Here, between Mrs. Jennings, my housekeeper, and me?” She smiled as winningly as she knew how. Manipulating gentlemen was a skill she had never acquired, possibly in reaction to her stepmother’s example.
The gathering defied the conventions. Gentlemen (and ladies) did not usually sit with their staff in the kitchen, the men, including Jessup, drinking brandy and the women sipping Mrs. Harrow’s cherry cordial. How fortunate she had had another bottle at hand. A certain constraint reigned.
Alex said, “Thank you for coming, sir. We are faced with a…mmm…transport difficulty with which I am sure you can help.”
Lattimer, mellowing under the influence of brandy and wiggs—he had eaten two—asked cautiously, “Who or what requires transport?”
“The body of Charles Pleasaunce.” His voice was level.
“I think perhaps you had better begin at the point at which you sent the note to Cuddie which he did not receive until this morning. I had sent for him to meet me on my way back to Town, with whatever messages might have come in my absence. I was relieved to hear you were alive on the one hand and worried by your urgent summons on the other.”
Alex outlined the events of the past several days, with an interpolation by Jane as to how she had had to flee Hawthorn Cottage. Mrs. Harrow described being accosted by Pleasaunce and Gabriel O’Brien as she returned from buying fish. O’Brien had held a knife to her eye to make her call out to Molly t
o open the door, and once inside, the two men had forced Jessup and the cook into the cellar by threatening Molly and Mrs. Jennings.
Lattimer listened without interruption to Alex’s account of the arrival of Pleasaunce and O’Brien in the front parlor and its noisy resolution.
“Excuse me for one moment.” Lattimer strode to the kitchen door, opened it, and gave a piercing whistle. A man in decent but nondescript clothing appeared in the doorway in a matter of seconds, tilting his head as his master issued low-voiced instructions. A quick nod and he was gone.
“I suppose it will take as much as two hours to remove your embarrassing guest, Mistress Jane. I trust you have somewhere an old, shabby carpet of some size which you are willing to give up?”
“As it happens, I recently replaced the bookroom carpet, and the old one is stored in the attic.”
“Very good.” He turned back to Alex. “Where are the O’Briens? For I do not see them here, and you have not mentioned confining them to the cellar. Clearly, you did not give them in charge to a magistrate, or you would not need me to relieve you of Pleasaunce. And thank you for not involving the authorities, by the way. That would have made it much more complicated.”
“You are very welcome, sir.” Alex cleared his throat. “Gabriel O’Brien was hardly more guilty than Rupert Stowe. They were both cozened by Pleasaunce, who seems to have been a remarkably persuasive fellow—”
“He could convince almost anyone that black was white and that the sun rose in the west,” Jane interrupted. Except herself, fortunately. Imagine being married to such a man. It did not bear thinking of.
“But not you?” Alex inquired.
“He seemed always to be calculating his next word or action. He courted me once—soon after Uncle Markham let it be known that I could expect a sizable inheritance.”
“Ay, ay, no doubt that explains a great deal, though it is not really relevant to the topic under discussion.” Lattimer was sounding testy again. “The O’Briens?”
“If Captain O’Brien had not shot Pleasaunce, I suspect the staff and I would have been locked up, and Pleasaunce and O’Brien would have been waiting Mistress Jane’s—or Rupert Stowe’s—return. They might have taken you prisoner, too, when you came to find out why I had sent an urgent letter to Cuddie for help.”
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