The Rebel
Page 38
EPILOGUE
London, Christmas Eve
She could have been murdered on the Cheapside. She could have been drowned in the Thames. She could have been kidnapped in Westminster.
Nicholas stormed in the front door, stomping the snow off his boots. He’d been to Stanmore’s and to his mother’s new house. No one had seen any sign of her.
He threw off his cloak and hat as Charles appeared. “We’ve been scouring the neighborhoods, Sir Nicholas. Nothing. Mrs. Hannagan’s about to have a stroke for worry, sir, and the guests are arriving in an hour.”
“Damn the guests.” He turned to one of the grooms. “Did you check again with Mrs. Cawardine?”
“Aye, sir. The painter lady was certain that her ladyship had promised to come by for luncheon with Sir Joshua Reynolds himself, sir, but she never arrived.”
Nicholas glanced at his pocket watch. It was already past six. The queasiness had gripped his stomach an hour ago when she should have been home, and it still had him. She hadn’t looked very well this morning. He should have been more forceful in asking her to stay at home.
If anything had happened to her, he’d just…
“The carriage, Sir Nicholas!” the footman shouted in the front door. “Just coming up the Square, sir!”
Nicholas strode out the door, pushing past the man and frowning up at the worried-looking driver reining in the team before the house. As the carriage lurched to a stop, Nicholas yanked open the door, only to see his beautiful wife’s smiling face greeting him. She was shivering in her gray wool dress. No cloak. No hat and gloves, and God knew what else was missing. At least she had a blanket around her.
“You gave them away again to some poor beggar on the street, didn’t you? By ’sblood, Jane, how many times must I tell you that if you catch your death in this cold…”
“Now, Nicholas…there is no need to frighten these two friends of mine.” She pulled down the blanket covering her lap and the filthy faces of two street urchins peered out from either side of her.
He immediately climbed into the carriage and closed the door to keep out some of the cold. “Who are these two? And where did you find them?”
“They haven’t told me their names, yet.” She hugged each of them to her side. “But I think proper introductions can only be made after they get a warm meal in their bellies and a warmer bath.”
Nicholas sighed in resignation. “And would you like Mrs. Hannagan and Charles to entertain the guests while we take these two to Angel Court?”
“No! It is Christmas Eve, Nicholas.” She gave him a pleading look. “Can’t they stay with us…for a while, anyway?”
It was impossible for Nicholas to refuse his wife anything. He wrapped his coat around her and motioned through the window of the carriage for Charles to approach.
The children were wrapped in the blanket and hurried into the house, but Jane put a hand on his knee, holding him for a moment.
“Nick, it is all right, isn’t it?”
He put his arms around her, grateful that she was home and safe.
“The poor creatures were so lost…and alone…and hungry. Everyone I asked on the street said they’d just been sleeping in an alley and begging there for weeks.” Her eyes shone with her tears. “You don’t mind me bringing them here, do you?”
He shook his head and pulled her tightly against his chest. “I don’t mind at all, my love.”
She held tightly to his hand. “But you’ve already told me it is generally better for these children to move into one of the houses…since there may be other children there that they know…and…”
“It is very well to bring them here, too,” he assured her, kissing the wetness off her cheeks.
“And we can raise the three of them together. We can take…”
“Three?” he asked, looking around the carriage.
When she took his hand and guided it to her belly, his words caught in his throat. He stared at his own fingers spreading possessively over the life that was growing inside her.
“Jane…”
She nodded once. “One more wee one won’t be too much trouble?”
There was no fighting his emotions.
“Not at all, my love.” He drew her tightly against him again and let his own joyful tear fall. “Not at all.”
AUTHOR NOTE
Since the 12th century, England’s heavy hand has gripped Ireland’s heart.
Peaceful settlers. Conquerors. Colonizers. The English have been a part of Irish history for nearly a millennium. Since almost the beginning, they have tried to dominate and plunder this land of artists, scholars and saints.
In the early 18th century, the governments under the first Hanover Kings began instituting “Penal Laws” that were intended to strip the Irish of all land and all civil rights. The brutal and repressive policies imposed on the Irish at the time have been described as no less than cultural genocide. By the mid to late 1700’s, however, the English landowners and merchants who had been long settled in Ireland were also chafing under the repressive colonial policies. Many saw the essential unfairness of the situation for the Irish, too, and petitioned for changes. They were, however, largely without a voice in Parliament. The situation for the Irish was truly desperate, and they began to organize themselves into resistance movements from Tipperary to Ulster.
The Whiteboys that you have just read about were a real part of that resistance. All over Ireland, these groups sprang up. The Ribbonmen. The Defenders. The Oakboys. The Rightboys. Every part of Ireland had its own bone of contention, and every resistance movement had an organized response to it.
When we introduced Sir Nicholas Spencer in THE PROMISE, we knew—long before we ever finished Rebecca’s and Stanmore’s story—that he was a man who needed a very special heroine. Jane Purefoy and her volatile and dangerous world in Ireland seemed to offer us just that. We hope you enjoyed the story.
Finally, we’d like to thank Timothy O’Sullivan for his help with Gaelic. We’d also like to thank Miriam O’Sullivan—friend, expert on Ireland, and travel agent extraordinaire—and her husband Greg O’Sullivan, who not only helped us with our research, but also helped to keep us safe from ‘bears’ taking up residence in our garage! Thank you.
As always, we love to hear from our readers.
May McGoldrick
JanCoffey@JanCoffey.com
Or visit us at: www.JanCoffey.com
The 'May McGoldrick Family Tree' Book Information
Our 16th Century books...
In The Thistle and the Rose, Colin Campbell and Celia Muir are introduced...
And we also introduce Alec Macpherson, who is the hero of our second book, Angel of Skye...
Alec has two brothers, Ambrose and John, who are the heroes of Heart of Gold and The Beauty of the Mist, respectively...
In Angel of Skye, we also introduce a little boy, Malcolm MacLeod, and in Heart of Gold we introduce a little girl, Jaime...
When Malcolm MacLeod and Jaime grow up, they are the hero and heroine of The Intended...
In Heart of Gold, we also introduce Gavin Kerr, who becomes the hero of Flame...
In Flame, we introduce a number of characters who show up in The Dreamer, The Enchantress, and The Firebrand (the Highland Treasure Trilogy), including John Stewart, the earl of Athol and a number of villains...
The Highland Treasure Trilogy is the story of three sisters...Catherine Percy of The Dreamer, Laura Percy of The Enchantress, and Adrianne Percy of The Firebrand...
In The Enchantress, we introduce Sir Wyntoun MacLean, who also appears in The Firebrand...
In The Firebrand, we also introduce Gillie the Fairie-Borne, who may just have a story of his own one day...
Colin Campbell and Celia (from The Thistle and the Rose) also make a 'cameo' appearance in The Firebrand...
Alec Macpherson and Fiona (from Angel of Skye) have three sons. The youngest, Colin Macpherson, is the hero of Tess and the Highlander (a young adult novel publis
hed by HarperCollins in November 2002)...
Our 18th Century Books
In The Promise, Samuel Wakefield, the earl of Stanmore, and Rebecca Neville/Ford are the hero and heroine...
In that book we also introduce Stanmore's friend, Sir Nicholas Spencer, who becomes the hero of The Rebel, which is set in Ireland...
Stanmore and Rebecca also appear in The Rebel...
In The Promise, we also introduce Rebecca's friend, Millicent Wentworth, who becomes the heroine of Borrowed Dreams...
Borrowed Dreams is the start of a new trilogy about three Scottish brothers, starting with Lyon Pennington, earl of Aytoun. We also meet a new cast of characters who show up in the trilogy. Violet, from The Promise, plays a big role in this book, too. She will show up again in the third book in the trilogy, Dreams of Destiny.
In Captured Dreams, we see Lyon and Millicent and the entire household of Baronsford in Scotland, along with wonderful heroes and villains that David Pennington meets in colonial Boston.
In Dreams of Destiny, the mystery of Emma's death is solved...
Ghost of the Thames…a Dickensian novel.
Visit us at www.JanCoffey.com and on May McGoldrick, facebook page for discount offers of our other ebooks.
About the Author
Nikoo & Jim McGoldrick have spent their lives gathering material for their novels. Nikoo, a mechanical engineer, and Jim, who has a Ph.D. in sixteenth-century British literature, wrote their first May McGoldrick novel in 1994. Since then, they have taken their readers from the Highlands of Scotland to the mountains of Kurdistan in bestselling, award-winning historical romance and contemporary suspense novels under the names May McGoldrick, Nicole Cody, and Jan Coffey.
You can contact us at JanCoffey@JanCoffey.com
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Complete Book List as of 2012
Writing As May McGoldrick:
Made In Heaven
Ghost of the Thames
Scottish Dream Trilogy
Dreams Of Destiny
Captured Dreams
Borrowed Dreams
The Rebel
Tess and The Highlander (A YA Novel)
The Promise
Highland Treasure Trilogy
The Firebrand
The Enchantress
The Dreamer
Flame
The Intended
Macpherson Trilogy
Beauty Of The Mist
Heart Of Gold
Angel Of Skye
Thistle and The Rose
Writing As Nicole Cody & May McGoldrick:
Love and Mayhem (reissued as Arsenic and Old Armor)
Writing As Jan Coffey:
Aquarian (A YA Novel)
Blind Eye
The Puppet Master
The Deadliest Strain
The Project
Silent Waters
Five in a Row
Tropical Kiss (A YA Novel)
Fourth Victim
Triple Threat
Twice Burned
Trust Me Once
Here's an excerpt from May McGoldrick’s next novel
Borrowed Dreams
(First book of Scottish Dream Trilogy)
by
May McGoldrick
CHAPTER 1
London
January 1772
“We are going in the wrong direction!”
Instead of turning west at the ancient Temple Bar, the carriage had turned east on Fleet Street, and the driver was now whipping his team through the busy traffic going into the City. The lawyer raised the head of his cane to the roof of the carriage to get the attention of the driver, but the touch of Millicent’s gloved hand on his sleeve made him stop.
“He is going where he was directed, Sir Oliver. There is an urgent matter I need to see to at the wharves.”
“At the wharves? But…but we are already somewhat pressed for time for your appointment, m’lady.”
“This shall not take very long.”
He sank back against the seat, somewhat relieved. “Since we have a little time then, perhaps I could ask you a few questions about the secretive nature of this meeting we have been summoned to attend this morning.”
“Please, Sir Oliver,” Millicent pleaded quietly. “Can your questions wait until after my business at the wharves? I am afraid my mind is rather distracted right now.”
All his questions withered on the man’s tongue as Lady Wentworth turned her face toward the window and the passing street scene. A short time later the carriage passed by St. Paul’s Cathedral and began wending its way down through a rough and odorous area in the direction of the Thames. By the time they crossed Fish Street, with its derelict sheds and warehouses, the lawyer could restrain himself no longer.
“Would you at least tell me the nature of this business at the wharves, m’lady?”
“We are going to an auction.”
Oliver Birch looked out the window at the milling crowds of workmen and pickpockets and whores. “M’lady, I hope you intend to stay in the carriage and that you will allow me to instruct one of the grooms to obtain what you are looking for.”
“I am sorry, sir, but it is essential that I see to this myself.”
The lawyer grasped the side of the rocking carriage as the driver turned into the courtyard of a tumbledown wreck of a building on Brooke’s Wharf. Outside the window, an odd mix of well-dressed gentlemen and shabby merchants and seamen stood in attendance on an auction that, from the looks of things, was already well under way.
“At least give me the details of what you intend to do here, Lady Wentworth.” Birch climbed out of the carriage first. Despite the biting wind off the Thames, the smells of the place—combined with the stink of the river’s edge—were appalling.
“I read about the auction in the Gazette this morning. They are selling off the estate of a deceased physician by the name of Dombey. The ruined man moved back from Jamaica last month.” She pulled the hood up on her woolen cloak and accepted his hand as she stepped out. “Before he was put in debtor’s prison, he succumbed to ill health some ten days ago.”
Birch had to hurry to keep up with Millicent as she pushed her way through the crowd to the front row. “And what, may I ask, in Dr. Dombey’s estate is of interest to you?”
She didn’t answer, and the lawyer found his client’s gray eyes searching anxiously past the personal articles that were laid out on a makeshift platform. “I hope I am not too late.”
The lawyer did not ask any more questions as Millicent’s attention turned sharply toward the set of wide doors that led into the building. The bailiff was dragging out a frail-looking African woman wrapped in a tattered blanket and wearing only a dirty shift under it. A crate was placed on the platform, and the old woman—her neck and hands and feet in shackles—was pushed roughly onto it.
Birch closed his eyes for a moment to control his disgust at this evidence of the barbaric and dishonorable trade that continued to curse the nation.
“Lookee, gennelmen. This here slave was Dr. Dombey’s personal maid,” the auctioneer shouted. “She’s the only Negro the medical bloke carried back with him from Jamaica. Aye, sure, she’s a rum thing with her wrinkled face. And she’s of an age to rival Methuselah. But gennelmen, she’s said to be a weritable African queen, she is, and bright as crystal, they tell me. So e’en though she’s worth a good thirty pounds, what say we start the bidding of at…at a pound.”
There was loud jeering and laughter from the group.
“Look, now, gennelmen. ‘Ow about ten shillings then?” the auctioneer announced over the roar of the crowd. “She’s good teeth, she has.” He pulled opened the woman’s mouth roughly. There were crusts of blood on the chapped lips. “Ten shillings? Who’ll start the bidding at ten shillings?”
“What bloody good is she?” somebody shouted.
“Five, gennelmen. Who’ll start us at five?”
�
��The woman is nothing more than a refuse slave,” another responded. “If we were in Port Royal, she’d be left to die on the wharf.”
Birch glanced worriedly at Millicent and found a look of pain etched on her face. Tears were glimmering on the edges of her eyelids.
“This is no place for you to be, m’lady,” he whispered quietly. “It is not right for you to be witnessing this. Whatever you came for must be already gone.”
“The advertisement said she was a fine African lass.” A middle-aged clerk, sneering from his place at the edge of the platform, threw a crumpled Gazette at the old woman. “Why, she’s too old to even be good for—”
“Five pounds,” Millicent called out.
Every eye in the place turned to her, and silence gripped the throng. Even the auctioneer seemed lost for words for a moment. Birch saw the woman’s wrinkled eyelids open a fraction and stare at Millicent.
“Aye, yer ladyship. Yer bid is in fer—”
“Six pounds.” A second bid from someone deep in the crowd silenced the auctioneer again. All heads in unison turned to the back of the auction yard.
“Seven,” Millicent responded.
“Eight.”
On the platform the man’s face broke out into a grin as the crowds parted, showing a nattily dressed clerk holding up a rolled newspaper. “Why, I see Mr. Hyde’s clerk is in attendance. Thank ye fer yer bid, Harry.”