“That’s right,” the woman sneered down at her. It was obvious that, after a brief once-over, the cook found Catherine lacking in both size and authority. “What ya want with me?”
Drawing herself to her full height, though scant as it was, Catherine lifted her chin. “I want you to pack your things and get out,” she stated firmly.
Beatrice’s jaw dropped. “W—what the—You can’t—You have no right to—”
“Out!” Catherine roared, her hand pointing to the door. “If you are not off this land in one hour, I will have John throw you off.”
Alice struggled to conceal a grin, but her tone was firm when she spoke. “ I’ll help ya pack, Bea. I wants ta make sure that all that’s the Cap’n’s remains here where it belongs.”
Beatrice heaved her bulk toward the door to her room. “You’ll be sorry ya did this,” she snarled. “Ain’t nobody will come ta work when I tells them the devil done wed a witch!”
Catherine shivered. She didn’t mind what Beatrice had called her, but she resented her husband being likened to a devil, especially since she had similar thoughts.
“M’lady?” a small voice issued from one of the two girls who had worked with Beatrice. “What about us?”
Turning to see the two dirty, poorly dressed urchins, Catherine smiled. “I would like you to stay, if you would.”
They each bowed in a nervous curtsey. “Be pleased, mum.”
Gazing over the filth, Catherine pushed up her sleeves. “Then we had best get busy on this mess.”
“You helpin’?” one asked stunned.
Catherine laughed. “I am certainly not going to expect you to handle all this alone.” She went to the stove and added logs. Looking about, she found a pail of water and set a pot to boil. “Now, where can I find a broom?”
* * *
If the unorthodox gathering at the table in the kitchen shocked anyone, no one said anything to her. She suspected they were all too tired to speak. It had taken all day for her staff to clean the filth in the kitchen. Catherine was appalled by the lack of stores and made a list of items John would have to purchase in town.
“With what, Mistress Catherine?” he asked. “The captain never leaves any funds.”
Frowning, Catherine stood. “You must not worry. I will find something to pay with.” She left the kitchen and paused outside the door. She had come far with the staff that day. She couldn’t let them down.
She searched every room in the house except Ransom's library and bedroom. Her courage did not extend to his quarters, but the library had possibilities. Cautiously, Catherine entered his domain. The room was as musty and ill-used as the rest of the house. Wrinkling her nose, she determined she would clean it up as soon as she had the rest of the house in order.
“This is my home and I have the right to run it properly,” she mumbled as she made her way to his desk. The drawers were locked and she sighed. She couldn’t go to the extreme of breaking into them. Gazing about the dark room, she noticed a door on the far wall. It was slightly ajar. Perhaps he had an office in there.
Catherine made her way to the door, opened it and peered inside. She gasped. This was a veritable treasure room. She had never seen so many fine articles amassed in one place. Afraid to breathe, she made her way inside. At first, she thought these might be things he had brought with him from England, but looking about she realized there was no rhyme or reason to the stuff.
Curious, she reached out to touch a random pile of table ornaments. There were candlesticks and serving trays, all bearing different crests. When she flipped open a small chest, she clutched at her throat. It was filled with British coin. There were chests containing linen, and even long cases clearly marked “muskets”.
“My God,” she breathed in dread. She was married to a bloody pirate! It explained his long absences and the way he seemed to let his estate look forlorn and uncared for. Was this the true reason he had fled England?
She shook her head in disbelief. Then she began to argue with herself. It was not possible. He had wealth from his father and had added to it with his merchant ships. Alice had told her he also bred fine horses. Surely this wasn’t the sort of man who pirated for his living? Going back to the silver pieces, she thought it best to leave the treasures a mystery. She didn’t want to know why they were here. She only knew they were the solution to her problems.
Looking about, Catherine spied a particularly unattractive set of candlesticks. Wrinkling her nose, she examined the gaudy, distasteful pair and matching tray. Though she considered them ugly, she knew they would bring a considerable sum in town. Without a second thought, she took the items with her to the kitchen and placed them on the table.
“These should be sufficient payment for what we need.” Proudly, she stood in front of her servants. “Shouldn’t they?” she asked, a bit deflated by their silence.
John picked up a piece. “Ugly thing, ain’t it?” he grinned.
“Yes, but will it fill our need?”
“I think we can do right well with these pieces, Mistress Catherine, and I ain’t even gonna ask where ya found them, 'cause I don’t think I want ta know.”
She smiled at John, thankful he was being so kind. “Then I want you and Alice to go to town first thing in the morning. Alice, you make a list of the foods you’ll need, and see if you can get some decent things for you and the others to wear.”
“What about you?” Alice asked. “You ain’t dressed no better than the staff, and it ain’t fittin’.”
“I will be fine until my . . . until the captain returns,” she said, unable to refer to him as her husband. “I’m sure he will see to me then.” She dismissed thoughts of the man who might continue to ignore her.
“And try to hire some more help,” she sighed, unable to prevent her shoulders from slumping in fatigue. “Now I want everyone to get some rest. We have much to do tomorrow.”
* * *
Catherine awoke to find two new girls scrubbing the stairs and floor of the foyer. Several stable boys were moving furniture about in the dining room and Alice had others scrubbing everything.
“You should have awakened me,” Catherine smiled, going to the kitchen for a quick breakfast.
“You’ve been workin’ too hard,” Alice smiled. “Ya ain’t hardly well and already ya do more than the rest of us.”
Catherine grinned. “I have no use for idleness.” She saw the confusion on Alice’s face and remembered she was supposed to be a lady of means, not one who toiled. “I mean, after being in bed for so long, I can use the work to . . . regain my strength.”
“Just so long as ya rest when ya feel the need,” Alice stated, placing a bowl of fresh oatmeal with thick cream and brown sugar before her.
“I see John got what we needed,” she beamed, sniffing the aroma of rising bread.
“He did indeed,” Alice grinned, her pride evident in her pose. “And he also has coin left for enough goods ta see us through the month.”
“How wonderful,” Catherine sighed, tasting the creamy porridge. “Now we can get busy and—”
“Get busy! What ya think we been doin’, Mistress?”
Catherine raised her head, afraid she might have offended the woman, but all she saw was amusement. If the captain saw fit to leave her alone at Devil’s Head, she knew she would be very content. She had already bonded with the people here, and the only unknown was the man she had married.
After she finished her meal, Catherine departed to help with the work. They were making progress. She and Alice chose to examine the upper floor while the others were left to the restoration of the parlor. Without thinking, Catherine opened the door and entered her husband’s bedchamber. She stopped short when she realized where she was. She listened for her housekeeper.
Alice was busy making her way through several other rooms, airing them and stripping down dusty old drapes. This gave Catherine her moment to find any clues to the personality of the man she had wed.
His ro
om was as dusty and disheveled as the others. Catherine went to the window and yanked back the burgundy drapes to allow in the light. She sneezed at the dust she had disturbed by the gesture. There was a large bed along the middle of one wall. By the jumbled sheets and blankets, she reasoned he had slept restlessly the last time he had used it.
Her cheeks flushed as she turned away from the bed. That was a poor place to start discovering what she could about him. It would be better to concentrate on his apparel, or perhaps the trinkets about the room. To her chagrin, almost everything the man owned was black. It made her shiver, especially when she held up a shirt and saw the sheer breadth of it.
She knew he was tall, but it seemed he was also well developed. She folded the garments and proceeded to tidy the room. It was in dire need of a good dusting, too. Deciding she would simply pretend it was an unoccupied room, she set to cleaning it. By the time Alice joined her, she had stripped the dirty linens and gathered soiled clothing. The drapes were in a heap on the floor, ready to be beaten clean, and she had thrown the window wide open.
“I dare say,” Alice smiled, “ya don’t do nothing half way, do ya?”
Catherine settled into a chair. She thought of her trials in the last few months. “I cannot,” she murmured. “I must ensure my worth.” She looked up at Alice and smiled. “Don’t mind my chatter. I sometimes ramble,” she commented, resuming her chores without another word.
* * *
The steam from a hot bath rose up about Catherine as she relaxed against the back of the tub. Though weary, she could not pass up her bath. It helped her exhausted body relax. She still had some discomfort in her ribs, and occasionally her legs felt cramped, especially if she got chilled. The work helped, but when she rested she felt stiff.
She had examined herself closely before entering the tub and found she was indeed almost her old self again. The bruises on her face had finally faded to the merest hint of yellow. The good food coming from the kitchen had added enough roundness to her body to eliminate the stark jutting of bones. All in all, she looked much as she did when she had set sail from England.
Catherine wondered what would become of Sabrina and her lover. She felt sorry for both of them. If Sabrina were seeking a loving husband in Rafael, she would probably be disappointed. His crude remark to her before Catherine had left made her wonder if the man were capable of remaining loyal to her cousin. On the other hand, Sabrina might also stray.
She had thought a lot about Sabrina in recent days. She remembered what had happened before the voyage. One reflection saddened her. Sabrina was not the shy maiden she pretended to be with her father and friends. She was clearly not distressed the night her lover joined her. In fact, Catherine thought, she seemed to be enjoying what Rafael was doing to her.
Chills ran down her spine as she sat in the tub. A vision crept into her mind, disarming her. The man she married, surely he would not wish to touch her so . . . intimately, would he?
She finished her bath more quickly than she had planned, and climbed out of the tub. She dried herself briskly, then donned her borrowed nightgown, swimming in the folds of it. She knew she should retire, but her mind was filled with unwelcome fears of what was expected as her wifely duties.
Settled in a chair near the fireplace, she tucked her feet beneath her. The cozy fire helped ward off the chill of the spring night air, but it had no effect on the chill brought on by her fears. She considered confiding her ignorance in Alice, but felt too embarrassed. Sighing, she decided to take the coward’s way out again. If the viscount wished to bed her, he would have to tell her what he expected. Until then, she would simply forget that part of her married life and concentrate on putting the house in order.
Chapter Five
* * *
“I never thought this house could look so grand.”
Catherine could hear pride in Alice’s voice and felt the same welling up inside her. “It is amazing what a little soap and water can do.”
“T’was more than soap and water,” Alice smiled. “It was seein’ ya workin’ so hard what made all of us do our part.”
Catherine shook her head at the praise. “Everyone worked hard, Alice.” She grinned. “Even John.”
Alice laughed. “I didn’t think he’d be too partial ta makin’ wash lines and haulin’ water, but he was good about it, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Catherine sighed. “And when he gets the boys to finish cleaning the grounds we can bring in some of the lilacs getting ready to bloom.” She turned to face the only unfinished room in the house. “Now, for the library.”
“Can’t ya leave it?” Alice asked, her voice sounding a bit frightened.
“I know you said the library is off limits to the staff, but surely Captain Kent would enjoy seeing it as clean as the rest of the house.” Alice’s frown clearly indicated her disagreement. “Well, he will be more comfortable with it clean. Perhaps he will even overlook my trespass when the filth is gone.” She wrapped a scarf about her head. “You go see to dinner. Don’t worry, I will take full responsibility for cleaning there.”
Alice nodded and walked away, but Catherine stood thinking over her brave words. Possibly she was going where even angels feared to tread, but she was determined to make his entire house more comfortable, and that included his domain.
Catherine drew a deep breath. She hoped this gesture would be well received by the man she could hardly even think of as a husband. All the time Sabrina had spent ranting about how she didn’t want this marriage, it had never occurred to Catherine that the groom might well share Sabrina’s feelings.
Many nights Catherine found herself praying the viscount did not wish for a wife. Perhaps then he would simply set her aside as an inconsequential member of the household. She knew she could play that role well enough. After all, it had been the pattern of her life since the deaths of her mother and father.
She shrugged off her thoughts and set to her chosen task. When she drew back the drapery, she shook her head and wondered why anyone had even bothered to cover the window. It was so dirty that light had difficulty penetrating. Catherine stood on a chair and began to remove the grime from the top pane.
* * *
Pleased with the results of his mission, Ransom climbed the hill to his home. He was tired. The trip had been made in record time, but it took three nights for the moon to wane, allowing access to the river. Then, he sighed, the tides had been against him until almost dawn. Even now, Holden was still securing the Ebony in its hiding place.
He supposed he should have remained behind with the crew to see to it, but he felt the beginnings of a headache. It was best that he went home to rest until it passed. He was often plagued with the pain when he neglected to get proper sleep. Each mission seemed to keep him awake too long. But his work was more important than rest.
He rubbed his face and eyes as he approached the house and made his way inside. As he crossed the entry, headed straight to his bed, he heard the sound of something scrape across the floor in his library.
His body tensed. He had given specific orders that no one was to enter that room. Careful not to make a sound, he inched toward the door. It was ajar, and he eased it open in silence. The room was somehow filled with bright natural light. He had to close his eyes at first, then squint until his eyes adjusted.
The moment he could see clearly, he scanned the room to locate the intruder. His brow furrowed deeply. One of the staff was engaged in cleaning the window. Furious that his mandate had been disregarded, he moved behind the girl.
“What the Hell are you doing in here?” he bellowed, exciting a squeal of terror from the girl. A sopping wet rag in her hand dripped on his boots. He growled as he leaped backwards, enraged by her clumsiness. “Damn it!” he continued before she replied. “Now look what you’ve done.”
She dropped to her knees to dry the damp leather. “I am sorry. I . . . I only meant to—”
“Get up,” he ordered sternly, angered by her groveling.
She stood, though she backed away quickly. Her head was lowered and he knew he had frightened the girl. “Just get out,” he sighed. She quickly grabbed the bucket and made her way toward the door. “And stay out,” he added, rubbing his brow.
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Stop!” he ordered, his head snapping up. The only people who knew of his connection to the ton other than Holden were Alice and John. Since he had complete faith in their discretion, he had to know how this girl knew. “Come here.”
The girl was fairly quaking. He knew his voice was filled with anger, but surely she was not scared enough to run. Ready to order her again, he saw her take a tentative step closer. He did not recognize the waif, but then he paid little attention to his staff beyond Alice and John.
She seemed to take inordinately long to obey him, still she eventually stood before him with her head lowered. He tried to control his anger. She was probably just a child who needed to be instructed in what was expected of her at Devil’s Head.
“Who are you, girl?” he questioned more calmly. Apparently, she was gathering her courage to reply. He watched her draw her small shoulders back. She slowly raised her chin, but kept her eyes hooded.
“I am y-your wife, sir.”
Ransom almost choked. He’d forgotten all about her. Raising his hand, he cupped her chin to turn her face into the light so he could see her more clearly. Her eyes were closed tightly, and he used his other hand to go to her scarf. He pushed it off her head. Suddenly her eyes flew open and he gasped.
They were as green as the emerald he had sent her, and her hair was a myriad of colors demanding the attention of his hands. Her features were dainty except for the slight fullness of her bottom lip. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. She was positively exquisite.
The Rebel's Bride Page 5