by Jo Goodman
As the servants stepped aside, Rahab was revealed to him. She was slumped in a straight-backed chair, dangerously close to toppling forward on the table. "Who is she?" he asked, coming forward. He made as if to touch her, then drew back. There was no telling what sort of illness she might have, though she appeared to be suffering from no more than the bad effects of the cold.
"She's the one those ruffians said was Miss Ashley," the footman explained. "The duke said I should take care of her."
Stephen's wintry and disapproving expression remained unchanged, but he knew very well what it was the duke had meant. He wondered if they dared allow the chit to remain in the house. Of course, it was doubtful that the duke would ever notice her. Nigel Lynne knew only those servants who held positions of responsibility in his house, and this girl would be far beneath his inspection. The duke had called her a Gypsy, but Stephens could see this clearly was not the case. "She is nothing at all like Miss Ashley," he said, submitting Rahab to a sweeping glance.
"That's the truth," Mrs. Timms said. "And she has about as much business as that one in my kitchen. What am I supposed to do with her? She can hardly hold her head up, and she's dripping all over the floor now."
Rae's cape and clothes that had been stiff from the cold and damp ground were indeed thawing, and the ring of water at her feet was simply one more reason Mrs. Timms wanted her gone.
"Provided the girl is willing and free of disease, have you work for her, Mrs. Ritchie?" Stephens asked the housekeeper. He ignored the cook's disgruntled snort.
"You dismissed Betty not above a week ago," she reminded him. "I've been short staffed since. Of course, there's work for the lass. Nancy can train her."
Nancy bobbed her assent, and one of the kitchen girls repeated that she had gone daft. Before there was any hair pulling, Stephens held up his hand and addressed the footman and Nancy. "She shall have Betty's bed. You can take her there. She may have one night here. If she cannot work in the morning, then she's to go. There is not one of you with enough time to tend to a sick girl."
Mrs. Timms gave the housekeeper a triumphant glance, for there was, in her estimation, no chance that the girl would be able to work. She was clearly in danger of expiring before the night was over. Mrs. Ritchie glared at the cook and dared her to speak her uncharitable thoughts aloud. She would have the girl polishing silver at dawn's light if she had to tie her in a chair to keep her upright.
The footman and Nancy ignored the battle of wills that raged over their heads and pulled Rahab to her feet, supporting her between them, and took leave of the kitchen.
"Did his grace really say we should take her in, Jack?" Nancy asked as they struggled to mount the narrow, dark passageway to the servants' sleeping quarters. "Or were you just being tenderhearted?"
Jack blushed under Nancy's gentle teasing. "I couldn't leave her there, Nance. She was a pathetic sight, I can tell you, and his nibs didn't give her a second thought once he saw she wasn't Miss Ashley."
"Hush, Jack. You musn't speak so. Someone might hear, and you'd be dismissed without a character. Then what would become of us?" Her dark curls bounced saucily about her face. "I'll not marry you if you don't have employment, for there is no life in being poor."
Jack held his tongue, because she was right about someone's hearing them, and about the fact that there was no future for them if he was released from the duke's service. He grunted as Rahab slipped in his hold and nearly carried them all down the stairs.
"Let me put her on my shoulders." He stooped low and hefted Rae. She moaned softly.
"Have you hurt her, Jack?"
"No," he panted, taking the steps quickly.
"Well, be careful." Nancy passed him at the landing and ran ahead to open the door to the room she had shared with the unfortunate Betty. She lighted a tallow candle and turned down the covers on the thin straw-filled mattress. "Over here, Jack. Be quick. Help me get her cape off. Oooh, did you ever see such a thing?" she asked as her fingers touched the soft fur lining of the pelisse. "It's like something a grand lady would own. How do you suppose she came by it?"
Jack was not one for speculation. "Don't know," he said shortly, lowering Rahab to the mattress. "But tell her to keep it here, if she doesn't want to answer a lot of Cook's questions."
At that moment Rahab stirred. "Jack, look! She's waking up." Nancy sat beside Rae, touching the back of her hand to Rae's forehead. "Don't say a word, deary. You're safe. I'm Nancy, and this here is my Jack. We're going to be mar—"
"Nancy," Jack admonished. "I doubt she wants every detail. You're at Linfield, miss, and Stephens says you might stay if you can work on the morrow."
Rae blinked, puzzlement in the line of her dark brows as they came together above her clouded eyes. "Linfield? Then Nigel paid the ransom?"
Nancy's mouth gaped in astonishment. "Jack?" she whispered. "Did you hear? She called his grace by his Christian name. What can she be thinking of? Who are you?"
"Did the duke pay the ransom?" Rae demanded again as her teeth began to chatter wildly. She massaged the chafed skin on her wrists. "So—so cold. The ransom? Did he—"
There was very little the servants at Linfield did not know about the duke's dealings, but they were never discussed with anyone outside the household. The rule was set down by Stephens, not the duke, and it was strictly enforced. Jack looked at Rae warily, wondering what he should tell her. After all, she was nearly a member of the staff, and it seemed she knew things neither he nor Nancy could guess. "There was a ransom paid, but it was stolen back. Your friends were chased off without a farthing."
"Not my friends," Rae said, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "I can't keep my eyes open. Drugged my wine." Her speech slurred at the last, but her companions were able to make it out.
"Drugged!" Nancy cried, appalled at this bit of unseemly behavior and not a little intrigued. "Do you think she's telling the truth?"
"Does it matter? Take care to get her out of her wet things, and I'll see if I can't use a bit of guile on Mrs. Timms to get her something hot to drink. She looks as if she could use with a bit of warmth." Jack left the room without looking squarely at Nancy, afraid she would see how much he regretted bringing the girl into the house. He was beginning to believe the cook's pronouncement that she would be nothing but trouble.
Nancy crooned softly to Rahab as she undressed her. "Here, what's this?" she demanded, arms akimbo as she saw an unfamiliar protrusion beneath Rae's slip. Nancy carefully lifted the material and stared, openmouthed, at the wooden dagger strapped to Rae's thigh. "Well, I never! This isn't the colonies, m'girl, and we don't have to fend off barbarians at every turn. You've spent too much time in the company of pirates and their ilk, poor thing." Nancy shuddered delicately as she relieved Rae of her weapon. Having no place to put it, she slid it beneath Rae's mattress. "Out of sight, out of mind." She stripped Rae of the rest of her clothes and managed to get her into a clean nightdress.
There was still a debate raging belowstairs when she went to see what was keeping the warm drink from reaching her patient. She thought it best to keep the dagger a secret, so while Jack cajoled Mrs. Timms, Nancy made off with a cup of freshly brewed tea.
It was not a simple task to get Rae to drink the stuff, for in her confused state she imagined it was poisoned also. It was well after midnight when Nancy was able to go to her own bed, but by then she was a firm believer in Rae's garbled tale.
* * *
It was still dark when Nancy shook Rae awake. "It's time you were up, m'girl. If you want to stay here, you'll have to show Stephens you can do the work."
Rae turned groggily on her side and received a sharp slap on her posterior.
"Up with you. I'll help what I can, but you have to get out of bed."
Much against her will, Rae felt herself being pulled to her feet. She swayed unsteadily and stared stupidly at the soft chocolate eyes that peered anxiously into her face. A button nose screwed up in front of her and a pair of full, cherry red l
ips pursed in impatience. Rae giggled at the face and yelped when she was pinched on her upper arm.
Nancy stamped her foot. "There's no time for that, m'girl. We've got to get you dressed, for there's work to be done. I've put out your clothes, but don't expect I'll do the same every day. I'm hardly in your service. Can you manage, do you think, or are you still feeling the drugs those brigands gave you?"
Rae's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"You told me often enough last night. You don't remember, do you? Of course not, poor thing. Don't fret; it will stay with me and Jack unless you want Stephens to know."
"Jack?"
"If you're going to ask a lot of questions, then you may as well be dressing at the same time," Nancy said pointedly. "There's water in the basin over there. It's cold, mind you, but just what you need to clear your head."
Rae moved sluggishly to the basin and dunked her face full in the cold water, holding on to the stand for support. Behind her she could hear Nancy's gasp, but when she reached for a towel, one was put in her hand. She dried her face and throat briskly, rolled up her sleeves, and scrubbed the rest of her while keeping the nightdress on. Nancy would have been horrified if she had taken it off to wash. It was not a common practice to clean oneself while naked, and the maid would have thought Rae a doxy if she had tried it. After her hasty washing, Rae discovered she felt much more the thing.
"Who is Jack?" she asked as she began changing her clothes.
"My intended. He's the one what brought you here from the woods."
"Oh, I remember that. He was very gentle, I think."
"That's my Jack," Nancy said happily. "He's a footman now, but don't think he'll be that forever. Someday he'll be head of all staff, mark my words."
"And Stephens?"
"He's in charge now. He's the one who said you could stay. I'm Nancy Wright."
"I remember."
That pleased Nancy, and she beamed. "You'll be working under Mrs. Ritchie's keen eye. She's the housekeeper, and she's hard but fair. She stood up to the cook last night and is giving you a chance. Don't cross her, or you'll be out on your ear as Betty was."
Rae didn't think she could take in much more. Betty's story would have to wait, though Nancy appeared eager to tell all. "Am I really at Linfield, then?"
"Of course."
"How strange. I never thought..." Her voice trailed off as she twisted to fasten her skirt. "Does the duke know I am here?"
"I think so, though why it should matter to you I can't suppose. He told my Jack to take care of you. What's wrong? You're pale of a sudden." Nancy helped Rae sit down on the edge of the bed. "You're very lucky to be alive after the trick that was played on him. The duke is not one to suffer fools. Anyone can see you're not Miss Ashley."
"Almost anyone," Rae said tersely. "If Sam Judge had known, I wouldn't be here at all." Nancy's bewildered face stopped Rae from explaining further. "Never mind." She pulled on thick black stockings and slid on her own shoes. "You said I was to begin work. What would you have me do?"
Nancy eyed Rae shrewdly as she straightened. It was clear she was not ready for any strenuous labor, but she was a game one, Nancy would give her that. "There's fires to be laid. Come. I'll show you what's to be done." At the door she paused. "What's your name? I can't keep calling you poor thing."
"Rahab." When Nancy continued to look at her expectantly, she added, "Smith. Rahab Smith."
"What an odd sort of name."
"Yes." But one I hope will be mine someday, she said silently. Her eyes closed briefly, as if in prayer. Jericho, where are you?
* * *
Jericho was wondering much the same about Rahab. He remembered calling out her name in his sleep, and he wondered if the old crofter whose cottage he shared had heard him. He didn't like to think he had disturbed the man's sleep when he had been shown every kindness by the farmer. He owed his life to the gnarled little man who had dragged him from the water and offered hospitality with virtually no questions asked. Drew Goodfellow was a man deserving of his name, and Jericho gave his thanks again that he had been found by one such as he.
It had taken nearly twenty-four hours for him to recover from his dunking in the cold seawater, and Drew watched over him like a nervous mother protecting the runt of her brood.
Now Drew stepped away from the hearth and placed a bowl of hot gruel on the table in front of Jericho. "Eat that."
Jericho smiled to himself, half expecting Goodfellow to spoon feed him. Dutifully he began eating.
"Your friends were surprised by the authorities this morning," Drew said as he sat on a three-legged stool beside Jericho. He placed his knobby cane on his lap and rolled it back and forth across his thighs, working his arthritic fingers to some measure of nimbleness. "The ship and crew were taken away. I watched from the hill."
And the damp air had nearly crippled his hands, Jericho thought, but he knew better than to mention it. "Hardly my friends, Drew. I can't say I'm sorry for them."
"I thought that might be the way of it."
"Did you see many of the crew?"
"Most all of them."
"Was there a woman among them?"
Drew's silver brows shot up in surprise. "A woman? None that I saw. These eyes aren't what they used to be, but there was no woman on board. Is she the one you been crying out for in your sleep? Rahab, I think you called her."
"Strange, I usually call her Red."
Drew chuckled. "Hell, you must have said that more than a hundred times the first night. I thought you were calling out a sailor's warning. Never thought it was a woman."
"I have to find her, Drew." Jericho pushed the bowl away from him. "She's in danger. I left her on the ship because I couldn't take her with me, but now I don't know what's happened to her."
"They made a thorough search. They were customs men, and there aren't many hiding places they don't know. She definitely was not aboard when they towed that vessel out of the cove. I'd like to know how the customs men happened upon that place. There's many a smuggler around here asking himself the same question. Not much happens in these parts that they don't know about."
Jericho imagined Drew had been a fair smuggler in his own right at one time. He probably still kept his hand in, scouting the area for a small share of the prizes. He said as much.
"Aye, I watch out for my friends. Good lads, all of them. And they take care of old Drew, now that I can't sail anymore. I'm not ashamed of my work."
"I'm glad you still have a sharp eye, Drew, else you wouldn't have seen me floundering in the water."
"You were a sight!" Drew said, not unkindly. "Thrashing about like a windmill with one arm and holding on to those breeches for all you were worth with the other."
"Those breeches kept me afloat for quite a while. Red taught me that trick."
"Well, she should have taught you to take off your boots. They nearly pulled you under."
"I don't imagine she thought I would be stupid enough to wear them." His fingers threaded through his yellow hair absently. "I wonder what has become of her." He refused to allow himself to imagine the worst, so even to his own ears he sounded unworried. The tension was in the long line of his legs stretched beneath the table. "I suppose I shall have to start at Linfield."
Drew Goodfellow stopped rolling his cane. "Linfield? Why there?"
"It's a complicated tale."
"Do you think I can't ken it?"
Jericho laughed, making his decision to trust the old man. There was nothing to be lost, and perhaps something to be gained by sharing the story. Drew's face was thoughtful as Jericho unraveled the threads of his life and intertwined them with Rae's, but beyond a grunt every now and again to show he was listening, Drew gave nothing away. Twice during Jericho's recital he poured them tea laced liberally with some fine French spirits, courtesy of his smuggler friends. When Jericho finished, Drew swallowed the last of his brew and set his cup down firmly.
"Seems to me you're starting off in the wrong
direction, son," he said at last.
"What do you mean?"
"It's not Linfield, but Stanhope that should be your destination."
"Stanhope? But why? Rahab isn't there."
"No. But your inheritance is, and with it your entry into the duke's circle. How else will you see Rahab?"
"There must be some way."
"You say that because you've never been to Linfield. If the duke is holding her against her will as you suspect, then you won't be able to reach her. Even as one of the duke's guests it will be difficult for you to find her. The house is a labyrinth of rooms."
"You are familiar with Linfield?"
"I've made deliveries there twice, years ago. Most of us around here have had dealings with the duke, but he's a bad 'un. Plays both ends against the middle. Turned us in to the customs men once when he thought he wasn't getting his share of the bounty. I couldn't prove it, of course, but I know it was him. He was hailed as a hero among his peers, and we near starved that winter. As I said, that was years ago. He's out of smuggling now, and good riddance, I say." Drew looked at Jericho sharply. "If you want to find out if your lady's safe, mayhap my associates can make inquiries."
"I want to go along," Jericho said stubbornly.
"I think you're being a mite foolish, but have it your way," Drew shrugged. "I still think you should be considering Stanhope."
Jericho gave Goodfellow one of his easy smiles. "Oh, I'm not putting that aside. There is something appealing about going to Stanhope."
* * *
Rae adjusted the mobcap on her head and tucked a few loose strands of hair beneath it. She bent over the hearth in the dining room and poked at the fire until it flared again before she added a few pieces of wood. Servants were setting covered dishes on the sideboard and the fragrant smell of warm food made Rae's mouth water and her stomach growl. She had been up nearly four hours and hadn't yet had her own breakfast. She glanced at the feast that was being laid out and wondered what the penalty would be for stealing a hot roll or a bit of bacon. Imagining that the duke would cut off her hands quelled her appetite for the moment, and she hurried from the room just as Nigel and his three guests were entering. Feeling faint from lack of food and the thought that the duke might recognize her as the girl he had seen in the woods, Rae braced herself against the doorjamb, head lowered, and waited for them to pass.