"There is, luv. I just know it!"
Her hazel eyes were full of determination as we continued to move through the thick forest, avoiding the dangling strands of ivy, stepping over logs and rocks. After a while the trees seemed to thin out, far more sunlight streaming through the limbs, and the ground was much rockier. Em caught her skirt on a branch, muttered a curse, pulled it free. A bird cawed loudly, causing her to jump.
"I'm really not a woodsy person," she admitted,
"Nor am I."
"At least you've had experience, luv, all those weeks you spent trekking down the Natchez Trace with that chap Jeff you told me about. How are you at rowing a boat?"
"I don't know. I've never done it."
"Neither have I, but I'm sure it's easy enough once you get the knack. I imagine we can muster through."
The trees ended up ahead. We could see sky and water through the trunks. Moving under the last limbs, we found ourselves on a high bluff, enormous, ivy-covered rocks tumbling down in a sprawling cascade to the beach below. The ivy was a dark, waxy green, clinging in leafy clusters to the dark gray rocks mottled with rust and umber streaks. Some of the rocks were as large as houses, some much smaller, precariously piled together as though dumped by a capricious giant. The wind was quite strong at this end of the island, causing the ivy to rattle noisily, causing our skirts to whip about our legs..
"The caves would be down below," Em said. "Guess we'll have to get down there somehow."
"It shouldn't be difficult," I observed.
"Not for a mountain goat!"
I smiled and, leaving her standing there with a dubious expression on her face, stepped onto the nearest rock, caught hold of a thick strand of ivy and carefully lowered myself onto the rock jutting out beneath it. The wind seemed to blow even harder, tearing at my hair, tossing it across my face as I sought another foothold. My foot slipped. I clung to the ivy, hoping it wouldn't be torn from its roots. Em screamed. I hesitated a moment and then, still holding the ivy with one hand, reached down to remove my shoes, first the left and then the right. I tossed them down to the beach and continued my descent with much greater ease, lowering myself into a crevice, edging around a great, ivy-hung hump, stepping down onto a broad, rocky ledge that glittered with mica in the sunlight.
As I continued to climb down, I remembered that other descent, much more hazardous than this, when I had climbed down the cliff behind the inn in Natchez, attempting to escape from Jeff Rawlins. That seemed such a long time ago, another lifetime. I blotted the memory out of my mind and concentrated on finding another foothold, halfway down now. The rocks were much larger here, easier to move over, although the drop from rock to rock was much steeper, sometimes as much as ten or fifteen feet. It would have been difficult indeed if I hadn't been able to hold onto the thick strands of ivy, using them as though they were ropes. It was with considerable relief that I lowered myself down the last rock and stepped onto the sand.
Em dropped down beside me a few moments later, looking shaken but extremely pleased with herself.
"I'll tell you one thing right now, luv, we're going to find another way to get back up!"
"It wasn't so bad."
"Wasn't so bad my ass! Where are my shoes? Oh, there they are over there. I was afraid I might have hurled them into the water. You scooted down nimbly as could be, luv, like you've been climbing down rocks all your life. I don't mind tellin' you I was scared spitless."
"Now all we have to do is find the cave," I said.
"Cleeve said it was behind the ivy, and said you couldn't see it. Let me just get my shoes on, and we'll find it in no time."
After we had retrieved our shoes and put them back on, we began to part the strands of ivy, looking for crevices. We found one cave almost immediately, but it was filled with cobwebs and much too small, hardly more than a hollow, certainly not large enough for a boat. The second cave was wide and low, so low we had to crawl. We crawled for perhaps thirty feet, Em grumbling all the while, before we reached solid rack and could go no farther. I had to smile at Em's expression as we crawled back out into the sunlight and stood up. Her spirit of adventure had been sorely tested. She brushed her skirt and wiped a cobweb from her cheek, a stubborn frown creasing her brow.
"I'm not giving up!" she vowed. "It's got to be here somewhere."
It was, but it took us another half hour to find it. The ivy hung down in thick, green-black strands like a waterfall, parting easily. A large tunnel led into the side of the bluff, sloping upward. I draped the ivy back so that light would stream in, but even so it was extremely dim inside, the walls damp and clammy, the sand under our feet deep and slippery, difficult to walk on. Large cobwebs waved from the ceiling. Em eyed them apprehensively. The tunnel veered to the right, widened even more, and we stepped into a large cave. The boat sat in the sand against one of the rocky walls, a coil of heavy rope beside it, the rope they had undoubtedly used to pull the boat out to the water. A pair of sturdy oars rested against the hull.
Em and I were silent, staring at it for several long moments. The sight of it should have been reassuring, but it wasn't. The reality was somehow disturbing. It was all very well to chatter about a bold escape by rowboat, but now that we actually had the means to do so, it became deadly serious. I felt a curious apprehension, and I could tell that Em did, too. Her expression was grave, her manner unusually subdued.
"We've got to do it, Marietta," she said.
"I know."
"It's going to take guts."
"We have no alternative, Em."
"I thought I'd feel much more elated. I don't feel elated at all. I feel—nervous, jittery, don't know why."
Em sighed and stepped over to the boat. I followed her, and we examined it thoroughly in the dim light. It was ten feet long and five feet wide, built of hard wood that showed no signs of decay. The sides were high, and there were two wooden slats to sit on, one between the two brass rings that the oars fit into, one farther back. There was plenty of room for the three of us and the provisions we would need. Em kicked the hull.
"It's solid," she declared.
I picked up one of the oars, and although it was by no means light, it wasn't nearly as heavy as I had expected it to be. Setting it back down, I uncoiled the rope and tied the end to the hook in front of the boat, and when I pulled on the rope the boat slid easily over the sand. I let go of the rope and brushed a wave from my cheek.
"I think we can manage it easily enough," I said.
"Of course we can."
"We'd better get back now, Em. Cleeve will be suspicious if we're gone much longer."
Em nodded, and we left the cave, draping the ivy carefully back over the entrance. We were both silent, lost in thought. I agreed with Em that climbing back up the rocks would be far too hazardous, and we walked quietly along the beach, looking for another way up. After a quarter of a mile or so, the rocks gave way to a steep slope, and we discovered a narrow path that twisted up to the top, the path the pirates must have used. A few minutes later we were walking through the forest again, rays of sunlight slanting through the limbs overhead to make dancing patterns on the ground, strands of ivy hanging down in thick loops.
Cleeve and two other men were standing in front of the great oak doors as we neared the stockade. From the distance I could see that their expressions were extremely grim, and I knew immediately that they had been on the verge of coming to look for us. That disturbed me, but Em waved merrily and told me there was nothing to fear.
"I'll take care of Cleeve," she assured me. "I'll make up some story to explain why we were gone so long, and if he's still suspicious I'll sneak him into the shrubberies for a midmorning tumble. That should do it."
"You mustn't take any unnecessary risks, Em."
"Both of us are going to be taking some pretty big risks during the next few days, luv. We've got to figure out a way to steal food and guns and ammunition and smuggle them out. It's going to be risky as hell."
Em
flashed a teasing smile as we neared the men. "Meet me in the garden this afternoon," she said under her breath. "We've got an awful lot of planning to do."
Fifteen
The house was very quiet, so quiet I could hear birds chirping in the gardens out back. Burke, Lyon's chief servant, had gone down to the town to join his cronies in one of the canteens, and the other servants were either out or taking an afternoon siesta. It was a perfect opportunity, everything clear, but I was still nervous as I left the small sitting room on the second floor and started down the hall to the staircase. It was very warm, and all the windows were open. The house was full of sunlight, rooms bright and airy, but there was a sinister atmosphere nevertheless.
I had the feeling that unseen eyes were watching every move I made, and although I told myself that was preposterous, the feeling remained. Nervous and apprehensive, I moved down the curving staircase and across the wide hallway. My footsteps seemed to ring much too loudly on the gleaming golden brown parquet. I paused, listening. The birds chirped. Draperies rustled quietly as a warm breeze blew in through the open windows. No one was about. I hesitated a moment longer and then moved slowly and cautiously down the narrow back hall leading to the kitchen and servants' quarters, expecting Burke to step out and confront me at any moment.
Burke was tall and thin with a pockmarked face, thin, mean lips, and eyes so dark brown they seemed black. His pewter-gray hair was clipped very short, covering his skull like a tight cap, and I had never seen him in anything but the old black suit that fit his scarecrow-thin body like a second skin. Burke ran the house with the harsh efficiency of a tyrant, cruelly bullying the other servants, sullen youths who had been pressed into service as footmen, a fat harridan from the town who wore a black dress, drank endless glasses of rum, and held the title of housekeeper. The cook was from France, a superb chef who had murdered a family in Paris with his butcher knife. Fleeing the authorities, he had eventually ended up in Red Nick's service and spent most of his time brooding over his pots and pans in the kitchen and, between curses, creating elegant and superbly delicious meals.
Burke hated me. His thin lips compressed into a hard, tight line whenever I happened to encounter him, his dark eyes glowing with animosity, glowing like coals. Fiercely loyal to Red Nick, he resented my presence, resented the hold he felt I had over his master. I knew that he had made life hell for the unfortunate Maria, spying on her, reporting on her movements to Lyon and frequently stirring up trouble. He tried to make life hell for me, too, but I refused to be baited, treating him with cool hauteur when it was necessary for me to speak to him and ignoring him the rest of the time. Corrie lived in terror of Burke, and I had to admit that I was terrified, too, now that I was engaged in highly dangerous activity. If Burke had the least suspicion of what was going on, all would be lost.
The doors to the servants' dining hall were open. I paused, listening once more, then quickly moved past them and past the kitchen, opening the small door that led to the storage room and wine cellar below. I closed the door behind me and moved down the wide stone steps. The air was cool and clammy, smelling of damp and cork and onions. It was very dim, but I didn't dare light the torches that stood in iron rings along the wall. There was just enough light to see by, and I knew my way around quite well. I had been down here several times during the past week, each time on the sly, usually late at night with a candle that I could snuff out immediately if someone opened the door above the stairs. Passing the great wooden barrels of rum and the tall racks containing dusty bottles of the finest wine, I stepped into the enormous storeroom where food was kept, bins of flour, sugar, and tea, containers of salt and spices, fruit and nuts and beans and corn.
I had smuggled out apples and oranges and a large cotton sack full of hard parched corn, and I had also returned to my room with three fairly large empty tin containers which, now filled with water, sat in the boat with lids firmly in place. Em and I had worked out an ingenious way to get things out of the stockade. Behind the garden a narrow flight of white stone steps led up to the walkway that ran around the top of the high walls. Slipping up the steps at night, long after everyone was asleep and Cleeve had returned to the barracks, we lowered the bags of food and the containers to the ground on the other side of the wall with ropes and, the next morning, after we had sauntered out the great oak doors for our morning walks, fetched them and carried them to the boat, keeping behind trees and shrubberies to avoid possible detection.
We had fruit and parched corn and an enormous bag of nuts which were quite nutritious, but we needed some kind of meat as well. We might be on the boat for days, Em pointed out, towing constantly, and we were going to need all the strength we could get. Finding a nonperishable meat had presented a problem. Strolling casually into the kitchen this morning, I had complimented Pierre on last night's meal, delicate pieces of beef cooked in a thick, creamy white wine sauce and baked in a pastry shell. Idly, I had asked him where he had gotten the meat. The fish and fowl, I knew, came from town, but no cattle were raised on the island. Scowling moodily at the intrusion, he had continued to polish a copper pot and muttered something about a supply of beef in the storage room. Surely it would spoil, I remarked, and he sullenly informed me that the beef was dried in hard chunks. Soaked in water or, preferably, wine, and cooked thoroughly, it was quite as savory as fresh. Having acquired the information I was seeking, I complimented him again, smiled politely, and went on up to the sitting room to give Corrie her lessons.
And now, in the dim, shadowy storage room with its damp walls and the floor strewn with sawdust, I searched for the dried beef, which I had not spied on any of my other trips down here. I prowled among the shelves, pushing aside boxes and canisters, looking behind bins, wondering where it could possibly be. The smell of clove and cinnamon and pepper was heady, blending with the smell of sawdust and damp stone. Strings of onions hung from the ceiling, and a huge barrel brimmed over with coffee beans. There was another barrel beside it, the lid tightly sealed. I pried at the lid, finally loosening it, and when I removed it I saw the chunks of beef, each individually wrapped in thin white oilcloth. I took a chunk out and examined it, smiling as I realized this was exactly what we needed.
As I was contemplating how to get it upstairs without being detected, there was a sound from above. I froze. The door creaked as someone cautiously opened it, quietly closed it. Stealthy footsteps sounded on the stairs. My heart seemed to leap into my throat, and then it seemed to stop beating altogether. I looked around frantically for some place to hide, darting quickly behind an enormous bin and huddling down as the footsteps moved past the racks of wine and entered the storage room. It was Burke, It had to be. He hadn't gone down to the canteen after all. He had stayed behind to spy on me, hoping to catch me out in something, and he had seen me come down here and everything was lost, everything. I closed my eyes, praying he wouldn't look behind the bin.
"Miz Marietta?"
Relief flooded over me. I stood up abruptly, so abruptly that Corrie gave a loud gasp, frightened half out of her wits. She was clutching two large pieces of cloth, and she was trembling visibly.
"Corrie! Thank God it's you. You—you scared the life out of me!"
"You done scared me, too," she said in a trembly voice. "I thought you was some kind of ghost, jumping up like that. I don't like this place at all. It's spooky, Miz Marietta."
"Why are you here?"
"I seen you—I saw you going down the hall. I was in my room and heard a noise and looked out and saw you sneaking through the door. I knew you was coming to look for the beef that French cook told you about, and I figured you might need some help so I made sure no one was about and sneaked down, too."
"What's that you have in your hands?"
"Well, after our lessons this morning I figured it might not be too easy to get them chunks of beef back up without no one seeing, so I thought on it for a while and decided what we needed was some big pockets. I took these aprons and made great big pocke
ts on 'em and, see, we can put the beef in the pockets, tie the aprons on under our skirts, and march right past anyone pretty as you please without 'em being any the wiser."
"Corrie, you're_a wonder!"
"You and Miss Em has been taking all the chances," she informed me, "and I've been feeling guilty about it. I figured it was time I helped some, too."
She smiled shyly, and I gave her a tight hug.
"I'd just as soon get out of this spooky place soon as we can," she said, glancing apprehensively around the room. "Let's just fill up these pockets and tie the aprons on quick as we can."
I nodded in agreement, and in less than five minutes we had the pockets of the aprons bulging with chunks of beef, the aprons tied on under our skirts and completely concealed. I frowned, staring at the half-empty barrel.
"If Pierre comes down to fetch more beef during the next day or so, he'll be certain to notice a lot of it is missing," I said. "He'll start asking questions."
Corrie tilted her head to one side, thinking hard, and then she smiled and tipped the barrel over, emptying all the remaining beef onto the floor, setting the barrel back up. As I watched, she began to fill the bottom of it with apples from one of the bins. Wondering why I hadn't thought of so simple a solution, I helped her, and when we had enough apples in the bottom, we put the beef on top of it. When we had finished, the barrel seemed to be as full of beef as it had been before.
"Where we going to hide all this meat we got?" she asked.
"We'll take it up to my bedroom and put it under the bed until tonight," I said, "and then Em and I will drop it .over the wall after everyone else has gone to sleep."
We moved back through the wine cellar, walking rather awkwardly because of the heavily laden aprons tied about our waists under our skirts. Corrie's pale lime green cotton skirt looked much fuller than it had been when she came down, but not too obviously so. The chunks of beef slapped against my legs as I went up the steps. I was exhausted, but I felt a great sense of triumph as we opened the door and stepped back into the hall. We had all the food we needed now, water as well. All we lacked were guns and ammunition, and Em was busily figuring out a way to acquire them.
Jennifer Wilde Page 23