Hurrying back into the bedroom, I pulled the aprons out from under the bed and dragged them back to the balcony. I dropped them over, one at a time, and they landed with dull thuds that seemed frightfully loud. I crept down the hallway and started down the staircase, peering nervously around me in the darkness. I paused halfway down, certain I saw someone standing against the wall in the foyer, a distinct form slightly more solid than the dark shadows surrounding it. My skin chilled. I actually seemed to be encased in ice. I stood there for a long time, frozen, terrified, my eyes never leaving that dark bulk, darker than the shadows. There was no movement, no sound. I realized at last that my imagination was playing tricks on me, and I continued on down the stairs, moving very, very slowly, damning myself for wearing taffeta when I knew it rustled much louder than other materials.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I paused again, peering once more at the mass of shadows against the wall. The darker bulk I thought I had seen was no longer there, had vanished completely. I had indeed imagined it, just as I now imagined a pair of eyes staring at me, hostile eyes staring so intensely it seemed I could actually feel them boring into me. That was absurd. Of course it was absurd. There was no one standing against the wall, and no one was staring. I hurried down the narrow passageway that led to the back door, and a moment later I stepped into the gardens. My skin was still icy when I joined Em. A bird warbled sleepily. The sound made me jump.
"I'm sony," I said. "Nerves."
"I'm a bit jumpy myself, luv. Who wouldn't be?"
"I thought I saw someone in the foyer as I came down the stairs. I thought someone was staring at me. It was—very unnerving."
"You're certain no one was there?"
"It—it was so dark. I'm pretty sure I imagined it."
"Let's hope so, luv. I don't trust that fellow Burke. The way he looked at you tonight—it gave me the shivers."
"Did you have any trouble with Cleeve?" I asked.
"Oh, he's out cold. I sent him straight back to the barracks as soon as I got through washing his wounds and dabbing on a bit of ointment. He wasn't up to any more activity this evening."
"It's so late, Em. Why did you wait so long to come?"
"I crept over shortly after midnight, luv, thought we'd get an early start, but there was a light burning in the servants' quarters—Burke, probably—and I didn't dare signal you until the light went out. I didn't want you traipsing through the house while someone was still up. However, I did make good use of the time. You'll be pleased to know I've already brought the guns and things to the foot of the steps."
"You carried that box of bullets by yourself?"
"Shoved the bloody thing, luv, every inch of the way. It wasn't jolly, I assure you,"
"You should have waited and let me help."
"I didn't know how long that light was going to keep burning, and time was getting short. We'd better get right to work, Marietta. It's going to take us quite a while to get all these things dumped over the wall."
We picked up the aprons and, crossing the gardens, carried them to the foot of the narrow white stone steps that rose to the walkway that ran all around the top of the walls, with cannon stationed at strategic points. I fetched the rope and basket we had hidden under a shrub and, filling it with powder horns and pistols, we climbed the steps and moved along the wide walkway until we reached the point near one of the cannons. Tying the rope to the handle of the basket, we lowered the basket over the wall, dumping its contents behind a clump of underbrush growing near the wall, then pulled the empty basket back up.
Although tall trees grew in the gardens, their spreading limbs rising higher than the walls and concealing our progress along the walkway from anyone who might otherwise have been able to observe us from the windows of the house, I was nevertheless thankful that the moon had gone behind a heavy bank of clouds. It took us three more trips to get the rest of the things, and we had an extremely difficult time with the box of bullets, carefully hauling it up the perilously narrow steps. There was no railing, and one slip could have sent us crashing down to the ground below. The box completely filled the basket, and once we had lowered it, we found it impossible to tilt over and dump. After several attempts, we finally just let the end of the rope drop over the side of the wall.
"I'm afraid we're going to have an even jollier time getting it down to the boat," Em observed.
"It shouldn't be too difficult," I said. "We'll simply pull it in the basket. Thank goodness that's the last of the lot."
The clouds began to drift, silver spilling over their edges, and finally the moon appeared again, illuminating the scene with pale light. Exhausted, we stood there on the walkway for several minutes, peering across the woods to the water, pewter gray in the moonlight and gleaming with silvery reflections. The mainland beyond was a solid mass of darkness, dense, forbidding. In the stillness we could hear the waves sloshing over the sand half a mile away, the sound like whispers in the night. I shivered.
"Frightened?" Em asked.
"A little. I never thought we'd get this far."
"Neither did I, truth to tell, but we've done magnificently, luv. We've been quite resourceful. We'll get everything down to the boat tomorrow—that's going to be quite a chore—and then—" she paused. "Then we'll be ready to make good our escape."
She turned and sighed, and, without speaking, we left the walkway and moved down the steps and crossed the garden, leaves rustling, the ground a patchwork of silver and black. Em walked to the back door with me, and we stood there for several moments, silent, awed by the enormity of what we had undertaken. I finally spoke.
"Do you really think we can make it, Em?"
"Resourceful girls like us? Of course we can."
There was a hollow ring to her words, and I knew that she was as apprehensive as I was. I reached for her hand and squeezed it, and we were silent for a few more moments, comforting each other, trying to quell the fear that suddenly possessed us both.
"Look at it this way, luv, the hardest part's behind us."
"I suppose so."
"We've got a boat, food, water, weapons—what could go wrong? We're going to do beautifully."
"I hope so."
"You can handle a gun?"
"I shot an Indian once. On the Natchez Trace. He was in a tree, ready to leap on Jeff with a tomahawk."
"Maybe—maybe we won't run into any Indians."
"Maybe not."
Em sighed again and let go of my hand. "I'd better get back, luv. It'll be dawn soon, and I don't want anyone to see me sneaking back into the cottage. We'll take our walk in the woods early tomorrow afternoon."
"And leave tomorrow night," I said.
"Tomorrow night it is, luv," Em replied. "The sooner we get off this bloody island the happier I'll be!"
Sixteen
Everything was in place, evenly distributed at either end of the boat, and we stared at it for a moment there in the dimness of the cave: guns, ammunition, enough food and water to last us for three or four weeks if we portioned them carefully. Satisfied with our accomplishment and extremely tired after two hours of work hauling everything down to the cave, we turned and moved down the wide damp tunnel and stepped into the dazzling late afternoon sunlight. Both of us were grimy, our dresses stained with perspiration, our hair all a tangle, and I brushed a long cobweb from Em's cheek.
"Cleeve's going to be very suspicious," I remarked.
"Don't worry about Cleeve, luv. You've got a smudge of dirt on your left cheek."
I wiped it away and gazed at the waves washing gently over the fine gray sand littered with delicate pinkish-orange shells. Across the water the mainland was brown and green, festooned with long black shadows, and I wondered if the Indians were watching us. In my imagination every tree trunk concealed a tall, naked savage painted black and white, smeared with alligator grease and carrying slings of arrows and bows six feet long. Was it true that they actually ate men alive, slicing strips of flesh off a victim
lashed to a stake and screaming in agony?
"Don't think about it," Em said, guessing my thoughts.
"I shouldn't, I know, but I can't help it. All those stories—"
"They're probably miles away, luv, holding a big powwow in another area. Indians migrate, you know. They're always packing up their tepees and moving to a cozier spot.''
"That's quite true."
"Look at it this way, after what we've seen, after the pirates, a band of cannibals would seem downright friendly. We'd better get back to the stockade, luv, don't want the boys getting edgy. Have you told Come we're leaving tonight?" she asked as we started toward the slope.
"I told her this morning while she was brushing my hair. She's very nervous about it, but she's going to hold up fine."
"I'm sure she will," Em said. "The three of us are going to do marvelously well. We'll be back in New Orleans before you know it."
"Do you really think so, Em?"
"Of course we will, and we'll go to the authorities and tell them all we know about the island—its location, the number of men, the position of the cannons, the stockade, where the armory is. With that information they won't be so leary about invading. They'll wipe the place right off the map, luv. Red Nick and crew will be sorry they ever tangled with us."
"What are your plans, Em?"
"You mean when we get back? I've got plenty of plans, luv. I'm going to sell all that jewelry Michael's given me and have a whole lot of money and then I'm going to go respectable. I'm going to learn to speak proper and act proper, and then I'm going to charm the breeches off some unsuspecting man who'll jump at the chance to marry me."
"Sounds frightfully dull," I teased.
"He may be unsuspecting, luv, but he'll be big and strong and handsome and anything but dull. A military man, perhaps, I've always had a weakness tor soldiers. Sailors, too, for that matter."
"You're incorrigible, Em."
"I know. It's a deplorable weakness."
She smiled pertly, and we climbed up the steep, rocky path cut in the side of the slope, pausing for a few moments when we reached the top. The woods were before us, green leaves dappled with sunlight, red and purple flowers growing in the shadows. Below, the rocks tumbled to the beach, waves leaving wet .tracks and strands of yellow-brown seaweed on the sand.
"What about you, luv?" Em asked. "What do you plan to do?"
"I'm going to England," I said as we started through the trees.
"Still determined to get even with that man who had your lover killed?"
I nodded, grim. "Roger Hawke is going to pay for what he did. I wanted to die when Derek was killed, Em. There was no reason to go on living, not until I saw Roger Hawke. I vowed I'd have revenge."
"I wish you could forget it, Marietta."
"I'll never be able to forget it. I'll never be able to rest until I see him in his grave."
"I don't mean to be contrary, but—well, that doesn't sound like a very noble purpose, luv. Revenge may be sweet, like someone said, but it eats you up inside. I know. I longed to take revenge on my stepfather and his darling sons, longed to go back to Baton Rouge and give 'em what they deserved, and I finally realized I wasn't hurting anyone but myself. Men like that always get their comeuppance, luv. Your Roger will eventually get his, too, without any help from you."
I pushed a tangle of vines out of the way, knowing full well that what she said was true. There was nothing noble about my desire for revenge, but it had given me a reason to go on living, and I wasn't ready to relinquish it yet. Em plucked one of the lush red flowers and toyed with it as we moved on through the woods, sunlight dappling through the leaves, the air laden with pungent odors of lichen and bark and damp soil.
"Seems to me you'd be better off building a new life," Em continued, studying the silky red petals. "You're still young and beautiful, Marietta, and you could have any man you wanted."
"I'll never want another man, Em. After Derek, I could never love anyone else."
"I don't believe that, luv, not for a minute. You loved him, yes, and that love will always remain in your heart, along with the grief, but there'll be another man, and you'll love him just as much as you loved Derek."
The hem of my skirt caught on a branch of underbrush and I pulled it free, not bothering to reply to Em's statement. She couldn't know, of course. Intelligent though she was, and as experienced in matters of the flesh, she had never known the kind of love I had shared with Derek. That kind of love happened but once in a lifetime, and anything after would be merely a pale imitation. I could never settle for that.
"What about the charmer you met in the market?" Em asked.
"Jeremy Bond?"
"There was something in your voice when you told me about him, luv. Something in your eyes, too."
"He—he's a thorough rogue."
"You made that quite clear."
"Utterly irresponsible."
"Dashing and handsome and dangerously appealing. You told me all that, and your eyes and voice told me a lot more, luv. He touched something inside of you that had never been touched before. You responded to him as you'd never responded to another man."
"I admitted that I wanted to sleep with him, Em."
"I'm not talking about sex, luv. You said you felt he knew you, felt he understood you—despite the fact that he was clearly a jaunty scoundrel. A man like that—" Em paused.
"A man like that would wreak havoc on any woman foolish enough to become involved with him," I said crisply.
"But any woman would be willing to take that risk."
"I wish I'd never told you about him," I said, cross now. "I met him under unusual circumstances and, yes, he made a very strong impression on me, but I'll never see him again. Even if I did, I'd turn around and run as fast as possible in the opposite direction."
Em smiled a knowing smile I found utterly infuriating. I wanted to slap her, and I immediately felt guilty about it. Em had the best intentions in the world. I had no idea what she had been trying to prove, but she had merely succeeded in irritating me. I adored her and I could never have endured all this without her, but Em the expert on love needed a good shaking. The thought that I could love a man like Jeremy Bond was laughable.
"You'll love again," Em assured me.
"Think what you like! I really don't care to discuss it."
"Sorry, luv."
"I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."
"We're both tense," she said as we stepped into the clearing in front of the stockade. "Tired, too. I've never worked so hard in my life—" Em paused, frowning. "What's that noise? It sounds like they're having a riot down at the harbor."
Though muted by distance, the lusty, excited yells were clearly audible. As we listened, Cleeve came out of the stockade and strolled toward us. There was a dark bruise on his right cheekbone and his lower lip was split and swollen at one corner. Stopping a few feet away from us, he placed his fists on his thighs, the full sleeves of his silky tan shirt ballooning, the tail tucked loosely into the waistband of his dark brown breeches. Blond hair spilling about his head in tattered locks, brown eyes dark and brooding, he looked formidable indeed, the broken nose adding a particularly sinister touch.
"What's all the shouting about?" Em inquired.
Cleve grimaced. "The Sea Lyon's been spotted through the telescope. It'll be in the harbor before sun sets. Your man Tremayne's coming back."
"Shit," Em said. "Pardon my French, luv."
"You ain't eager to see 'im?" Cleeve asked.
"You've no idea how uneager I am."
Cleeve looked pleased. "Guess you've got kinda used ta our meetin's in the bushes," he said.
"Guess I have, luv."
"So what're we gonna do about it?"
"I'm sure we'll think of something," Em told him, but her mind wasn't on arranging future trysts. She was extremely distracted, her cheeks pale as she looked at the road that led down through town to the harbor.
"
I ain't ready to give you up," Cleeve growled.
"And I'm not ready to give you up, either, luv, but right now Marietta and I have to go in and clean up. Don't fret, gorgeous. I'll get back to you real soon."
She smiled and touched his bruised cheekbone and then led the way into the stockade. We paused in the gardens in front of Tremayne's cottage, Em thinking hard, her brow creased, hazel eyes still distracted. Several pirates were sitting out in front of the barracks, polishing weapons, preparing for the inspection Red Nick was sure to hold. Grimmet was in even worse shape than Cleeve, I noticed. He glared across the lawn at Em with pure venom.
"Why did they have to come back today," Em grumbled. "This spoils everything."
"We can't allow it to, Em. We can't change our plans now."
"We'll have to, luv."
I shook my head. "If we put it off we might never go through with it. We're leaving tonight."
"What about Michael? What about Red Nick?"
"I'll take care of Red Nick," I replied, "and I assume you'll be able to take care of Tremayne."
"What do you plan to do, crack a bottle over his head?"
"If it came to that, I would. I don't think it'll be necessary. I intend to don my finest gown and greet him calmly and see that he has a splendid dinner with the choicest wine."
"And then?"
"Then we'll make love and he'll go back to his room and go to sleep and I'll gather up my jewelry and meet Corrie downstairs and we'll slip out of the house. We'll meet you at the stockade entrance at—say one-thirty."
"Those doors are solid oak, luv. They're kept firmly locked at night."
"I've yet to see a lock I couldn't pick."
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