Burroughs's words were almost whispered as he told how his sister and brother-in-law had died, but as he continued to recite, his tone became less emotional, almost dispassionate. Still, Jason thought he had never seen such horror in a man's eyes as he saw in George Burroughs's. Jason felt the horror himself. He had been exposed to the bloody ravages of war for a number of years, and thought himself inured to gruesomeness, but his stomach churned as he listened.
By the end of the tale, Burroughs's breathing became more normal. He stared at the portrait, as if willing himself to remember the Carlins as they had been in life. "We had the story from the two men we caught. Rafael . . . got away."
Jason swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. His fists clenched in apprehension, though, when Burroughs again spoke of the girl. "We thought Andrea would die, for she contracted a raging fever. I nursed her myself, I and her governess, but we couldn't stop her from screaming. She had to be tied to her bed to keep her from doing herself further physical damage.
"I will never forget the day she finally looked at me with lucidity in her eyes. It was like . . . breathing again . . . like receiving the gift of life. We were shocked to discover that she remembered none of what had happened. Nor who she was."
Burroughs slumped back on his settee, rubbing his hand wearily across his forehead. "Andrea had totally stricken the past from her mind. I engaged a doctor from London, then, who said that her reaction was normal, considering what she had endured. The trauma had been so great that her mind was unable to accept reality. He told us not to force her memory to come back, that it would when she was ready. I was only too willing to comply, so grateful was I that she didn't recall the horrors she had witnessed. Afterward she was sometimes awakened by nightmares, but there were no further consequences. Except for her loss of memory and her voice, it was as if nothing had happened."
"Her voice?" Jason repeated, remembering the huskiness he had thought so seductive at the time.
"I think her throat was damaged somehow by her screaming. Or it could have been from the ropes. There was a noose around her neck when I found her. She was just a child."
A tear followed a grooved path down Burroughs's cheek as his head lolled back against the settee. There was total silence in the room for a time. When next he opened his eyes, he met the cold fury in Jason's.
"It became my life's goal to protect her," Burroughs continued. "I always feared Rafael would return for Andrea, but he was not my only concern. There was Regina Carlin, as well. She stood to inherit Jonathan's fortune and his share in the company, were anything to happen to Andrea. At first I didn't suspect that Regina had been involved in the murders, even though one of the pirates had confessed that a woman had helped arrange their entrance into Carlin House. But when Regina learned that Andrea had survived, she came to me and proposed a scheme that would result in her legal possession of Jonathan's holdings. She—I still find it hard to believe Jonathan's sister could be so vengeful—Regina wanted to declare Andrea insane, have her committed to an institution. When I refused, she did her best to make the world believe her lies about my ward."
"Which is how the rumors of Andrea's madness got started, I presume."
Burroughs nodded. "I threatened Regina then, thinking that would convince her to give up her plans. But I also insisted that Andrea be confined to the house. She was unhappy, of course. I fear I alienated her affections, even though I had the best possible motives. I did not think it would be necessary for long, just until we managed to capture Rafael. I hired men to guard her, to see that Rafael could never succeed with any plans he might still harbor."
"These were the same men who followed your ward to London?"
"The same. I insisted there always be someone nearby to protect her." He didn't mention that Lauren had objected to his patrols even more than her half sister had. Sighing, Burroughs added absently, "I suppose I could have moved her somewhere else, but Carlin House is easily defended if one is prepared. Jonathan built it to last for centuries. He intended to be king of his castle, and he was, for a time. At any rate, I told Andrea I was protecting her from smugglers who roamed the area—which was partly true. For centuries the cove below the cliff had been used for illicit activities. Jonathan had even capitalized on the trade at one time. There are hidden caves that are ideal for storage. It was there that Rafael . . ."
Now, the bite of the wind made Jason recall his intention of exploring the caves below him. The receding tide was at its lowest ebb, he noted with satisfaction. Tossing his greatcoat and coat on a slab, he clamped his makeshift torch between his teeth and leapt down the first step onto the footpath.
The path's entrance was marked by two shoulder-high boulders that huddled on the clifftop like silent sentries. The exit at the bottom angled off toward a short strip of beach that would be nearly submerged at high tide. To his far left, across the cove, was an identical stretch of sand, and from there a wider path—almost a road, in fact—wound like a gliding serpent from the sea.
The recent storm had added a freshness to the tang of salt and pungent odor of marine life, but it had also rendered the hewn path that led down the face of the cliff even more treacherous. The unlevel, slanting steps were slippery with rain and strewn with rocks. The rock overhang was even more of a challenge, for Jason was required to crouch down while closely hugging the cliff. By the time he reached the short drop to the beach, his shirt and waistcoat were damp with both sweat and salt spray.
On the beach, however, he was sheltered from the wind by the large rock formations, and he could see the channel that ran parallel to the cliff. The wide expanse of water was relatively calm behind the natural barrier of rock—and deep as well, Jason guessed. It would easily harbor a small ship and still be invisible except from directly above.
He couldn't access the yawning gap in the cliff wall except by swimming, but as he moved closer, he spied an adjacent entrance in the rock. After pausing to fire his torch with a flint, Jason squeezed his way through the narrow crevice and found himself balancing precariously on a ledge. It was far quieter here. Below him was sea water, gently swelling and lapping, and he could see the high-water marks on the walls of the cave.
The ledge was the only path. About a foot wide, it led toward the back of the cave, but a rough handrail of hewn rock made walking easy.
The ledge widened gradually after some ten yards and spilled out onto an almost level floor. As before, the path seemed to end, but the light from his torch showed Jason the entrance to a passageway set at an angle in the wall. The passage burrowed into the cliff rock and was scored with chisel marks, an indication that the opening had been widened by human hands.
As he entered the tunnel, his flame flickered and was reflected eerily from the damp walls. It steadied as he passed through a small cavern. The air was cool there, and still. Jason could hear only his own footsteps and a faint rumble made by the surf.
The caverns were numerous, he discovered, but none were large enough to accommodate much cargo. Except for the last. The Leucothea could have fit in the giant chamber four times over. Entering the vast subterranean vault, Jason instantly felt the cold—a bone-deep chill that permeated the very marrow. His small flame didn't begin to light the whole, nor did it reach the high ceiling, but the light was adequate for inspection. Jason easily discovered the entrance to another tunnel, sealed now with mortar and stone. And he found also the blackened char on the walls and dark splotches on the floor.
The largest stain was in the very center. As he moved over the spot, an icy draft fanned his face, causing his flame to sputter. For a moment, Jason saw his own huge shadow dancing spiritedly upon the wall. Then his torch steadied and the image fled. He didn't need to be told that this was where the Carlins had died in such horrible agony. Rafael and his crew had butchered Jonathan first, leaving him barely alive but reviving him time and again, forcing him to watch as they had their sport with his wife and young daughter.
There was nothing el
se in the cave. It was swept bare. With a grim set to his jaw, Jason left the vast cavern and made his way back through the tunnels, stopping only once when he caught the faint echo of an anguished cry. It wasn't repeated, though, and he attributed the strange sound to the distorted screech of an animal.
When he once again stood in the fading light of the winter day, he took a deep breath. The roar of the sea was almost deafening after the ghostly stillness of the underground vault. And it seemed warmer in the daylight, as well, even though he was immediately drenched with spray and buffeted by cold wind as he began the long climb to the top.
He didn't doubt Burroughs's story. The man's distress over his ward had seemed genuine, and his subsequent actions had appeared to prove his altruism: the Carlin ships had been dropped into Jason's lap as a prize to be guarded.
That first day, Jason remembered, the conversation had turned to control of the company. "You have no idea where your ward could be?" Jason had asked. "She has no friends or relatives in the States?"
Burroughs sighed. "No, none to my knowledge. I have no idea where she might have gone."
When Burroughs then suggested the possibility that she might not have survived, Jason was unable to keep the accusation from his tone. "And you have no interest in finding her alive, I gather," he said sharply.
The older man's face flushed in anger. "I resent that remark, Captain Stuart. I have always been concerned for Jonathan's daughter, just as I have always done the best I could for her, given the circumstances."
Jason clamped his mouth shut, repressing an oath. You all but smothered her with your inept guardianship, he wanted to rail. But instead, he listened as Burroughs outlined his plan.
"I became a partner in the company," Burroughs said, "because I was able to provide capital when it was badly needed. The Carlin Line had phenomenal success when Jonathan first founded it, but two years of unavoidable disasters at sea and some unwise investments of Jonathan's brought the company to the verge of collapse. I own half interest now, besides being responsible for the operation.
"My heart is not strong, though. I have been told that I may not have long to live. I had arranged with your father for you to marry my ward so that she would have protection after my passing. In addition, I wanted to hand the company over to someone who would be worthy of the Line. I wanted you as my successor, Captain. I did not make that decision quickly or without justification. Suffice it to say that I have been kept well informed of your exploits and that I am content in my choice." When Jason's expression remained grim, Burroughs held up a hand. "Wait, hear me out, I beg you."
He rose unsteadily from his settee and moved to sit behind a large baize-covered desk. It was his seat of power, the position from which he ran the vast shipping concern. Now it also served as a protective barrier to further physical violence on the part of his visitor.
"I hold myself greatly to blame for my ward running away. Indeed, I've made some grave mistakes in the past. Not the least was allowing my sister to marry Jonathan. But I cannot change matters now. And I am still determined to see that Regina will never profit in any manner from her actions. I would give you the company, but for the legalities involved. Yet there is a way, if you are willing to accept responsibility for my ward, as well as for the Carlin Line."
Jason regarded the portrait once more. "I am willing," he replied softly.
Burroughs nodded. "Jonathan left his share of the company to his daughter, but he left control to me. I have complete authority to act as I see fit. Even when she reaches her majority in a few years, I still retain control, unless she should marry with my approval. Then control goes to her husband. Jonathan meant for the company to stay in the family, to be passed on to his male heirs." Burroughs paused, eyeing Jason with deliberation.
Jason's eyes narrowed. "You are not," he said, his tone holding an unmistakable warning, "thinking of falsifying any documents to make it look as if a marriage took place?"
Burroughs shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I . . . I had hoped you would understand the importance of my ward's marriage. If she is alive, I would not wager on the chances of her remaining so for long. At best, she will spend the rest of her days locked away in a cell reserved for Bedlamites. You could not prevent it. Regina is determined to gain the Carlin Line, and she will be the girl's only relation when I am gone. The only way to protect, my ward, as I see it, is to provide her with a husband who would inherit, should anything happen to her. A marriage by proxy could be arranged, one that would be recognized in any court of law."
There was an undertone of suppressed fury in Jason's voice when he replied. "You will recall, Burroughs, that your ward didn't wish a marriage of any kind. Your scheme would not only deny her the freedom of choice, but would cause me to forfeit any chance to win her regard. I want her for my wife, but I intend to manage it on my own."
"I don't have time for such scruples, Captain. I must keep the Carlin Line out of Regina's reach."
"Then do so by some other means."
"Perhaps I should find someone else whose thinking concurs with mine."
Jason's jaw clenched savagely. "You are free to do whatever you like with respect to Regina and the Carlin Line, but if you so much as consider another candidate for your false alliance to your ward, I'll send every last one of the Carlin ships to the bottom of the sea!"
His threat was absorbed in complete silence, but the ferocity in his eyes was enough to erase any possible doubt that he meant what he said. After a moment, Jason schooled his features into an impassive mask and leaned back in his chair. "I am willing to see that both Jonathan's sister and Rafael are punished for their crimes," he remarked coolly, "in addition to taking responsibility for the Carlin Line. But I will handle your ward in my own way."
Burroughs nodded in resignation, realizing they were allied in purpose, if not in method. "Very well. But the will stipulates that controlling interest in the Carlin Line must remain in the family. Under those conditions I could not even offer you a partnership, at least not one where you would be in full control."
"Then sell me the Carlin ships."
Burroughs grew quite still, an arrested expression on his face. "It would work," he said slowly. "But we must set the price at a mere pittance. Otherwise Regina Carlin would be a rich woman if . . . Andrea is unable to claim her inheritance. One pound each should satisfy the legal requirements. Twenty-four pounds total."
"No. A hundred guineas for the lot."
Burroughs raised an eyebrow in query at the sudden gleam in Jason's eyes.
"Your ward will understand the significance," Jason replied cryptically.
She might understand, but would she forgive after what had happened between them? Jason asked himself now as he reached the end of his climb. Hauling himself over the clifftop, he once again stood beside the boulders. The blood-freezing chill of the caves had left him, yet he felt achingly bereft as he turned to gaze one last time upon the horizon. It was the same sensation of total loss that he had experienced when he had woken to find the girl gone, but just now he felt the ache so deeply in his soul that he had to clench his fists to keep from striking out at something. His knuckles showed white, and he honestly believed that if Rafael or Regina Carlin or even George Burroughs had been standing there before him, he could have torn each of them apart with his bare hands.
In the time since they had made their pact, Jason had developed a better understanding of George Burroughs. And after hearing the gruesome story, he had no trouble seeing why Burroughs blamed Regina and Rafael for the death of his sister and wanted them to be punished. Yet even bonded together as they were by a common cause, Jason could find no liking for the older man. True, he had an immense respect for Burroughs's business acumen. But Jason couldn't forgive him for driving a young woman into a savage world. Nor could he forgive himself.
Bitter laughter rumbled in his chest as he thought of what little satisfaction ownership of the Carlin Line had brought him. Burroughs had sunk every s
hilling of the company's worth into cargo and then sold the ships worth a king's ransom to him for a hundred guineas. A hundred guineas, the same sum Carlin's daughter had named as her price.
Jason laughed again grimly as he recalled the hours before meeting her, when he had thought himself willing to sacrifice his own personal happiness for an arranged marriage and the challenge of the Carlin Line. She might never believe that he would have married her without the inducement of her fortune, or that now he would have traded it all away instantly for the simple assurance that she was safe and well.
Then perhaps he might never even find the young woman who now owned his heart. He strongly doubted that she would return to claim her rightful inheritance until she was free of her guardian. And with such a childhood behind her, she might prefer to remain in hiding forever. It was also possible, Jason knew, that by his own actions he had destroyed his dream of a quiet hearthside with children playing at his feet and his wife's golden head resting on his shoulder. He had taken her by force, raped her. It could be called nothing else.
There were any number of reasons to despair of ever achieving what he now wanted most in life. But to be denied even the attempt . . . Jason swore violently, although it did nothing to lighten the burden of his conscience or ease the pain in his heart.
Part II
To Love, To Lie
Chapter Six
New Orleans, 1816
The levee along the northern bank of the great mud-laden Mississippi at New Orleans had been painstakingly erected almost a century before in order to protect lives and property from the flooding waters of the mighty river, but now the levee was vital to commerce as well. Even in winter the batture upstream of the Place d'Armes was lined with flatboats and keelboats and other small vessels. Frequently, sailing ships or even a steamboat, that wondrous new testament to man's ingenuity, could be seen anchored at the square. During the warmer seasons, the levee was the site of bustling activity, the hubbub attesting to the continuing expansion of a primitive riverport into a significant center of trade. Scores of sailors and stevedores swarmed over the levee, vying for space with merchandise of all kinds, and both animal and human beasts of burden crowded the wharf below.
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