A Season Beyond a Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “I did find the message, gov’na, just as ye thought, an’ after takin’ a looksee at it, I can understand why ye were so afraid o’ what ye’d loose if’n it fell inta the wrong hands, yer life at the very least. No doubt, it would’ve served England’s enemies well, what wit’ it reportin’, amonst other things, the weaknesses in his majesty’s military defenses. Too bad it bore the signatures o’ ye an’ yer two companions. If not for that, ye needn’t have gone ta so much bother tryin’ ta get it back.”

  “Such knowledge could bring about your death, Frye,” the gravelly voice warned.

  “Oh, aye! I knows that for sure, gov’na. That’s why I haven’t talked ta another soul about it until now, milord.”

  “You certainly took your own sweet time getting the news to me. Nell has been dead for over a month.”

  “I had ta work up me courage, gov’na, seein’s as how I left London wit’out tellin’ ye, an’ all. I was afraid ye’d cut me up wit’ that knife o’ yers, but I finally decided ta take me chances an’ tell it ta ye outright, like the honest man that I am.”

  Lord Marsden laughed disparagingly. “Somehow I just can’t believe you, Frye. You know as well as I do that you’re not very honest at all.”

  “Now would I seek ye out if’n I didn’t mean ta give ye the parchment?”

  Though his lordship was suspicious of an ulterior motive, he was nevertheless curious. “Where did you find the missive? In Barrett’s personal coffer as I had once thought it might be?”

  “Aye, gov’na, but it took more’n just openin’ the lid ta find it. I scratched me noggin many an hour puzzlin’ o’er that box, but then, I had time on me hands sailin’ all the way from England. If’n ye hadn’t suggested ‘ere might be a hidden compartment in the box, I’da’ve given up long afore I found it. Nearly took me two an’ half months ta finally figger out how ta get inta the damned thing, but ‘ere it were, just like ye’d said, right in the bottom o’ the box, the very same ye tried ta get inta afore ye stabbed poor Nell.”

  The cloaked form turned aside to gaze upon the moonlit scene stretching out beyond the window. “I thought it would be there,” he murmured thoughtfully, “but after framing Barrett on treasonous charges and having my claims deemed ludicrous by many of his peers and those in much higher places, I was afraid to even go near his estate for fear his friends would be watching. You were my last resort, and of course, when you managed to get into Barrett’s cell with claims of being his brother-in-law, I had high hopes that you’d be able to find what we were searching for.” Once again the menacing figure faced the shaggy-haired fellow, but now his hissing voice was imbued with a caustic sneer. “I never expected you to bungle your visit and kill him before you had the missive well within your grasp.”

  Frye protested. “How was I ta know the poison would work on him as fast as it did? I thought I’d have plenty o’ time ta question him. I gave it ta him in a little wine just like ye said, an’ then, followed yer directions ta the letter by informin’ him o’ what I’d done an’ promisin’ him an antidote if’n he’d give me the paper or, at the very least, tell me where it were ta be found, but the poison barely hit his belly an’ then he was gone.” Frye snapped his finger to lend emphasis to his declaration. “ ‘At fast, damn him!”

  “No, ‘tis you who’ll likely be damned, Frye, for being the conniving scoundrel you are,” the hooded one countered. “You not only turn on your foes, but your friends as well. My companions and I didn’t realize you weren’t to be trusted when you overheard us talking and offered us a solution to our dilemma. You took our money and then you turned right around and encouraged Lady Barrett to leave England. Now I’ve heard enough of your feeble excuses . . .”

  “She was gonna flee the country anyway,” Frye declared in an anxious rush. “She couldn’t bear the jeers o’ e’en the common folk livin’ ’round where she’d taken a cottage. I knows that for a fact. One o’ ’em threw a cabbage at me whilst I was visitin’ the Barretts an’ nearly knocked me cross-eyed. I did everythin’ a bloke could’ve done in a situation like that. Didn’t I convince Evalina Barrett that I were her own brother? Do ye think that were easy?” Frye got himself so worked up in exaggerating his excuses, tears of misery sprang into his eyes. His knobby chin even quivered. “I’ve been livin’ as Cooper Frye so long now sometimes I don’t e’en remember me own name!”

  “By the way, what is your real name? We never got around to that.”

  “Fenton . . . Oliver Fenton.”

  It mattered not a whit to the man who heard it. “Well, Fenton, where is the missive now?”

  Oliver Fenton still had a card he hadn’t played yet. “Seein’s as how ye an’ yer friends were so anxious ta get it into yer thankful li’l grasp months ago, I thought we could come ta some kind o’ new agreement ’bout what ye’d be willin’ ta pay ta get it back.”

  “Be warned, Fenton,” the visitor rumbled. “I’ll not tolerate being skimmed by the likes of you again.”

  “When have I e’er . . . ?”

  “You took payment from me and my friends, Prescott and Havelock, and we trusted you to find the letter that had fallen into Barrett’s hands. We paid you a goodly sum and promised you more.” His voice hardened. “The first portion you guzzled down in England in spite of the fact that you produced absolutely nothing to appease our fears. Now I can only wonder what more you may be wanting.”

  “Only what ye promised me, milord, an’ a li’l bit more ta allow me ta buy a proper pub . . .”

  “What?” The darkly cloaked one scoffed in rampant disbelief. “For you to drink up all the profits? Where is the message you found?”

  “In safekeepin’, milord.”

  The knife pressed against Frye’s throat again, this time drawing blood. “Tell me where it is, damn you.”

  “If’n ye kill me, milord, ye’ll ne’er find it. It’s in someone else’s safekeepin’ an’ should they hear o’ me death, they’ll be takin’ it ta the Barrett girl . . . or, as she’s known now, Mrs. Birmin’am.”

  “The devil, you say!” Marsden barked. “Why would you have it sent to her? From what I hear, she and that Yankee husband of hers forbade you to even set foot on their plantation, much less allow you to approach them here in Charleston.”

  “Ye could say I owes the girl one for poisonin’ her pa an’ lettin’ her ma starve. Besides, after I’m dead, it won’t matter ta me anymore that I don’t have any money. That’ll be the only good I’ll be leavin’ behind me.” The seaman chortled. “ ‘Sides, she an’ her mister ain’t likely gonna be the ones what’ll kill me. Fine, upstandin’ people, they are.”

  Lord Marsden saw the logic in the man’s reasoning and sensed that this time Fenton wouldn’t be moved from his stand. And why should he? In this case, he had the upper hand. If the girl received the missive, she would definitely see that it was carried swiftly back to England by reputable barristers, and they, in turn, would set about clearing her father’s name and condemning those guilty of not only framing him but of treasonous acts against the crown.

  Abruptly Marsden removed the knife. “So, Fenton! How much more do you want, and how do you intend to carry out this trade so each of us can be assured that we won’t suffer the consequences of trusting the other?”

  “I want at least five thousand more.”

  A long silence answered him as his lordship limped slowly away. His rasping voice spoke from across the room. “Go on.”

  “Now I knows if’n I don’t keep me end o’ the bargain, ye’ll be comin’ after me, lookin’ for blood. That, so to speak, will warrant me good behavior. As for meself, I want ye ta send yer servant wit’ the five thousand Yankee dollars ta the name o’ the cat house what I’ll be directin’ ye ta. Once there, yer man will be given further instructions as ta where ta go. After I have the money in hand, he’ll receive the message in a wooden box that’ll be sealed ta keep yer secrets secure. Then I’ll send yer steward home ta ye in a carriage.”

  “That re
ally doesn’t guarantee that I’ll be getting the missive after you get your money. There must be a better way to handle this matter.”

  “I knows what ye can do wit’ that ‘ere knife o’ yers, gov’na, an’ I also knows other things ye can do, like runnin’ for the sheer pleasure o’ it. Now, ta tell ye the truth, I ain’t ne’er seen that afore. But then, I guess that’s what keeps ye fit an’ happy, likin’ peculiar things like that.” Fenton laughed briefly. “Ye can bet I ain’t gonna be around long after I receives me money. An’ just ta keep ye satisfied it’s been a fair trade, I’m gonna keep me word for a change. Maybe then ye won’t be o’ a mind ta comes after me wit’ that big knife o’ yers.”

  The grating voice finally responded. “You may live beyond this night after all, Fenton. Just be careful to do exactly as you have said. Otherwise, I won’t rest until I’ve seen your carcass buried in a slime pit.”

  The door closed behind the darkly cloaked visitor, and Oliver Fenton finally slumped away from the headboard and let his breath out in a long sigh of relief. Throwing himself from the bed, he poured himself a stout drink and tossed it down with a flip of his wrist. He lit a lamp and, for a moment, considered his shaking hands. One thing was for sure, he was getting too damned old to be scared out of his wits.

  Stumbling footfalls in the hallway made him stiffen in sudden apprehension. He could only think that his lordship had had a change of heart and would be concluding the matter with a murderous deed, but the voice of the fellow passing the room was slurred from heavy imbibing.

  Fenton released his breath for a second time in so many minutes, deciding it was only a drunk searching for a vacant bed in the boardinghouse. He had no wish to endure the presence of another in his rented room, and, to forestall such a possibility, stepped to the door, opened it and peered out. He had closed it again and was about to lock it when the plank was shoved suddenly inward by a brawny shoulder. Stumbling back with a gasp of surprise, Fenton gaped at the two men who approached him with knives drawn. He let out a blood-curdling scream as he was seized, but the sound was effectively silenced by a deep slit across his throat. His eyes widened as he realized it hadn’t been his lucky day after all. He gulped, gurgling up blood, and then toppled forward to the floor.

  In the yard outside, a cloaked form came around with a start as a shriek of terror filled the night. His eyes searched out and found the room in which he had just visited, and as he watched in gathering dread, two men immediately began crawling out through the windows. They scrambled across the roof and as one paused to throw down an object that looked very much like a knife, the other one dropped to the ground below. Both left as quickly as they had appeared.

  A woman’s scream pierced the stillness of the night. “Fetch the sheriff! Cooper Frye’s been killed!”

  The dark shade turned and hurriedly limped into the trees. He knew where he must go now.

  23

  THE GARDEN WAS DAMP WITH THE MORNING DEW. Behind him the house his uncle owned was silent as a tomb. After a midday Sunday feast, his relatives had retired to the drawing room to play whisk. Personally he had never had too much interest in those card games and looked in on his older brother, who had ensconced himself in the library. No entertaining diversions to be found there, he thought. Finally he wandered out into the garden to have a look around the mansion that had been handed down through a long line of ancestors. A wrought-iron gate separating the neighboring grounds lent strong evidence of an abiding friendship between the two landowners. Beyond it, he had occasionally glimpsed a little, auburn-haired girl playing with her dolls and cat in the adjoining garden. The animal was ever wont to come slinking through the ornate gate to investigate the neighbors’ softly tilled soil. Appearing quite large with its gray, puffed fur nearly standing on end, the feline usually poked its pink nose into this and that until she found a suitable spot. Today, the cat came to sniff around his polished riding boots. Rubbing herself against the fine leather, she purred as if pleading to be picked up. Willingly he complied and scratched her behind the ear just as he had always done with the cats back home. Upon hearing the creak of metal, he glanced up to find the little girl, with a tentative smile upon her face, standing near the open gate as she peered about inquisitively. A butterfly soared close overhead, and squealing in glee, she held out a hand as she chased after it.

  He chuckled at her efforts. “You’ll never catch them like that, little miss.”

  The girl seemed startled by his voice and, looking around, gazed up at him with a curious frown. She saw her cat in his arms, and her aqua blue eyes twinkled back at him, as if that made him acceptable.

  “Here now, let’s get you home before your parents have to come looking for you,” he gently admonished, sweeping her onto his shoulder. She gave a little cry, as if afraid of being so high, and grabbed a handful of his hair to secure her lofty perch. An auburn ringlet tumbled down around her lace collar as she looked down at him. She managed a hesitant grin and then a nervous giggle.

  It began to rain, a gentle misting rain that dampened her curls and his uplifted, smiling face.

  JEFF BOLTED UPRIGHT, ABRUTPLY SNATCHED FROM HIS dreams. That’s when his head exploded. “Damn!” he muttered in agony and clasped the heels of his hands to his temples as he bellowed, “Rhys! What the devil did you do to me?”

  A soft chuckle from nearby made Jeff squint against the glare of the lantern that hung in the aisle between the cells. His eyes probed the gloom beyond the circle of light until he espied the young rapscallion who had started all of this.

  “Afternoon, Birmin’am,” Olney greeted with a cocky grin. “How ye feelin’ this evenin’? Maybe ye don’t know it, but ye’ve been out for quite a while. In fact, the sheriff was of a mind ta think ye were gonna sleep clean through till morn’n. Guess he figgered it was safe ta leave ye.”

  “Be quiet, Olney,” Jeff snapped. In spite of the throbbing in his head, he swept his gaze carefully about the confines of the jailhouse and found it empty save for Olney and himself. Though he was sure his head would likely come off, he staggered to the cell door and reached out to shove it open. Much to his amazement, it wouldn’t budge. Angrily he shook it and then, leaning his forehead close against the bars, peered down the narrow corridor leading to the back of the building. “Dammit, Rhys, come open this door!” he railed at the top of his lungs. “You have no reason to keep me locked up in here!”

  The curly-haired scalawag sniggered in amusement and, lying back upon his bunk, folded his arms beneath his head and crossed his stockinged ankles. “The sheriff an’ his deputy went out a while ago. Someone came flyin’ in here, sayin’ a man had gots his throat cut at some boardin’house. ‘Ere’s just ye an’ me here now, Birmin’am. Yep, the ways I figures it, Sheriff Rhys wanted ta keep ye for a spell, maybe just ta show ye who’s boss.”

  “I’ll show him who’s boss,” Jeff promised with a snarl, eyeing the ring of keys hanging on a lofty hook across the narrow hall. He stumbled back to the cot, picked it up and promptly smashed it to the floor, breaking off a wooden leg. Flipping it over, he proceeded to kick off the rest of the supports and then used one to break apart the frame.

  All of this was enough to make Olney sit up on the side of his bed and chortle. “I always knew ye had a bad temper, Birmin’am.”

  “You haven’t seen the half of it yet, Olney,” Jeff assured him, finally freeing a side frame from the cot. It was just about the right size, slightly longer than he was tall.

  Jeff took up the rail and stepped back to the bars of his cell. Sliding the piece of wood through the iron barriers, he grasped one end firmly and, slipping his free hand through another section of bars, maneuvered the end of his makeshift pole until he had positioned it just beneath the ring of keys hanging from a peg on the far side of the corridor. Fishing around until he had the end of the shaft in the circlet, he took his time easing the ring off the dowel. He grinned broadly in satisfaction as the metal loop slid downward along the wooden shank, right in
to his grasp.

  Olney had watched in rapt attention for the last few moments. Now he closed his mouth, realizing it had plummeted open in surprise. Perceiving some hope for his own escape, he approached the bars of his cubicle as Jeffrey unlocked his cell door and stepped out. The rascal licked his lips, already tasting the freedom that could be his if he could only get the other man to comply. “Eh, Birmin’am, how ’bout lettin’ me out, too. I really didn’t do anythin’ deservin’ o’ bein’ locked away for years ta come . . .”

  “What about attempted murder?” Jeff asked curtly. “As my butler can attest, you tried to kill me when you and the rest of Gustav’s brigands forced your way into my house.”

  “Oh, but that were just a bloomin’ accident, Birmin’am,” Olney cajoled and reached out a hand imploringly, hoping the man would relent. “Please, ye’ve gotta understand. I didn’t mean ta shoot ye. Me pistol just went off by itself.”

  Jeff clasped the ring of keys in his hand and, taking aim, sent them sailing back to the peg from whence they had come. Then he settled his hands on his lean hips and shook his head sorrowfully as if sorely lamenting his perfect bull’s-eye. “Now I really didn’t mean to do that, Olney. I’m sorry. They just landed there by accident.”

  Olney snorted, sounding much like a bull elephant. “Yeah! Sure! An’ ye’re a black-hearted liar, Birmin’am.”

  Realizing his headache had eased, Jeff decided he felt remarkably well and content with himself, at least enough to toss a grin toward the young miscreant as he strode past his cell. “Like you, Olney?”

  HER CAT BOUNDED ALONG BESIDE HER AS SHE TOTTERED past flowers taller than she. Musicians were playing in the neighbor’s yard where a number of guests had collected, luring her ever onward to the garden gate. Through the ornate filigree adorning the iron barrier she espied several couples swirling about the marble terrace adjoining the elegant mansion. Entranced with a childlike fascination for fairy tales, knights in shining armor, and beautiful ladies, she watched the graceful dancing, her small body swaying to the music. Her cat purred as it brushed against her skirts. Inquisitively the animal turned to peer into the adjoining garden, and then, with lithe grace, leapt through the bars. The feline paused to investigate a recently tilled flower bed near the opening before sauntering leisurely onward to other areas, by slow degrees nearing the cluster of people who sat in a group near one corner of the terrace.