"I suppose your mother told you?"
"She says I should not permit it. You will make me a laughing stock."
"Your mother is a spiteful harpy."
"At least there is one sensible soul with my interests at heart," he said. "I doubt you have any good to say of me in this book of yours. The Rogue’s Repentance, eh? Is this your vengeance?"
"Naturally you think I write about you."
He touched the scar on my chin and commanded, "Give me your lips."
I leaned forward. "Give me your knife then."
"You are relentless."
"When I see something I want, I take, remember?"
Instead he threw the knife so that it stuck in a wooden beam, out of my reach, and then he rolled over. "Now ‘tis my turn and I…want...you." Protesting only faintly, I succumbed to his demands, soon forgetting that knife, lost in the pleasure he wrought with other weapons. For now, the issue of trust was thrown aside, like his knife. In daily life he exhibited a stern reserve, still learning to be playful, but in these private moments he was wildly enthusiastic for games. And with all that restless strength arching over me, devouring me, I no longer cared about other women in his past. I was there with him now and – oh – I had his full attention.
* * * *
When I woke, he was already up, tidying his room in a half-hearted way. Many thoughts and feelings fluttered their fledgling wings, as I lay in that warm bed, inhaling his scent. Some spiteful creature, gaining access to my heart, began to rip little pieces off it; yet I was very happy with the sun warming my bare back. I was almost deliriously happy. I feared it couldn’t last.
So I rebuked myself for being such easy prey. For now I held his fancy and satisfied his demon lust, but he was a Carver and a sailor – the worst combination there might be.
I watched him for a while, before he knew my eyes were open. Lifting my gown from the floor, he examined the torn laces and shook his head, as if it were someone else’s fault, not his. Finally he looked up to catch me awake. Before either of us could speak, there was a knock at his door and he went to answer it. I heard a man’s voice, deep and soft with a curious lilt; then the door closed again and Will tossed my shift across the bed.
"’Tis my first mate, Quill," he explained. "I should like you to meet him." Only then did he notice my tears. "What the Devil ails you now?"
As I had no answer to give, I ignored the question and quickly began to dress. I needed his help with the corset laces, but his fingers were clumsy and slow – even more so on that morning, while he struggled to make sense of my tears, which were as mystifying to him as my laces. When he was finally done, I walked to the window and looked down onto the busy wharf below, feigning disinterest in his visitor.
He flung open his door to admit a small, sun-browned fellow with a head of lush white hair. His step was lively, his eyes heavily-lidded, cunning and dark. Something about his face made me think he smiled, even though his lips did not. In his gloved hand he carried an orange. I knew what it was, having seen one once at the Widow Tuppenham’s house.
Halting before me, his face paled. "Gra…Gracious! I did not expect company, Captain."
"’Tis not company, Quill. ‘Tis my wife. And ‘tis time you met her, in any case." Will chuckled. "You are the reason this whole thing began."
Now I was a "thing" again.
"This is Quill," he said to me, "be polite to him please and do not bite."
The first mate advanced a few steps, still doubtful. "It is my pleasure indeed to make your acquaintance, madam," he said in that strange lilting voice, lowering his owl-like gaze to my hands.
I said nothing. Will explained that I was in a "woman’s mood" and reached over to tweak my nose. Scowling, I slapped his hand away. This false jollity was apparently his way of ignoring my tears. He took the orange from Quill’s outstretched hand and gave it to me, in the manner of an adult passing a distracting treat to a child. "Perhaps, madam, I might offer you this orange to sweeten your temper," he whispered.
I thought I might throw it at his fat head instead. The orange skin was oily, already leaving a residue on my hands and when I sniffed it at, I was immediately reminded of the potted trees by the sunny wall at Souls Dryft.
While they studied their maps, forgetting me, I walked back to the window with my present and slyly took a bite. It was hard, the skin bitter. A squirt of fiery juice stung my eye, and I cursed loudly.
"Not like that, woman!" Laughing, Will came over and took it out of my hands. "See?" With deft fingers, he peeled away the rough skin and then used his thumbs to open the fruit. It fell apart in segments, with which he then proceeded to feed me, as if I were a pet bird.
Quill watched all this in bemused silence, before urging my husband back to their business. I snatched the remaining fruit from Will’s hands, and he reluctantly returned to the maps spread upon the desk.
Examining Quill’s profile, I could not guess his age; he could be anything from fifty to eighty. His nose was long, thin and hooked, his lips full and well shaped, but his brows were ragged and those eyes, sleepy in appearance, were scheming in function. As they talked, he occasionally looked over at me, something brewing in his mind. From what little I understood of their conversation, they planned another trip soon.
"You are going away again?" I demanded, tired of being ignored.
"Soon. If she is mended on time."
I leaned over Will’s shoulder, insinuating myself between him and his dratted maps. "She?"
"The ship," he explained, carefully shifting his papers away from my sticky fingers. Hitching myself up onto the desk, I asked why he did not take me with him and he replied, "There is no place for a woman on my ship."
I swung my feet. "There has never been one on your ship, even for a few hours?" I was no innocent fool and knew all about sailors, of course.
He slyly watched my ankles, forgetting his maps. "If I could take you, I would," he muttered, "just to keep an eye on you."
I turned to his first mate. "Are you not married, Quill?"
"Sakes no!"
"Quill has too much good sense." Will chuckled.
I ignored him. "You are the one who told this fool about me, Quill? How did you know I existed?"
My husband interrupted dryly, "Your infamy was known far and wide, I expect." He captured one swinging ankle in his firm grip.
"Please, Captain," said Quill, "the lady must be curious about the man who spends so much time with her husband."
I curtly agreed, "More time than I do."
Clearing his throat, Quill proceeded to recite his excuse like any well-practiced lie. "I knew Baron Deptford had a widowed niece living in Yarmouth. Captain Carver owed the Baron a debt and sought a bride. It seemed a fair solution."
"Satisfied, woman?" my husband demanded, bemused. With no reply, I took one of his maps from the desk and pretended to study it. With his hand around my ankle, he forgot to yell at me for touching his things; instead, he leaned back in his chair, watching me. Quill studied the Captain now, his eyes concerned.
Later, when Will left us alone for several minutes to order luncheon, the first mate seized his chance. He spoke quietly, every word annunciated in his peculiar way. "You distract the Captain, madam, from his duties." He shook his finger at me, like a father admonishing a child. "He barely pays heed to business when you are near. This is how accidents occur. You may cause him hurt, when I wanted only to right wrongs."
"What wrongs?"
He added sorrowfully, "Alas, mischievous devils made me speak when I should have been silent."
"Precisely! You put him up to it, Quill."
Abruptly our conversation was ended because Will returned.
After luncheon, Quill left us, bowing over my grudgingly proffered hand, saying again how "elated" he was to meet me at last. I muttered a sulky, "Likewise." Evidently his mind was made up about me; my opinion of him equally dubious.
"He is a good man," Will said. "We have sailed thro
ugh many storms together."
But I did not trust the fellow; even the way he spoke hid something. "What is his full name?" I asked.
He considered, screwing up his brow with the effort. "Just Quill. ‘Tis the only name I have ever known him use. Why?"
"No matter." It galled me that he trusted a man like that, while I – an innocent woman — was always suspected of dark motives. "Quill thinks I am a distraction," I added, watching him roll up his maps. "I would not want to be a weight around your neck, Captain."
"Too late," he muttered distractedly.
I threw one of my shoes at him. Although he ducked, it still nicked his shoulder. "You are the most unchivalrous, ungallant man I ever encountered!"
He protested, "You are angry with me again now? Please tell me why, so that I need not negotiate the wandering lanes of your muddled little mind, to guess the cause." I turned away, but in the next moment I was captured, hauled back against his body, his thick arms crushing the breath out of me. "Kiss me," he commanded, laughing, making sport of my temper again. "Did you save some of that sweet juice for me? I smell some on you." I resisted, because he had enough of my kisses already, but he pressed his lips to my cheek, whispering, "I see ‘tis time I laid down some rules." While I squirmed, he continued, "I will not hear another curse word from you."
"Hell and Damnation!"
"You will not be uncivil to my friends."
"He was uncivil to me!"
"You will not throw things at me, when you do not get your own way."
Finally picking his fingers open, I won my release. "And how shall you make me follow all these damned rules?"
"Each transgression will cost you a penny of your allowance."
So he thought I was conquered. Well, he was in for a surprise.
"And you will curb that temper of yours," he added. "No doubt you got it from your Spaniard father."
I was incensed. He would never dare speak to his fine mistress this way. "I think I should return to Lady Talbot’s house," I snapped.
That wiped the self- satisfied smirk from his face. "For what?"
"I am in your way. Distracting you."
He demanded to know what I meant to say. "I am not one for riddles," he said grumpily.
How could I put it into words, this frustration boiling away inside me? He cracked his knuckles now, waiting. "’Tis just a mood – as you said. It will pass, I suppose. Take me back to Lady Talbot’s house."
"And what do I do tonight, without you?"
"What you do every other night, without me." It was a question, as much as an accusation, but he heard only the latter.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Lady Talbot enjoyed her daily purging tonic on the terrace, sheltered from the afternoon sun by a tasseled shade held over her by the devoted Ambleforthe, who, sweating profusely, never wavered from his duty.
"What a lovely day this has turned out to be," she exclaimed. "It has put me in a very merry mood, has it not, Ambleforthe?"
"Indeed it has, m’lady."
"So much so, that I am inclined to accept an invitation I would not usually honor with a second glance."
Hermione Whitlocke – the woman whose wig she disparaged yesterday at the wedding – was hosting a masked banquet that evening, at her house along the Strand. "It is not far to travel, the weather is fine and I feel spring in my bones," she said. "I am invited to bring a guest, and I should like you to come."
All London was caught up in the news, recently announced, that the new Queen Jane was with child. Prayers were said for her good health, and bonfires were lit in the King’s honor. Such glad tidings were good excuse for a party, and there was always need of such after the fasts of Lent.
"Where have you been all this time?" she asked, blinking under her shady canopy. "I missed your company at breakfast. Were you unwell?"
"No, Lady Talbot. I sent word to you that my husband had returned. Have you forgot?"
Her memory jolted, the old lady exclaimed, "The pirate who kidnapped you? Is there nothing you can do to escape his wicked clutches, my dear?"
"I fear not."
She drew back. "He must have something in his favour then."
Thinking a moment, I agreed that he did have very good teeth.
"Teeth, indeed?" she exclaimed. "Never had much use for teeth. I remember, I had a wooden set in the year 1495. A blessed dog ran orf with ‘em." She shook her head, quite content with the few grey pegs she yet possessed. "I stay away from tough meat and unripe fruit, my dear, and manage well enough."
Soon her thoughts turned from the subject of my strange marriage to that of her granddaughter’s. The new couple had left for Bedfordshire with the Earl already and would go on to Norfolk in another month or so. "My granddaughter was not very excited at the prospect," she said, "although the ungrateful chit should be glad to reclaim her father’s house."
I agreed, laughing inwardly.
"Now, my dear," said Lady Talbot excitedly, "we must choose a mask for you for tonight. What think you, Ambleforthe? Which mask will best suit?"
The manservant wriggled his brows, giving his reply a great deal of consideration. "Something with feathers, m’lady?"
She clasped her gnarled hands together and cried, "Perfection! An exotic rare bird, which is, indeed, just what she is! Ambleforthe, what would I do without you?"
"You would die, m’lady," he replied solemnly. "Someone would doubtless do away with you, if I were not here to prevent it."
She chortled merrily, reaching up to squeeze his chin until his eyes watered.
* * * *
As it was a warm night, with no threat of rain, the masked banquet sprawled out of the house and across the torch-lit lawn. There were jugglers, acrobats and minstrels wandering about, even a woman who would tell your fortune for a farthing. Anyone who was anyone was in attendance – and quite a few nobodies too, according to Lady Talbot.
Accompanied by Ambleforthe, we made our way through the masked partygoers, Lady Talbot using her walking cane to clear a path, striking it vigorously across knees and calves with fearless aplomb. There was an excess of flirty blinking going on under all those fanciful masks and I was caught up in the mischief, imaging how much trouble an Adventuress might encounter, while disguised.
While in search of a chair for Lady Talbot, I ran into Frances – clearly identifiable under a mask of peacock feathers and, of course, little bells.
"I did not think you would be here," she lisped, implying I came without an invitation. I asked if her husband was with her this evening.
"No," she replied. "He is in a melancholy and would not come out."
Our pleasantries complete, I prepared to move on, but she suddenly drew me into her confidence again. Apparently, Hugh had hoped to be granted a certain post at court, but the King had given it to another man. That recent evening at Lady Talbot’s, I’d heard Hugh boast of some sinecure he hoped to attain.
She sighed, her little bosom heaving. "I wish Hugh would know that I love him, no matter what his post." Her lips quivered fearfully and her eyes, behind her mask, grew damp.
Knowing how Hugh got away with doing the very minimum with his life, I very much doubted he wanted that post. He was probably pushed for it by her ambitious father. Hugh was lucky he had Frances who loved him – at least for now — but he did not appreciate it and had, in my hearing, referred to her as goosegrass that could not be shook off. I pondered the blubbering Frances, amazed that so much water could sprout from one petite form.
"Oh look!" she sputtered, pointing, "Is that not Aloysius?"
He was unmistakable, his stride both forceful and clumsy, like that of a blind man who thumbs his nose at caution. Quickly I stepped into the shadow of the hedge. The mischievous imps that lived in my belly began to dance a jig. I was all a-tingle, like one of Frances’ little bells. Would he know me in my feathered mask? I made up my mind to flirt with him as a stranger and see what happened.
Muttering a hasty goodbye to
Frances, I slid through a gap in the hedge, expecting to find an exit further along, where I might surprise the Captain. But once I had gone some distance in the dark, making several unexpected turns, I realized this was not merely a hedge, but a maze. The noise from the lawn, muffled by the thick hedge, was a low tumble of voices, interspersed with the occasional tinkling laughter. No one else had wandered into the maze that evening and I was alone. I walked slowly; my fingertips rustling the hedge, until at last, finding an exit, I stepped out onto the lawn.
He was apart from the crowd, but standing with a woman. They conversed; his head bent down to her. She laughed, reaching out to brush his arm with her long fingers. They were too involved in one another to see me behind them.
So this is what he did without me.
I was sure I saw him smile and then…then she lifted her hand to his face. Her lips drew into a pout, expecting a kiss, or about to take one, and I could bear it no longer. Ripping my mask aside, I ran up to them, took hold of her sleeve and whirled her around. Here again was Katherine Asher – she of the little portrait, the inconstant heart and the Greener Pastures.
My unfaithful husband proceeded with some falsehood, stammering over it, because he was such a bad liar. I dealt with the brazen hussy first.
"This man belongs to me, madam. Find yourself another. To be sure there are some who do not mind another man’s leavings."
Her eyes popped out, as if on stalks. "How dare—?"
"Step aside at once, or you will feel the sting of my anger across your painted, harlot cheeks!"
"Gracious, Will," she purred, "where did you find this creature?"
Will? Will?
So I drew back and slapped her hard. Well, I did warn her. Every eye turned to watch, every conversation halted. The Harlot mewled like a babe, and the Betrayer now attempted to seize me by the arms, but I would have no more of his manhandling.
"As for you," I cried, "you speak to me of trust? Trust?" I spat the word. "Stay with your lover, if you can stand to be her plaything when it suits her. I hope she breaks your heart. Damn you!"
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