by Wylde, Anya
Philbert did get the message, but it only seemed to fire up the creative wheels inside his large bony head. Celine watched in horror as he pulled out a violin and started playing it directly below her window. It was clear Philbert had never played the violin before in his life, but he had decided now was the time to try and take a stab at it.
Celine emptied a few buckets of water on the poet’s head in order to deter him.
He was not deterred. Instead, he attacked the violin with renewed energy and frantic glee. His hands moved the bow rapidly over strings while water droplets sprayed from his hair like a dog shaking its coat after a long swim in a pond.
Celine tried begging, placating and even threatening him. She tried everything she could to make him see sense and leave her alone.
Philbert, in turn, spoke of his everlasting love and how this time it truly was everlasting. Poets, he informed her, had sensitive souls and romance and misery was their food and air.
Celine banged her head against the window in frustration until finally she had to ask the duke to do something. The persistent poet was driving her insane.
The duke picked him up and threw him into a carriage. The carriage now containing Philbert was sent to the other side of town to be deposited at a respectable inn.
Celine sighed in relief. Never again, she swore, would she fall in love with a poet. She also had to confess some of the facts to Penelope who was thankfully sympathetic and too distracted by roasted carrots to dig deeper into the matter.
With Philbert gone, an entire day went by without another incident. It was the next afternoon that Celine watched Philbert crawl back towards the Blackthorne Mansion. This time Philbert was more careful. He kept watch like a wild animal poised on hind legs, nose sniffing the air for a scent of danger. And every so often he would aim a flower or a poem wrapped around a pebble at Celine’s bedroom window.
Which was why Celine had avoided the bedroom all day. But now it was bedtime. She tiptoed into the room and with the help of Gwerful and a single candle, changed into her nightclothes. She slipped into bed, pulled the sheets over her head and closed her eyes tight. She didn’t think she would sleep a wink, but she did. Within a few minutes she was asleep and dreaming of poetry spouting poets chasing after her in a large green field.
It was past midnight when someone scratched at her window and woke her up.
Celine moaned into the pillow.
She decided that she had had enough. She would break the jade vase on Philbert’s head. His persistence had stretched every nerve in her body. Every time she saw his long, thin face she wanted to thwack him.
Another scratch at the window had her throwing back the quilt and scrambling out of bed. She lit the candle and clutching the jade vase tiptoed her way to the window. Her eyes were red and wild, her lips almost snarling in frustration.
She pushed open the curtains, unlatched the window and with a barely contained roar brought the vase down.
It landed not as she had expected on Philbert’s hard head.
Instead, it smashed into Nithercott’s softer one.
Chapter 29
“I am sorry,” Celine cried. “Did I hurt you? I thought it was Philbert. Oh, do come inside, Nithercott. I am awfully sorry about this.”
Nithercott hung upside down on the ivy clutching the tendrils for dear life. It took a few moments for his vision to clear. Thereafter, he smiled apologetically and climbed in through the window.
“It is fine,” he said wincing, “I deserve it for coming to your room at this hour, Miss. But if things were not so dire …” He trailed off.
“Here, sit down,” Celine said pushing him down on the chair. “I hope you are not bleeding … no … You are alright? Would you like a glass of water?”
“Truly, I have been knocked about worse. Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled embarrassed.
“I thought it was the poet.”
“I sent him to the pub for a few drinks,” Nithercott informed her.
“How did you manage that?”
“Was easy, I gave him a few coins.”
She eyed him with respect.
Nithercott blushed.
“You said the situation was dire,” Celine reminded him. “Is … Is he alright?”
“Who, the poet?”
“No … I mean …” She bit her lip.
He waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he said, “It is about Lord Elmer.”
Her heart stopped.
“I don’t mean he is dead,” Nithercott soothed, noting her expression, “at least not yet.”
Her feet gave away and she sank into a chair. “Could you … could you perhaps start from the beginning?”
“It was like this. After leaving the Blackthorne Mansion, Lord Elmer secretly returned to his father’s house. He hid in his room and came and went via the tree outside his window. Bless Lord Devon, he knew not a thing. He was looking all over England for his son,” Nithercott chuckled, “and here was Lord Elmer staying right under his nose.”
“Go on,” Celine begged.
“Well, that was supposed to be the plan. He would stay hidden in the room until the pirates forgot all about him. That was until he found the poet and …” Here Nithercott paused.
“And we fought. Is that what you wanted to say?” she asked.
He nodded soberly, “After that Lord Elmer seemed to change. I have never seen him like that, Miss. He spoke about responsibilities and how he should accept them. He wanted to confront his father and take on his duties. He wanted to return the recipe to Sordid Sandy, and would you believe it, he wasn’t even drunk.”
“He didn’t, did he?” Celine asked in horror.
Nithercott nodded, “I don’t know what you said to him, Miss, but he refused to listen to reason. That evening after returning home, he opened his bedroom door, walked right up to his mother and hugged her. He hugged her, Miss, for no good reason. And then it gets worse. He promised his father he would return. He said he had something important to see to, and right after that he would come back home and take his place in society.”
“Nithercott, has he returned to the pirate ship?”
“Yes, Miss. He took the recipe and returned to the ship. He told me to wait outside for him. He was only going to sneak back in, replace the recipe and then sneak back out. It has been two whole days since I left him, Miss, and he has not snuck back out.”
Celine lifted a stricken face up to Nithercott.
Nithercott wiped his brow. “I thought you would be the best person to ask for advice in such a situation. I have seen you poke One Legged Tim in the eye with a kitting needle. Fast thinking that was. Clever too, in fact—”
“Nithercott, I have a plan.”
“I knew it.” Nithercott brightened.
“Listen to me very carefully. Only two people can help us now. One is Lord Adair and the other is the Duke of Blackthorne. I am going to try and convince the duke while you try and find out if Lord Adair has returned from his trip or not. If he has, then tell him everything truthfully. I am sure he will know what to do.”
“Aye, aye picaroon,” Nithercott saluted smartly before flinging himself out of the window.
***
Celine waited until Nithercott had safely climbed down the ivy and disappeared into the night. After that she quickly dressed in a dark brown travelling dress and soft brown riding boots and stuck a few pins in her hair just to keep it away from her face. A glance in the mirror confirmed her suspicions. She looked ghastly.
Shrugging her shoulders at her reflection she plucked an ostrich feather out of a blue satin bonnet and made her way towards the duke’s room.
The duke and the duchess to the horror of London society chose to share a room together. The duchess’ chamber was retained for Penelope’s afternoon naps, whereas the nights she most assuredly spent with the duke. Hence, Celine needed a plan that would wake the duke and make him follow her outside without waking Penelope.
It had
not taken long for Celine to come up with just such a plan, and accordingly she crawled into the duke’s chamber, crept up to the duke’s side and pulling out the ostrich feather tickled the duke’s nostrils.
The duke swiped at the feather, but Celine persisted with the tickling until the duke’s eyes snapped open. In a trice Celine clamped a hand over his mouth and with the other touched her lips.
His shock turned to understanding and he nodded.
She then jerked her head towards the entrance.
He nodded again.
She thanked god for giving the duke brains as she made her way outdoors still on all fours.
The duke followed also crawling on his hands and knees.
They stood up only after reaching the dowager’s room which lay empty and on the other side of the corridor.
“Is everything alright?” the duke asked quietly.
“I am sorry, I had to wake you in such a fashion, but I did not want to distress Penelope, and it was an urgent situation—”
“Celine, calm down. What is it? Here, sit down, you are trembling.”
“I need your help,” she blurted out. “Lord Elmer has been kidnapped by pirates. He is being kept hostage. Please say you can help.”
“Tell me everything,” he said shortly.
So Celine quickly told him everything that Nithercott had told her. She finished with, “I know the ship is called The Desperate Lark. Lord Elmer has mentioned it plenty of times, and Nithercott confirmed the name. The pirate’s name is the Black Rover and Nithercott said that he is so frightening that every strand of hair on his head splits in two at the sight of him.”
“I will leave as soon as the carriage is ready,” the duke said calmly.
“You will?” Celine asked in surprise.
“Penelope’s younger sister is as good as my own,” he smiled, “and I cannot have your future husband shot before the wedding.”
“Your life could be in danger,” Celine warned.
“I am married to Penelope. My life is always in danger.”
“I …” Celine gripped her skirts, “I don’t think this is a good idea anymore. I am sorry, I should have thought this through. I cannot put your life at risk … I don’t know what I was thinking waking you like this and—”
“Do you have an alternate plan?”
She shook her head.
“Are you in love with him?”
She nodded.
He sighed. “Then I have no other choice but to save the blasted man.” Another thought seemed to strike him, for he brightened, “You don’t think you could love someone else, do you? I can produce a lot of fine specimens, and since I am the duke, they won’t dare to refuse. Elmer is a touch evil don’t you think? I know a lot of good fellows who are positively angelic compared to him. Let me see … Perhaps Lord Harley? He has a remarkable physique or so I have heard Penelope say. And Sir Greenwood is the best shot in England. We went hunting together last winter. He shot down three pigeons and not a bullet wasted.”
“Your grace, I think I have well and truly fallen in love with Lord Elmer. I don’t think I will be wading out of it any time soon.”
“I see, well then that settles it. I will have to go save that despicable second cousin of mine.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I really do,” the duke muttered.
“Will you let Penelope know?”
“I will leave a letter for her. I will leave it with Perkins and he can hand it to her if I don’t return.”
“But you will return.”
“I truly hope so.”
Celine nodded and soberly shook hands with him.
“I am glad you didn’t spit before shaking my hand,” the duke remarked.
“Eh?”
“Penelope had spat … Never mind.”
“This is goodbye then.”
“I am not going to die, Celine. Don’t look so miserable.”
“I hope not.”
“This is getting morbid. I am leaving now … And, Celine, I know you Fairweather sisters. Don’t you dare follow me.”
“I won’t,” Celine lied boldly. She already had a plan on how best to follow him, and the moment the duke departed, she set that plan into motion.
Chapter 30
Celine’s footsteps pounded on the garden path. Her heart thumped in tune. Last evening’s rain licked her ankles as she raced towards the stables. Sneaking past a snoring stablehand she made her way towards the fiery red mare called Storm.
The horse knew her, yet she approached the beast cautiously. A few precious minutes were wasted while she soothed the horse and saddled it. She tugged the reins and led the mare out into the open past the sleeping stablehand and towards the entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion.
She hid behind a large statue of Minerva, a tall marble figure which had an exquisitely carved owl perched on its shoulder. She stuck her head between Minerva’s crooked elbow and watched the entrance, waiting for the duke’s carriage to arrive.
The duke’s carriage rolled out and came to a smooth halt near the entrance.
Her breath froze. She clutched the reins harder, inwardly begging the mare to stay quiet.
The duke, too, arrived moments later dressed in his travelling gear. He leaped into the carriage calling out something indistinguishable to Perkins standing by the door.
Perkins saluted in response, and the carriage started moving towards the road.
Celine clambered up on top of Storm and nudged the animal with her foot.
Storm ignored her.
According to Mrs Beatle a lady can have one fault provided she conceals it well from others. Celine’s fault was that she was hopeless around horses. She knew not what in the blazes to do with them.
Celine spent a few minutes coaxing the mare to move.
The mare stubbornly stood her ground.
She tried bribery, trickery and soft spoken words, her heart sinking with every passing moment, for the duke’s carriage was almost out of sight.
“Fine,” Celine groaned, “do as you like. Stay.”
And with that Storm started sprinting forward.
Celine quickly learned how to efficiently control the contrary horse. Her commands simply had to be opposite of what she wanted the horse to do.
With her nose pointed straight ahead, her eyes narrowed, and the wind streaking through her hair, Celine and not the mare tried to keep the duke’s carriage in sight as best as possible. London unlike Finnshire had lamps lit on the side of the streets, and even though the moon was shy and hiding behind a hat shaped cloud, she could see fairly well.
Celine didn’t know when they passed Gin Road, Mayfair Street or Marley lane. She knew nothing of London apart from Hyde Park and the Blackthorne Estate. If she lost sight of the duke for even a moment, she would be hopelessly lost.
The dark roads with double rows of twinkling gas lamps were a beautiful sight in an eerie sort of way. The swaying inky silhouettes of trees and the occasional shouts from drunkards kept her on edge throughout the journey.
More than once a night watchman spotted her and halted in his tracks. One of them was brave enough to abandon his declaration of ‘Tis' past three and almost four, no thief shall come, for we watch the door’ and chase after her. He leaped over potholes, rubbish and drunkards waving his stick in one hand and swinging the lamp in the other. He didn’t stand a chance, for a man on foot is no match for a woman with a mission on a swift horse. She escaped unscathed.
She rode on even though the drays and carriages started rolling out onto the roads splashing her with dirty water. The milkmaids started appearing on street corners holding back yawns and squeaking out a few sleepy yodelling cries. A few mountebanks crept along the sides, while the musicians started setting up shop pulling out tambourines and whatnot.
The thought that gave her courage and propelled her through the streets was that at the end of the journey she would see Lord Elmer. Not Lord Elmer, she corrected herself, she real
ly should start thinking of him as George.
“George,” she said aloud, letting the wind carry his name. Her eyes briefly closed, and a delicious thrill went through her at the sound.
Her focus returned to the road, and in shock she realised that the duke’s carriage had disappeared. Her heart in her throat she frantically searched the road ahead. She could see nothing but dark looming houses and an empty road. Were they even in London any longer? She felt as if they had been riding for hours, long enough to have left the city entirely.
Storm continued to gallop at high speed, turning neither right nor left but straight ahead, and Celine let her. She did not know what else to do but ride on in the hope that the duke’s carriage was around the corner.
It was the scent of rotting fish and water that renewed her hopes. They were near a large body of water. She was sure of it.
A faint rosy glow in the sky indicated that the sun was about to rise. In the pink light she spotted small empty boats bobbing near the shore, and further down floating in deeper shimmering waters was The Desperate Lark with its pirate flag temporarily replaced with a friendlier one depicting a bunch of yellow mangoes on a white background.
Celine told the mare to keep moving, and the obedient animal halted on the spot. Celine leaped to the ground and quickly tied the mare to a nearby tree. She couldn’t spot the duke’s carriage, but it did not matter any longer. He would be on the pirate ship trying to save George, and she too had to get on the ship in case the duke needed to be saved in turn.
She moved towards the edge of the water wondering which boat to take in order to reach the ship. A loud rattling sound, a snort and a squeak made her whirl around.
A carriage had skidded to a halt behind her. It was not the duke’s carriage. It was the duchess’ carriage.
Penelope’s happy head poked out from the window. Her equally ecstatic hand waved at Celine.
“Penny, what are you doing here?” Celine gasped.
Penelope carefully descended with the help of her maid Mary and the carriage driver.
“I will speak quickly for we have two men to save. I was awake when you entered the room and tickled the duke—”