A Shadow's Bliss (31 page)

Holsworth poured two glasses of wine. “This'll warm ye.”

The widow sipped gratefully, but Tilly waved the glass away and clutched at Jonathan's arm. “It's—it's Miss Jennifer!” she cried. “I didn't know who else to turn to!” She peered up into his face, then burst into tears.

Suddenly very cold, Jonathan remembered Jennifer's presentiment of trouble. He managed to sound calm. “Please don't cry, Miss Mays. Try and tell us. Is Miss Britewell ill?”

She sobbed out something incoherent.

He looked beseechingly to the widow.

“I might have knowed she'd turn into a watering pot,” said Mrs. Newlyn in disgust. “Of course, the seagull told me of it, so I had a notion. Seagulls are more to be heeded than”—she caught Holsworth's glare and said hurriedly—“Lord Green's come back, Johnny. And—”

“And my poor m-mistress,” gulped Tilly, “is to—to
wed
him!”

Jonathan stood very still through a quivering stillness in which he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat.

Watching his face, the widow had to look away, and Holsworth swore softly.

In a croak of a voice Jonathan said, “But—she loathes the reptile!”

“Aye,” said Tilly. “That she do, sir! Oh, Mr. Jack, I-I'll own I never liked you, nor thought you'd any right to look at my dear lady. And—and I were jealous, 'cause you driv us when my—when Mr. Crane oughta have done. But—oh, sir! She's so changed. So—sort of—froze. I be that scared of what—of what she might … do.”

Pulling himself together somehow, he said harshly, “She'll refuse, of course! She's past one and twenty. She doesn't have to agree to such a marriage!”

“But—but she
has
agreed, sir!”

At those words a knife of ice seemed to pierce him. Jennifer? And
Green?
He turned away to hide his anguish, and heard himself say, “Then … they've forced her! Who? Sir Vinson? Howland?”

“Both, I think, sir. If—if you
knowed
how shocked I was! And her, the dear soul, looking like she'd died, but was still walking!”

Rage came then. Blazing; uncontrollable.
“Damn them!”
he snarled, pounding his fist at the wall. “
Damn them!
That they could
dare!
”

He turned back to face Tilly, and she retreated, frightened by this fierce stranger. “How did Green manage it?” he demanded. She gaped at him, and he seized her by the shoulders. “Tell me, woman! What does he hold over Sir Vinson? First, he gave way on the dock he was so set against! Now, his precious daughter! Why?
Answer me!
”

Tilly gulped, “I—I—”

Holsworth forced Jonathan's hands away. “Stop shouting at the wench! You're scaring her witless!”

Jonathan drew back, staring at her terrified face. He bowed his head and, shoulders hunched over, battling his own terror, he mumbled, “My apologies, Miss Mays. Did she—did she say anything to you? Give you any hint of why she—she agreed?”

“I asked her. Straight out, I did! I said—‘
Why,
miss?' And she says, ‘I've got no choice, Tilly. And I've give me word.' But her poor heart's broke, I think. She weeps at night, I know that. And Mr. Royce and Mr. Howland got into a terrible fight, sir. Oh, 'twas dreadful! Mr. Howland, he knocked Mr. Royce right down! And Mr. Royce called him—awful words they was, sir, as me poor ears ne'er heard the like of. Then Sir Vinson come, and he takes Mr. Howland's part and quarrels with Mr. Royce something fierce! And the end of it is that Mr. Royce says he's done with the lot of 'em, and takes his horses and his man, and goes riding out!”

“Much good that did!” exclaimed the widow. “Just like a man to run from a sticky sittyation!”

Jonathan asked tersely, “What about Fleming? Didn't he try to help her?”

“Went into the master's study, he did. I dunno what happened there, but he come out so sulky as any bear, and slammed the door of his room and ain't hardly stuck his nose out since.”

“Another retreat,” growled Jonathan. “She must not be—” He cut the bitter words off, then asked the question he scarcely dared to utter. “Does he … does Green … m-maul her? Does he dare to—to—”

Tilly sighed. “He's always touching her, sir. Holding of her hand, and putting his arm round her.” A strangled sound escaped Jonathan and he closed his eyes. Tilly said earnestly, “She don't like it, Mr. Jack. Goes so pale, she do. And when he tries to kiss her, she turns her head away, but—”

Mrs. Newlyn nudged her warningly, and Tilly was silent.

Staring blindly at Duster's cage, Jonathan saw instead the delicate features of his love; the great eyes so full of tenderness, the sweet mouth smiling at him, the soft lips parting as she offered her face for his kiss … And he whispered brokenly, “I cannot bear to think of that … lovely, gentle lady … in the hands of a crude satyr like Hibbard Green.”

Holsworth asked, “What d'you know of the man?”

“I've heard the men talk of the way he treated his first wife. Of his behaviour—with women. Of the horrors that go on in the cells of his damned prison. Jennifer is—is so sweetly innocent and—” His voice was briefly suspended, then he went on, “My dear God! They'd as well have murdered her! She'd know poverty with me, but—with
him…!
She'll be dead inside a year, or—or run mad! How
can
they do so—vile a thing?”

Tormented, he wandered across the room and stood gripping the mantel with both hands, his head bowed between them, while the rest watched in helpless silence.

It was only a minute, but it seemed a very long minute, before he drew a deep shuddering breath. His shoulders squared, and he turned back to them. His eyes glittered in his haggard face. He said with a hushed ferocity, “No! Hibbard Green is without kindness or conscience. They'll not give that pure angel into his hands! Not whilst I'm alive to prevent it!”

Alarmed, Holsworth said, “Now, Jack! Don't talk so silly. How can you prevent it? I know how you feel, lad, nor I don't like it neither. None of us do. But Lord Green's a nobleman, rich and powerful, and with all the force of the law behind him.
And
his hirelings! Sir Vinson and Howland would have your heart out did they suspect you'd dared to so much as look at Miss Jennifer! You haven't got a chance! And even if you had—how could you possibly get away? The village folk are already halfway to thinking you in league with the Evil One, and much as they love Miss Jennifer, there's not a one of 'em as would dare go up agin a baron! The odds are too great, I tell ye! Give over!”

“So I will,” said Jonathan between his teeth. “On the day they bury me!”

*   *   *

Prayers were not easy now, but she could pray that when her love heard of her forthcoming marriage he not be driven to some wild attempt to rescue her. Johnny would know this wedding was repugnant to her. He would be frantic with grief, and long to come to her. Kneeling beside her bed, hands reverently clasped, Jennifer smiled sadly. How very dear to be rescued by him. To be snatched up to his saddle bow and carried away to happiness, just as she had dreamed in her girlhood. But that dream could only become a nightmare. Even if he could come near her, which was impossible, there was nothing to be done. If she should escape, Hibbard Green would take his revenge on her family. Yet the prospect of life with him— She shivered convulsively and drove away such dark imaginings, then sent up a passionate prayer for Jonathan and added a humble one that her life as Lady Hibbard Green would be mercifully short.

Standing wearily, she turned and saw him.

He stood just inside the window. Soaked. His hair straggling about his face, his clothes clinging to him as he watched her with a look of mingled love and desperation. It was such a blessed relief to see him. She was in his arms, weeping, laughing, kissing and being kissed; sure that her bones must snap under the wonderful pressure of his arms, but unable to stop kissing him, holding him, sobbing out little broken phrases of love and joy, even as he did. Until, as always it must, came reason to add its sober note to ecstasy.

She drew back from his arms, and in a belated panic demanded, “How did you get in here? Never say you climbed up, and in this storm?”

“Not all the way, my heart. Tilly smuggled me in, but there were men lounging about the halls, and I couldn't get past the first floor, so I climbed from there.”

“Good heavens!” She hugged him again. “If you had fallen…! But—dearest, you must go. If you were found here, Green would have you killed without a second thought!”

“He'll not find me here. I'm taking you away, my love.” His mouth twitched into a sketch of a smile. “Prepare yourself for a life of poverty! Now dress quickly, and—”

“No! You don't understand. I cannot leave, Johnny. Unless I wed him, he'll destroy my family.”

He swore under his breath. “I knew that must be the way of it. How?”

“Howland held the bank at his club. He was deep in debt to Green, and he—he used funds that…”

“That were not his to use. So now his noble lordship resorts to blackmail to win your beautiful self. That cur! But better Howland should languish in Newgate than—”

“I wish that were all. Howland was desperate to make things right. He—he turned to smuggling. But not tubs, Johnny. Men. He has been carrying fugitive Jacobites over to France. If only it had been done out of compassion, I would be proud, but—it wasn't. And it is treason. He could be hanged.”

“And your father dispossessed and ruined—if not hanged with him. I see. That miserable swine has his claws in tight. Even so, lovely one, you'll not pay such a price! Now, I'll own your nightdress is adorable, but I'd rather you were dressed for riding. Hurry and put on your habit.”

In the stress of these moments she'd forgotten she wore only the revealing nightdress. Glancing down, she blushed rosily, but when Jonathan strode to fling open the doors of the press, she ran after him. “Dearest, I
cannot
abandon my father! Surely you see that—”

He caught her by the arms and said with low-voiced intensity, “I see that there is no castle, no fortune ever amassed, worth such a sacrifice as your precious self. Your father and brothers can get to France and start again.” He saw the glitter of tears in her eyes, and knew what she would say, so he added quickly, “Besides, my beloved, I need your help.”

Blinking away tears, she searched his face. “How?”

He tore a riding habit from the press, took up a pair of riding boots, and carried them to the bed while she trotted after him. “I was at the mine this afternoon,” he said, turning his back. “And I chanced to see some of the men I'd told you about. And one of them was—even now I can scarce believe it!—he was ship's carpenter of the
Silken Princess!
Joe Taylor. A man said to have drowned when she foundered!”

“Oh!” Shedding her nightdress, she exclaimed, “How splendid! And you want to talk to him, of course.”

“I do indeed! If Taylor's alive, then others may be, also. And even if 'twas a simple error that he was listed among the lost, he can tell me what really happened.”

She ran to a drawer and took out a clean camisole. “He will clear you, dearest! I know it! But how can I help?”

“I must get into the mine. They'd never let me in, but the widow told me once that there's another entrance. You likely know of it, and can guide me there.”

She was silent. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw that she had donned her skirt, but was standing motionless, holding her blouse, and staring at it wide-eyed. The soft lacy lines of her bodice revealed her snowy shoulders and the rich smooth curves of her breasts. He thought she had never looked more beautiful. Somehow, he recollected what he'd been saying, and asked huskily, “Is—is there another way in, love?”

She whispered, “Yes.” And then said in a firmer voice, “Yes, of course I'll show you. But—how can we get out of the castle?”

“I'll go back the way I came, and wait for you behind the stables. Do you think you can get downstairs without being seen?”

Putting on her blouse and buttoning her jacket, she said, “I can try. If anyone should stop me, I'll say that one of the villagers is ill, and I must go to help.”

“Yes, they'd believe that, you've done it so often.” He went to her and touched her cheek tenderly. “My gentle lady.”

“Darling Johnny.” She turned her cheek against his hand, and as the curtains suddenly billowed inwards, said in swift anxiety, “Please,
please
take care!”

He had every intention of doing so, but the driving wind and rain and the slippery surface of the ancient wall almost proved his undoing. He was halfway to the outward jut of the bastion roof when a great gust slammed against him so that his right hand-hold was lost. His left arm was still weakened from his struggle to haul Lord Green up the cliff, and for a heart-stopping moment it seemed that he was doomed to fall. Then, his clawing fingers caught hold again, and he was reprieved. It was still a dangerous descent, but he reached the bastion roof safely. He could see no sign of guards, the weather having probably driven them inside. He lowered himself over the edge and recovered the lantern he'd hidden in the recess of one of the gun ports.

“Like a confounded fly,” drawled a voice behind him.

He could have screamed with frustration. Refusing to be beaten at this stage of the game, he whipped around, crouching, prepared for battle.

“Looks more of a wasp to me,” said a second voice. “Ready to sting you, Lord Haughty-Snort, which ain't to be wondered at.”

“Confound you!” gasped Jonathan, straightening up. “If I'd held a pistol in my hand…”