A Shadow's Bliss (32 page)

“The world would be rid of me.” August Falcon was a dim shape in the darkness. “But having survived your murderous impulses, I'd as soon not drown. Could we get in out of the rain?”

Jonathan led them to the stables, keeping well clear of the faint light from inside the barn. He saw now that Morris carried the birdcage, and when they were safely under the eaves and in deep shadow, he whispered, “Why did you bring Duster?”

“Hoped to use him as an excuse to see Miss Britewell,” said Falcon.

“We found your friend Holsworth,” Morris explained. “He told us what had happened. Deuced sorry about your lady.”

“With luck, she'll be here at any second.” Jonathan's eyes searched the night. “I've got to get her away. You realize.”

“I realize you're a fool,” said Falcon. “Have you anything sensible to offer?”

Suddenly enraged by this man's perpetual cynicism, Jonathan growled, “I collect that if you'd a lady you cared for, you would deliver her willingly into that bastard's bed!”

“Since there is no lady I care for, the question is pointless.” Morris uttered a mocking snort, and Falcon added, “Except for my sister, of course. And if Green looked her way I'd blow his head off. Now, if we must stand here gossiping, at least tell us what you've learned; if anything.”

There was still no sign of Jennifer. His nerves tight as he peered fixedly in the direction of the castle, Jonathan gave a brief account of what had happened since he left Breton Ridge.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Morris softly. “So you mean to go into the mine tonight, do you? I'll trot along. Be dashed good sport, eh, Falcon? You've learned a sight more than we did, Jack. We drew a confounded blank at Breton Ridge.”

Falcon said thoughtfully, “Oh, I'd not say that, exactly. I wonder why the deuce they're hauling in loads of clothing. You say one of 'em spoke Spanish, Captain?”

Jonathan stiffened.

“Captain?”
Intrigued, Morris asked, “What's this?”

“Lieutenant Gudgeon,” drawled Falcon. “You're the only man I know who can walk about with his eyes open and see nothing at all! What the devil are you doing with that poor bird?”

“Seems to have fallen off his perch,” said Morris, fumbling with the cage. “
Are
you a captain, Jack? What was your regiment?”

Falcon sighed. “If you would cast your decrepit mind back a month or two, you'd know he was a captain for the East India Company. And—no, I'll not tell you what you should have guessed by now. If Jack wanted you to— Damme!
Now
what have you done?”

Morris had opened the door. There was much squawking and a whirr of wings, and Duster was securely attached to Jonathan's shoulder.

“Clumsy clod,” grunted Falcon. “I wouldn't—”

Morris interrupted sharply, “Someone's coming!”

Jonathan stepped out from under the eaves. He felt rather than saw Jennifer's approach, and reached out to her eagerly. “Here, love.” Her cold hand slipped into his. He pressed a kiss on it, and murmured a heartfelt, “Thank heaven!”

Breathless, she whispered, “I nigh got caught, and had to hide. Is that Duster?”

“Morris brought him.”

“We're both here, ma'am,” said Falcon. “Wet, but willing.”

“You mean to help Johnny, then? Oh, how splendid of you!”

Jonathan squeezed her hand. “You're all splendid. We'd best get started. I'm glad you wore a cloak, love.”

“And I'm glad you brought a lantern. We'll need it. Come—it's this way…”

*   *   *

The rain and mud made the four miles seem more like a dozen. They were all breathless and tired by the time Jennifer halted amid a cluster of boulders on the hillside north of the mine, and pointed out the narrow opening between two boulders. “'Tis a difficult tunnel, and we'll need your lantern now.”

Jonathan slipped inside and began to scrape at the tinder box he'd borrowed from Holsworth. “Are we safe in showing a light?”

“Yes. We'll not come to the main workings for a way. This—this was a side tunnel and has long been—abandoned.” She shrank back as the lantern sent out a bright beam.

Jonathan brushed away cobwebs, but even with her hand tight clasped in his, it took all Jennifer's resolution to enter the passage. The familiar smell of dank, chill air was in her nostrils, and memory blew its cold breath on her spirit so that she longed to run outside.

Jonathan could feel her trembling. Tilly had said she'd not been sleeping well, and he guessed she must be very tired. He suggested that they rest for a few minutes before going on, and they all sat on the ground, glad of the chance to catch their breath, amused by Duster's antics as he scolded and flapped his wings, sending a shower of rainwater down Jonathan's neck.

They soon went on again, picking their way along the narrow passage. It was littered with rocks and boulders, the roof so low in places that they had to stoop. Jonathan held the lantern in one hand, and kept the other at Jennifer's elbow. After a while they came to a wider passage leading off to the left, and he turned into it. Jennifer pulled him back. “We must stay on the narrow path. That way leads to the sea. Listen.”

They halted and, muted by distance, came a deep rhythmic booming.

Morris asked, “Is it another way out, Miss Jennifer?”

She said threadily, “I'd not recommend you take it, Lieutenant. I believe it runs far under ground.”

“But how charming,” said Falcon. “Why not give it a try, dear dolt?”

Morris chuckled. “He's trying to be rid of me, ma'am. But he'll not succeed. ‘Foolish the frog who whips the fog.'”

Falcon mumbled something that appeared to be an impassioned plea for patience in his hour of tribulation.

A moment later they were faced with a real tribulation in the form of a great fall of rock that so blocked the way there was no choice but to climb over.

Jonathan said, “You had best—” He broke off, to catch Jennifer's swaying form and steady her. “How tired you are,” he said remorsefully. “Small wonder! Wait here for us.”

She gave a little embarrassed laugh. “I'm afraid you've … found me out, Johnny. I—I'm quite a coward, and this place— I'd hoped I would be over it by this time.”

In belated comprehension, he said, “I knew you'd been hurt in an accident. Never say this is where it happened?”

“We were playing here, which Papa had straitly forbidden. The boys liked to prove how brave they were, and I would not be left at home. I think this is the—the very spot where the roof came down…”

He held her close. “Yet you came in here, to help me. My love, how brave you are.”

“Pluck to the backbone,” agreed Morris. “You're a Trojan, ma'am. Er, if you know what I mean.”

Falcon said dryly, “Clumsy as it is, I agree. But Jack's right, ma'am. We'll leave you the lantern and you can rest here.”

“You'd never find the way.” Pale but determined, she said, “The path divides several times between here and the main entrance, and there are places where the ground drops away into deep crevices. I am very well now.”

Nothing would deter her, and at length Jonathan helped her over the pile of boulders while Duster clung to his shoulder and offered a stream of throaty comments.

As she had warned, they had to negotiate a narrow ledge beside a yawning chasm. Here, they were obliged to proceed in single file, Morris holding one of Jennifer's hands and Jonathan the other as they inched along until the danger was past and the passage widened again. After that it twisted and turned and was intersected by other passages leading off to right or left, so that without her sure guidance they would certainly have become lost. Gradually, the tunnel began to slope upwards, and soon they could detect a difference in the air—the smell of cooking and of wood burning.

Morris halted abruptly. “Hold up!”

Falcon muttered, “His sole attribute. Ears like a hawk.”

Jonathan felt a quickening excitement. At first it was a distant hum, but gradually, as they crept on, he could hear the mumble of voices and then a louder outburst of jeers and laughter.

He said, “Not one step farther, Miss Britewell! No, I'll hear no arguments. Morris, I daren't leave her alone. Will you guard her for me?”

“Well, I will of course, dear boy,” said Morris, clearly disappointed. “But it seems to me that you should be the one to keep at her side.”

“The man who can tell me the truth of my past is in there,” said Jonathan grimly. “If 'tis humanly possible, I mean to find him.”

Jennifer protested staunchly, but Jonathan pointed out that she was the only one who knew the way out, and they could take no chance she might be hurt. She agreed reluctantly to that wisdom, and he pressed a quick kiss on her hand and left the lantern with Morris before going on with Falcon. The tunnel continued its upward slope. There was a flickering glow on the walls ahead, and the voices became ever clearer. They rounded a bend and were abruptly at the top of a downward slope in full view of a wide open area just inside the main entrance to the mine.

Falcon gasped, “'Zounds!” and they both leapt back into the shadows.

The glare thrown out by several wall braziers was dazzling. Blinking, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Jonathan saw that this central area was very neat and orderly. Rows of blankets and bedding were arranged along one wall. Far across the chamber a larger tunnel yawned, and he could glimpse a stove and shelves crowded with provisions and pots and pans. ‘The galley,' he thought. To the right, near the entrance, were racks holding row upon row of muskets, blunderbusses, swords, and other weapons. In the centre, about forty men were gathered at long tables and benches. He was taken aback by their appearance, for here, rather than the fierce soldiers of fortune he had expected to find, were men from all walks of life. Some were clad in rags, some in the humble smocks and gaiters of farm labourers, others wearing the simple dark coats and breeches of clerks and city dwellers. There were several members of the clergy, and a smattering of uniforms, both military and naval.

A well-dressed gentleman of means stood before them, watching a street vendor, who was striding up and down, waving his arms about, apparently harranguing the onlookers.

“We need Morris' ears,” whispered Falcon. “Can you make out what they're saying?”

Jonathan shook his head, and they ventured closer, staying close to the wall and trying to keep in the shadows until, gradually, words could be distinguished.

“… asks yer. One after another of 'em. Plain as the nose on yer face. How long is we to go grinded into the—”

“No, no,
no!
” The well-dressed man began to cuff the performer, while screaming that his stupidity was unsurpassed and that he spoke either too well, or incorrectly. “Will you
never
learn?”

Falcon whispered, “Is a play, then. Though why they'd put on a dress rehearsal in—”

Jonathan's heart gave a painful leap. He gasped,
“Taylor!”
his narrowed eyes fixed on a man dressed as a merchant seaman, with a square, ruddy face, his greying hair pulled back into a short pigtail.

“Hey!” Falcon clutched Jonathan's arm. “Where the deuce are you—”

“I'm going to join the cast. If aught goes amiss, get my lady clear.”

“You really are mad! You can't hope to—”

But Jonathan was gone, sauntering down the slope towards the gathering. As he approached the benches, a lean tinker grunted, “Where'd you get that there bird?”

He'd forgotten Duster. He shrugged. “Mr. Bronwys thought it a good touch.”

A violent altercation had broken out between the well-dressed man who appeared to direct the “play,” and an aggressive individual who declared at the top of his lungs that he couldn't be expected to remember what he was to say when his instructions were changed every day. Others joined in, and under cover of the ensuing uproar Jonathan edged closer to his quarry.

Coming up very close behind him, he gripped his shoulder, and murmured, “You're wanted over here, Joe.”

The pigtail jerked around. Taylor's pale eyes bulged, his jaw dropped, and his ruddy face faded to the shade of pastry dough. “C-Cap—” he croaked.

“Quiet!” Jonathan grinned at him while adding grimly, “I've a pistol 'gainst your liver, friend. Move!”

“They said … you was … dead,” stammered the erstwhile ship's carpenter, allowing himself to be propelled along. “Lor', sir. You can't never—”

“Just keep on,” said Jonathan, moving steadily away from the brightly lit area. “If you want to live a while longer.”

A beefy hand closed on his arm. A red suspicious face thrust at him, and a large baker with a heavy French accent growled, “Who gave you the leave to escape this practice?”

His own hand tightening on Taylor's shoulder, Jonathan replied, “My friend has eaten too much. His stomach protests. Stand clear.”

With an apprehensive glance at Taylor's stricken countenance, the baker moved back hurriedly. “You are the fine friend, I think,” he said, and lurched off.

Taylor whispered, “Sir, I dunno what you're about. But I want no part of this lot, if you can bring me off.”

“Come, then. Up there, out of the light. Not so fast, man. Easy.”

They were almost to the slope leading up to the passage where Falcon waited, when the uproar quieted abruptly. A man who looked more like a pirate than the farmer his clothes proclaimed him to be, strolled out of another tunnel offshoot and blocked their way.

“Well, if it ain't his lordship,” he muttered.

Glancing around Jonathan saw Hibbard Green coming in at the main entrance, shaking water from his tricorne, and followed by Howland Britewell and the dock foreman, Bronwys. At once all the men were on their feet, crowding around.