Beware of Virtuous Women (28 page)

Cluny sat forward eagerly. "Now you're making some
sense,
boyo! And about bleeding time, too. It's what I've been saying all along. Quick, to the point— the knifepoint, that is."

"And yet, we're going to do this my way," Jack said, settling himself behind his desk.

"The little lady's way, you mean. And for the life of me, I don't know why you've agreed to such nonsense."

"You don't have to know that, Cluny," Jack told him, then realized that the man deserved an answer. After all, he would be sticking his neck out, too. "All right. Listen, and kindly fight back the urge to interrupt me the way you always do."

"Damn your eyes, I do not interrupt!" Cluny said belligerently, so that Jack laughed and pointed at the man. "Often," the Irishman added grudgingly, then sank back on the couch.

"Thank you, friend. The story is long, involved, and I don't know the half of it—I think I do, but I'm not positive—so I'll say this quickly. What I didn't tell you earlier is that Chelfham is Eleanor's uncle, and may have had a hand in the death of her parents. Her death, as well, except something went wrong—right, actually—and she was spared, rescued, and somehow became one of the Beckets."

"Humph," Cluny grumbled. "Who else has Ainsley Becket got stuffed out there in the back of beyond? The rightful king of England? We surely could use him, and that's a fact, seeing as how the one we've got has gone all batty."

"You're interrupting, Cluny," Jack pointed out. then continued his truncated explanation. "Neither of us believe Chelfham's story about his wife's aversion to cripples—"

"I don't know, boyo. I had an aunt once. Sadie was her name. She'd run screaming whenever she saw Colm Divine making his way into the village, saying he was bad luck. Walleyed, Colm was. Never knew where he was looking, which was enough to spook poor old Sadie, let me tell you. She ran smack into a tree, the once. Smashed her nose, then blamed poor Colm for her new crooked face. Myself, I thought it was a whacking great improvement."

Jack coughed quietly, then folded his hands together in front of him. "Are you quite done now? Or is there a second verse?"

"I liked you better when we were on the Peninsula. You laughed at all my stories then, and asked for more."

"I was trying to stay awake so I wouldn't freeze to death," Jack told him, grinning. "Besides, anything was better than listening to you snore. Look, Cluny, either Chelfham sends someone to attack the coach, or he doesn't. But it's the only way Eleanor feels she can determine if her uncle is a killer, in addition to being a general bastard and one of the leaders of the Red Men Gang."

"A good question, I suppose, but I have a better one. How does your little lady know Chelfham's her uncle? You've been keeping secrets from me, boyo, and I can't like that."

In fits and starts, which was the only way anyone accomplished anything with Cluny, Jack explained everything, including his necessarily delayed plan to call on Chelfham, to tell him Eleanor would be leaving the city the following day. An entire day lost to Rian's arrival.

"We follow, catch the villains and hide them safely away, then you go to the earl and demand he take you to this fellow in the black coach."

"Very nearly correct, Mr. Shannon."

Jack and Cluny both turned to see Eleanor standing in the doorway in her dressing gown and, of course, bare feet. "Jack and I
both
will confront my uncle."

"The bloody hell we will," Jack declared, getting to his feet.

"Ah, and now isn't this going to be jolly," Cluny said on a smile. "Will you be needing a referee, boyo?"

"No, I will not," Jack said, coming out from behind the desk and grabbing Eleanor's wrist, tugging her after him into the hallway and not stopping until they were closeted together in the drawing room.

"Jack," Eleanor began earnestly, "you can see that I'd want to be there."

"No, I damn well can't see that, Eleanor," he told her, his temper running hot. No. Not his anger. His fear. Who knew what all could go wrong when he pushed Chelfham into a corner. He couldn't lose her now.

But now was not the time for a declaration. Especially since, at the moment, he wanted less to kiss her than he did to shake some sense into her hard little head.

"Please, Jack, think about my feelings for a moment. I lived more than half my life not knowing who I was or even how I came to be a Becket. Oh, they told me what they believed I needed to know," she said, sighing. "They told me I was shipwrecked and that Jacko had saved me. They told me that. They told me simple things, and very simply. It was only when I began to remember on my own, when I at last remembered my name, that I learned more."

"I understand that, Eleanor. You were only a child. What I don't understand is how this seems to translate into you personally confronting your uncle. No, it's too dangerous."

Eleanor's hands closed into fists at her sides. "I need to hear him say the words, Jack. I didn't know that, not until you mentioned his name nearly in the same breath as the Red Men Gang, not until I came to London, not until I saw him. The pieces are fitting together, yes. But I have to hear the words. I have to hear him say them to my face."

Jack took a quick turn on the carpet, pushing through his hair with both hands, then stopped in front of Eleanor once more. "There's no great mystery here. If you're right to think he had something to do with your ship going down, it's because your uncle wanted the title. Greed, Eleanor. Greed, and the need for the power and prestige of being the Earl of Chelfham. I can understand you wanting to know the
how
of it, how he arranged the whole thing—whatever the hell it was— but not the why. The why is obvious."

"Perhaps to you," Eleanor said, standing her ground. "But there's more."

She had his attention now. "More than wanting the title? What else could there be?"

Eleanor knew the time had come for truth, no matter how horrible. "Papa doesn't know any of this."

Jack went very still. "Any of what, Eleanor?"

She rushed into speech. "If I told him, he might have felt it necessary to seek the earl out himself. No, that's not true. He most definitely would have sought him out, years ago, when I first remembered my name. I couldn't allow that any more than I could stop him. I'd never risk Papa. I just couldn't. He may have his suspicions now, see a connection now, but if you hadn't mentioned Chelfham's name I never would have told him the rest. What else I'd remembered."

"The Becket loyalty never ceases to amaze me, or impress me. Tell me this much, Eleanor. If Ainsley knew what you're damn well going to tell me now— would he have allowed you to come to London?"

"Never."

"All right. I needed at least that much clear in my head. I can't blame Ainsley for something he didn't know. Now tell me."

"The first nightmare," she began quietly, wetting her lips, then swallowing down hard on the words that begged to be said. "The first nightmare was words. Only words. Angry words, terrible words I couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite understand."

Jack led her over to one of the couches and sat down beside her, keeping her hands in his. She looked ready to crumble. "Eleanor, if you don't want to tell me right at this minute, I'll understand, and we can talk again tomorrow." A single tear slid down her cheek and he wiped it away with his finger. "It's that bad?"

"I'm sorry," she said, lifting her chin, reaching deep inside herself for all the strength she could muster. "The nightmare wouldn't go away, kept returning every few months, and slowly became clearer in my mind. Perhaps I needed to be older, stronger, before I could really remember or make any sense out of those memories. The voices? I was hearing my parents. Screaming at each other as two sailors held my father by both arms, dragging him toward the railing of the ship. He was wrapped nearly head to foot in heavy chains."

"Pirates?" Jack asked, then realized he was doing just as Cluny had done—interrupting. "I'm sorry, go on."

"Not pirates, Jack. I wasn't supposed to see, to hear anything, but I'd slipped out of the cabin and was on deck the entire time, watching. Perhaps all the commotion woke me. In any case, I know I was dressed in my night rail—Odette kept it for me, as it was all I had of my life before...before that day. I know it was dark, I can even remember the feel of the rough planking beneath my bare feet."

Eleanor closed her eyes, and the vision of what she'd seen appeared in her mind's eye as clear, and as terrible, as ever.

"He was accusing her of playing him false, and she wasn't denying it. She... she seemed to be
taunting
him, calling him the worst sort of cuckold." She hesitated a few moments, then said, "I watched as he was thrown overboard, still cursing her. I listened as she laughed. When I screamed, and she saw me, she told me it was all a dream, then hustled me back to our cabin."

"Sweet Jesus." Jack hadn't known what he thought he might hear, but he certainly hadn't expected that.

Eleanor tugged her hands free and wrapped her arms about herself, rocking slowly. "The next day, she told me that my father had died and what I'd seen was his dead body being lowered into the sea. She kept insisting what I
thought
I'd seen was only a dream."

"You'd want to believe that, wouldn't you, Eleanor. A child would want something like that to be a dream."

"Yes, I'm sure, and that's probably one reason it took me so long to remember."

"Then what happened? But only if you want to tell me,"

"I do want to tell you, Jack. We weren't on our way to Jamaica. We had only just left there, were perhaps only one or two days out, at the most. We were traveling with other ships, on our way back to England. Back to my mother's lover. But first it was necessary to remove her husband. A terrible accident at sea, you understand. At least that's what I believe now," she ended quietly.

"And the storm?"

Eleanor gifted him with a small, watery smile that nearly broke his heart.

"There was no storm, Jack. You already knew that, didn't you? You tripped me up in my lies. Papa... Ainsley, was a privateer, not a merchant ship owner, plying the waters all up and down the islands. You knew that, too, or at least guessed as much. The very next day after...afterward, our ship was attacked and sunk. It was a mistake in some ways—that attack—but it happened."

"Sunk? Ainsley didn't try to save your ship, sell her as a prize?"

"No," Eleanor said, realizing she'd said too much yet again. The rest wasn't hers to tell. "I told you, it was a mistake. But Jacko saved me. I was badly injured, and by the time I was recovered I was in England, just another one of the many Becketsof Romney Marsh. That part you know."

"I know some of it," Jack said tightly. Eleanor's story was horrific and still full of holes, yet he knew one certain thing had to be stored away in his mind, one question he needed answered: why would a privateer deliberately sink a fully loaded merchant ship?

"When we see Papa—"

"I know, Eleanor. And Ainsley damn well is going to tell me the rest, since you persist in believing you'd be betraying some sort of trust. There will be no more secrets, sweetheart, no more lies. Not between us. At least now I suppose I know why you want to confront Chelfham. You want to ask him if he knows about what your mother did, and how she was able to accomplish it, get the crew to kill her husband."

"Not only that, Jack," Eleanor said, at last succumbing to the need to lay her head against his strong chest. She'd been carrying her secrets so long, too long, and it felt so very freeing to share them with him.

Jack gently stroked her hair, waiting for her to continue.

After a few moments, she did. "Before he was thrown overboard, my mother told her husband how she'd betrayed him, and with whom. I firmly believe Chelfham helped arrange his brother's death. I've never thought otherwise. You already think so, too, as Papa would have if I'd told him what I've just told you. Yes, I would like to hear the words from Chelfham's own mouth. But if we're right, and my coach is attacked, what I'd really need to know now would be how that same man could, years later, order his own daughter killed."