Authors: Jennifer Horsman
* * * * *
"My
God, they're meeting with Christy!" Steffen said in confusion.
"Justin's
wife?"
"Aye.
What 'as she got to do with them?" he asked out loud. He could make out
only dark shapes but Christina's thick braids caught the moonlight. It was her,
he knew it was her.
"Shouldn't
we do something?" Miles wondered in turn.
Steffen
didn't know. Jacob never said what to do if the agents met with Christina.
Watch and report— that was all. "Jesus, though, if that bastard lays a
finger on her—" He didn't finish but he quickly observed that wasn't what
the meeting was about. She was waiting for the man. Besides, the bastards would
have to shoot the dogs first, if it ever came down to it.
Steffen
couldn't figure out what was happening. He had always liked Christina, but like
the others left on the island, he witnessed firsthand what she had put Justin
through. While he normally never tried to fathom the workings of a woman's
mind, he had— again, like everyone else on the island—spent many hours
contemplating how she could possibly have left him, for Justin was one of the
best men Steffen had ever known; he could generate a long list of superlatives
to describe the man for whom he was proud to work. And even more to the point,
Christina had loved Justin, or so everyone thought...
So
why had she abandoned him?
This
question came back to Steffen presently and while he had trouble imagining
Christy capable of treachery, like a bell ringing in his head, he suddenly had
reason to suspect just that.
"Here."
He handed the glass to Miles. "I've got to hear what they're saying."
* * * * *
"You
would ruin Dr. Morrison's reputation?" Christina asked in disbelief. Jean
Petiers could not take his eyes off the two huge monstrosities of dogs, each
standing alert in a chorus of low growls. "I will do what's necessary,
madame, and so will you. After all, no harm to your husband."
Lying
to convince her to do the treachery, the man claimed that all he wanted were
the dates and location of any of Justin's ships' destinations in order to
fairly bargain for the goods. He said Justin refused to give the information
himself only because he wanted to keep the number of buyers low for a smooth
transaction. What Christina had trouble believing was that he thought her
witless enough to swallow this tale. The apparent fact that he did, though,
gave her some courage. While at first her fear had produced her stumbling
temerity, now she had to pretend dull wits to convince him she believed it and
would do their wretched bidding. This, in order to buy Justin time to stop them
before they did in fact ruin Richard.
"I...
I don't know what you mean? L—log books?" she asked in a voice that nearly
trembled with a pretense of fear.
A
lovely girl but obviously dull-witted. "They're big red leather-bound
books. Surely you must have seen them? There should be a master plan too."
"I...
I don't know! Oh please, sir, I... I can't do this!" She grasped her hands
together as though in sudden panic.
"Now,
now, madame, you must try. Think of your... ah, friend, Dr. Morrison."
"Oh!
You wouldn't really hurt Richard, would you?"
Madonna
but this filly might be too dull-witted. "I have a job to do, that's
all," he snapped, suddenly angry. "Ah!" He thought of another
way. "Search your husband's correspondence, especially any letters
destined for England."
"Letters?"
she questioned meaningfully.
He
nodded. "You know of the old oak in the park?"
"In
town?"
"Yes."
This too was a lie. They wouldn't go to this length for all they would have to
do would be wait by the roadside for her to pass. "A man will be waiting
there for three days. Drop the letters to the ground and if the information is
good, we will refrain from harming Dr. Morrison."
"Three
days? Oh dear! Oh dear! I need more time!"
"Three
days," he repeated. "And for God's sake, come alone."
"Alone?
I'm not allowed out alone! I can't do it! Not in three short days!"
"You
have your instructions, madame. Good day," and he turned his mount around
and pressed the horse into a gallop, disappearing into the forest with his men.
Steffen
watched as Christina turned back to the house in a run. He had not gotten close
enough to hear the whole conversation, only small bits and pieces. But enough.
Enough to know that he had been blindly misled about Christina. Enough to
briefly consider shooting her to save Justin the agony.
Christina
rushed into the house calling for Chessy and Rosarn both, Hope if she was
around. Chessy dashed out of the parlor and rushed up the stairs after her.
"Oh my God... Oh, my God..." He knew something terrible was going to
happen! He knew it!
In
her excitement and haste, Christina left the front door open and Beauty and
Beau seized the rare opportunity to come inside. Seeing that the excitement was
upstairs, they started up, each fighting to get there first.
Rosarn
was in Christina's dressing room still trying to get the ink off her charge.
Hearing Christina's call, she went into the bedroom. Christina went into the
nursery. Chessy followed Christina. Calling to each other, the parties switched
rooms and several confused moments passed before they all found each other in
Christina's bedroom.
"The
French agents! They're here! They talked to me! They don't have the
letter!" she cried at the exact moment two large dogs, fueled by the high
excitement in the air, burst into the room. For but the briefest moment,
Christina's statement took precedence over two dogs, eight muddied feet between
them and in a bedroom that had just been cleaned.
"Oh
my God" was still all Chessy could manage.
"Where?"
cried Rosarn who, protectively clinging to little Justin, turned at once to the
window, half expecting to see the charge of a French brigade. There was nothing
outside. She turned back around and screamed, "Stop them before—"
It
was too late. Beauty jumped onto the bed, lowered to her haunches daring Beau
to chase. Beau never backed from any challenge, and just as Christina threw
herself on him, he jumped onto the bed. Falling to the ground, Christina picked
herself up. She and Chessy both snapped into action. Chessy went for Beau, she
for Beauty.
Rosarn
watched in mute horror, finding the eight muddied paws on fresh bedclothes a
far greater disaster than the French had ever created for her English
ancestors. Certainly more imminent. Little Justin watched with giggles of sheer
delight. He squirmed and squealed, wanting to get in on what looked like the
most fun since tossing ink on his mother.
Convinced
that Chessy and Christina were joining their game, Beau and Beauty resisted.
Beneath the weight of nearly four hundred bouncing pounds of dog, another two
hundred and fifty or so pounds of persons, was the bed. A bed not made for such
excess.
The
bed crashed with a great clamor.
A
moment of stunned silence followed.
"Oh
my God," Chessy said yet again.
Justin
squealed with the wonder of it.
Rosarn
felt faint, decided she best set Justin to the ground before she fell.
Christina
picked herself up, looked at the two dogs, and in a voice she had never used
before, "Get out!"
"The
bed." Rosarn fanned her face.
"Forget
the bed. The French agents," and she excitedly explained what had
happened. After repeating the story twice, she finished with the point,
"You must take a letter to Justin to tell him to come home."
"I
ain't leaving you with no French folks runnin' about. Uh, uh." Chessy
shook his head.
"Chessy!
There's still plenty of people about—"
"No
thar ain't. They most all left for town, whether to give back the letter or no,
I can't say." Though, in truth, Chessy knew each of the other servants
intimately. He couldn't imagine one who would steal it, even for a pot of gold.
Folks have some principles, he knew, and often thanked the stars for it.
"Mac
and Tomas are gone?" she asked.
"Sure
thing and knowin' the two of 'em, they be stone-cold drunk in some gutter by
this point. Only ones left is Hope, Rosarn, and him—" he pointed to
Justin. "And he ain't good for nothing but trouble. Ole man MacPherson
still here but I wouldn't trust the man to guard a piece of penny candy from a
child."
According
to popular thought old man MacPherson had slipped into his second childhood. No
one could remember who had hired him and for what, but about all he was good
for was sitting by the fire in his rocking chair, retelling fragmented stories
of battles with the Indians. Hope had even started hand-feeding him.
Christina
considered this. "There's always the Johnsons and they're only two miles
up the road. And Hope's family. If I need help—"
"Catch
the boy, Missy," Rosarn warned, always concerned with the immediate.
"He's going to get hurt in the ruins of that bed."
Instead
of picking Justin up, she motioned Chessy to help her set the headboard
straight. She took one side and he the other as she continued trying to talk
him into it.
He
lifted the headboard with a heave. "I just—" He stopped as a slight
whisk sounded, like something dropping. Two pairs of eyes locked on the floor
and Christina gasped. She bent down to pick up the letter. A letter that had
been stuck between the headboard and the wall.
Finding
the letter changed everything. Chessy was convinced of the necessity of
bringing Justin a message. Christina wasted no time in writing it.
Justin,
I
found the letter! It is difficult to explain the particulars, for I write this
in all urgency. The letter was lost behind the headboard of my bed, where it
must have fallen from the pocket of your robe. The seal is
not
broken!
The
French agents have found their way to our house and have accosted me on my
walk. I pretended the dull wits of a silly housewife, convincing them of my
willingness to do their treachery in order to stop them from ruining Richard's
reputation, which he threatened to do! We have only three days to stop them.
Please
hurry home! If I do not see you or hear word from you by the morrows noon, I
shall borrow the Johnsons' driver, as there is no one to escort me, and take
the letter to you directly.
My
love,
Christina
Chessy
argued over the last passage. Christina insisted. Justin needed the letter and
she was just as safe carrying it into town as she was holding it at the
house—empty except for three women and a boy.
"But
I know the Johnsons' driver and ol' man Raymond's 'bout as good as
MacPherson."
"Oh!
Men make too much fuss over such things and besides, Chessy, if Justin doesn't
want me to come to town with the Johnsons' driver, he'll send someone else to
escort me."
"I
don't know..."
"Oh
please! You must hurry now."
"I
don't know," Chessy repeated as he placed her letter in his jacket pocket.
"I just don't know."
Chessy
saddled what he knew was the fastest horse remaining in the stables, Saber. The
situation demanded urgency but, even more important, he wanted to get Mr.
Phillips in charge of the events that were beginning to overwhelm him. He could
always handle himself, his sweet wife, the tasks of being someone's driver. But
this—letters and spying and French agents—it was all beyond him. He wanted it
over and as soon as possible.
Chessy
turned from the estate on to the main road shortly after midnight. A bright
half-moon broke the dark of night, permitting reasonable safety at a gallop. He
pressed the young, spirited, and barely green broke mare for all he dared. He
wore a hand-knotted scarf and hat, leather gloves, and a thick sheep-lined
coat, and despite these layers of clothing, the cold night air felt like a
continuous slap to his skin. Still he raced on and the dark landscape became
one long blur passing at a frightening speed.
A
good four miles later, Chessy discerned the sharp bend in the road just in
time. He slowed his mount. Perhaps his aging frame could take no more of the
jostle, or perhaps he needed an easy breath, a moment's warmth from the bite of
the wind, yet more likely, what his wife often claimed was true—he had the gift
of the sixth sense.
For
suddenly he felt need for caution. Feeling this, Saber pricked her ears, Chessy
did the same and as he rounded the bend, he listened to the snorts of the
winded horse, the click of her trot, his own heavy breathing. Just as horse and
rider rounded the bend, a lantern light flashed, then out. Like apparitions
emerging from fog, two dark shapes of men appeared on the road.
Highway
robbers! Highway robbers, he knew, and in that instant, he kicked spurred boots
into the horse's side to make a run for it.