A Gentleman By Any Other Name (6 page)

Chance cocked one eyebrow at her, rather amazed by her knowledge and her deductions, not to mention her cool head in the midst of this crisis. “Obviously you've been giving all of this some considerable consideration. You expect retribution from the boys' compatriots?”

“Don't you? Freebooting is a desperate business and demands total secrecy. Through their eagerness, Georgie and his brothers may have lost the entire proceeds of a smuggling run. Possibly tons of goods, all paid for and brought to shore, hidden. Considerable work and cost are involved, sir. Someone will be very unhappy and want revenge. Dickie made mention of a black ghost but then quickly begged me to forget I'd heard what I'd heard.”

“That would probably be wise. Excuse me,” Chance said tightly and went after John, who was now wringing his hands and crying yet again. He took the boy roughly by the elbow and steered him into the tall grass beside the narrow roadway. “Stop wailing like a little girl. Stand up straight and look at me. Your brother told the lady about a black ghost. Now you're going to tell me.”

John's eyes went wide. “Oh, no, sir. He did no such thing. None of us never would, sir. Dickie's just hurtin' bad, that's all. He never said that.”

Chance ruthlessly squeezed the boy's upper arm. “Dover Castle, boy. Ever see a body hanging in gibbet chains? The blacksmith comes and fits you for your very own set. Grown men have been known to keel over dead just seeing the smithy come at them with the measuring stick. And it all starts at Dover Castle. I know the way—you and your brother could be there by morning. Of course, with that hole in him and with no one to doctor him, he'll be dead soon and you'll probably hang alone. Crying and pissing your pants as they drag you to the rope, your mam there to watch.”

He gave the boy's arm a shake. “
Tell
me.”

“We…we travel with him now, sir. The Black Ghost. Him and his men protect us from the others. From this side of Camber to Appledore and all the way to Dymchurch, sir. We're almost all together now, with the Black Ghost watchin' over us.”

“Is that so?” Chance did his best to control his breathing, his temper. “The others, John. And who are the others? The ones who came after you?”

“I can't say, sir.” When Chance squeezed again, John rushed into speech. “I don't know, sir, that's what I mean. Hundreds of them, all together. From Lunnon-town, we think. We had to join together, too, or else lose everything. We're the Black Ghost Gang now, sir. We can't say it because nobody is to know but us. Never say Black Ghost, sir. Dickie never should have said that. But Georgie, he said we didn't need to listen to nobody what won't even show his own face and…oh, sir, what do I tell our mam? Georgie was her favorite of all of us.”

Remembering what Julia had said, Chance asked, “How many of you are there?”

Johnnie wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his smock. “Twelve, sir. Da's gone, drowned on a run these two years past, but there's still twelve of us.” He half choked on a sob. “E-eleven, sir. And now they seen us. They know who we are. Now they can find us. We're all going to be dead, like Georgie. Mam and Dickie and me, even the little ones. The Black Ghost can't help us now. Maybe the Black Ghost will even want us all dead, too. We was told to stay away until tomorrow night and we didn't listen. What should I do?”

“Christ,” Chance muttered, then pulled the boy roughly into his arms. He let John weep against his shoulder while he told himself this boy was nothing like he had been years ago, when he knew that wasn't true. Desperate was desperate, no matter what the cause. Desperation was a taste, a smell, a fear you took to bed with you at night and woke with again in the morning.

“We really should be goin' on, sir,” Billy said, grinning as he dug one booted foot into the stones. “I'll take young Johnnie off your hands, now that you're done teachin' him a lesson and all.”

Chance disengaged himself from John's clinging arms. “Maybe I'm getting old and soft myself, Billy.”

“Don't worry, boy, it'll all come back to you,” Billy whispered with a wink, then took John by the shoulders, handed him his own filthy handkerchief, called him a good boy and led him back to the second coach.

Chance looked toward the lead coach to see that Julia had been watching him, had seen him with the boy. Had probably overheard him as he'd spoken both to Johnnie and Billy. Without a word she turned, hiked up her skirts and climbed back into the coach.

Leaving Chance to stand in the moonlight, silently cursing the Black Ghost. “
This
is how he hides?” he asked the night at last, then headed for the coach.

“Will your father—will Mr. Becket be upset that we've brought the boys to him?” Julia asked when Chance was seated across from her once more and the coach was moving yet again.

She could see his wry smile through the darkness. “Upset? Miss Carruthers, tonight will be probably the first time I will have pleased Ainsley Becket in thirteen long years.”

Julia said nothing more but only sat in the darkness to consider the London gentleman whose knowledge seemed to reach far beyond concerns such as the cut of his coat or the latest society gossip, her mind full of questions, possibilities…and more than a little apprehension about what might await her at Becket Hall.

L
OW CLOUDS AND A SLICE
of moon allowed Julia to see some of the facade of Becket Hall as she stood in the courtyard looking up at the huge stone building.

They'd driven up a wide, curving gravel path that was happily well-tended, to stop in front of the large central section of the house that seemed to be in the shape of a large U—although it could be an H, as she couldn't see if the wings also extended toward the Channel she knew to be behind the building.

“The house doesn't overlook the water,” she said mostly to herself, but Chance heard her.

“There are terraces,” Chance told her as he lifted the sleeping Alice from the coach. “But only a fool would face a house toward the Channel, Miss Carruthers. Then again, only a fool would order so many windows built into that side of the house.”

They had long ago, somewhere between London and Maidstone and the incident on the Marsh, given up the notion that he was her superior, with she his docile servant (or at least she had), so Julia didn't think twice before asking bluntly as she reached back into the coach to retrieve Alice's small traveling bag, “Then I am to consider Mr. Becket a fool?”

“That would probably depend on where he decides to put you. If your bedchamber overlooks the water, you may think so once winter comes and storms begin to blow, rattling those same windows. But, no, you'll be in the nursery with Alice, which I believe to be even worse, as your chamber will be directly on a corner. Shall we? Billy, go pound on that door knocker, will you?”

Julia moved close beside Chance as they climbed up one of the wide stone staircases to a large stone porch, attempting to block Alice from the salty breeze that found them even in the shelter of the immense building.

“What about the boys, Mr. Becket?” she asked, holding the hood of her cloak over her head as the wind whipped at it. “Someone should be sent for the doctor, I believe.”

“First let's get Alice into the house, Miss Carruthers. Billy well knows what to do.”

“Really? Let us only hope he well knows better than he drives a coach.”

Chance took a moment to smile at this, then disappeared as the large front door opened and light spilled onto the porch. Fifty servants scattered about Becket Hall and its outbuildings, at the least, and Jacko opened the door? Had Chance's luck gone from bad to even worse? “Jacko,” he said, keeping his tone even if not cordial. “He's got you butlering now in your declining years?”

Julia squinted, trying to see the man as her eyes became accustomed to the brightness of the light that outlined a tall, wide shape that stood in the doorway. She watched as two thick arms came away from the man's sides before he jammed his hands onto his hips, the breadth of him now, elbows out, all but filling that doorway. Not loosely, sloppily fat, like Mr. Keen, the Hawkhurst baker, but just big and very, very solid. Stone-wall solid.

And with a voice that sent a chill down Julia's spine. “Here now, look what the sea dragged up. No, no, never the sea. Can't get your dainty city feet wet, can you? What's the matter, boy? Running from creditors, are you? Or did you wink at the wrong woman? Thinking to hide here? Not under my skirts, you won't.”

Julia could feel Chance tensing beside her. “Skirts? But it's a man, isn't it?”

Chance sniffed, shook his head. “It's Jacko. And if he ever wanted to wear skirts, Miss Carruthers, I can assure you I'd be the last one trying for a peek beneath them. Come on or he'll just pose there spouting nonsense to amuse himself and have us standing out here all night.”

“Oh, so that was in the way of friendly banter then?” Julia asked, knowing she'd heard nothing friendly in anything Jacko had said, no matter that he was dressed as a gentleman.

“Could it be anything else, Miss Carruthers?” Chance asked through clenched teeth, then shifted his blanket-wrapped daughter in his arms. “I've got Miss Alice here, Jacko, as Ainsley obviously didn't get my letter, so you can either leave off your crowing and let us in or take a bow, then shut the door on our faces and we'll be on our way.”

The man stepped forward, the light from the dying flambeaux on either side of the door at last revealing his face, showing his age to be somewhere older than Chance Becket and younger than Moses when he'd come tripping back down the mountain with those clay tablets in his arms. More than that, she really couldn't tell.

Julia didn't know whether to smile or run screaming for the safety of the coach. For this was a round, happy face. Even a jolly face, with eyebrows raised up high on its forehead, a large nose with a bulb at the end, a carelessly trimmed mustache and small beard surrounded by apple cheeks. His smile was wide and exposed huge white teeth that were all odd-sized and oddly spaced.

The eyes? The eyes showed amusement, even playfully twinkled. The skin around the eyes crinkled when he smiled. Oh, so jolly. Jacko would probably look jolly even as he was carving your beating heart right out of your chest.

“You've got the babe with you?” Jacko asked, his head coming forward on his thick neck, as if this part of him, at least, wanted a closer look. “God's backside, you do! Well, get in here, boy. Don't leave the child out in the damp. God gave you brains, didn't he?”

Julia bit her lips between her teeth and waited for Chance to precede her into the large entrance hall, then followed after him, making sure she stood as far from Jacko as was possible without physically crawling beneath the long table pushed against a side wall.

Jacko kicked the door shut and turned to look at Alice, who had awakened at last and was already looking at him. “Hello, princess,” he said, his voice tender now, his delight obvious.

“Hello,” Alice responded sleepily. “I'm not a princess. You're funny.”

It was true, Alice wasn't afraid of strangers. But Julia didn't trust that smile, that laugh. She knew a dangerous man when she saw one. Jacko was like a dog you met on the village street, seeming pleasant enough but just as likely to bite as to wag its tail.

“She's very tired,” Julia said, stepping in front of Chance, as her concern for Alice outstripped her reluctance to draw this man's attention to her. “We need to be shown a room where I can get her into bed. Thank you.”

Jacko cocked one eyebrow and looked past Julia, to Chance. “Not the wife. I remember the wife. Didn't say two words to me, but I remember her. Who's this?”

Chance held his temper as Alice slipped her thin arms up and around his neck. “Miss Carruthers is Alice's nurse, Jacko. And my wife is dead these six months, as well you know. I've brought Alice to stay here, within the warm, loving bosom of my family. Now I'm taking Alice up to the nursery, as I know the way, and you can tell Ainsley I'm here. Or you can go to hell.”

Julia let out a half cough, half choke, then lifted her skirts to follow after Chance when he headed up the staircase, as being left in the hallway with Jacko wasn't the most appealing thought she'd ever entertained.

She made it halfway across the hall before a large hand grabbed her at the elbow and pulled her to a quick halt.

“You don't look like a nanny. Too pretty by half, and you look like one who really sees what's around her. Why's he here? Why's he
really
here, pretty girl?” Jacko asked quietly, smiling down at her.

“If you have questions for Mr. Becket, you should direct them to him,” Julia said, wondering briefly if she might faint. “Please let go of my arm.”

“Leave off, Jacko. She's good enough. Knows what she's about, this one does.”

“Billy?” Julia asked, blinking, as the coachman rolled his wiry body into the hallway. What on earth? Servants didn't come into the front of the house, most certainly not a coachman wearing all of his travel dirt and with mud still caked on his boots. And most definitely not any servant carrying a half-eaten drumstick.

Billy's walk was suddenly more assured, the tone of his voice much more forceful, and Julia realized that this was the real Billy she was seeing now and not the awkward, scrambling little man who worked as Chance's fairly cow-handed coachie—probably playing that role for her benefit, now that she considered the thing.

“Billy boy, there you are, ugly as ever.” Jacko let go of Julia's arm. “You can go up now, miss. Third floor, then turn to your right and then your left and follow your pretty nose to the end.”

Julia didn't move other than to rub at her arm where Jacko's sausage-thick fingers had been. “You're seamen. Both of you. I should have realized…I should have—”

She shut her mouth, remembered Billy's description of her:
Knows what she's about, this one does.

And she did, didn't she? She hadn't lived in Hawkhurst on the edge of Romney Marsh for all of her life without coming to “know what she's about.” Knowing what Billy and Jacko were and even what those three unlucky young boys had been “about.” Knowing that asking too many questions in Romney Marsh could mean she'd soon know too much for anyone to be comfortable.

But there was one question she had to ask. “Billy? Will you please tell me what you have done with the boys? Have you sent for the doctor? They're harmless, Billy, just boys.”

“What's she running her mouth about? What
boys?
”

“The lads will be fine, missy,” Billy said, ignoring Jacko's question as he looked at Julia. “Excepting the dead one, of course. He'll still be dead. Odette's with the other one. If she can't fix him, he's good as fish bait anyway. No harm will come to them, rest your mind on that. Mr. Chance, he gave orders. You go on upstairs now, missy.”

Julia opened her mouth to ask something else—so many questions already half-formed in her mind!—but Jacko was looking at her again. “Thank you, Billy. Our…the baggage?”

“Already waiting on you, missy.”

“Thank you again,” Julia said as she clutched the small traveling bag to her and neatly sidestepped Jacko. She didn't break into a run until she reached the third floor, barely remembering anything of her surroundings on the way up, except to think that Mr. Ainsley Becket, whatever and whoever he was, must possess amazingly deep pockets.

She had, however, found time to think up at least a half dozen pointed questions for Mr. Chance Becket!

Julia pushed wide the already opened door that led to the nursery—again, an almost ridiculously well-appointed room, larger than the entire vicarage in Hawkhurst—then followed the sound of voices into an adjoining room to her left. There she found Chance Becket and little Alice, Chance doing his best to pull the blue gown up and over his child's head.

“Here, sir, I'll do that,” Julia said, stripping off her pelisse and tossing it onto a nearby rocking chair that, goodness, had carved swans' heads for arms. She opened Alice's traveling bag and pulled out a night rail. “I imagine you'll be wanted downstairs.”

“Do you really,” Chance said, stepping back to let Julia take over the chore of undressing a child so sleepy her arms and legs seemed boneless. “You took your sweet time, Miss Carruthers. I already know you're a curious sort. Did you allow yourself a tour?”

Julia lowered the night rail over Alice's head, tucked her arms into the sleeves, then kissed the child's cheek as she worked to push back the coverlet and slip Alice's legs between the sheets. “Someone knew we were coming, Mr. Becket,” she said as she stood up again. “Those are fresh sheets on Miss Alice's bed. There are fires in the grates. And there are newly lit candles. We were expected.”

She watched as Chance ran a hand over his hair. He'd had a long two days, definitely a long evening tonight. He looked almost adorably rumpled, some of his hair having escaped the ribbon, and there was a hint of strain around his eyes. Obviously this was not a happy homecoming.

“True, Miss Carruthers. Jacko knew. He simply preferred to pretend he didn't. I was expected last night, however, and when I didn't arrive I may have disappointed someone. Jacko wanted me to be quite sure I understood that.”

Julia shook her head. “Well, I don't understand. Why would you plan to leave your daughter here? You obviously detest the place and dislike your family, at the very least.”

Chance's look was cool and level. “If we're done here, Miss Carruthers?”

He knew what was coming even before he saw her lift that maddeningly expressive chin. How in the name of Hades had he been so stupid as to hire this confounding woman?

Ah, desperation. It had been out of desperation, of course. Once he'd sent the letter off to Ainsley, once he'd made up his mind that he had no logical recourse but to go back to Becket Hall with Alice, he'd had no choice but to stay with his plans, even when Mrs. Jenkins proved unacceptable.

Those were his reasons, along with the way Julia Carruthers had appealed to him physically. A welcome surprise to sweeten the large bite of crow he would swallow once he stood in the same room with Ainsley Becket.

Even now, when he knew Julia was about to say something totally unacceptable and clearly out of line with her duties, all he wanted was to undo that ridiculous bun that was once more half sliding off her head, to learn if her honey-blond hair felt warm and silky under his hand.