Crimson Rapture (54 page)

Winded
and frightened, Saber refused any more abuse and with an angry snort the young
horse reared high into the air and rid himself of her rider. Chessy fell to the
ground with a thud, unhurt but suffering a deadly moment of disorientation. The
men quickly fell upon him.

"It's
the driver!" was said in a French accent. And Chessy suddenly knew he was
in far worse trouble than with any run-in with highway robbers.

A
man pulled Chessy to his feet from behind and with a grip that told him to
offer no resistance. Petiers stepped in front of him and looked the captive
over. "Let me guess." He almost smiled. "You—
mon ami
—are
carrying a message to Mr. Phillips from his loving but witless wife. Only she's
not so witless, is she? Madonna," he swore with low viciousness, "I
suspected it. Where is it?"

"Uh
un." Chessy shook his head.

Petiers's
pretense of calmness exploded and he kicked a knee hard into Chessy's groin.
Chessy cried out and doubled over with shocking pain as hands reached to frisk
him.

The
loud cock of a pistol sounded from behind them and everyone froze as a gruff
male voice said, "Stop right there," and Miles explained, "I
shoot first and ask questions later."

Miles
held the men at gunpoint. Abruptly released, Chessy fell to the ground, still
doubled over in pain, throbbing from the center of his being throughout his
body. Petiers and Robert stood perfectly still. Too still if anyone had
noticed, for they waited on someone.

Steffen
had left Miles for town once they saw the French agents holed up by the
roadside. Neither of Justin's men had been able to fathom what the French
agents had been up to, waiting by the roadside again, but Steffen had told
Miles to simply watch. Which he had done for a couple of hours until he saw
that the time for watching was over and the time to do something had begun.

"Where's
your other man?" Miles demanded.

Gasping
and spitting up, Chessy struggled to lift his eyes in time to scream,
"Behind you!" A boot kicked hard into Chessy's face just as a heavy
branch crashed hard on to Miles's head. Miles crumpled like so much cloth to
the ground. His finger pulled the trigger. Blood filled Chessy's mouth and the
last thing he remembered was a pistol fired at the bright light of a half-moon.

Petiers
looked down at the two fallen bodies and motioned to Franz. Franz shook his
arms like a dog shakes a wet coat, aching from the blow given with all his
strength. Then he picked up Miles's pistol and knowing there was one shot left;
not wanting to waste the fire in his own pistol, he aimed the weapon at the
fallen man's head and shot.

Petiers
ordered in his flawless French, "Find his horse. And you," he said to
Robert, pointing at Chessy, "search him."

"Who
do you think he is?" Franz asked in charge of Miles.

"One
of Phillips's men for sure."

"Only
one man?" he asked as his eyes lifted to nervously search the surrounding
darkness.

"Had
there been another, he would have made his presence known, don't you think,
mon
ami?"
Petiers replied. Though it was indeed odd to send only one man.

Robert
quickly produced Christina's letter from Chessy's pocket and handed it to
Petiers, for he could not read his own native French let alone English. Petiers
read it, looked up, and knew. "Madonna! We're in luck!"

* * * * *

"It's
preferable to killing them, don't you think?" Justin asked Jacob as the
two men enjoyed a huge morning meal together in the dining room of Justin's
townhouse. They had been up hours before dawn to see the ship loaded and off,
and both had worked up a voracious appetite.

"Aye,
I suppose," Jacob agreed in a tone that contradicted his statement. He
watched as Justin smothered his eggs, ham, fried potatoes, his flat cakes, and
his corn bread in a thick pool of maple syrup. He had to smile. The only thing
Justin loved more than maple syrup, he often thought, was Christina and his
little tyke.

And
God knows, Jacob thought to himself as he used what was left of the syrup, Justin
was suddenly a happy man again. Even the missing letter, the idea of a
servant's betrayal seemed hardly to bother him. He was whole and ever so in
love again, and Jacob was happy for him.

Jacob
mused over Justin's intention to drop the French agents off on some deserted
island rather than turn them over to the law or kill them as they probably
deserved, and knew where he got the idea from. "I cannot wait till we get
a ship back to the island to see how ole John is doing." He suddenly
laughed. "I just hope that wench hasn't found a way to do him in
yet."

"John's
about the only man I'd leave with a woman like that. I daresay he can handle
her." Justin swallowed his coffee and added with a chuckle in turn,
"I hope."

"Women,"
Jacob voiced an age-old complaint. "Sometimes I think the creator made
them soft and sweet just to deceive us poor bastards."

"No
doubt. Though few women are capable of her kind of chicanery; of concealing
such maliciousness in their femininity." Again Justin could not help but
compare Lady Knolls to Christina, the startling contrast always meaningful to
him. One represented the worst in a woman, one the best.

"And
thank God for that," Jacob finished and turned the conversation back to
work. They fell into a heated discussion of another of Justin's captains, one
whose drinking excess caused some doubt over his ability to make the run.
Justin had just pushed his plate away and was weighing the decision to have the
first mate assume the position when a servant announced the arrival of whom they
waited.

"See
him in," Justin ordered. Steffen would know the location of the French
agents. Everything else was arranged: five men waited at the very moment to
take the three French agents into custody. One of Mr. Lowell's ships, the only
one leaving that day under the pretense of being a passenger ship, waited in
port for their arrival on board. They would be brought to a small uninhabited
island near Jamaica—Jamaica being the port to which the ship sailed. Mr. Lowell
had thought it a wonderful idea and had been more than willing to do the
business for Justin.

Steffen
walked into the dining room, wearing all the evidence of something terribly
amiss. He stood awkwardly before them with his head lowered, and his great
shoulders sagged and his hands nervously turned his hat. He might have come to
announce the death of a loved one and indeed he would have preferred that task.

"Did
you lose em?" Jacob assumed the worst.

"No.
Miles is out there now. I know where they're holed up." Stalling, he was
silent, except to decline the invitation to join them at the table.

"Well,
what the hell's the problem?" Jacob asked. "You're actin' like a
Puritan lad on his weddin' day."

"I
don't know how to tell this is all. It's bad, real bad." He finally looked
at Justin. "It has to do with your Christina."

"Is
she all right?" Justin rose with the question.

"Oh
aye. She's fine, just fine. But well, we's—Miles and me—we followed the
bastards out to your house."

"My
house?" Justin did not expect this.

"Aye
and we waited and watched like ye said. 'Twas your Christina that met with
them. She walked right out of the house just at night fall, when 'twas all
dark, and met them on the lawn. I couldn' get close enough to hear it all but I
heard enough. Enough to know 'twas not good, not good a'tall."

Justin
stood now, with his fists resting on the table, searching the man with
incomprehension. "You saw Christina meet with the French agents?"

Steffen
nodded.

"Spell
it out, Steffen."

"Like
I said, I couldn' hear it all. Dr. Morrison was mentioned. I didn' get that
part. Logbooks were mentioned and a letter—correspondence to England. Then they
planned to meet at the oak tree in town. Couldn' hear when, though. That was
it." He paused and shifted nervously, signaling the worst was over. "She
went back to the house. We followed the bastards down the road a few miles
where they're holed up. We couldn't figure why but they seemed bent on staying,
so I left Miles watching them and I came here straight up."

Justin
stared hard for a long moment before his questions began. "What did she
say to the man?"

"Don't
know. Couldn' hear her hardly at all, not with her soft voice."

"How
was Dr. Morrison mentioned?"

"Don't
know. Somethin' about him being her friend is all."

"Who
mentioned the letter?"

"He
did. Said to bring it to him."

Several
more questions were asked. Steffen repeated the story twice. Sitting mute
throughout, Jacob watched Justin finally turn to face the window. The silence
was deafening; the click of his cup as he set it slowly to the saucer sounded
like a bang of pots. And Jacob realized quite suddenly he had not drawn a
breath.

"There
is a mistake here," Justin finally said, but much too slowly. His mind was
blocked by emotions. He could not think through the situation, though he
struggled for long minutes to do just that. All he knew was "There is a
mistake here. Christina would not do that, I know—" He turned in sudden
fear to Jacob. "Come on." He rushed to the door. "I want those
men."

* * * * *

Christina
waited in the parlor. She nibbled from an apple-and-cheese tray Hope had just
brought her, watching as the hands of the clock signaled half past one. Rosarn
was taking a very long time about it.

When
the noon hour struck and there was still no word from Justin, she had sent
Rosarn to the Johnson's house with a note asking if she might have use of a
driver to take her into town. She explained it was an emergency, that Justin
had dismissed the servants for a holiday—this was not unheard of—and that she
had to get to town that day.

She
could not fathom why Chessy had not told Justin to send someone back to escort
her. Perhaps he forgot to mention that there was no one here to bring her into
town. But hadn't she mentioned it in her letter? And then, too, Chessy had been
so concerned about the issue...

"I'll
just bet Rosarn is dallying with Jane," she complained to no one, unless
one counted little Justin playing on the floor. Jane was one of the Johnsons'
maids and Rosarn's dearest friend, save Aggie. "She's probably telling
Jane everything and Jane will tell somebody else, who will tell somebody else
and so on until finally it gets back to Mrs. Johnson and by then the story will
be all twisted and silly and outrageous and oh!" she said as she got up
yet eager to look out the window. "Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

The
Johnsons' carriage finally turned down the lane. Christina swung on her cloak,
lifted Justin to her arms, and picked up her bag, a bag filled with a change of
clothes for little Justin, an evening gown for herself, a brush, toilet water,
a small present for Hanna, and the letter, and headed out the door.

Raymond,
the driver, was a pleasant older fellow. As he swung down from the driver's
seat, he told her the Johnsons were glad to lend his services, and then lied as
his mistress told him to do. "No problem." He grinned magnanimously.
"I was just headin' into town anyway."

"How
lucky for me!" Christina smiled in turn, knowing this for what it was, a
neighbor's white lie. She liked the Johnsons and thought to send one of Hope's
apple pies over with a sweet note as soon as she got back. Hope loved to share
her cooking, especially her apple pie, while she hoped to counterbalance the
gossip with her good deed.

As
Raymond helped her inside, he told her Rosarn planned to pass the afternoon,
and probably the evening too, with her friend Jane. "Is that all
right?"

"There's
no one left here anyway and we should be gone for days."

The
old man smiled, told her to knock on the side should she want to stop, and then
shut the door. He climbed up onto the seat and slashed the whip on the horse's
back. The carriage bolted forward and they were off.

* * * * *

Justin
motioned silently for the other five men to turn back around and cover the
three French agents from the other side then he, Jacob, and Steffen dismounted.
"There they be," Steffen whispered as he looked around the thick
forest for Miles, "but I don't see Miles anywhere and I left him right
here— Look, there's our tracks." He pointed to the broken twigs at their
feet, the imprint of horses' hooves.

"He
probably left for town too," Jacob whispered into the silence of the
forest. They waited for the men to circle the three French agents. Jacob would
signal with his famous crow call when they should move. "It looks like
they're waiting for something, all mounted, staring up the road like that,
don't it?"

Justin
said nothing. He was thinking ahead to the questions he would ask and the
answers he would hear. He refused to confront his fear of those answers. He
held the reins of his mount tight. Bursts of moist fog came from the horse's
nostrils, this despite the mid-afternoon sun in the cloudless sky. A broken
promise of spring, the day still held a winter's chill, and wearing a suede and
sheepskin vest over a heavy cotton shirt and for one of the first times in his
life, Justin was acutely conscious of the cold.