Jo Goodman (54 page)

Mercedes ignored it and pushed herself upright. She accepted Ponty Pine's hand instead.

Weybourne's smile did not touch his eyes. "It seems you have another rival for your affections, Severn. Come. We should all return to the lodge. I, for one, am in need of libation."

* * *

The housekeeper at Rosefield had been at her post for a quarter of a century. So when Colin asked her if she was quite certain the earl and his son were not in residence, she was visibly affronted. She actually recoiled from the notion that she may have somehow mistaken the matter and pursed her thin lips disapprovingly.

"Quite certain," she said. "The earl has been in London for a little better than a month now."

"And his health?" Colin asked tersely.

"He fairs as well as he did one month ago," she said. "No information has reached Rosefield to the contrary."

"What about Viscount Fielding?"

The housekeeper was thinking better of her decision to allow Colin into Rosefield's spacious entrance hall. His eyes had darted several times toward the main staircase, and he looked as if he was of a mind to search the rooms abovestairs himself. "His lordship only recently returned from abroad," she said. "But yesterday he went to London and has yet to return."

"You expect him today?"

The housekeeper's hands were clasped firmly in front of her. The knuckles whitened a bit at this question. "I am not apprised of his lordship's plans," she said. Clearly it was a sore point with her.

"What business took him to London?"

"I'm sure I don't know," the housekeeper said. "A messenger arrived and his lordship left posthaste."

Colin saw she was uncomfortable with his questions but felt some compunction to answer them. "The message had nothing to do with the earl's health?"

"I'm certain of that. News of that nature would have come to me in order to prepare for his arrival. The earl would move heaven and earth to return to Rosefield if he were ill. He has always been quite adamant in that regard."

Colin supposed that meant the earl intended to die at Rosefield.

"More to the point," the housekeeper went on, "I don't believe the earl knew his son was in residence." Her hands fell to her sides as she realized she had said more than she meant to. "If that's all..." She glanced hopefully toward the door.

"Only one small matter more," Colin said. "I require the London addresses for the earl and his son."

The housekeeper hesitated only briefly. Colin's silence moved her to action more quickly than further entreaties would have done. She excused herself long enough to write down the addresses, then handed the note over quite willingly.

Colin gave it a cursory glance then thrust it into his jacket pocket. "If Severn returns, you'll be sure to tell him I was here. You will also tell him I'll meet him anywhere."

The housekeeper nodded before she clearly understood what was being asked of her. It was only after Colin was riding away that she realized she had agreed to carry a message that could cost someone his life.

* * *

Mercedes watched her uncle pour himself a drink. She recognized his mood as one which had been fermenting a good part of the morning and perhaps the previous night. His movements were the careful gestures of one who did not want to appear foxed but nevertheless was deep in his cups.

Upon returning to the lodge Mercedes was directed to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace. She knew it was no accident that Marcus had set her back to the window. If she could have looked out there would have been hope. He had been careful to take that away from her.

The pickpocket's presence was a mystery to her. He was at his ease with her uncle and only slightly less so with Severn, though both men were faintly contemptuous of him. Mercedes was certain he had intended to help her in the wood but now it seemed he had cast in his lot with the others. She tried to catch his eye but he very purposefully avoided looking too often in her direction.

"Don't imagine that you will have the opportunity to run again," Severn told her. He was gone from the room for a few minutes and returned with a silk scarf. He dampened the length of silk with water from the sideboard, stretched it once, then went to Mercedes.

She heard her uncle chuckle deeply as her hands went protectively to her throat.

"It's not your neck he wants, niece," Weybourne said, raising his glass to his lips. "Not now. Give him your hands."

Mercedes turned her head and slowly offered up her wrists. The wet silk was cold against her skin. Severn wove the material in a figure eight and pulled tight. He secured the binding with a double knot, and Mercedes knew the pressure would increase as the silk dried. Her comfort was not Severn's concern. It seemed he, like her uncle, took pleasure in her pain. Mercedes made every effort to keep her expression neutral.

Satisfied with his work, Severn moved to sit, only to find the wing chair opposite Mercedes was now taken. He smiled coolly and chose to sit on the long sofa when Weybourne's rough friend did not move.

Seeing Severn thwarted, Weybourne was amused. "You must excuse Mr. Epine, Marcus. He's not accustomed to showing deference to his betters. I suppose it could become tiresome, but right now I find it enormously entertaining." He did not seek a seat for himself, choosing instead to hover at the sideboard and sip his liquor. "Well, Mercedes? Have you nothing to say? I find your silence rather remarkable. Has marriage so thoroughly tamed your tongue?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Severn grimace. Marcus did not like any reminders that Mercedes was married. "Or is it that you find us tedious conversationalists?"

Mercedes stared at her bound hands and said nothing.

Severn grew impatient. His hand sliced the air. "Enough. Weybourne, tell her what you told me when you summoned me to London."

The earl's brows rose. "Summoned?" he asked. "Isn't that putting too strong an emphasis on it? I believe I merely mentioned I was alive and well and returned to these fair environs. I might have mentioned where I had taken my lodgings, but I don't think I actually summoned you there." He topped off his glass. His slight smile communicated his enjoyment of Severn's simmering anger. "You mustn't be so anxious, Marcus. Or at least you mustn't appear to be so. I imagine you have hours yet before the captain finds us here. After all, it was your intent to make it difficult for him. Otherwise, he'd know it was a trap, wouldn't he?"

Mercedes closed her eyes briefly. The tightening around the silk bonds was nothing to the tightening around her heart. Colin couldn't possibly know that her uncle was alive. Even if he was able to find her, he'd never suspect that he would not be facing Severn alone.

Severn's eyes were cold. "Tell her," he said again.

"Oh, very well." Amber liquid swirled in Weybourne's glass. "The last time we spoke, Mercedes, you knew it was my intention to go abroad. I did exactly that. I can tell you that Boston has nothing to recommend itself. For all that the people give themselves airs, it's really quite provincial."

Concerned that Weybourne intended to go on at length about the city, Severn interrupted. "Resist lecturing, Wallace. Tell her what she needs to know."

Weybourne sighed. "You must forgive Severn," he said to Mercedes. "He's taken it in his head that once you hear my tale you'll be moved to see him in a more favorable light. I've told him that a thousand Roman candles going off above his head wouldn't illuminate him in your eyes, but the poor boy still has his hopes." He shrugged and smiled carelessly. "Love. There is no accounting for it."

Mercedes started as Severn came to his feet. He had straightened to his full height and fairly vibrated with his agitation. That he contained it made it somehow seem more fierce. Had it been directed at her she knew she would have recoiled. What she did not expect was that her uncle would. She watched a droplet of liquor splash on the back of Weybourne's hand and for the first time recognized that her uncle was not necessarily in command of Severn's friendship. It occurred to her to wonder if he ever had been.

Severn sat down slowly. He had no need to punctuate his point with words.

Weybourne set his glass on the sideboard and removed a handkerchief. He dabbed at his wrist. In spite of Severn's silent threat, he took his time before speaking. "My purpose for going to Boston, of course, was to find someone who would speak the truth about Captain Thorne's last voyage on the
Mystic.
I learned very quickly that the captain is something of a local hero. It was not so easy as I supposed to locate a man willing to say something against him."

"Lie, you mean," Mercedes said.

Weybourne shrugged. "As it turned out, it wasn't necessary. Mr. Epine came forward and is quite willing to discredit your husband's victory. He sailed on the
Mystic
on that occasion."

Mercedes's eyes darted to Ponty Pine. She knew it was quite impossible for that to be true. If Ponty's jailhouse confessions could be believed, then he had been lifting jewelry from bedchambers in Bath at about that time. It was on the tip of her tongue to say as much, but a single glance from Ponty kept her silent.

"It seems suspicious that you could only find one man to speak against my husband," she said instead. "Perhaps Mr. Epine has reasons for lying of which you're unaware. Is that right, Mr. Epine? As I understand it, the
Mystic's
crew was handsomely rewarded for their record voyage. Were you slighted in some way?"

Ponty Pine was less relaxed than his posture indicated. He sat back in the large chair, his arms resting casually across the deep maroon leather. His legs were crossed at the ankles and his head was tilted slightly to one side. There was once again a certain distance in his blue eyes, a look that could have been thoughtful or bored. "Slighted?" he said at last. "No. I wouldn't say I was slighted. Cheated, more like it. Came aboard the
Mystic
in London. Thought I'd sign on, make the trek to Boston, and abandon ship there. Never told a soul what I was about. I'm not trusting that way."

Mercedes schooled her features and listened. She could feel Severn's impatience with Ponty's account and could almost believe that the pickpocket was drawing it out on purpose.

"The thing of it is," Ponty went on. "The
Mystic
never went as far as Boston. I can't say where we were—I don't know much about the longitude and latitude of these things—but men told me we were only a few days shy of making port when the captain hailed another ship. She was coming straightaway from Boston and she pulled alongside us. There wasn't much discussion as I remember. I thought to myself that this had been done before. With the two crews working side by side we exchanged cargoes in a few hours. The
Mystic
circled and the next thing I knew the sun was behind me and we were coming back to London."

Mercedes
knew
he was lying, yet he told his story with convincing simplicity.

"I got my portion of the reward for the record but I knew just like every other man that it was undeserved." He smiled narrowly. "Not that I complained. That would have been foolish."

"I thought you met my uncle in Boston," Mercedes said.

"That's true," said Ponty. His calm demeanor was unruffled. His thick hair was a dark contrast to the startling blue clarity of his eyes. "I jumped ship in London, waited for the
Mystic
to leave again, then signed aboard another clipper. I finally got to Boston, left the ship, and kept mostly to myself the next few weeks. Then I heard this rumor about an Englishman looking for someone who had been on the
Mystic
's last record voyage. It tickled my curiosity. The truth is, I found the Earl of Weybourne before he found me."

Chapter 16

Colin refused the seat that Aubrey offered him. The area in front of the fireplace was an inadequate substitute for the pacing dimensions of a clipper, but confinement in a chair would have been worse. The restlessness that was upon him, the need to
do
something, was so powerful that he was having difficulty keeping his head clear for thinking. Only one other time in his life had he not known what to do.

On that occasion his parents had died.

"Think," he told the gathering, asking them to do what he could not. The twins were sharing a single wing chair. Sylvia and Chloe were huddled on the love seat. Aubrey's large bulk occupied another chair. Mrs. Hennepin and her husband had been asked to join the family and Aubrey in the library. They stood like sentries just inside the doorway. "There must be some place besides London that he would take her. Somewhere closer."