Never Trust a Pirate (12 page)

“You’ve remembered?”

“I’m going to kill her,” Luca said grimly. How had she managed to trick him? How had she thought she could get away with it? They knew enough people in common that she would have been recognized sooner or later. And why the hell was she doing it?

“Not your lay, laddie.” Wart shook his head. “You’ve never been one for murder unless it was necessary, and I don’t see you killing a woman. You don’t even hit ’em when they deserve it. Who is she?”

“Eustace Russell’s daughter,” he said bitterly. “I saw her a few years ago at the christening of one of his ships. I don’t know which one she was—he had several of them.”

“Ships? Or daughters?”

“Both,” Luca said in a dark voice. “But what the hell would she be doing pretending to be a maid? And in my household?”

“Leave that part up to me. It’ll be dead easy to get the rest now that you’ve remembered. I’m guessing she didn’t see you at the time?”

He shook his head. “I was too far away, and she was too busy being Russell’s little princess.” He made an effort to tamp down the anger that suffused him. “I remember that he used to bring one of his daughters with him on occasion, though he never brought her around me.”

Wart snorted with laughter. “That surprises you? He wouldn’t want his precious cargo in the hands of a bad ’un like you. She’d take one look and fall madly in love.”

“Not that I noticed,” he said drily. “She wasn’t cut out for docility or domestic work. No wonder I had the feeling she’d just as soon stick a knife in my back as look at me. Though she did kiss me back,” he added, more to himself than to Wart.

“Kissed you back? You told me the girl had just arrived. You work fast, laddie.”

He wished he could find the humor in it. “I always have. Faster ’n you, in the old days.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t let the press gangs get me,” Wart shot back. “So what are you going to do about this?”

“Kick her out on her arse,” he said darkly.

“Before you know why she’s there?”

“I know why she’s there. His daughters insisted their sainted father could never have done such a terrible thing.”

“Remind me—what terrible thing did he do?”

“Embezzled all the cash from the company he started and ran off. Died in a carriage accident a little too close to Plymouth and Devonport for my piece of mind. They must think I had something to do with the old man’s death.”

“Did you?”

He gave Wart a look. “You just said it—I’ve never been much for unnecessary killing.” He frowned, thinking back to that night.

“So are the daughters right? Not about you, but their father? You think the man was set up?”

He was remembering it far too well, now. Russell’s appearance at his door, the flood of crazy accusations. He’d thought it was a brain fever, particularly when he’d heard the old man had driven his coach off a cliff. And then he’d forgotten about it, putting all his focus on getting his hands on the ships. “I have no idea.”

Wart shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I’ll see what else I can find out for you. Seems to me there was some scandal about one of his daughters running off with some lord who murdered his wife. Can’t be that one, I wouldn’t think. If I were you I wouldn’t say anything for the time being. Wait and see what I can find out before you go turfing her out. Might be interesting.”

Luca thought back to her, sitting in the bed, her eyes wide and her soft mouth trembling. Damn her. Kicking her out immediately would be the smartest thing he could do, before she fouled up his life completely.

But he knew he wasn’t going to do it, and Wart had given him the perfect excuse. “I don’t know,” he said grudgingly. “She’s already proved to be a thorn in my side and I don’t think she’s going to make things any easier.”

“Since when have you cared about easy? Not the Luca I’ve always known. You sure you didn’t have anything to do with her father’s death and the disappearance of all that lovely money? I’m thinking it would have been easy pickings.”

“No,” Luca replied flatly.

“Too bad. I’d think better of you if you had,” Wart said cheerfully. “So what’s it going to be? Give her a kick in the bum and send her on her way, or pretend to believe her?”

“I can think of much better uses for her bum.”

“Must be nice to have servants,” Wart mused, counting the fat stack of paper money Luca had handed him.

“You aren’t the kind of man to pay for something when you can do it yourself or steal it.”

“True enough. And for servants you need a home, and I prefer to move around.” He peered up at Luca. “You want to tell me what you’re going to do with the lass?”

“I think you’re better off not knowing.”

Wart snorted. “How’s that going to go down with that fancy lady you got yourself engaged to?”

He didn’t bother to ask how Wart knew about Gwendolyn. Wart could find out anything he wanted to know, the main reason Luca had come to him. “I think the fancy lady is going to be a thing of the past once I figure out how to get rid of her. I’m better off with my own kind.”

“And what about the Russell chit?”

“She’s a liar and a cheat. I think that qualifies her as my kind, don’t you?” he said calmly.

Wart grinned. “That’s the bad man I’ve known and loved. Let me know how things work out.”

“What do you mean by that? She’s pretty enough—I’ll shag her a few times and then get rid of her. I don’t need a female hanging around.”

“You’ve never gone to this much trouble for a female before. I don’t think you’re going to be getting rid of her that quickly.”

“Ten quid she’s gone in a week.”

“A hundred quid she never leaves,” Wart countered.

Luca stared at him in shock. “Are you out of your mind? She’s Russell’s daughter, and a liar to boot. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“A hundred quid,” Wart repeated. “Unless you know you’re going to lose the bet.”

“Make it a thousand,” Luca said grimly. “Except you won’t be able to pay up.”

“I can pay my debts of honor,” Wart said with comic dignity, “just like any toff. But you’re the one who’ll be paying up, me lad. And I haven’t even seen the girl. You say she’s pretty?”

“No.”

“No?” Wart repeated.

“Beautiful,” he said reluctantly.

Wart hooted with laughter. “The money’s already in my hands.”

A weaker soul might regret her determination to follow the life of a housemaid, Maddy thought three days later as she swayed slightly on the last rung of circular stairs. She sat down and leaned her head against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It wasn’t simply the few hours of sleep she managed to claim in her attic bedroom. Mrs. Crozier didn’t allow her upstairs until she’d washed all the dishes and put them away, cleaned the downstairs fireplaces, and laid the morning
fires. It didn’t matter if the previous day had been warm and no fire had been needed—she was still required to empty the grates, sweep them out, and relay the fires.

Every morning she was yanked from sleep by Mrs. Crozier’s nasal voice from the bottom of the stairs before it grew light, giving Maddy about five hours in her bedroom, she figured. Five hours she spent clutching the tennis racket, determined to stay awake to guard against the bats, not sleeping until her poor weary body took over and insisted. The only bright spot in all this was that the captain had disappeared.

Every muscle, every inch of her skin felt flayed. She was too tired to do anything but put one foot ahead of the next, fulfilling Mrs. Crozier’s unending demands. It made her furious to have to sweep already clean floors, polish already bright silver, but she hadn’t dared complain. The captain’s study remained off-limits, but he, fortunately, was nowhere to be seen. When she’d been bold enough to ask Mrs. Crozier, she’d been told he’d gone to sea, and you never knew when he might return.

She would celebrate that fact if she weren’t too exhausted to take advantage of it. Either Wilf or Mrs. Crozier was always awake, always watching her, so even if she’d been able to summon the energy it wouldn’t have done her any good.

She could hear voices in the basement kitchen, new voices that she didn’t recognize. Taking a deep breath, she rose and continued down the last section of the circular staircase to find the large room surprisingly full. Wilf was standing at attention, his uniform impeccable for a change. If that weren’t strange enough, Mrs. Crozier was wearing a fresh apron and her behavior was almost… obsequious. All due to the expensively costumed Dresden doll in the middle of the room. The glorious Miss Gwendolyn Haviland had condescended to the kitchens, bringing with her two very proper-looking female servants, already dressed for work in apron and cap and sleeves rolled
up, and an officious-looking gentleman with fierce moustaches and the mien of a chef.

“What the…” she began, but the girl closest to the door, a plump young lady with bright red hair, hushed her.

“It doesn’t do to interrupt her ladyship when she’s on a rant,” the girl whispered, her voice almost soundless, and yet Maddy understood her completely. She nodded, hoping to blend into the woodwork, as Gwendolyn Haviland continued on.

“This house is disgraceful, of course,” she was saying, “but I intend to do something about that. Even though we haven’t set the date for our wedding there’s no reason why I can’t start preparing this wretched place for the short time I’ll have to live here.”

“You don’t intend to stay here for long, Miss Haviland?” Mrs. Crozier was positively cringing with servility, totally ignoring the insults being flung her way.

Gwendolyn tossed her pretty head with a light laugh. “Of course not. The captain is a very wealthy man, and I expect he’ll make a great deal more money as time goes on, and a house this small will hardly suit his consequence. In the meantime, I must make do, and I’ve planned a small dinner party for tonight to welcome him home from London. There will be six of us.” She made a little face that the captain probably found delightful, Maddy thought sourly, keeping behind her red-headed compatriot. Damn it all anyway! She hadn’t even had time to try his study, and he was already coming home. “Unfortunately he refuses to accept the fact that there must be an even number of females and males at a dinner party, and alas, I shall be the only female in attendance.”

“And don’t think she don’t like that,” her new friend whispered silently. “She don’t like competition, she don’t.” The girl’s frank green eyes swept over her. “Best keep out of her way or you’ll be out on the street in a trice.”

“There’ll be the captain and myself, of course,” Gwendolyn went on, oblivious, “and my father’s business partner, Matthew Fulton, and my dear new friend Mr. Brown, and of course the captain insists on Mr. Quarrells and his… his companion.” She made the word sound like something revolting. “Mr. Brown has recently been in an accident and he uses a cane, so we shall do our best to make him comfortable. The one good thing about such an unfashionably tiny house is that the dining room is on the first floor, and dear Mr. Brown won’t have as far to walk. I’ve brought my own chef, Monsieur Jacques, since, as even you must agree, Mrs. Crozier, your culinary skills leave something to be desired, as well as Polly and Nan, two of my maids, since yours has shown herself to be so clumsy and inadequate.” Her sharp blue eyes speared the room, narrowing in on Maddy. “You there, girl. Step forward.” Her tone was peremptory, and Maddy ground her teeth. She could do this. She had to do this—no one said it would be easy.

She moved forward at a carefully controlled shambling walk, her shoulders slightly hunched, and the others moved to make room for her.

“I’ve complained to the captain about her,” Mrs. Crozier was saying helpfully, “but since Mr. Fulton arranged things he said we’re to give her a full month.” She cast Maddy an ugly glance.

“I would have hoped she’d provide some assistance in your day-to-day duties,” Gwendolyn said, looking her up and down while Maddy determinedly kept her face lowered. The ugly cap neatly hid her hair, and if Gwendolyn Haviland followed the pattern of others she wouldn’t look more closely.

“She does work hard,” Mrs. Crozier said quickly, and Maddy suspected that she suddenly realized if she were gone there’d be no one to do Mrs. Crozier's dirty work. As far as she could tell the only work Mrs. Crozier did was her abysmal cooking, and when the captain was gone that deteriorated into almost nothing.

“We have no choice,” Gwendolyn said. “Lift your head, girl, and look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

She hoped the flash of pure rage that went through her didn’t show on her limpid face when she lifted her head, but there was a swift, shocked intake of breath from Miss Haviland, and Maddy was afraid the woman had seen her fury.

But that wasn’t it. There was a long, charged silence. “Turn around, girl,” Miss Haviland said, her voice icy with dislike.

“My name is Mary, miss,” she said, knowing she’d kick Miss Haviland if she said
girl
on more time. “Mary Greaves.”

“I don’t care what your name is—you’ll be gone by the time I take over this household. Now turn around.” She made a little twirling gesture with one delicate, gloved hand, as if Maddy were too slow-witted to understand her orders.