Passion's Tide (2 page)

The sun was beginning to rise when Neil pushed open the door to the White Stallion Pub and Inn, pausing to absorb the comforting sights and sounds, inhaling the aroma of the room
.
In the far corner a group of men sat around a table, a heated card game in process
.
Other men watched, placing bets and calling the next game, while still others sat scattered throughout the room
.

Neil w
ove
his way towards the back, seeking out his favorite table
.
Luckily for him it was empty this cold morning
.
He collapsed into the chair and waved down the barmaid, ordering a pint
.
As he drank, he thought not about his sister, but about how he would settle his latest debt.

“Only ale
to
day
?” came a lighthearted voice behind him
.
Neil turned and watched through narrowed eyes as Nathan Andrews settled next to him at the empty table
.
“Last week you were buying everyone in the Marina Pub shots of whisky!”

“Last week I was celebrating the financial success of a business venture I was involved with.”

“What kind of business venture?” Nathan asked.

“Let’s just say I was in the trade business, and leave it at that
.
Smith told me about an investment opportunity.”

“Was this the smuggling deal he was bragging about?”

“Keep your voice down,” Neil sent an anxious look around the tavern, relieved to see that nobody had turned to listen to their conversation
.
“I wasn’t smuggling, just…providing the monetary support for a worthy cause.”

“So what happened?” asked Nathan.

“I poured all of the money I owned into the project, even borrowed some, too
.
The first ship made port a fortnight ago and the cargo was sold almost immediately
.
I started seeing my money again, and we all felt confident that the next couple
of
ships would arrive without any complications. We thought we would be living like kings in a month’s time.”

“Let me guess…the other ship never made it?”

Neil glowered at the other man
.
“If
it
had, would I be in this seedy pub, drinking ale with the likes of you? No, the damn ship was boarded by pirates four nights ago
.
They emptied it of all the cargo and set it ablaze
.
The first mate barely escaped with his life, said he had to tread water until another ship picked him up
.
That’s how we found out about the whole sordid event.”

“What are pirates doing this far north?”

“Do I look like a damned pirate expert to you?” He downed the rest of his drink
.
“It is strange, however
.
It’s almost as if they
knew
where the ship would be.” He slammed his fist against the table, knocking over his empty mug.
“
Blasted pirates
.
I was this close to having more money than I would know what to do with, but it looks like I’ll be living in my sister’s house until I can think of a new way to pay off this debt.”

Nathan gave an unattractive snort
.
“From what I’ve heard, Molly’s been a right saint, taking you in
.
Lord knows you haven’t been much of a brother, stealing things from right under her nose
.
It’s a shame she keeps catching you, though.”

“I doubt I will run into any more problems with Molly
.
She died an hour ago,”
he said, staring at his mug
.

“Sorry to hear that,” Nathan responded, his tone suggesting that he was not sorry at all
.
“But now you can sell the house and use the money to settle your debts.”

“You’re forgetting about my charming niece, Amber
.
She’ll never agree to that.”

A loud roar went up in the room as the card game ended, the victor sweeping his winnings off the table and into his hat
.
There was a bit of shuffling as men moved and switched chairs, then settled down to play another hand
.
The winner tossed the innkeeper a coin and strolled from the pub with an arrogant stride
.
Neil watched him with envy, painfully aware that his own pockets contained only lint.

“You know, that Amber’s grown into quite the woman in the past couple of years,”
Nathan said with slow determination
.
Neil turned to him in disbelief
.
“I remember the first
time I
saw
her
.
She was a gawky kid, just
in from playing outside
.
Covered in dirt, her hair a tangled mess, and she had even ripped a stocking. But now,” he added, taking a sip, “she’s grown into quite a pretty young thing, hasn’t she? Nice and curvy, soft in all the right places
.
Even that hair makes her look appealing.”

“Don’t get any ideas
.
That girl has more spirit then even her mother. All that passionate Irish blood, it isn’t good for her
.
How is she supposed to find a husband if she’s always bossing him around?” He frowned. “Come to think of it, she’ll probably send
me
packing as soon as I return home
.
I’m going to need a new place to stay while I get back on my feet.” He looked at Nathan expectantly
.

Nathan laughed
.
“Sorry, there’s no room in my house for another drunk
.
My wife would kill me if I brought in a stray. Come on; let’s go join that card game
.
I’ll even lend you the money so you can play,” he tempted, rising from his chair and waving his wallet in Neil’s face. “Maybe today your luck will change.”

It was dusk when Amber finally
sat down to rest
.
After running around and making preparations for
her m
other’s burial she was exhausted, and grateful for the opportunity to stop and think
.

The library was empty, her uncle never having returned
.
She imagined he was visiting his favorite haunts in town, gambling away his sister’s money and drinking
.
So often did Neil come to Molly for money to pay off his gambling loans that he eventually moved right on into the house with them, living
like a parasite on the family’s back.

Amber poured herself a cup of tea and then settled into her favorite armchair by the fire, newly laid by one of the servants
.
Holding the teacup in both hands, she lifted it to her nose and inhaled the calming vapor
.
She took a sip
.
With a sigh she leaned back in the chair, her gaze falling on the portrait of her mother above the mantel
.

It had been painted upon their arrival in the colonies, when Amber was seven
.
To anyone else, the portrait depicted Molly Townsend as a beautiful, happy young
woman
, but Amber knew her mother
, widowed by then,
well enough to notice the sadness etched in her face, and the absence of the crinkles that appeared next to her eyes whenever she smiled.

She still couldn’t believe her mother was dead
.
The illness had come on so suddenly, and in the chaos surrounding her fever and delirium, Amber hadn’t even
given
a thought to how she would live without her
.

Only a month before they had been planning a trip to the coa
st, where they were going to stay with friends and spend their days on their favorite section of beach
. It was
a small sandy stretch isolated from t
he t
own, offering them privacy and a
n
unobstructed view of the ships rolling into the harbor
.
Molly was looking forward to relaxing
and
napping in the shade
.
Amber was eager to curl up with a good book and read it cover to cover in one sitting, only taking a break to eat a picnic lunch of cold meat, bread, and cheese
.
In the afternoon she would peel off her shoes and stockings and walk along the water’s edge, collecting seashells and interesting rocks, discarded snail shells, and bits of seaglass
.
Her room at home was already filled with baskets of beautiful collections, and she was anxious to add to them
.

All her life she had felt at home near the water, both in England and in Boston
.
She learned to swim at a young age, an
event
Amber remembered clearly
—
one of the memories she had of her father before his death
.
It had been a particularly sunny day
,
and he
had taken
Amber on a long walk through the forests lining the rear of his estate
.
She had worn a simple day dress, and together they walked for what seemed like hours
.
It was midday when they reached the small pond in the middle of the wood, the cool water inviting
.

“Do you want to go in?” Robert Townsend had asked his four and a half year old daughter, who stood only as high as his waist
.
She looked up at him, and then back at the pool, the desire
evident
on her face
.
When she smiled at him he had to laugh, for she had prematurely lost her front tooth after falling from a tree, and it made her all the more endearing
.
He stripped off his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, setting them in a pile next to a willow tree
.
He then bent down to unbuckle his shoes,
and
lost his balance pulling off his stockings,
sending Amber into a fit of giggles
.
He stood up straight with his hands on his hips and regarded her with a smile, wearing only his breeches and shirtsleeves
.
“Your turn, little monkey, take off your stockings
.
Your mother will punish me if we ruin another pair.”

“Won’t she be mad if we get my dress all wet?”

“Good thinking, Amber,” he said, ruffling her hair
.
He loosened the bow on the back of her dress, and then waded into the water, turning in time to watch her fold her dress and lay it on top of his clothes, careful not to let any part of it touch the ground
.
He smiled to himself as she approached the water in her chemise and petticoat, hesitating before dipping her toe in
.
“Ready?” he asked, his arms spread wide.

She nodded, and began to splash her way into the clear water
.
Within seconds she had reached her father and flung herself into his arms, laughing as he swung her around
.

He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching her how to hold herself afloat, and how to use her arms and legs to propel herself forward
.
Amber couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day; the sun warm on her back, the water cool and refreshing, and her father by her side
.
By the time the pair returned to the manor th
e sun had already begun to set
.
Molly looked
at their elated faces and damp hair.

“You took her to the pond?” she asked with a knowing grin.

Robert flashed her a
dazzling
smile and brushed a lock of brown hair from his eyes
.
“Your daughter is a brilliant swimmer
.
I closed my eyes for one moment, and when I opened them she had gone. I was afraid she turned into a fish and had swum away from me.”

“Papa, I’m not a fish,” she scolded him, shaking her head and sending her curls bouncing at her shoulders
.

“No? Then what are you?”

“I’m your little monkey!” she cried, shocked that he w
ould fail to remember such an important title
.

“Ah, little monkey, how could I forget?” he said with a chuckle, swooping her up and onto his shoulders
.
“Come little monkey, it’s time
to
wash up for dinner.”

Amber returned to the pond every day for weeks, sometimes with her father,
some
times with her mother
.
Her mother chose not to swim with her, but would sit in the sun and read a book, keeping a close eye on her daughter and applauding her accomplishments
.
Amber loved it best when both her parents came with her
.
Robert would take turns swimming with his daughter and lying in the grass with his wife, and would sometimes even convince Molly to join them.

Returning to the present, Amber stared into the fire blankly, her eyes dry
.
She had no more tears left.

She lifted the cup to her lips again and recalled the summer her father
had
taught her how to ride a pony, and then surprised her with a
Shetland of her very own for her eighth birthday. She had named him Leonato from
Much Ado About Nothing
,
the play her mother
had been
reading to her
.

She remembered her father’s hunting dogs that she had befriended, despite his countless warnings that they were not pets
.
He had been slightly irked that his hounds would stop whatever they were doing whenever Amber appeared, their tails wagging in anticipation
of
whatever treat she had in her pocket
.
Instead of chastising her for stealing scraps of food from the kitchen, however, he would wait patiently for her to finish feeding them and then shoo her away so as not to distract the dogs further
.
And when his prize bitch gave birth he let his daughter have
the
pick of the litter
.
She selected the runt and named him Caesar, visiting him daily until he was old enough to be separated from his mother
.
Caesar had been her best friend until she had
had
to move, forced to leave him in England.

The afternoon that her mother had come into her bedroom, her face pale and sunken, was another
vivid
memory
.
She had been curled up in the window seat with an apple and a book, absently scratching Caesar’s head in between turning the pages
.
Amber had immediately known that something was different about her mother as she entered the room
.

In the
space
of one day, Molly Townsend seemed to age ten years
.
Wrinkles were apparent that had never been there before,
and
her eyes
were
somber
,
lacking their usual vibrancy
.
Amber got to her feet, the book sliding off her lap and onto the floor.

“Mother? What’s wrong?”

Her mother swallowed heavily
.
“Amber, darling, there’s been a terrible accident. Your father was thrown from his horse.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Her mother didn’t answer, but her reply was unnecessary
.
Reading the grief-stricken expression on her mother’s weary face, Amber knew at once that her father was dead
.
Unable to control herself any longer, Molly had begun to cry, and she crumpled to the floor with her daughter in her arms.

Almost as hard to bear, Amber recollected, was the news of their immediate departure for the colonies
.
She knew her mother had lived in Boston, Massachusetts before moving to London a month before her seventeenth birthday
.
It was there that the Irish beauty fell in love with Lord Robert Townsend and made the decision to stay in Europe
.
She would sometimes tell Amber stories about Boston, expressing her desire to return someday
.

Independent and proud, the newly widowed Molly could not bear the sympathetic glances that she received every time she made an appearance in public
.
And so she decided to take her daughter back home with her across the sea, where they could live without being pitied
.

It was then that Amber remembered the slip of paper in her pocket
.
Setting her teacup on the end table she reached in and pulled it out, unfolding it
.
It was a small piece of parchment, on which had been scribbled in her mother’s familiar handwriting:
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
.

Amber studied it, turning it over and searching it for more writing
.
Save for an ink stain in the corner, the only thing on the paper was the title of her favorite book
.
Her mother would read it to her as a child, and then when she was older, she would take the tattered copy out into the garden and re-enact the scenes. The hanging branches of the willow trees provided the curtain for her make-believe stage, and with a flower garland about her head she would escape into the magical realm of fairies and love triangles. She remembered getting scolded when a sudden downpour of rain sent her running inside, clutching the muddy book to
her
chest and apologizing, not understanding her mother’s anxiety regarding the welfare of that particular play.
Amber wondered now if it had something to do with why she had written it on
the
strip of parchment
she
clutched in her hand as she died.

She quickly finished her tea,
then
followed her feet toward the far side of the room, where her fingers
automatically
reached for the book and pulled it from the shelf
.
The creased spine cracked as she flipped through the pages, stopping at her favorite scene. She smiled as she scanned the lines, each one still committed to memory
.

Taking the book, she moved to the desk and sat
studying by the light of the fire
.
She read for two hours, stopping
to
analyz
e
any passage that might provide insight to her mother’s cryptic note
.
When she reached the final lines,
Else the Puck a liar call;/ So, good night unto you all.
/
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
/
And Robin shall restore amends
,
she
knew
no more than she had when she started
. S
he shut the book with an exasperated sigh and rubbed her throbbing temples.