Silver Tears (13 page)

“You must,” Will echoed.

“But how?” Alice’s voice was almost a wail of dismay. “You know what he wants to do, Will. He’s thinking of going straight back to Maine. I can feel it more every day.” She stared down at her plate, feeling desolate. “I don’t want to lose him. Truly I don’t.”

“Then the best you can do, Alice, is side with us and hope that Gunn will relent at the last moment.”

“Will, you know he won’t,” she said with a sigh.

Her host smiled at her and leaned closer, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, I think he will when he finds out that Captain Jonathan Hargrave has accepted our invitation. Christopher Gunn’s a jealous man. He’ll do anything to keep you and Hargrave apart.”

Alice didn’t know whether she was pleased or disgusted by the plan.

“Well, Alice, what do you say?” Phips demanded.

A smile lit her whole face. “I say it’s high time, Mary, that I dug my best ball gown out of my trunk.”

While the others were still at the table, plotting away, Gunn left the stately brick manse and stalked out into the night. He needed some cold air to clear his head. But Boston air was not what he longed for. The port town reminded him too much of an English village, more so than Philadelphia with its solemn Quaker atmosphere or New Amsterdam and its bawdy, hard-drinking, hard-living pace. Boston was proper and quaint and tidy, like a little piece of London transported to America’s shores. The place conjured up too many memories for him to be comfortable.

As he walked the dark, narrow way, his mind and heart continued the battle that had been waging in his soul since the moment he left Maine. His nightmares continued and the comparison between Alice and Cynthia nagged at him. He’d tried to pull himself out of his foul mood, but to no avail. Could it be that he was punishing Alice because she looked so much like that lady of long ago who had so befouled his life? If so, he was the villain of this piece.

He stood for a time, looking out over the harbor at the great vessels riding calmly at anchor. The cold wind seemed to clear his head. Turning quickly, he started back toward Will Phips’s house. He knew what he must do.

Alice awoke the next morning to bright sunshine. It was one of those perfect fall days—crisp air, but warm skies. She felt as grand as the morning. Quickly she climbed out of bed, washed up at the china bowl, then dressed in a warm woolen gown of autumn leaf gold.

As she approached the bottom of the stairs, she heard Mary Phips talking to someone in the dining room. A muffled male voice drifted to her. It couldn’t be Will—he’d be at the docks by this time, supervising the final details of one ship or another. She paused, craning her neck to catch a word or two of the conversation. She heard far more than she’d bargained for.

“I want to do this thing right, Mary, every step of the way.” It was Gunn’s voice.

Mary laughed softly. “My word, you do go from one extreme to the other, Christopher. But you know I’ll help any way that I can.”

“You’re a good person, Mary. If it weren’t for seeing what vast improvements you’ve made in Will Phips, I wouldn’t even consider marriage. But I suppose I have a few rough edges that could be honed, too.”

Again Mary laughed. “The very fact that you’re thinking in terms of courtship is a vast improvement, Christopher.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see what happens after tonight. Do you suppose she’ll go along with it?”

“We won’t know until we ask, Chris.”

“And you will ask her?”

Alice could take it no longer. She had to know what was going on. “Ask what of whom?” she chimed brightly as she hurried into the room.

Gunn was on his feet immediately, looking as if he’d just been caught at some dastardly plot. “Morning, Alice,” he said with uncharacteristic politeness. “You’re looking fine today. I’d like to stay and chat for a bit, but Will’s waiting for me at the docks.”

With that, he tore out of the house as if all the hounds of hell were yapping at his heels.

“What on earth was all that about, Mary?” Alice sat down as a servant poured her a steaming cup of tea.

Mary gave her young friend a smile almost as radiant as the morning light and reached over to pat her hand. “It’s hard to say for sure, Alice. But it seems you’ve wrought a remarkable change in our favorite backwoodsman.”

“What kind of change?” Alice asked suspiciously.

“Time will tell. He has much on his mind just now. Since you have no guardian, he came to me to ask permission.”

Alice was frowning. “Permission for what?”

“We have a courting custom hereabouts called ‘bundling.’” She looked at Alice quizzically, but the younger woman gave no evidence that she’d ever heard the term before. “It seems Christopher wants to pay proper court to you, Alice. What do you think of that?”

Alice’s face glowed. “Oh, Mary! You don’t know what a relief that is to hear. I believe I can deal with courting just fine. It’s his moods and tempers that throw me into a dither. I honestly never know when he’s going to grab me and kiss me or bite my head off. I’m so fond of Gunn,” she added, “but I can’t figure him out.”

“That could be said of most men by most women, my dear. Perhaps tonight is a good idea, although I had my doubts when he suggested it.”

“What about tonight, Mary?” Alice demanded. “You still haven’t explained.”

“Oh, but I did, Alice. Tonight you and Christopher will bundle together. You’ll have to excuse me now, dear. I must get everything ready.”

Alice sat there in dumb silence staring at her friend as she left the room.

“You and Alice… bundling?” Will’s laughter exploded on the calm morning air.

“Pipe down, won’t you?” Gunn growled when several sailors turned and grinned at them.

“I’ll try.” Will swallowed a chuckle. “But, dammit, Gunn, the two of you slept together in that wagon for several nights. Isn’t bundling rather a step in the other direction?”

“We did not sleep together. Besides, with that hole in my damn leg it was too painful to… ” Gunn cast his gaze to one side and a red flush crept up his cheeks from his beard.

“But you tried, I vow.”

Gunn kicked at a piece of rope with the toe of his boot. “I was hurt, not dead.”

Will laughed aloud, then asked, “Do you think Alice will do it?”

Gunn glared at him. “Why the hell wouldn’t she? It’s respectable.”

“Don’t worry, my friend. If my Mary agreed, then Alice will accept the idea. You know how women stick together.”

“I don’t want her to do it for Mary, Will.” His voice was almost a moan. “I want her to do it for me.”

The wind quartered around and Phips wrinkled his nose. “A piece of advice, Gunn. If you want Alice to go through with this, you’d better go buy yourself some decent clothes and shuck those smelly buckskins before tonight. A bath might not hurt, either, and maybe a shave. You don’t need that grisly face-warmer getting in the way of your kissing tonight.”

“I never said I was going to kiss her.”

Phips smiled. “No, you didn’t, did you?”

That evening Alice waited nervously in the back bedroom upstairs. She still wasn’t sure what this bundling was supposed to accomplish, but Mary had assured her that it was an accepted form of courtship brought to America by the Welsh, Dutch, and Germans.

It seemed to Alice that she and Gunn had “bundled” pretty well in the back of that old wagon. But Mary seemed to set great store by everything being “perfectly proper,” as she put it, so Alice agreed to go along with this odd form of courting.

Mary wanted Alice to go on and get into the double bed. “It just wouldn’t be right, Christopher actually seeing you climb into bed, dear,” she insisted.

“Why not?” Alice wondered.

Mary smiled nervously and gave a twitchy shrug. “Oh, I don’t really know, dear. It would just seem so much better if you were already lying there waiting for him when he arrived.”

Alice tossed her long hair in a coquettish gesture, really getting into the spirit of being courted now. “Seems to me he ought to invite me to join him, if he’s any kind of gentleman at all. Why, I’d look rather foolish lying there waiting, wouldn’t I?”

Mary Phips rolled her eyes, shook her head, and left Alice, sitting in a rocker beside the fire, to await her beau. Gunn was late, giving her plenty of time to think before he arrived.

Alice sat, staring into the fire, listening to the wind howl around the eaves, and she remembered another cold, stormy night long ago. She wondered if Gunn remembered. Probably not.

It had been several years before her mother’s execution. Lord Geoffrey had taken extremely ill that night during a dinner he was hosting. He had been so bad off that he needed his charm-woman at his bedside. That had meant that Alice was left alone in her bedroom in the big, dark castle.

The tower apartment that she and her mother shared had been far too gloomy even in daylight. By night the wind moaned through the casement windows and grim shadows stalked the walls. Terrified, Alice had slipped down the stairs until she could see the guests still at the table. She felt better immediately. The ladies’ gowns had glowed like jewels in the torchlight, and the gentlemen, warmed by rich food and good wines, had turned amorous. Alice felt a welcome heat creep through her body as she remembered how she’d curiously eyed one particularly handsome fellow’s mouth on the hand, and then the wrist, and then the neck of the golden-haired beauty next to him. The others all applauded when finally he captured her ruby-red lips for a deep and lingering kiss.

Alice had wondered if anyone would ever kiss her that way, and if so, what it would feel like.

As the hour had grown late, Alice remained hidden on the stone stairs above the great dining hall. She had fallen asleep and probably would have remained there through the night, if it hadn’t been for the dinner guest she had been watching—Christopher Gunn. She’d snapped awake as soon as his hand touched her shoulder.

“Bless me!” he said in a friendly tone. “You’re as cold as a toad, girl. You should be in bed.”

“Oh, please, sir, no,” she had begged. “It’s so dark and scary up in the tower. Me mum’s with Lord Geoffrey and likely to be there the whole night through. I’m not one for sleeping alone.”

The beautiful, bronze-haired young Gunn had thrown back his head with a laugh. “Nor am I, my fine lady. But come now, you can’t stay here.”

Before Alice could protest, he’d swept her into his strong arms. She could feel his taut muscles through the thin night robe she had worn.

“Hold on tight now,” he’d commanded. “Up we go!”

She’d obeyed, slipping her thin arms around his neck. Her cheek had nuzzled his. He smelled of spiced ale and roasted meats and the lady’s perfume that all told of Gunn’s adventures that evening.

“She’s lovely, your lady,” Alice had said. “Her hair’s so gold it might have been spun by fairies.”

Her words had stopped him in his tracks. She had looked up to see a frown on his face. “
Tarnished
gold,” he’d replied but had given no explanation. “If you were a wee bit older, I’d trade her for you in an instant.”

Alice had blushed and shied from his gaze. “Go on with you. Even my mum says I’m no beauty.”

“Ah, but you will be, mark my words. Now, show me your room. Let’s put you to bed.”

He had done just that, tucking her in as gently as her mother would have. But when he had turned to leave, panic rose in Alice’s breast.

“Please, won’t you stay just a bit, until I go to sleep?”

He not only had stayed, he had tucked the cover more snuggly about her, kissed her forehead, and sat beside her, spinning a tale about a beautiful golden-haired princess and her handsome, loving knight. Alice had drifted off to sleep, never giving another thought to the storm outside or the ghostly shadows dancing on her walls.

She’d fairly leapt out of bed the next morning, hoping to see her handsome friend again. Never one to hold her tongue, she’d confided last night’s adventure to her mother, ending by saying, “But I don’t even know his name.”

Thalia Wiggins had been mortified. “His is a name not worth knowing. Call him bastard and you’ll be close enough.”

Then her mother had done something totally out of character. She’d gripped Alice’s arms and shook her, demanding, “Did Christopher Gunn touch you, girl? Did he so much as lay a finger on your body?”

Near weeping, Alice had confessed, “He kissed me.”

Her mother had exploded, storming about the room, tearing her hair and wailing, “Ahhh, the filthy son of a whore! That nasty, nasty man! Lady Cynthia’s not enough to satisfy him, nor half the other noblewomen in the country. He has to ply his charms on innocent little girls.” She had turned on Alice, her dark eyes flaring with rage.

Alice had never seen her mother in such a fit of temper. Her mum ran from the room. When she had returned an hour later, she was calm—her old self again. Never after that did she ever mention Christopher Gunn to her daughter.

As the memory faded, a new light dawned. Lady Cynthia! Is this the woman Gunn had spoken of in his sleep?

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

Alice glanced up, pulled back from her reverie. A total stranger stood before her. No, he was not a stranger, she realized, but was in fact a fair copy of that handsome Christopher Gunn who had carried her to bed and told her fanciful stories so long ago. The rampant beard was gone from his face. His hair was neatly trimmed. He wore real clothes, an English gentleman’s trousers and coat.

He looked at Alice, then to the bed, then back to Alice. “This isn’t the way it’s done, you know. Shall I go out and come in again and give you time to get ready?”

She smiled at him, a warm, lazy, flirtatious smile. “Do you remember once at Lord Geoffrey’s finding a shivering waif on the stairs and tucking her into bed?”

Gunn frowned, stroked his beardless chin, then his eyes lit with recognition. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten. The chit’s mother railed against me to Lord Geoffrey, and he gave me a good dressing down. For once in my life I was innocent of all charges. But you don’t mean… ?”

Alice raised her arms to him. “I still don’t like to sleep alone,” she said.