Susan Carroll (43 page)

Phaedra did not know whether to feel relieved
or sorry not to be caught up in a press of people. A large crowd
might have made their plans that much easier. As it was, she saw no
one that she knew until she and James were about to step beneath
the theater's portico. Then a familiar figure melted out of the
shadows.

"Sure and this is a surprise. Fancy
encountering you here, my dearest coz."

Phaedra's heart slammed against her ribs. She
stared up into Gilly's unsmiling face, torn between the joy of
seeing him one last time and a sensation of dread.

Gilly's eyes darkened with reproach, then
narrowed as he shifted his gaze toward James. "And if it isn't
himself, his most noble lairdship, the Marquis de Varnais. Still
taking in the pleasures of London, -I see."

Phaedra hardly dared to glance at James's
expression as he acknowledged Gilly's presence with a stiff
nod.

"Gilly," Phaedra started to plead, not
knowing what her cousin might be prepared to do or say next, when
her grandfather huffed up to join them.

"Eh! Fitzhurst, you here? Never knew you
Irish had a fancy for opera."

"Oh, I would never miss an opportunity to
hear the English caterwauling." Gilly's hard gaze never wavered
from Phaedra and James. "Would it be too imposing of me to include
myself in this charming little party?"

Phaedra felt James's grip tighten
possessively on her elbow as he spoke. "I am sure you would find a
far better seat in the pits."

Gilly's jaw tightened. "I don't think so. I'm
thinking I might be missing a great deal by not being up in the
gallery."

Sawyer Weylin pushed past them all
impatiently. "Well, come along to my box then and cease nattering
about it before we miss the first act."

Gilly shot James a defiant stare and squared
his shoulders. He insisted upon walking behind them, as though he
intended not to let her or James out of his sight.

"James," Phaedra whispered. "What are we
going to do?"

"Exactly as we planned," was his cool reply.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "There is no need to worry
about your cousin. Everything will be all right."

But it wouldn't be. She swallowed hard. James
did not know Gilly as she did. He would not be so easily hoodwinked
as her grandfather. Already she feared Gilly had read far too much
of her intention upon her face.

As they were about to enter the box, Gilly
managed to yank her aside and hiss in her ear. "You wrote to me
that Lethington had gone. Now just what the devil are you
about?"

“Attending the opera,” she said with a
nervous laugh.

Gilly's fingers crushed so hard about her
wrist, she nearly cried out. "Aye, a cozy entertainment, this," he
said angrily. "Just you,Jamey-boy, and his next intended
victim."

"Don't!" she shrilled, then lowered her
voice. "James is not going to hurt anyone. I have seen to that. You
must trust me, Gilly."

"Trust you, bedamned. You lied to me, Fae,
and 'tis plain as a pikestaff, you're far too besotted to know what
you are doing anymore. When I accidentally met up with that Burnell
fellow and he told me you were coming to the theater tonight, I
could not credit my ears."

"Gilly, please." Phaedra noticed James
observing their
tete-a-tete
from the doorway. "I will
explain everything to you after the show."

The lie tasted bitter upon her lips, but it
satisfied Gilly for the moment. They took their seats upon the
benches in the box, James forestalling Gilly's efforts to sit
beside her. From the grim looks that passed between the two men,
Phaedra feared a scuffle.

But Gilly grudgingly removed himself to sit
directly behind her. He lit a candle to follow the book of the
opera, and then swore when James turned and snuffed it.

"It is a practice I would not encourage,"
James said levelly.

"The dangers of fire, you know."

The way Gilly glowered at him made Phaedra
relieved when the orchestra struck up the first bars of the music
and the opera began.

But she could not focus on the performance,
and the shrill voice of the soprano served only to grate upon her
nerves. In their box, the members of the little party were all but
shadowy figures in the dark. Yet Phaedra could sense Gilly's
watchfulness and James's determination. Dear God, this was never
going to work. Gilly would never believe her excuse of feeling
faint. She had never swooned in her life. And even if he did
believe her, he was bound to follow her and James out of the box.
Her grandfather nodded off as he usually did at the theater but she
didn't have to look back to know that Gilly's eyes were not trained
upon the stage.

They were deep into the second act, when
Phaedra felt James's touch upon her hand, giving her the signal.
She tried to ignore it, but the pressure of James's hand became
more insistent. She half-rose, starting to speak, then sank back
down in despair.

She could sense James's growing impatience,
but before any of them could react, the door to their box was flung
open. Much to Phaedra's astonishment, Jonathan rushed in. She had
never seen the somber man in such a state. Pale and wild-eyed, he
seized her grandfather by the front of his coat, shaking him
awake.

"Sawyer-Sawyer, for the love of God, you must
leave."

Her grandfather snorted, rubbing his eyes.
"Eh, what? But the opera- it is not over."

He tried to push Jonathan's hands away, but
the man would not release him. "Sawyer, you must leave London
without delay and hide."

"What the devil's amiss?" Gilly said.

"Burnell's gone completely mad," Weylin
groused, at the same time as Jonathan blurted out, "Jessym's been
arrested."

Phaedra went cold. She avoided meeting
Gilly's eyes.

"Jessym?" her grandfather huffed. "That
scoundrel of a publisher? Why, that’s nothing to me."

But everything to me, Phaedra thought. She
tried to shrink against James, seeking the support of his arm about
her. But he seemed to have gone suddenly rigid.

Jonathan wrung his hands. "Blast it, Sawyer,
don't you understand? Jessym has been taken before the magistrates.
To save himself from imprisonment, he has attempted to strike some
sort of a bargain by offering them proof."

"Proof of what?" her grandfather asked
impatiently.

"The proof that you, Sawyer Weylin, are Robin
Goodfellow."

Somewhere in the distance, Phaedra heard a
rich baritone filling the theater with haunting notes of despair.
But the tragedy unfolding on the stage below seemed remote, lost in
the impact of Jonathan's dramatic statement. Sawyer Weylin began to
bluster, "Why, I'll see Jessym hanged. The lying rogue. "

But Phaedra shot to her feet, cutting him
off. "What sort of proof could Jessym have possibly produced
against my grandfather?"

Jonathan gave her a pleading glance, as
though begging her not to interfere. "I believe Jessym had packets
of original drafts with Weylin's seal upon them."

Her missing drafts with her grandfather's
seal on them? No, this was madness. She glanced at Gilly to gauge
his reaction and found him staring hard at James.

Her stomach tensed. James's facial muscles
had gone rigid, a strange light glowing in his blue eyes ... a
light of-triumph?

"James." His name escaped her lips in a
despairing whisper.

But he didn't seem to hear her. He was lost
to her, as she had feared he would be, swept away by the dark
currents of his revenge.

She bowed her head, trying to stem her tears.
What a fool she had been, to ever think she could stay his hand! It
was all painfully obvious now. He had taken her drafts, forged the
seal, and then given them to Jessym, even while he had made
arrangements for their elopement. Her love had not been enough for
him.

Lost in her misery, Phaedra was only dimly
aware of Jonathan dragging her grandfather out the door of the box.
Weylin protested furiously enough to draw the attention of the
entire theater.

"I'll not skulk off anywhere. Damnation, I'm
an innocent man."

What vicious satisfaction her grandfather's
declaration must be giving James, Phaedra thought unhappily.

"But Weylin," Jonathan said. "If you had but
seen the crowds gathered outside the bailey. Many are still angered
by that article Goodfellow wrote about the Catholics."

"By God, I'll roast the lot of them, starting
with Jessym and his impertinent forgeries-" The rest of Weylin's
angry words were lost as Jonathan managed to hustle him into the
hall.

"Not forgeries, Grandfather," Phaedra said
grimly as she started to go after him.

But Gilly barred her path, scowling.
"Hold-your tongue, Fae."

“Aye, your cousin is right." Phaedra heard
James's steely voice near her ear. She felt him grip her arm. "This
is not a prudent time for confessions."

She whipped around to face him. "And did you
truly expect me to stand by and let my grandfather pay for what I
have done? Or maybe you thought we'd be long gone before he was
ever arrested."

He frowned, his eyes darkening as he studied
her with uncertainty. "My only interest is in protecting you,
Phaedra."

"Your only interest is in destroying my
grandfather. And you took my papers to do it, didn't you?"

Anger flared in his eyes with a pain that
matched her own. "Why do you ask me, when you obviously already
know?"

She spun away from him. Shoving past Gilly,
she stormed out of the box.

She heard James hard after her. "Damn it,
Phaedra, I love you. That is all that should matter." He caught her
roughly, jerking her around to crush her in his arms. "You are
leaving with me now, just as you promised."

"Take your hands off her." Phaedra heard
Gilly's menacing growl, but she had already wrenched herself
free.

"No," she said to James. "Our pact is ended,
but it was you who broke it, not me."

"Then you are choosing to sacrifice our love
to that despicable old man?"

"What choice did I ever have?" she choked.
"You made it for me!"

Tears spilling down her face, she ran blindly
toward the stairs that led to the foyer below. As she half-stumbled
down the carpet-covered length, she was aware of someone plunging
after her. It was not James, but Gilly.

He caught up with her at the bottom of the
stairs. His face looked pale but determined as he tried to soothe
her. "Easy, Fae. I'll not be letting you do anything rash. We have
but to keep our heads, and we'll see our way clear of this mess. No
one will go to prison.

But she refused to listen to him. What odds
did it make if she was flung into Newgate? It didn't matter to her
now. Nothing did. She ran out of the theater into the streets
beyond.

Her grandfather and Jonathan stood beneath
the portico, still arguing. Their raised voices drew more than a
few curious eyes in their direction, linkboys lingering with their
lanterns to escort theatergoers through the dark streets, a few
ragged beggars, lightskirts offering some burly sailors an
evening's entertainment.

"You can take a hackney cab," Jonathan was
saying to her grandfather, "and hide at my house until-"

“Damned if I will. I'm not some cowardly
criminal, skulking away in the dark." He thumped his chest, raging
so half the street could hear. "Blast it all, I am Sawyer Weylin, a
respectable man of property. I am not the flea-bitten writer who
calls himself Robin Goodfellow."

"For the love of God, Sawyer," Jonathan said.
"Keep your voice down."

Dashing away her tears, Phaedra pressed
forward. "Grandfather, there is something I must tell you-"

Jonathan elbowed her aside. "Phaedra, leave
this to me."

She tried to push past him but her
grandfather had already hobbled away from the portico and into the
street, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "So where is Ridley with
my damned coach? I'll go to Newgate and throttle Jessym this very
night."

For the first time Phaedra became aware of
the mutterings borne to her upon the night breeze. Where the
gathering mob had come from, she could not have said. One moment
the pavement had been filled only with innocent onlookers; in the
next, the shadows had spawned a threatening cluster of some dozen
angry faces. The grumblings got louder until she made out snatches
of words. "Sawyer Weylin ... hear him say so ... he’s Robin
Goodfellow."

Apprehension gripped Phaedra. Somehow she and
Jonathan had to get her grandfather away from here.

One coarse voice swelled above the rest.
"Aye, he is Goodfellow. I heard Jessym attest to it, not three
hours past."

One of the sailors, a burly half-drunk
fellow, shoved his way forward. The rest of the crowd surged after
him into the street until they stood but yards from Sawyer cursing
and pointing accusing fingers.

"That's the one as wants to raise up the
Catholics to murder us all."

Phaedra tried to rush to her grandfather's
side but was stopped by Gilly and Jonathan, who attempted to hustle
her back inside the theater.

"Jacobite!" "Scoundrel!" "Go live in Ireland
'mongst your papist friends."

Despite the crowd's taunts, all yet might
have been well if Sawyer had ignored them. But he responded with
characteristic aggression, brandishing his cane and shouting back,
"Don't dare call me a Jacobite, you gutter scum. I'll have the
streets swept of the lot of you."

A sailor rushed forward, catching at Weylin's
cane, and the two men grappled for possession of it.

"Grandfather!" Phaedra wrenched herself free.
She heard her cousin groan, "Glory in heaven." She raced forward
with Gilly by her side, down the stone steps of the portico, but
neither of them was swift enough to reach the street in time.