Virginia Henley (10 page)

She bobbed about like a cork. The water kept closing over her head. She felt the constriction of the line tied beneath her armpits and pulled on it. She realized she was attached to a section of the mast like a floating spar. When it thudded into her side, she wrapped both arms about it and was finally able to keep her head from going under.

Where in the name of God was Tony? She told herself he had likely climbed back aboard and was searching desperately for her. The water was freezing and gradually her entire body numbed. Her mind followed suit. The downpour stopped, the gale-force wind blew the thunder farther out to sea, and Antonia, clinging to the floating wood, went monotonously up and down, up and down, hour after hour, after hour.

Miles away Anthony experienced exactly the same numbing monotony as his sister. He lay across the buoyant picnic basket that acted as a raft, carrying him farther and farther out to sea. His mind drifted in and out of consciousness. In his lucid moments he was thankful that Antonia at least was aboard the
Seagull
and headed in the right direction. Eventually the tide would wash her up along the shore. Anthony knew he was so far out at sea that his only chance lay in rescue. The odds of that were infinitesimal As dark began to descend, his hopes vanished with the fading light and he slipped into unconsciousness.

A merchant ship had all hands on deck watching a pod of whales that had been driven off course by the storm. In the last rays of light someone spotted the yellow oilskin and a great shout went up. It took a coordinated exercise in courage and ingenuity, rather like a dramatic water ballet, but a gutsy crewman finally hooked the half-drowned, unconscious youth with a gaff and a dozen hands pulled
him aboard. Anthony had been rescued by an East India-man, called the
Earl of Abergavenny,
outward bound for Bombay.

An air of tension hovered over Lamb Hall from the moment the sky turned dark. The bruise-colored clouds swept in from the west and headed out to sea. When the thunder rolled overhead, Roz apologized to the major. She could not continue the cozy tête-à-tête, sipping her tea and flirting outrageously, when she knew the twins were out sailing.

“I must go upstairs and see how bad this storm is. There’s an unimpeded view of the sea from Anthony’s balcony.”

The major followed her up the staircase and when they arrived they found Mr. Burke before them anxiously watching as the lightning zigzagged from the black clouds as if it would split open the heavens.

“Don’t fret, Lady Randolph, Anthony is a good sailor and they are both sensible enough to head home the moment anything looms in the west,” Mr. Burke told her.

A torrential downpour at the moment prevented them from going out onto the balcony. “I’ve never seen a storm blow up this quickly in years,” Roz exclaimed.

“It’s all that sultry heat that’s been hanging about this week. Unnatural here in England,” Major Blount pointed out.

The lashing rain was swept away to sea in minutes and Roz said, “My God, it’s a gale-force wind. The
Seagull
will be blown to bits.”

Mr. Burke tried to calm Roz even though he was extremely worried himself. “I’d be willing to lay a bet they were safely back in the Medway before it hit.”

They all three went back downstairs to keep vigil, hoping against hope the twins would arrive any moment. The wind had uprooted a flowering quince outside the dining room window. When they looked beyond the garden they
saw quite a number of trees in the park had been flattened.

“Haven’t seen a storm come up like that since I was in the Bay of Biscay,” declared the major.

Mr. Burke touched his shoulder to warn him not to alarm Rosalind, but she was a woman who didn’t get the vapors without good cause. Something had already told her she must brace herself for trouble.

Mr. Burke headed for the door. “I’ll go down to the boathouse and see if I can spot them in the Medway.”

“I’m coming too,” decided Roz. “I can’t just sit calmly by and wait.”

There was no sign of the
Seagull
at the boathouse, so they walked along the bank of the river that opened up into the sea. The afternoon was no longer hot, but the raging wind had blown out to sea and only a brisk breeze remained on shore. The three walked out onto the shingle beach and scanned the watery horizon. All of them were taut with silence, but all they heard were the waves breaking on the shore and the gulls screaming overhead. Look as they might, they saw no sail, no boat, no swimmer, no wreckage.

The major made a quick decision. “I can do no good here, Roz. Now that the storm has passed and the seas are navigable, I’ll take my sloop out. There’s still a couple of hours before dark.”

“Oh, Jeremy, thank you! Don’t venture out alone.”

“My neighbor’s a good sailor, I’ll induce old Kent to search with me. Never fear, if the
Seagull’s
experienced trouble we’ll tow her in to safe harbor;”

“Lady Randolph, you have no cloak,” Mr. Burke admonished. “Go back to the house with Major Blount. I’ll walk farther up the beach. The tide is about to change and even if the
Seagull’s
sails have been blown to shreds, the tide will bring her back.”

Rosalind decided to return for a cloak, but she fully intended to rejoin Mr. Burke as soon as the major departed.
Jeremy Blount gave Roz a reassuring hug before he left and bade her not to worry. She was surprised at the virile strength of his arms and realized how pleasant it was to have a man who would risk danger to aid her.

She took a red cloak from her wardrobe, reasoning the bright color might act as a beacon for the young sailors. As she passed a mirror she was shocked at how haggard she looked. She clenched her fists and took a deep, calming breath, realizing her stomach was tied in knots. She sent up a silent prayer to Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes, then told herself sternly that the situation was not hopeless. Without hope there was nothing, just a black, frightening void.

Something, not exactly an inner voice, just a feeling in her bones really, told her that all would be well. She clutched her cloak about her trim figure and stepped outside, ready to face whatever was out there.

When she caught up with Mr. Burke on the shingle beach she realized that most of the light had gone out of the afternoon. The sea was a dark shade of pewter, the sky above it was a bit lighter, but still heavy with gray cloud. She clutched his arm for a few moments, taking some of his calm strength into herself, then she let go of him and said, “I’ll walk a mile up this way and you go back toward the mouth of the Medway. The tide is really starting to come in now. We may spot them any minute.”

They separated and almost an hour later came together again. The light was nearly all gone now and they strained their eyes, still keeping their vigil, still keeping hope alive. Neither of them was willing to give up yet.

“We’ll cover the same distance one last time. I just cannot go back to the Hall yet.” She knew Mr. Burke had been about to order her to the house. Her words forestalled him.

“All right,” he agreed. “Shout if you see anything at all.”

Fifteen minutes later it was Mr. Burke who shouted.
One minute the rollers were unbroken until they hit the sand, the next moment he saw something black bobbing about between the swells. Without hesitation he plunged into the surf to grab and hold whatever it was. It was not until he had hold of it that he knew it was a person, and not until his face was less than a foot away did he see the yellow oilskin. “Mother of God, are you dead or alive?” he asked the human piece of flotsam. “Roz! Roz!” he bellowed, filling his lungs with air before he attempted to lift the waterlogged youth.

He heard Roz answer him and even at this distance heard the excitement, joy, and relief mingled in her answering shout. As he groped about in the dark seawater he knew something was preventing him lifting the body. He cursed beneath his breath as his seeking fingers came into contact with the line wrapped about the wooden spar and the boy. His nails could not unfasten the knots and finally in desperation he pulled the tangled line off by working it down the legs and over the bare feet.

He knew the body he held still breathed, even though it was not conscious. Roz came running up the beach, breathless. “Oh, my God—”

“It’s Anthony,” shouted Mr. Burke. “He’s still breathing. Christ, he’s heavy!”

“Dear God, where’s Antonia?” Roz cried.

“No sign of her … no sign of the
Seagull
Anthony was attached to part of the mast.”

“Antonia! Antonia!” Roz cried her name desperately into the dark sea. The wind snatched the name from her trembling lips.

“Roz, if we want to save Anthony we have to get him into a warm bed. He’s unconscious, near frozen to death. Come Roz, we have to give our full attention to the survivor. Fate has given us one, but not both. If we don’t hurry, Anthony, too, may be lost to us.”

Like one whose heart was being torn in half, Rosalind knew she must do the practical thing. With one last desperate
look out to the insatiable sea, she sobbed, then groaned, then followed Mr. Burke as he carried his dripping, precious burden back to Lamb Hall. Halfway there he sank down to his knees to rest and catch his breath. Roz bent down to brush the sodden black hair back from the boy’s brow. When they had him safe and dry and warm, he would tell them where Antonia was.

The servants stood about with eyes like saucers, the maids wrung their hands helplessly as Roz threw out her orders. “Build a fire in Anthony’s chamber. He’s half drowned and near frozen! Heat some soup quickly! Fetch brandy! Get dry towels from the warming cupboard! Never mind, I’ll do it myself!” Then she thought of something else. “Get Bradshaw immediately. Tell him to drive over to Major Blount’s with a message that Anthony is safe, but to keep searching for Antonia and the
Seagull”

Mr. Burke carried on up the staircase. He would not lay down his burden until he had young Lord Lamb in his own bedchamber. He left a pool of water upon every stair and drenched the carpet along the upper hallway, but they had a lifetime to mop up seawater. He concentrated only upon stripping the heavy, sodden garments from Anthony’s frozen body. He tore off the bulky oilskin.

“Oh, Grandma—”

Roz couldn’t believe her ears. “My God, it’s Antonia!”

Mr. Burke stepped back in surprise and allowed Roz to complete the undressing. Off came the canvas breeches and the knitted shirt, then she wrapped her in a huge warm towel and thrust her beneath the bedcovers.

A maid came in carrying a tureen of soup. “Will Lord Lamb live, ma’am?” the young girl asked in a strangled voice.

Roz stared at her for half a minute. Dear God, the girl was right. Pneumonia was almost a certainty. “Yes, yes, out with you now, my grandchild needs rest around the clock. Keep everyone away from this chamber, there’s a
good girl. I want Tony to have absolute quiet. I’ll do the necessary nursing myself.”

When the door closed Mr. Burke and Lady Randolph exchanged worried glances. Mr. Burke laid the fire himself while Rosalind patiently spooned warm soup into Antonia’s mouth. Now that she was warmed at last, it was plain to see she was suffering from exhaustion.

Her grandmother tucked the covers snugly about her and soothed, “Sleep now, darling. Tomorrow will be soon enough to tell us what happened.”

Antonia’s eyes were already closed and as the warmth and safety of home enfolded her, her mouth curved into a sweet smile of gratitude just before Morpheus claimed her.

Adam Savage paced the deck of the
Red Dragon. A
week of indolence aboardship had made him feel like a caged leopard. He had anticipated the long, lazy days in the hot sun, thinking he’d catch up on his reading, and indeed he’d devoured Homer and Vergil and moved on to Fielding’s contemporary novels. Now he realized they had occupied his mind, but his body cried out for action. His unbounded energy screamed for an outlet.

In desperation he stripped and shoveled out the hold that held the pair of Arabian horses he was taking to England. Finally he went to his captain and told him to assign him duties as a member of the crew. He also took the midnight watch on a permanent basis. These were the hours when he allowed his mind to roam free. The black
velvet sky, hung with a million diamonds, not only gave him the opportunity to study the constellations, but the freedom to wing across the heavens from England to Ceylon or from past to future.

On the midnight-to-dawn watch between sea and sky, between Heaven and Earth, everything fell into perspective. This journey was symbolic. He was closing a door on the past and opening another into the future. He had done this twice before. The first time, when he had left England for the Indies, he hadn’t known he was closing a door on his past.

His father had been a cabinetmaker. They lived across the River Thames in Southwark, above the shop. It was no more than a hovel really. They had to store their wood upstairs, for when the Thames overflowed, it ruined whatever lay in its path. His father loved what he did. He was a master craftsman who had been apprenticed to Thomas Chippendale in St. Martin’s Lane.

Adam Savage had not inherited his father’s artistic hands, so he did the wood buying. When fine wood for furniture became scarce in England, and had to be imported, the cost became prohibitive. Young Savage had seen the mahogany and satinwood being unloaded from the East Indiamen at the wharves and experienced bitter anger because they could not afford it. When he talked to the sailors and learned it could be purchased for pennies in the Indies, he made up his mind to work his passage on a merchant ship and acquire firsthand what his father needed.

Savage quashed the feeling of guilt that arose up in him. How was he to know that his father would die of influenza in the damp hovel while Adam enjoyed the hot sun of Bombay? The thought that he would never be able to provide his father a comfortable living had driven him a little mad. As a result Savage had ruthlessly set about making himself rich. When he came to his senses and realized
he was destroying lives for profit, along with his own soul, he again closed a door and opened another.

Savage then channeled his ruthless drive into acquiring untainted wealth and it had paid off a thousandfold. The magnificent house he was going to was another symbol. It was a reward for his hard labor, but it was also where he would bring up his children. They would have the advantages he had never known. He would also give them the benefit of his experience and see they received the finest education available so they would be capable of running their country.

If he married Evelyn Lamb, her children would become his. His mind winged back to Ceylon when he and Eve had said their good-byes. For once Eve had had no guests from the dozens of thriving plantations that stretched all the way to the coast. After dinner she reached across the table to take his hand. “I visited the chaplain today. I hadn’t been inside the chapel since Russell’s funeral. I prayed that you would have a safe voyage.”

Savage was a cynic. He wondered what she had really prayed for.

“Stay with me tonight?” It was more than an invitation, it was an appeal, a whispered supplication.

His blue eyes pierced her until she shivered and lowered her lashes.

He knew she was willing to play the whore rather than lose him, but Savage had too much pride to make love to a woman who wasn’t mad to have him. Her sexual coldness was a challenge, but he needed time to overcome her frigidity. He decided not to consummate their union on this last night, but to wait until he returned for her. He knew she was beginning to thaw toward him, knew he sometimes aroused her, though she repressed it, but decided to leave her wanting more.

Savage picked her up and carried her to her bedroom. “I won’t make love to you in Russell’s bed,” he said
bluntly. He bit her earlobe. “The things I’d want to do would desecrate if,” he teased.

An involuntary shudder ran through her body at his outrageously intimate words. She knew he said such provocative things purposely, damn him, damn him.

He laid her on her bed. “You are always so tense.” He slipped off her shoes and began to massage her feet. “I want you to relax. I want you to sleep and I want you to dream of me tonight and every night until I come back for my answer.”

As he stroked her pale skin, soothing her, his eyes stared into the darkness. Eve hadn’t been exactly as he expected. He had initially been attracted because she was older than he with the experience of being a wife and mother. He had expected her to be a voluptuary, a consummate earth mother. Instead, he found her sexually repressed. It would be a challenge to shape her, mold her to fill his needs once she was his wife. And if she did not quite fill all his needs, he would be discreet in his liaisons.

Before he left for what would probably be the best part of a year, he slipped a ring upon her finger. It was a magnificent, blazing, ten-carat diamond. It was not an engagement ring, but a symbol that he would return for an answer.

He stood at the helm of the
Red Dragon,
his ice-blue eyes alert for anything untoward upon the black sea, while his inner mind winged back from Eve and Ceylon. He had deliberately not given her the ring while she was awake. She could not be formally engaged while she was in mourning. He had had no need to see her reaction to the priceless jewel. He had known exactly how her pupils would dilate and how her loins would spasm with excitement to possess such a treasure.

A smile curved his wicked-looking mouth. Eve was an avaricious little bitch, like most women. He thought no less of her for it; after all, she was only human. She would
make a superb chatelaine for Edenwood and in return she would give him her children.

A son! A son upon the brink of manhood. He couldn’t wait to meet him. He had a wealth of experience to impart to him. A daughter, too, he thought wryly. He was unsure of himself there, all right. He had little he could teach a young girl, but he would give her his protection. The world was filled with untold evil. He would see that it never touched her. But a son … Anthony … Tony … he couldn’t wait!

When Antonia opened her eyes she saw that Roz had sat in a chair beside her bed all night. She felt disoriented as she sat up against the pillows, then realized she was in Anthony’s bedchamber.

Her grandmother awoke with a start, then heaved an enormous sigh of relief when she saw Antonia seemed unharmed by her ordeal.

“Where’s Anthony?”

“Oh, darling, we don’t know, but I’m afraid we must brace ourselves for the worst,” Roz said gently. “Do you remember what happened?”

A great lump formed in Antonia’s throat, so that she could hardly speak. Dear God, surely if she was alive, her twin was also. They were each half of one whole. The fate of one was the fate of the other. How could it be otherwise?

Antonia swallowed hard. “The storm came up out of nowhere. Everything went wrong at once. The mains fouled and we couldn’t get the sails off. Tony tied a line around me. We capsized, then somehow we managed to right her, but the
Seagull
was totally unstable. Tony was washed overboard again and I couldn’t see him.” Her eyes filled with tears and she choked on her words.

Her grandmother’s eyes held such anguish, she knew she must keep a tight hold on her emotions and not go to pieces for Roz’s sake. “Someone should be out searching
for Anthony. I was out there for endless hours before the tide brought me ashore.”

“Major Blount and his neighbor are out in his sloop searching the seas. I sent word to him last night that one twin was safely home, but to go out again at first light to look for the other twin or wreckage of the
Seagull”

When Antonia tried to throw back the covers and climb from the bed, she fell back with a wince.

“You are hurt!” Roz cried, “You’ve broken something!”

“No … no, I don’t think so.” Antonia lifted the covers to inspect her body. “Lord, I’m covered with bruises.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” demanded Roz with concern.

“Yes, I’m positive. Help me up, I must help search for Anthony.”

“Under no circumstances. Lie still. We have to talk. Mr. Burke is walking the beach, in fact all the servants are out looking for any sign.”

Antonia sighed and was grateful to lie back. “Why am I in Tony’s room?”

“When Mr. Burke pulled you from the water last night he thought you were Anthony. So did I….” Roz’s voice trailed off, but Antonia knew there was more that she wanted to say. “Darling, we must face facts. If Anthony has drowned or is lost at sea, that cousin, that Bernard Lamb, will inherit the title and this house.”

An ominous silence filled the chamber as Antonia tried to make sense of her grandmother’s words. Then she forcefully rejected them. “No! That is impossible. Tony is just missing. He’s not dead. … I won’t let him be dead!”

“Blessed Virgin, grant that you are right, but if you are not, Antonia, if he does not show up today … soon, then indeed he is lost at sea and will be presumed drowned.”

Antonia turned her face into her pillow and sobbed
brokenheartedly. Anthony was a part of her. She could not pretend strength, even for her grandmother’s sake.

Roz reached a hand to her shoulder. “Antonia, Mr. Burke and I talked long into the night. We have a plan … it’s rather daring in concept, but everything hinges upon you. It’s to be your decision entirely.”

Antonia struggled up and dried her face with the linen sheet.

Roz licked dry lips, then spoke in a low, confidential tone. “When word of this boating accident leaks out and it becomes known that Anthony is presumed drowned, the new heir will be upon us within a day, claiming everything and turning us out of the Hall. I never told you, darling, but Bernard Lamb came running to Stoke the moment he learned your father was deceased. The ruthless young devil was looking at Lamb Hall with speculative eyes. With Tony the new Lord Lamb, he was well aware of the fact that he was now heir apparent to everything. I gave him short shrift. There was no way I was going to allow the damned upstart to insinuate himself into the family circle. Now that the tables might be turned, he will derive the greatest pleasure from turning us out. He has just been waiting and praying for an accident to occur so he can claim everything.”

Antonia was appalled at the picture her grandmother painted. It was her nightmare becoming reality. Perhaps this diabolical Bernard Lamb had been doing more than praying for an accident. Perhaps he had deliberately sabotaged the
Seagull
Why, that was attempted murder. Perhaps he had rotten-well succeeded too! Antonia groaned and closed her eyes.
No, no,
she told herself,
don’t jump to such wicked conclusions. No one could be so evil.
Thinking evil things would only bring terrible punishment down upon their heads. She must think only good thoughts until Tony was returned to them.

“If we pretend you are Anthony, it will buy us time, perhaps as much as a couple of weeks. It will give you time
to recover your strength and time to see if Anthony comes home. If indeed he did not survive, it will give us time to pack our things and make other arrangements. We can move to my dower house. It’s only a cottage, but it will have to suffice. For the time being we will avoid putting a notice in the
Gazette
about the boating accident.”

Her grandmother’s words brought home the reality of their predicament. Not only might they lose Anthony, but also Lamb Hall and all the security she had ever known. Antonia suddenly felt very ill.

Roz thought her averse to the idea, so she tried to convince her of its merit. “With your hair slicked back, even Mr. Burke and I mistook you for Anthony. If you temporarily pose as your brother, you will not have to forfeit the title, the town house, or most important of all, Lamb Hall.”

Antonia’s eyes widened at the sheer audacity of the suggestion.

“Will you even consider impersonating Anthony?”

“Of course I will! I’ll play at being Anthony until he returns. Absolutely no one will know,” she vowed.

“And if he doesn’t return, darling?” pressed Roz.

“If you are going to keep insisting that, I won’t have anything to do with it,” Antonia cried in anguish. “I’ll take Anthony’s place to safeguard everything that is his, but only until he returns.”

Roz had to be satisfied. One step at a time. Perhaps they’d never get away with the deception, but it was worth a bloody good try. Of that she was totally convinced. Roz took a pair of scissors from her pocket. “The first thing we– must do is cut your hair the same length as Anthony’s.”