James realized that he had been holding his breath. He let it out with a sign and glanced over Miss Tilbury's head, not without some difficulty as she had risen to her hands and knees and was peering intently into the clearing. Catching Mathieson's eye, James jerked his head backwards. Mathieson nodded and silently backed away from the clearing before disappearing into the darkness.
The governess was still intently staring into the clearing and began crawling forward. Watching her, James realized that she apparently had every intention of invading the clearing. Alarmed, he grasped her shoulder to hold her back.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
"I might ask you the same!" he hissed back through clenched teeth.
"I'm trying to hear what he is saying, of course!"
"A foolish endeavor, Madam!"
Miss Tilbury sank back on her heels, but continued staring down into the clearing. James could see the pulse rapidly pounding in her throat. "I must know! You don't understand! His being here in England can mean only one thing!"
"And what would that one thing be?" James asked tensely. Surely she did not know about her uncle's involvement! But it was entirely possible, he realized belatedly, that seeing her uncle here could jeopardize all of them. She would not be the first person that refused to help him after realizing the implications for their own family. He could only hope that he had not misjudged her. "What is it?" he repeated. He could feel her trembling and could hear her breathing in shallow gasps.
"I must be wrong," she muttered under her breath, "I must be."
"Come back," James urged. He was beginning to feel concerned. Miss Tilbury was definitely acting in a most peculiar fashion. She resisted the tugging at her shoulder and remained fixed in place. 'Shock,' decided James charitably. 'She is probably in shock seeing her uncle here.' All the same, he must get her out of here. He spoke to her in a low tone, "Miss Tilbury, you are upset, but..."
He recoiled as she turned blazing eyes upon him. She brought her face close to his. "I am NOT upset! I am angry. Very, very angry. And you, sir, may wait up here, but you cannot keep me here! I am going down there," she pointed firmly down the hill. "Are you coming or not?"
For a frozen moment they stared at each other. James realized that while he may not have misjudged the governess' integrity, he had certainly underestimated her courage. He struggled briefly before succumbing to her urgency. "I'll go, you stay up here with Theo." James whispered. "You hear that, Theo? Theo? Dam..., er, dash it all, where did he go?"
He peered around and tensed as he heard the faintest crackle of dry twigs snapping. His head whipped around, and he gave a silent groan. Theo had already crawled halfway down the slope. Even as James watched, Theo stopped behind a fallen tree. After a few moments, it became obvious that Theo wasn't going to try and get any closer to the clearing. Looking back to the figures in the clearing, James saw that one or two of the men had fallen back from Sir Paul, but one person stayed close beside him apparently arguing intently. Sir Paul gestured intently and the figure turned sullenly away and stooped down beside the fallen man and after searching his clothes pulled out a bundle which he handed to Sir Paul unopened. Sir Paul gestured toward the figure on the ground and then turned and strode from the clearing. After a brief hesitation, two men grasped the figure's arms and legs and carried it out of the clearing. The others followed.
"...I could hear very little, really, other than the, uh, leader saying that he was a fool, nobody would miss a smuggler, and the General would take care of it."
"A general!" Miss Tilbury exclaimed. The three were huddled around a fireplace in the library in Seaforth's town home. James had never realized how difficult it was to see a young woman without an audience. But bowing to the necessity of communicating privately, he and Theo had smuggled Miss Tilbury into his house.
"A general," she repeated, "who could it be?"
Theo nodded vigorously. "Exactly. AND," he continued impressively, "he told the man to `get the other one' and that's when they searched the body. I say, Uncle, do you think it's the other gem?"
"Not being in their confidence, I cannot say!" James was shocked to hear himself snap at his nephew. Miss Tilbury looked at him reproachfully. Goaded, James continued, "Theo, if you ever try such a caper witted thing again, I'll... I'll..."
Theo looked remorseful. "I'm sorry, Uncle. I didn't think."
"You never do, you troublesome brat. You just scared me out of five years growth." Theo recognizing that he was forgiven, grinned.
"Theo," Miss Tilbury pointedly turned her back, "did you get a good look at any of the other men?"
The boy looked troubled. "Miss Tilbury."
"You must call me Anne," she said swiftly. James scowled and slid deeper into his chair.
"A-anne," he continued, "I think, perhaps," his voice dropped lower, "one of them was a female." James' head jerked up. He saw the long look that the two exchanged before the governess turned her head away.
"I see." She said tonelessly. Theo looked at her helplessly. `What was going on?' thought James. He looked from one to the other. The uncomfortable silence lengthened before Theo's voice continued, "of course, I'm not entirely sure..." His voice trained off. Anne turned back and tried to smile at him. Theo reached out and grasped her hand.
James cleared his throat. "Well, it's getting late. Or early," he said ruefully, looking out the window where the sky was beginning to turn light. "Now do me a favor and take this to Jacob Holt. You know what it is," he continued, "be very careful." Theo took the small book and turned it over. He turned white when he saw it and looked at his uncle. The grin had vanished and he nodded curtly and left the room.
James turned back toward the governess. She had risen and was standing with her back to the room, looking out the window. "Miss Tilbury, it's time that I escorted you back to Lady Brookfield's. It would be disastrous if anyone realized that you had accompanied us."
"Why did I accompany you?" She asked. James was silent. She turned back to look at him and continued in a low voice, "You needed me to come and identify my uncle, isn't that right?"
"Yes." James said tersely.
"You've never seen him before, have you?"
James hesitated. "I've seen him before, but he never called himself Sir Paul Tilbury." She nodded.
"Forgive me," James said gently, "but you were not entirely surprised to see him, I think?"
"I was surprised to see him, yes. But I was not surprise to find him involved in something like this." She gripped her hands tightly together. "I did not become a governess because my uncle was unwilling to support me. I was unwilling to remain in his household once I discovered the source of his wealth." She took a deep breath. "Those gems. They never belonged to your family, did they?"
"No. I don't know where they came from."
"That cannot be true!" She flashed back angrily. "Don't lie to me! I'm not a fool."
"I am not lying to you!" James found himself shouting. "Miss Tilbury," he continued in a more moderate tone, "I did not lie." He hesitated and continued urgently. "Miss Tilbury... Anne... you must understand. Knowledge is a dangerous thing."
She came close to him and laid her hand on his sleeve. Before he knew what he was doing, he had laid his hands over hers. Anne looked into his face. "Please tell me. Do you know where those gems came from?"
"I have my suspicions." James answered guardly. 'Lord help me!' he thought. 'Why am I telling her this?' He looked at her intently. "Please, Anne. Do not ask me. It is better if you don't know."
"And if I already know?"
"What! Anne, what are you saying? What do you know?"
"Let us say, rather, that I have my suspicions, also. I was never really sure. I had no proof, but I could not account for it otherwise..." She pressed her palm against his mouth. "Please do not say anything. Let me finish before I lose my courage." James nodded. "My uncle was not a wealthy man... until three years ago." She saw his eyes widen and removed her hand from his lips. "Yes," she continued answering his unspoken question, "after the uprising, my uncle suddenly had money. He also began acquiring valuable objects. Some of them were openly displayed, but I accidently found a few objects carefully hidden. It didn't make any sense to me. More and more objects appeared. Then they began to disappear and my uncle began spending freely, something he had never done before. He attributed the wealth to his foreign estates. He returned unexpectedly from a brief absence. He was in a great hurry and announced that he had to travel to India. He left the same day. The rest of the family was to join him later. I stayed behind."
"You stayed behind because you thought what?"
"Blackmail." Anne whispered.
"You stayed behind because of what?"
"Blackmail," Anne whispered.
She stared down at her white hand which James was still clasping. She thought idly how strong his hand was, and yet how comforting was its warmth. James was silent. Gathering her courage she raised her eyes to his and saw not surprise, but compassion and something else, could it be admiration? For a moment their eyes met and Anne felt somehow James was searching her soul. Her heart beat fast and she was filled with unaccountable feeling: shockingly inappropriate, shockingly similar to happiness, yet more intense. She shook herself and pulled her hand away, angry at her own foolishness. As she stepped back from his lordship, though, she thought she saw that (endearing) blush rise in his cheeks again. She must have been mistaken because he spoke and his words were brisk, and yet unexpected.
"Yes, I understand you a little better now. You could not live under the roof of such a one as your Uncle. Sir Paul Tilbury. You could not benefit from his tainted wealth. He was your father's brother?"
"His older brother." She spoke stiffly, trying to rid herself of the feeling that she had awakened from a lovely dream, trying to hide the warm feeling that seemed to have spread from her hand to her heart.
Anne stepped closer to the fire. It cast its flickering light over her, but even in the uncertain light he could see the bits of grass and leaves stuck to her worn habit. Green stains adorned the skirt, from when she had crawled down to hear her uncle. He smiled at the sight but then a shiver ran down his spine, as he imagined what would have been the result if her uncle had seen her, had known she was a witness to his crime.
"I must take you home," he said abruptly. "Your reputation and your situation are at risk already and the risk becomes greater every moment we tarry. My traveling coach will have to do to return you to Lady Brookfield's home. It has no crest. Wrap your cloak well about you and pull your hood as far as possible over your face."
Striving for her best sternest governess voice, she exclaimed, "I think not! You have much to explain, My Lord! You obviously knew my cousin Cecily was alive and that my Uncle Paul is, he is a..." She stopped unable to speak the word.
"Hush," he said speaking to her the way she oft spoke to Ronnie. "We shall talk, we shall, I promise. I have an idea of how we can arrange for you to visit here with complete propriety. That little rascal you teach will be very useful, very useful indeed. But for now we must get you home."
He was silent in the coach and so was she. She felt strangely let down. It must have been shock over her uncle's crime. She had known him to be an immoral man since that day over two years ago, but murder in cold blood... She shivered with revulsion. She was ashamed to be related to such a fiend.
The coach rattled along London's quiet predawn streets. Her eyes closed...
She was back in Uncle Paul's home. The windows were open that day. The sun streamed in. She had been looking for a knife to sharpen her quill. The breeze blew across her cheek and rustled the papers on his desk. One sheet flew up and danced around the room. She grabbed at it and laughed as the playful breeze tossed it just beyond her reach. She trapped the paper against a bust of Socrates and laughed again. One of those "demmed Greeks," as Uncle Paul called the philosophers her father loved to study. Plato had been his favorite, and Papa always laughed when Anne told him Socrates was so annoying, he'd been lucky to escape with a simple cup of hemlock. If he'd been having dialogues in London he'd surely have wound up facing a pistol at dawn! A sound at the study door interrupted her frivolous thoughts. She glanced up guiltily, but no one came in. Uncle Paul would be furious if he caught her trying to finish her father's translation of Lysistrata, not because he knew the wicked (and disgracefully hilarious) nature of the play, but because she should be hiding her blue stocking tendencies! She carefully placed the paper back on the desk and then the sparkle in her eyes died as she saw the name on the errant page. Stunned she could not help but read the page and thus in those thirty seconds her life was changed forever...
She gasped and sat up. The coach had stopped. James, or rather Lord Seaforth was looking at her. His eyes were shadowed and he looked oddly judicial. Yet his words were gentle.
"I am sorry, you looked so tired, I did not awaken you. We are in back of Lady Brookfield's. Can you slip in through the back door? The servants will be stirring any moment."
She ignored him. The words tumbled from her unchecked.
"Good gracious! The sketch! The letter! There was a rough sketch. I didn't understand it when I saw it, it looked like an idle drawing of a star but it was The Star of the Sea!" She leaned forward, scanning his face, trying to read his thoughts. "But it had nothing to do with the Havershaw family! Quite another family was mentioned, one long suspected of being part of the..."
She stopped, horrified. She had almost betrayed that family to a man admittedly working for his King and country. Perhaps James, (Lord Seaforth she sternly corrected herself) was simply looking for Jacobites. Was this why he had sought her out? Did he think she knew more of her Uncle's secrets? She forced herself to be calm.
"What? Are you sure of this?" asked the Marquis intently. The first glimmer of dawn appeared above the London rooftops and his gray eyes caught the cold light.
"Sure of what?" she stammered. "What was I saying? I had the most nonsensical dream. I cannot seem to think straight."
"The letter, you said something of a letter and the Star of the Sea." He was glaring at her now, half suspicious of her confusion, half concerned.
"I spoke of a letter? I was dreaming... it was just a dream. It must have been from the shock."
She cast her eyes down, but peeped through her lashes at his face. Would he believe it was a dream? Would he press her for details? She dared not allow him to press her. She suspected if he wanted something from her it was a forgone conclusion that he would get it!
"You must tell me, this is vitally important," Oh dear, he was persisting. He grasped her shoulders and she forced herself to meet his eyes.
The intensity of his gaze made her breathless, but she whipped up her anger. She did not know what the Marquis's motives were as he had not seen fit to confide in her. She was not of the same cloth as her Uncle. She would not risk the lives of innocent women and children for the sake of a handsome face and a pair of fine gray eyes any more than she would to attain riches.
They glared at one another, both stubborn, both unyielding. She noted how the first light of day fell on his unpowdered curls and awakened red lights among the brown locks. He observed the rosy light caressing her softy rounded cheek. And again they were trapped in a moment that each wished could last forever. And as the dawn light reached across the yard, making the dew shine like a million sapphires, the air was filled with a cry.
"FRESH FISH!!!! GECHER LOVELY FRESH FISH 'ERE!!!"
London was awake and hungry and the street venders were starting their day.
As Anne tidied herself up, she realized just how fortunate she had been to escape notice as she returned to the Brookfield home. Mrs. Coopersmith and the scullery maid had been up with the market folk to buy the best the day had to offer. That is, she hoped she had escaped their notice. The floor had creaked just a bit as she passed stealthily on her way to her room, but she hoped that the discussion of the day's menu had been diversion enough.
She yawned, and realized just how worn she was. The past few days were becoming jumbled in her mind. The only items that stood out with absolute clarity were those involving her uncle, that accursed sapphire, and her parting with Lord Seaforth. She yawned again, trying to decide if she should try to take a brief nap, or just start the day early. 'At this point, it might be just as well to try to relax, and rest until it is time to be up,' she finally decided.
Master Ronnie was a veritable whirlwind this morning. Fortunately, Lady Brookfield was not in this morning, and did not witness either his escapades, nor Anne's futile attempt to rein him in. She was tired, and though she tried not to be snappish, she was afraid that she was very out of sorts. It was so difficult to do her work while all the while urgent thoughts kept intruding. 'What interest is this to the Crown? General? Did I imagine that look this morning? What in Hades is that boy up to now?!'
Finally, he had quieted himself, and was now resting as she read to him. He'd had an exciting day yesterday and quite an active morning. He seemed to have drifted off to sleep. She'd let him have a short rest, and just close her eyes... just for a moment...
"You may pack your things directly Tillbury! I declare, I am almost bereft of speech!" Anne awoke with a start, trying to pull her thoughts together. Only a second ago had she shut her eyes... but now the light was all wrong, and Ronnie was nowhere in sight! Lady Brookfield proved that she was not quite freed of the ability to speak. "Only by the chance that Phipps saw Ronald wandering down the front path is he safe! And you, sleeping away the time you are paid to care for him! I am most revolted, Tillbury. How often have you allowed this to happen? How often have you endangered my son? How often have you lurked away in the night, and not come back until the morn?! Trust me, you will get no good recommendation from me! I do not wish to see you in my sight again, you slattern, you. You will leave at once, and will not spend another night beneath my roof. You may take what belongs to you, but I expect Phipps and Coopersmith to be certain you have taken only what you rightly own, and I have told them so. A female of your disgraceful behavior could only be expected to be a thief as well!" She swept from the room, and Anne felt stunned by the verbal beating she had just endured.
Nan, the scullery maid, shrunk into the room. "I'm that sorry, Miss. I didn't mean no harm. I just happen'd to ask Miz Coopersmith where you'd been going in the hallway this mornin' as I was goin' out. I jess asked when I come back, an' I didden know my lady was coming into the kitchen. She was awful early today, an hardly ever comes there anyhow. I didden know, Miss, an I'm just that sorry. Is there anythin' I could do to help you out, Miss? Anythin' at all?"
Still reeling from her verbal beating Anne looked up slowly from her packing. "Nan," she spoke cautiously, "I must leave and I've no place to go. Lady Brookfield has decreed that I must depart forthwith and with no character. My options are none. I do not see what help you can give but I do appreciate your offer." Anne turned slowly and resumed folding her meager belongings into her plain valise.
"Beggin' yur pardon Miss Anne" said Nan, "but this 'ere paper fell out as you was puttin' that dress in yer box there." She held out a card to Anne. Turning it over, Anne read the name and direction of the young lady who had helped her in the park... was it only a few days ago?...
Anne gazed through the small window of her room into the walled garden and tried to imagine what she might say to Miss Gwendolyn Rossiter. 'Hello, Miss, I've been sacked without a character, I have an uncle who may be a thief, a cheat, a blackmailer, a murderer, and consorter with unsavory highwaymen. I was all night in the unchaperoned company of a Marquis who some think has usurped the title from his young relative...' Anne stopped there. 'No,' she thought, 'it would not be quite the thing to thrust on a generous unsuspecting rescuer.'
"Thank you for finding the card, Nan" said Anne as she placed the card carefully into her reticule, "but I think it is not the best plan for me right now. I shall have to think of something else for it would not be proper to involve such a lady in my misfortune.
"Wot 'bout 'is lordship, Miss?" asked Nan. " 'E's a right one, not like that Lady Brookfield 'oo puts on airs what don' belong to 'er wot was plain Peg Witcome afore she snabbled Lord Brookfield.
Anne looked more closely at Nan. "What are you saying? Lady Brookfield is your employer."
Somewhat flustered now Nan replied, "I is only tellin' what Phipps and Mrs. Coopersmith and Dickon say, Miss. They say as `ow you is better born than `er miss, truly they do."
'Then why did my Uncle Paul make such an effort to obtain this position for me,' wondered Anne. 'What was he up to?' As Anne pondered this new question there was a sharp rap on the chamber door. Opened, it revealed a disheveled Phipps who announced, "There is a Gentleman to see you, Miss, if you please."
For a second, Anne's heart leaped. But no, it was too unlikely, the tone was a bit contemptuous, and whatever else, the wicked Marquis did not inspire contempt. Anne considered her predicament as she walked towards the salon. She decidedly did NOT feel like going to Uncle Paul's. 'Where was James Seaforth when you needed him. He had a disconserting ability to pop out like a jack in the box, but when he was needed he wasnt here. Men!' thought Anne wryly.
She opened the door and gasped.
"Good Day, My Dear," bowed Uncle Paul. "I've come to ask you to came back with me. Unfortunately, your aunt has been taken ill and needs you."
'This is all wrong,' thought Anne. As long as he had known them Uncle had never cared for his beaten-down mouse of a wife. Anne supposed that if she went into convulsions at his feet his predominating feeling would be one of mild surprise. And surely it was too convenient that he appeared just as she was turned off.
Her mind in a whirl, she tried to optimistically think it was a coincidence. Unfortunately, she wasnt THAT much of an optimist.
There was no way to get out of it she thought, and decided to reply her stilted conventinal thanks (and planning a note to James), when a door was impetuously flung open, and that extraordinary breathtaking Mr. Falcon stood in the doorway.
"My dear Miss Anne," he drawled, "I've come to bring you with me, as we agreed earlier in the day. Miss Rossiterfallbroken arm," elaborated he to Uncle Paul.
Anne stared at him bewildered. This was getting surreal. Had the man lost his senses? What prior engagement? She hardly knew Miss Rossiter. It was not likely she would be the top person for her bedside. Unpercieved by scowling Uncle Paul, August gave her a wink. She did not know how, but in a few minutes she was sending her regrets to her aunt, as August was outrageously bemoaning "his dear invalid."
She went to quickly pack her bags. "I will be waiting outside." He looked at her directly and added, "That idiot Seaforth's request. Didn't fancy seeing your uncle face to face. Why do I put myself out for these nincompoops?
It only took a few minutes. On the way back, she heard a murmur in a small room by the hall. It was Lady Brookfield and Uncle Paul? Her mind reeled.
"Darling, the plan went wrong."
"But Paul, I did turn the wretched girl off."
"I know but some young impertinence made her come with him instead."
The lady's voice was shrill. "So you put her in my household to be watched, and I had to endure that CREATURE's pert tongue, but now when the real emergency is here, it's all for nothing?"
"Do not worry, my love, we will fix it. Nice that your offspring is so talkative. Children are invaluable, the little dears."
There was a sound as if the door was about to open and Anne fled towards the exit.
A carriage was there. She got in and her hands were clasped in those of James.
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3b | Chapter 3c | Chapter 3e | Chapter 4 | Chapter 4b | Chapter 4c | Chapter 5 | Chapter 5b | Chapter 5c |
| Novel 1 Notes | Novel 2 Notes | Novel 3 Notes |
| Regency Site Map | Patricia Veryan Site Map | United Kingdom Map |
AUTHORS: Although changes to the story are not allowed, please email any grammatical corrections, punctuation errors, or typos related to your installment to Tonia Izu.
Changes last made on: Saturday, March 1, 2008
This page accessed
times since May 9, 2000.