Lady Anne 02 - Revenge of the Barbary Ghost, page 23
Thursday afternoon, with Osei for company, he walked the short distance from the Barbary Ghost Inn to the side of the cut opposite the bluff beyond Cliff House, to observe and think about the landing he assumed was going to happen that night. He had a spyglass, and lay on the cliff examining the shore below where he thought the tunnel came out.
“Right there,” he said, and handed the glass to Osei, explaining to him how to find what they were looking for. Osei spotted it with no trouble, and trained the glass along the beach. Darkefell rolled over on his back and stared up at the sky, watching puffed white clouds scud across the blue. “How am I going wrong, Osei? What offended Anne so much about me wanting to protect her? I fear for her life in such an enterprise as this. Smuggling! What kind of man would I be if I did nothing and let her do what she would?”
“I was not there, sir, and did not hear how you phrased the things you said.”
“But I’ve told you exactly.”
“Pardon me, sir,” Osei said, taking the spyglass away from his eye and glancing over to his employer. “But you told me what you said, not how you said it.”
“Surely that’s the same thing?”
“Not at all. I have observed that when we relate what we have said to another, we summarize, not using the exact words. Nor are we able to duplicate the tone, the facial expressions, the exact phraseology utilized.”
“How like a woman to care about that,” Darkefell said.
Osei did not respond.
Darkefell rolled over onto his side and watched his secretary lift the spyglass again and gaze down the beach. His secretary’s thin, dark face was set in an expression he knew well now, after five years of having him in his employ. Osei had his own opinions, but had not expressed them all. “Do you not think that unreasonable,” Darkefell pressed, “to care so much how a thing is phrased?”
Still Osei said nothing.
Darkefell sighed in exasperation and swept his unruly hair off his forehead. “I give you permission to speak freely, Osei. I think you understand the lady well, perhaps better than I do, and I’m asking your opinion.”
“Words are significant. They hold weight and meaning, each one, individually,” Osei said, slowly. “But tone is of import, too. How you are told to do something is very important, for beyond the words lie many implications. The tone in which words are delivered can say ‘you are a fool, so I must treat you like one,’ or ‘I trust your shrewdness in this matter.’ I suppose, having been in a subordinate position for some years now, sir, I know what it feels like to have my intelligence slighted—”
“When have I ever slighted your cleverness?”
“I did not say you did so, sir.”
“I beg your pardon for interrupting,” Darkefell said. “I’m impatient, aren’t I? I jump in too quickly, before hearing people out.” And he accused Anne of impetuosity? “Who, then, would dare slight your intelligence?”
“At first, when you hired me as your secretary, Mr. Jones,” Osei said, referring to Darkefell’s land steward, Mr. Posthumous Jones, “did not make it simple. He questioned everything I said, and disbelieved every order I gave. Do you not remember how often he came to you for clarification, when I had said exactly what you told me to say? You would reaffirm it, but it was three years before he began to believe me. You even asked me once if I relayed your messages to Mr. Jones and others completely.”
“Why didn’t you complain to me? I would have made him pay attention to you.”
“Sir, that would just have proved Mr. Jones’s point, that I was not able to make decisions for myself, nor solve problems on my own. I persevered.”
“And now?”
“We are beginning to have a good understanding, Mr. Jones and I. I think I have won his respect, finally, and it is worth having, for he is a good man underneath it all.”
“You must have been relieved when I sent him to London on business a couple of months ago,” Darkefell said, wryly.
“It does make my job simpler, not to be questioned at every turn.”
“But how does that equate with my desire to protect Anne from harm?”
Osei sighed, and framed his answer carefully, frowning into the distance. Darkefell watched his thin, dark, intelligent face. He began to see how Osei had struggled, and yet had kept the struggle to himself, preferring to make his own way and fight his own battles.
“Lady Anne has lived her whole life—not just the few years that I have endured—within a society that expects her to be someone she is not. From what I have observed of your English society, ladies are thought to be impetuous, and so are not trusted to make decisions affecting their own lives.”
“She is impetuous,” Darkefell said.
“So are you, sir, but your impetuosity, even when it results in a bad end, is called risk-taking, daring, boldness. When you speak up, you are called courageous and manly. When she speaks up, she is called unwomanly, unattractive, silly, ill-judged. Shrill. Irritating. If she wishes to make her own decisions and choose how she wishes to live, it is thought to be wrong-headed and dangerous. I ask you, why is it dangerous to allow a woman to make her own decisions about life?”
“I am beginning to think men don’t allow women the freedom to choose for themselves how they live, because we fear they will decide they don’t wish or need us as husbands.” Darkefell frowned off into the distance. “Listen to me: ‘allow women the freedom.’ I wonder how much there is in life that I don’t understand.”
Osei smiled and didn’t comment.
“Will Anne ever accept my proposal?” He thought of her life, as a being of intelligence, courage, and wisdom, and yet she could not work, nor order her own life, nor command her own money. She could not purchase land. She could not choose a representative in government. On marriage she would lose even the right to speak for herself in court. Frustration must attend such limitations on action, when the woman was as accomplished and intelligent as Anne.
He had been taught his whole life that women did not wish such things as to be in charge of their own destiny, that it was too great a burden for frail shoulders to bear. But that wasn’t true, clearly. “I’ve offended Anne terribly, Osei. I see that I should have offered to help, not told her I would send her away and do it all for her. But I cannot and will not allow her to fall into danger because I did not frame my offer of help in such a way as to be acceptable to her. I must risk that she will turn me away forever, while I do what I will to keep her safe.”
Osei nodded. “I know.”
“And it has nothing to do with distrusting her judgment as a woman. But I cannot sit on my hands while I fear for her life.”
“I know.”
“So the plan goes on,” Darkefell said. He stared down at the beach. “I pray it goes well.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and fingered Anne’s lace fichu. “Tonight will tell the tale.”
Eighteen
“I’m worried, Mary,” Anne said, pacing in her room. Irusan sat on her bed and watched her, his green eyes fixed on her face. “Something is not right about this whole mess, and yet I cannot make Pamela listen to me.”
“Aye, that’s what I fear. She’s trusting folks you have no reason to trust. But you must not risk your own life, milady, trying to save hers!”
“I know, I know. Darkefell tried to make that same point two days ago,” Anne said, and did not need to elaborate because she had told Mary about meeting him in the tunnel, though she didn’t confess all that had occurred between them. “Was I wrong, Mary?” She stopped in front of her maid. “Should I, for Pam’s sake, have let Darkefell take over?”
Mary didn’t answer, and just watched her mistress as she tried to repair the damage to another of Anne’s hats. It was late afternoon, and the storms of the last two days had finally calmed. Pam had received word that the run was going to be that very night, just a few hours hence.
“If my only thought is for Pam’s safety, and I do know Darkefell to be competent and as good as his word, should I have let him take over?” Anne pondered that question, drifting over to the window and staring out without seeing. Pride must not get in the way of helping Pam to the utmost of her and anyone else’s ability. If Darkefell was the most capable of helping her in this final foray into the criminal world, then he should have been allowed to take over. But she shook her head.
“No,” she said, turning away from the window. “He doesn’t care for Pam as I do. He would do what he could, but I will do more. I owe so much to her, more than anyone will ever know. If he had only offered to help me, rather than demand I leave, I may have accepted his assistance, for he’s a good ally. But he would have bundled me off, and I cannot just go away and hope for the best. What kind of friend would I be?”
“You’re not a foolish woman, milady,” Mary said, frowning as she tried to prop up a broken feather. But there was no hope for the plume, so she removed it and tossed it aside. Irusan, in a rare display of feline fancy, leaped upon it, chewing it and tossing it around on the bare wood floor.
“I wish Darkefell fully believed that. I’m afraid I was very rude to him, but he will not accept that I am no fool. He claims to think me intelligent, but then goes on to command me in the same tones as any other man.”
“He is just a man, milady,” Mary said, poorly trying to hide a smile.
Anne picked up the feather and tossed it in the air, letting her cat race after it, dashing across the polished wood. She laughed at the injured look on his face as he slid into a wall. He stalked away and sat in an inelegant pose to wash his bottom, one leg stuck up in the air. His nonchalance was feigned, Anne knew, because he despised being laughed at. He demanded respect, and so did she.
Anne couldn’t stop thinking about Darkefell’s confession, his claim that he loved her. It had deeply touched her and she had been about to confess her own feelings, before he commanded her to stay out of Pamela’s troubled life. She stiffened her backbone, putting thoughts of Darkefell away.
“All right,” she continued, “back to the smuggling run tonight. I’m fortunate that I have set my own course of study over the years. For a while, I was interested in chemistry, and learned the rudiments of some chemical compositions. I’ve been working on something for the last couple of days.” She slewed a glance toward her maid. Though they were very much mistress and maidservant and very different in a multitude of ways, Anne would have been a fool not to listen to and consult with a woman of so much strength and integrity. It didn’t change the fact that her final decision was always her own.
Mary eyed her fearfully. “Why do I no’ like the poor direction this is taking?” she said, her rs rolling with agitation.
Anne sat on her bed and Irusan leaped up onto her lap. She ruffled his thick mane of fur. “I said I would not allow you to help tonight, but I think I may need you,” she confessed. When she explained what she required, Mary reared back in amazement.
“Milady, I could never do that!”
“I don’t even know if you’ll need to, but I can’t think of any other way. I can’t be in two places at once, and there’s no one I trust as I trust you,” she said, echoing Pam’s words to her. “Please, Mary, I’ve asked you only to do the part I think you can handle without danger to yourself. Once you’ve done your part, I want you to scurry back here, to Cliff House, and safely into bed.”
“You don’t think I’m worrit about my own safety, do ya?” the maid said, anger flaring in her mild eyes. “I’d go to the ends of the airth for you. But I just don’t know if I can do it.”
Anne reached out and put one hand on her maid’s wiry arm. “I have faith in you, Mary. I have faith in your intelligence and ability.”
“All right,” Mary said, covering Anne’s long-fingered, strong hand with her own. “I’ll do’t, milady.” She crossed herself.
“Anne, dear?” Lolly called out, tapping on her door.
“Yes, Lolly … come in,” Anne called, squeezing Mary’s arm and releasing it. For the next half hour she listened to Lolly’s litany of complaints about Mrs. Quintrell, and soothed the companion’s hurt feelings, all the while planning in her head that evening’s work. She had a lot to do before then, and some of it required that no one observe her. Not even Pamela.
***
It was late, and down at the ocean the tide was turning, pulling back from the shore, each wave just a fraction of an inch lower on the sandy beach than the one that preceded it.
Inside Cliff House, Lolly, having imbibed a goodly amount of excellent fortified wine, was snoring, and Robbie was sound asleep, weary from another day of letters and numbers. Mary paced the wood floor, alone in Anne’s chamber for fear of waking her child. But Anne and Pamela were in Pamela’s bedchamber, almost ready to go, Anne having substituted for her friend’s maid, Alice, who was busy on some vital task devised by her mistress.
Anne had helped in every detail of Pam’s elaborate costume, but still was amazed by the transformation. She gaped at Pam, now dressed in the best of her brother’s clothes, a brocade jacket, plumed hat, tight breeches, but her own boots, custom fit from a cobbler in St. Ives, she said.
“I had to give some explanation why I needed a pair of boots,” she said, glancing into her mirror and catching Anne’s eye. “So I said it was for a costume party in London.” She turned around, slowly, and held out her hands. “This is it, the last time Lord Brag will command his smuggling gang.”
Anne’s stomach clenched. She put one hand flat over her belly and said, “Then let’s make it a good one.” She paused, but decided one more time to warn her friend about the men upon whom she relied. “Pam, do you really trust all your men, Micklethwaite, especially?”
“I do,” she said, blithely, turning to examine herself in the mirror again. She donned her black cloth mask and smiled. “I have too much information on the good captain to think he would do otherwise than keep his word to me. What possible reason could he have to cross me? We both profit in this enterprise.”
“There are other things than profit, my dear, unfathomable reasons for betrayal.”
Pam whirled and took her friend’s two hands in her own. With a teary smile, she cried, “Anne, stop worrying. We have an enormous shipment tonight; at least twenty thousand pounds or more in goods is coming ashore, and my share will amount to at least four or five thousand pounds. Everything will go well, and with my share I’ll be able to leave St. Wyllow. Edward and I will live upon it for thirty years in Canada!”
“I’ll never see you again,” Anne said, tears welling in her own eyes.
“You don’t know that! I may come back, or you may visit.”
Anne pulled her into a hug, then set her away. “It’s time.”
“Your part is simple, Anne,” Pam reminded her. “All you have to do is open the tunnel door, direct my boys, then, once the goods are unloaded, lock it up for me again.”
Anne smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Pam, just keep your mind on your task and be careful.” On her way to the tunnel, she had a slight detour planned, into Marcus’s workshop.
***
“If I was the smuggler,” Darkefell whispered to Osei, “I would take advantage of the high tide to row a boat right up to the tunnel cave and unload. You’d need fewer men that way.”
“You would make an accomplished criminal, begging your pardon, sir,” Osei murmured, a smile in his voice.
They crept through the dark along the wet beach, not daring to carry a lantern, and so depending on the faint differentiation in light and shadow from the cliff and water. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Darkefell murmured. They both wore dark clothes, and Darkefell had smudged his face with lampblack, trying to conceal any gleam of his pale skin, but he was perspiring and the ocean mist was clinging to his cheeks and forehead. He had the awful feeling the lampblack was streaking, but he dared not mop his face, for fear of wiping the soot off completely.
Both men stopped and listened, as they had done often while approaching the site for the smugglers’ landing. The ocean had calmed, and the receding tide tossed playful waves on the shore. The sound was the merest whisper and nothing more. But this time when they paused, Darkefell heard another sound; the plash of oars in water echoed faintly against the rocky cliff side. He looked out over the ocean and saw a light winking, a signal to those onshore, no doubt.
His was a difficult position this night. His intent was to be an observer. If things went well and there was no danger, he would not interfere. Anne, he was certain, would not get herself involved in an ongoing smuggling affair, so his assumption was that Pamela St. James was doing one last run. Perhaps it had already been arranged before Marcus’s death, or perhaps she needed the money.
Her brother’s death would have left her in a difficult position, for his commission was surrendered to the crown upon his death, its entire value gone in an instant, and she may have had his affairs to put in order. If he had died insolvent, all his debts would descend upon her as his only surviving relative. Darkefell had done his utmost to keep from judging her, though his anger burned brightly at Pamela’s involving his Anne in such an illicit and dangerous affair.
Not that anyone could keep Anne out of it, if she had made up her mind.
But if things went badly, he and Osei were both armed. He had tried to keep his secretary from coming with him, but the fellow was fond of Anne too, and insisted on sharing the danger with his employer. Osei, as mild as he seemed, was a good fellow in a tight spot, wiry and athletic beyond a slight limp he worked hard to mask, the remnant of an injury sustained when he was thrown from a slave ship six years before.
As a young prince, in Africa, Osei had been trained in warcraft, and though tribal warfare and smuggling were vastly different events, the characteristics needed, those of steady nerves and decisive action, transferred perfectly from one activity to the other. If Anne was in peril, Darkefell was going to whisk her away, hand her over to Osei, and then make sure Pamela St. James escaped harm.
