Romney Marsh Trilogy: A Gentleman by Any Other Name / The Dangerous Debutante / Beware of Virtuous Women. Kasey Michaels
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Ainsley? How do you make up for past mistakes? By making the same mistakes again? What happened to all your fine plans to come here, keep the girls safe, at the very least? Bury the past, you said, let the past lie, let it die. Did you become bored stuck out here in your self-imposed exile? Did you feel the need for another adventure? Don’t tell me you need money.”
Ainsley put down his snifter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really? I’m supposed to believe that?” Chance drew his hands into tight fists, as if to rein in his temper. “Then explain to me, please, why one of the boys I dragged here with me tonight talked about the Black Ghost Gang.”
“What?”
Chance sat back, stunned. No one could fake that look of complete shock, not even Ainsley. “You…you don’t know? Billy didn’t tell you?”
Ainsley stood up slowly, suddenly feeling very old, very tired. “He told me what happened on the Marsh, about this Miss Carruthers of yours whom Billy seems to have cast in the role of heroine. But that’s all.”
Chance also got to his feet, his mind racing, racing toward one particular name. “Then you’re not riding out as the Black Ghost, you’re not running a gang of smugglers here on the Marsh? I know that’s what you were about in Cornwall, before you had to run or be hanged. I assumed you—”
“Excuse me,” Ainsley said coolly, already headed for the door.
Chance followed all the way to the second floor and down the hallway, until Ainsley stopped in front of the door to Courtland’s bedchamber.
So they’d both had the same thought.
Ainsley tried the latch, but the door was locked. He pulled out his timepiece. Nearly midnight. “The young fool,” he said, brushing past Chance and back down the hallway, down the staircase, not even breathing hard as he pushed open the double doors to the main drawing room. “Jacko? Damn you to hell. You knew, didn’t you?”
Chance watched, reduced to no more than a spectator, as Jacko leaned over the low table in front of the couch, throwing dice one hand against the other one more time before pocketing the dice in his coat.
“Well, look who’s come up for air. Maybe it’s a good thing you came back, boy, shake things up a bit here in the backside of beyond. What’s the matter with you, old friend, you couldn’t find a way to bury yourself tonight? No taste for Milton’s dreary poetry? No interest in Greek primers? No sackcloth and ashes to be found?”
“Point taken, Jacko, thank you,” Ainsley said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m a dull stick who has spent too many years grieving, sulking and turning my face from the world. I’ll grant you that. But, by God, man, how could I be so blind? How long has this been going on? Courtland’s out there, isn’t he? Are the others with him? Spencer? Rian?”
Jacko nodded, his great head all but touching his chest. “Rian and Spence are gathering up some babes and their mama, to bring them here before they’re sent out of the Marsh. But that’s all, I swear it. Court? Nobody knows what Court does and nobody asks. He’s his own man and has been for years. Or would you rather they were all kept in leading strings? Or run away, like that one there did, turn his back on every one of us.”
“Feel better now, Jacko, with that off your chest?” Chance asked silkily.
Ainsley began to rock slightly on his heels as he tapped his hands against his folded arms. “I’m an idiot. A blind, selfish idiot.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Cap’n,” Jacko said, and Chance raised one eyebrow. Jacko never called Ainsley “Captain” anymore, not since they’d arrived in Romney Marsh. That title had been reserved for Geoffrey Baskin and had been buried along with him. “But you might want to give a thought to this one here. Told the boys he found he was going to take them to Dover Castle. It’s him you have to worry about, what he might take a mind to do to his own.”
“I’ll ignore that, Jacko,” Chance said tightly as he stood beside Ainsley. “This time. But never again. Court isn’t the only one who is his own man. Now let’s hear you tell the captain what in bloody hell is going on around here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JULIA AWOKE ALL AT ONCE, realizing that something—or someone—was on the bed with her. She opened her eyes, expecting to see Alice sitting at the bottom of the mattress. “Hello. Who are you?” she asked the child of twelve or thirteen who was still bouncing as she grinned at her.
“I’m Cassandra, except that everyone save Papa and Chance calls me Callie, which is a wickedly common name, but I like it. And you’re Julia. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. I’m supposed to be in bed with a horrid cold.”
“Your nose is a little red,” Julia said, pushing herself up against the back of the bed as she smiled at Callie. She reached for her father’s pocket watch that she had put on the bedside table, opened it and saw that it was nearly eight o’clock. “I’ve slept entirely too long.”
“You’re worried about Alice? Don’t be, please. Edyth has already fed her and washed her and dressed her, and now Alice is downstairs, where my sisters can fuss over her,” Callie said. “Edyth’s very competent, Papa says. She was my nurse when I needed a nurse. I don’t now, of course, because I’m all grown-up. I haven’t been in the nursery for years.”
Julia couldn’t help but smile at this. What a pretty child, with a small heart-shaped face, her high cheekbones still nicely padded with baby fat. Huge brown eyes dominated the face also remarkable for its full, pouty lips. And Callie Becket had enough light brown hair for any two people, much of it in long, loose ringlets that bounced as she bounced.
“My nose is only red because it will insist upon running all the time,” Callie informed her, then tilted her head to one side. “I wish I had hair like yours. It’s so wonderfully straight, isn’t it? I have more curls than Odette, but she’s supposed to have them. At least, that’s what she says.”
Julia blinked at the name. Odette. Wasn’t that the name of the servant who’d been put to taking care of Dickie? “Is Odette your housekeeper?”
“No, silly.” Callie put her fists on the bedspread and leaned closer. “Odette’s our mambo. She is very powerful, but not so much as her father was. He was a houngan and he could turn people into animals for days and days. She said she’d change me into a pigeon and roast me for dinner before I could change back if I got out of bed again. So you won’t tell, will you?”
“I…I probably shouldn’t, should I?” Julia said, wondering if it was possible she was still asleep and caught up in some strange fantastical nightmare. “Why is Odette a mambo?”
Callie rolled those huge, expressive eyes. “Because she’s a very special voodoo priestess and very powerful. Everyone knows that.” She sat back on her haunches and opened the top two buttons of her night rail, then pulled out a thin golden chain. “See this? This is a real alligator-tooth amulet Odette made for me.”
“Is that so?” Julia said, looking at the rather brown, stained thing that, yes, was most definitely a tooth, thankfully too large to be human. “And why do you have that, Callie?”
“It’s my gad, of course, my guard. We all have one.” Callie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s very, very special and keeps me from harm, keeps the bad loas away. I never take it off, never, except one time a year to soak it again in the mavangou bottle, of course. It needs to feed on the magic to keep the bad loas away. Odette is very put out with Chance, because he hasn’t allowed her to soak his gad in a prodigiously long time.”
“Really?” Julia was becoming more intrigued by the moment.
Callie rolled her eyes again. “Oh, yes. We’re just lucky he’s still alive. It’s really very reckless of him. Odette becomes fatigued, always lighting candles and saying prayers for him.”
“Prayers,