Romney Marsh Trilogy: A Gentleman by Any Other Name / The Dangerous Debutante / Beware of Virtuous Women. Kasey Michaels
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Gautier,” Jacko said, still smiling at Julia, and the little Frenchman hit the palm of his hand against the side of his head, said, “Mon Dieu, naturellement. Pardon,” and scrambled through the doorway, closing the door behind him.
Silly as all this melodrama seemed to her, Julia was becoming rather uneasy. “Precisely what do you think you’re doing, Jacko?”
“I think that’s obvious, don’t you?” He turned and lowered the bar onto the hooks attached to the door, then called out, “Waylon! Take the boy and leave. Use the back door.”
Waylon, who was possibly as large as Jacko, took one look, then grabbed the boy by his arm and pulled him toward the rear of the building.
Julia folded her arms and tried to appear calm as Jacko approached the forge. Waylon had mistakenly left an iron rod still heating in the fire, and Jacko slid on a glove, then picked up the rod, its tip glowing white-hot. “Pretty, isn’t it? And yet so dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Wanting to scream, wanting to run, Julia instead stood her ground. “Am I supposed to be terrified, Jacko?”
His eyes sparkled, looked amused, and his tone was light as he smiled at her. “That would be the general idea, Miss Carruthers, yes.” He took a step toward her, and she retreated in spite of her determination to stand her ground. “Tell me about your father.”
Now Julia was terrified, even as she realized she was more terrified of Chance finding out she’d lied to him—a sin of omission, but a sin nonetheless—than she was of Jacko and his menacing weapon. “You’ve been to Hawkhurst?”
His grin was positively delighted. “Oh, and aren’t you the clever one. And a quick thinker, too. I’ve heard about Lieutenant Diamond’s visit last evening. Not just the wound to Spence but to his horse, as well. Very clever, very quick, very credible. And, yes, Miss Carruthers, I’ve been to Hawkhurst.”
“I can explain…”
“Really,” Jacko said flatly. “Just let me safely deposit this pretty thing into the water bucket, and then the two of us can sit over there on those fine oak chairs of Waylon’s…while you explain.”
Julia quickly did as he said, for her knees were knocking together so badly she was sure she might fall down otherwise.
Jacko picked up the other chair as if it weighed no more than a feather, turned it around, straddled it, then rested his crossed arms on the carved back of the chair. “So? What do you want to tell me?”
“What you already know, I suppose. That I am from Hawkhurst,” Julia began, untying her cloak because it was so very warm in the smithy, even though her fingers were cold and clumsy. “And my father was the vicar of Saint Bartholomew’s.” She looked down at her shaking fingers. “Until he was asked to step down.”
“Ah, there we go—and so quickly, too. Confession is good for the soul, isn’t it?” Jacko asked, leaning his large head on his crossed forearms, grinning at her. “And why was he asked to step down?”
Julia glared at him. “Although I’m at a loss as to how you found out, you obviously already know why.”
“That I do, that I do. But now I want you to tell me.”
“He was accused of thievery by his superiors from Rye.”
“So your holy papa was a thief? Stealing from his own church? And then he died, all suddenlike, before anyone could be told and he could be carted off to trial. How’d he die, Miss Carruthers?”
Julia blinked furiously as her eyes began to sting. “I won’t answer that.”
“He hanged himself,” Jacko said for her. “Took himself up to the attics of the vicarage that same night he was accused and hanged himself.”
How dare the man push at her like this? “He did not! My father died in his bed. I found him in his bed. He died in his sleep.”
“So everyone told me. Except for the man I found sweeping out the church. He told me something different.”
Julia hugged herself, began to rock. “Penton? Penton’s a simple man. And he drinks sometimes, poor soul. Nobody listens to Penton.”
“Drinks quite a bit, in truth, when someone else is paying down the blunt,” Jacko agreed.
He was still smiling. How Julia wanted him to stop smiling. But maybe Jacko was like some dogs—when the tail wagging stops, the dog bites.
Julia rushed into speech. “Why are you doing this to me? Why won’t you let my father rest in peace? Yes. Yes, Penton helped me cut Papa down and put him in his bed. He helped me wash him, prepare him for burial, so no one would see him…see him as he was. And my father was wept over by his congregation and buried in the churchyard. And I came to London and met Chance and to my great surprise found myself back here. Is that all you wanted to hear?”
“He was fronting for the local smugglers, wasn’t he? He’d give them money from the church coffers to buy goods across the Channel, then they’d pay him back, until the next time. Not for profit—unless you can call a cask of tea or perhaps some silk or lace for the pretty daughter profit—but to help his struggling congregation. How long had he been doing this? Who knows. But there was a storm or two at a bad time, and the goods had to be scuttled to save the men, so now there was no money when the officials from Rye came to call.”
Julia nodded, giving up the fight, as it seemed there was nothing Jacko didn’t know. “They were suspicious in Rye even before the storm. The church officials demanded answers, and Papa wouldn’t give them to them, wouldn’t betray our congregation, didn’t even tell our people he was in trouble.”
She looked at Jacko. “They were his people. For as long as I can remember, they were his people. And he’d rather die than betray them. There,” she ended, wiping at tears with the back of her hand, “are you satisfied now?”
“I am that.” Jacko got to his feet, hiked up his trousers that had a tendency to slip low on his belly. “You’ll do.”
“I’ll do? Really. And precisely what does that mean?”
“Only a fool trusts the town drunkard, Miss Carruthers.”
“What?”
“I needed to hear the story from you, Miss Carruthers, and you were brave enough and proud enough to tell it to me.” He gave a quick tilt of his head. “And I suppose I wanted you to know that I know. You knew too much, you see, and reacted too well—on the Marsh, with that fool Diamond last night. Now I know why. Your papa may have killed himself to protect his congregation but mostly he did it to protect you. Because you were also a part of it.”
Julia sighed. “Only marginally. But, yes, I was involved from the time I was a young child. I would have stood with him, Jacko, proudly. But he didn’t give me the opportunity. I understand why he did what he did and have come to grips with his death and can even remember him fondly now. You’ll tell the others? You’ll tell Chance?”
Jacko shrugged. “Don’t see the point, do you? Unless you want to one fine day. Not as if you’ve lied to us. You lived in Hawkhurst, your papa was the vicar and now he’s dead and buried in the churchyard as the holy man he was. Oh, and Penton, his pockets full, is aboard ship and on his way to Saint Augustine in America, which he’ll learn when he eventually sobers up and looks over the rail.”
Julia’s heart leapt in her chest. “He’s gone? You did that for my father and me?”
“We protect our own here, Miss Carruthers.”
“So you no longer believe me to be a danger to…to the family?”
Then Julia had to grab hold of the chair behind her as Jacko advanced on her with his lumbering walk before bending to raise her hand to his lips. “Welcome to the family, Miss Carruthers. Chance would be more the young fool than I take him for if he let you go.”
“Julia,”