“I spoke in jest. Isabel, no one wants to see you in a man’s garments.”
“Do you object to my wearing them?” she says.
“Dear God, no. You could dress in a bearskin as they do in America or wrap yourself in silk shawls like in India for all I care. Or wear nothing at all—that may be my preference, in fact.”
“Jack!” she says, swatting at his arm, but she’s laughing and so ishe.
The crew has split up and is returning home from Nelly’s Cove piecemeal, so as not to arouse suspicion, but there’s no need, for at this hour of the day Jack’s estate lies deserted. Even Jack’s dog, Jib, has not yet roused herself. “You’ll want to watch out for the press gang,” Jack told his men before they left the ship, leaving only Harry Tremayne and Oppy on board. “The captain of that frigate will be looking to impress new hands into His Majesty’s Navy. Beware the King’s shilling if you drink at any of the inns along the river.”
Nearer to the house, the smell of salt and seaweed gives way tothat of the roses along the white stone walls, come into bloom thanks to the warm weather. They go up the path as if they live there together, and Isabel can see how it will be: the ease of their rapport turned into an everyday thing, their conversation flowing freely, the nights spent in Jack’s arms—everything just as it was on board theRapide.
I’m going to tell him,she thinks.
She’s going to explain about James, and if it is as she hopes, if he understands and he’ll still have her, she’s going to say yes.Yes, I should like to marry you. Maybe not at once, but when I am ready I shall, and gladly, for I love you.“Jack,” she says as he opens the door for her. She steps into the dark hall and turns back to him, saying, “There’s something I must tell you.I—”
But she doesn’t get any further, because there’s a voice outside, a man’s voice, calling to Jack. For a fraction of a moment, she thinks,that odious man, he has the worst sense of timing,but then she looks across Jack’s shoulder and sees Lieutenant Sowerby on the doorstep—and the pistol he’s aiming at Jack. The hall sways and she has to put her hand against the wall to keep her balance.
“Why do you look like that? Are you quite—” Jack says, already turning to the door.
But Lieutenant Sowerby barks, “Mr. Carlyon, sir!”
A click as he cocks the pistol, unmistakable in the quiet morning air. Cold seeps into her veins, circulating until gooseflesh rises on her arms.
Without looking back, Jack motions for her to move deeper into the hall. She draws back in the shadows as he says, “Lieutenant Sowerby, to what do I owe the—”
Lieutenant Sowerby says, “Be so good as to lift your shirt, sir.”
“My shirt? What has gotten into you, Sowerby?”
Lieutenant Sowerby motions with the pistol. “Lift it or I shall fire.”
Jack takes the hem of his shirt, the one she mended for him, just washed yesterday aboard the ship. He begins to lift it. She’s gazing at his back, but she knows what Lieutenant Sowerby is looking for, andhe will see it: the red, angry welt of a new scar, made by a gunshot wound.
“Itisyou. You’re the captain of theRapide,” Lieutenant Sowerby growls. His own shirt is half unlaced and hangs partly out of his breeches and he hasn’t bothered with a neckerchief. A constellation of red spots covers his throat; his tone drips hate. “How I hoped I was mistaken when Mrs. Henley led me here. Perhaps that is the worst of your crimes, Carlyon, corrupting a poor widow into aiding you in your banditry. Did you promise her money, is that it? And she, only wishing to lessen the blow of her heroic husband’s death and the state to which it reduced her—she accepted, did she not? Or did you force her, you brute?”
“I did,” Jack says, and she doesn’t understand, because she’s standing right there, not five feet behind him, and Jack didn’t force her to do anything; of course he didn’t. Does Lieutenant Sowerby not realize it’s her? There’s a loud rushing in her ears. Through it, she hears Jack say, “You cannot blame Mrs. Henley. She never wanted any part of this. I did force her. I threatened to murder her if she wouldn’t comply.”
He speaks reasonably, calmly. He’s not only admitting guilt, he is making it worse. She wants to say,Stop, Jack, none of this is true,but with his right hand, low by his side, he’s motioning for her to stay back.
“Murder and worse, I’m sure,” Lieutenant Sowerby says. “It’s exactly as I thought. How frightened she looked when you dragged her off to your ship! I saw it all from atop the cliffs. It was clever of you to anchor in that cove on your estate, away from the path, I’ll give you that. But I saw everything. You couldn’t even leave poor Mrs. Henley in peace when you sailed! You made good use of her, didn’t you, you miserable brute?” There’s something lecherous in his tone now, underneath the hatred and anger. It makes Isabel’s hair stand on end.
Lieutenant Sowerby is still talking. This is good, she tells herself. As long as he’s talking, he isn’t going to pull the trigger. “I wished nothing more than to come to the poor woman’s aid, but I could notbetray my position. Not when I was about to catch the most notorious smuggler in the county. Mrs. Henley’s trials and tribulations aboard your ship would have to be her sacrifice to the peace of our nation. A heroic contribution to the war effort, like that of her late husband.”
What is he talking about? she thinks. He’s mad. And it’s all because of her; this is her doing. She led him here, to Jack. The hallway grows dim, the sight of Jack’s shoulders, squared against Lieutenant Sowerby’s tirade, fades as the world closes in on her, black spots blocking out everything until she finds the wall again under her hands. She breathes in deeply the smell of wood and the sweaty, bile-filled scent of her own fear.
“Sowerby,” Jack says, but Lieutenant Sowerby doesn’t listen. He keeps talking: “It hasn’t been easy to wait for your return these past two weeks, sir. It wouldn’t do to arrest you without your cargo—the Revenue Service has a more stringent view of what makes a smuggler than I. However, now that you have returned, we’ll soon have our hands on it. Poor Mrs. Henley’s virtue will be avenged.”
“That’s right,” Jack says, still with that measured calmness, as if they’re talking about the weather. “I used her and I used her well. She begged me to leave her be, to let her go home. Mrs. Henley isn’t to blame in the least.”
No!She’s screaming it, inside her mind. She wants to scream it at the top of her lungs, but her tongue won’t move. She coughs, but neither of the men turn to her.
Lieutenant Sowerby says, “I believe you, sir, because I’m well acquainted with Mrs. Henley. Such purity of character! How she bears her burden is entirely admirable. The poor woman, she was a bundle of nerves when I called on her last. I realized at once something was amiss. Well, it appears Captain Hamer’s arrival in theHornetwas not quite so necessary after all. According to the lieutenant governor, the Revenue Service is doing such a poor job of stamping out smuggling we’re in need of the navy’s assistance. I say, who’s doing a poor job now!” A desperate laugh bursts from him.
“Surely we can talk about this,” Jack says. “As an officer of theRevenue Service, you see the prices of goods, you see they aren’t fair. People can’t afford some of the most basic things when they’re taxed to such a degree. I’d compensate you well if you were able to find it in yourself to look the other way while I provide a necessary service. Could we not—”
Lieutenant Sowerby cuts him off again, snarling, “How dare you try to buy me! If I needed more proof, you’ve just given it. But the scar is all the proof I needed. Lieutenant Sullivan has good aim, doesn’t he, Carlyon? As do I.” He moves closer, the pistol aimed at Jack’s chest.
Jack takes a step back. “My men will be here shortly and they won’t take kindly to seeing their captain held at gunpoint. Leave while you still can.”
