No sooner had Maurice du Mercer strode through the doors of the tavern than a definite hush fell over the place. Every harlot who had managed to rouse herself out of bed by that early morning hour paused to gawk at him with jaw hanging a-slack. In comparison to the clientele they had been servicing in the local area, the Marquess looked as luscious and tempting as a plump worm in a chicken coop. Like a brood of cackling hens, they rushed toward him, shoving and yanking at each other in their eagerness to seize this enticing tidbit for their own. True to form, Morrisa managed to force her way to the fore of her companions.
“Can I be o’ service ta ye, yer lordship?” she crooned and, as was her habit, moving her shoulder in a rounded motion to send her sleeve tumbling down her arm. Another shrug bared a goodly portion of her ample bosom as well.
“You may,” Maurice answered with marked disinterest. “I understand from the innkeeper that my grandmother is staying here. Can you direct me to her room?”
“Well, I don’t know, m’lord.” Morrisa sidled back several steps, recognizing her blunder. This was the grandson Lady du Mercer had said was in love with Shemaine, and since neither Potts nor Roxanne had returned from the Thorntons’ to collect their reward, there was no way of knowing what had happened out there or what this man was after. Whatever his mission, it seemed dire, for his black eyes were like steel sabers slicing through her. Still, her ladyship hadn’t wanted it noised about that she was there and certainly not to her grandson.
“If you don’t tell me, I can find her myself,” Maurice informed her bluntly. “I may startle a few of your companions in the process of opening doors, but I doubt that I’ll be unduly embarrassed by the sights I may find behind them. However, their customers might be a bit upset by the intrusion.”
Morrisa promptly relented, imagining the dander that Freida would fly into if any of her customers began to complain about being disturbed. She didn’t know how her ladyship would react to her grandson’s visit, but she had confidence the lady could handle it with far more grace than any of them could abide Freida’s raging or vengeful tactics. “The last room on the right upstairs. I just took her liedyship up some tea a li’l while ago, so she’s awake an’ havin’ her vittles.”
Maurice leapt up the steps three at a time, leaving several of the strumpets gaping after him. His pace along the balustrade was just as swift, just as sure, and with no more than a quick rap of lean knuckles on the planks of the door, he swung open the portal and stalked into the room, startling his grandmother, who had been sitting at a small table partaking of her morning meal. She half rose from her chair at this unforewarned entrance, fully expecting to see some dirty brigand with a pistol in his hand who would demand her money. When she recognized the familiar face, she slowly sank back into her seat and clasped a bony hand over her fluttering heart.
“Why, Maurice, you startled me,” she chided.
“I meant to,” he stated crisply.
A brief, nervous twitch at the corner of her lips was the best smile she could manage. She didn’t need to be told that something was amiss. “Have you taken to playing pranks on your elders of late?”
“If I have, ‘tis a far less disastrous trick than you have played on me.”
The delicate fingers trembled slightly as Edith picked up a lace handkerchief and daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Maurice.”
The Marquess was not fooled by her innocent masquerade. “You should know far better than I, Grandmother, what you’ve done. I was in love with Shemaine, and now I’ve lost her—”
“Is she dead?” Edith had been waiting in anticipation for such an announcement, but she had never dreamt it would be delivered by her grandson, of all people.
Maurice’s dark eyes glittered with ill-suppressed rage. “Shemaine is alive, married to a colonial, and carries his child . . . and I would give my whole wealth to be where that man is in her heart today.”
Edith’s own heart sank at the news of Shemaine’s continued existence, but she was as accomplished an actress as Morrisa. “Your whole wealth?” She forced herself to laugh at her grandson’s exaggerated assertion and waved an elegant hand to banish his claims. “Really, Maurice, no man in his right mind would give up the like of your fortune for a little twit of a girl. . . .”
“Her name is Shemaine, Grandmother,” he stated with sharp clarity. “Shemaine Thornton now. It should have been Lady Shemaine du Mercer. If not for you, it would have been.”
“Come now, Maurice, you’re overwrought and don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” Maurice slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew the silky-smooth leather pouch. With a flip of his wrist, he tossed it onto the table near her hand. It landed with a clink of coins. “Recognize it, Grandmother?” he questioned caustically. “You’ve always been rather proud of your simple but elegant tastes. I need not look inside to see your initials to know that it’s yours. I wonder just how many of those fine leather pouches you’ve had made for yourself over the years? I’ve seen them all my life. You gave me several while I was growing up. You were trying to teach me the value of a coin, remember?”
Edith’s face remained a stiff, careful mask that effectively hid the inner turmoil that was raging inside of her. Her grandson’s tone revealed far more than his words had yet disclosed. She knew down deep inside that she had lost this murderous game she had set herself to because of some silly mistake of her own making. She had instructed Morrisa to give Potts a few coins and to promise him more to hasten his return. How could she have known that a tiny little pouch would be her undoing?
“How did you come by this purse?” Edith questioned carefully. “I thought I had lost it.”
Maurice curtly denied the possibility. “You didn’t lose it. You gave it to Potts when you sent him on a mission to kill Shemaine. But he failed you, Grandmother, and paid for it with his life. That little twit of a girl you can’t abide shot him when he tried to kill her husband. You probably promised a sizeable reward to Roxanne Corbin, too, but she won’t be back . . . except in the coffin Gage Thornton made for her. What I would like to know, Grandmother, is how you could have been so cruel to me . . . and my betrothed.”
Edith du Mercer sat in dignified silence, refusing to answer as she stared unseeing across the room. Her bony hand clasped the silver handle of her walking stick, which she had braced upon the wood floor.
“Answer me!” Maurice barked, slamming his palm down upon the top of the table and startling a gasp from his grandmother. “Damn you for your cold bitch’s heart!” he snarled. “I know now that you must have connived with sticky-fingered magistrates and ambitiously arranged for Shemaine’s arrest in London and her banishment from England, probably all the while thinking you were doing me a good service . . . for my fame and future as a marquess. It grieves me to think of what Shemaine suffered because of you. After the O’Hearns discovered what had happened to her, I refused to allow myself to believe that you had any part of it. But her disappearance was too convenient, hardly a month after our engagement. You were so calm in your assurances to me that Shemaine would be found. I saw more distress in your eyes when I announced my intention to marry her.” He sneered at his only kin, feeling nothing but contempt for her. “You were probably hoping that news of Shemaine’s death would reach you so you could skillfully arrange for the information to come to my attention.”
A bitter smile curved his handsome lips. “I’m sure you could buy your way out of any English prison I tried to send you to, so I’ve chosen a more fitting punishment for you, Grandmother. From this day forward, you shall never see me again. If I go back to England at all, it will be to collect my possessions. But I shall be returning here posthaste to live out the rest of my life as an ordinary colonial gentleman, and you will never, ever be welcomed in the house that I will build for myself and my family, should I be fortunate enough to marry. Whatever offspring I produce, Grandmother, you will never see them, never hear them, and never be able to take pride in my children or their children . . . if you should live so long. And you will never be able to arrange their lives as you tried to do mine. This is good-bye forever, Grandmother. May you have a long and miserable life.”
Turning crisply on a heel, Maurice crossed to the door and left, causing Edith to flinch with the loud, resounding closing of the portal.
In the aftermath of his passage, Edith du Mercer sat in silence, staring across the room yet seeing nothing. She felt numb inside. Perhaps she was already dead. Everything she had striven for, yearned for, grappled for, had fled from her life with the slamming of that door. She could not even feel a spark of hope or interest when a few moments later a rather frantic rapping came again upon the plank. It was only Morrisa, wondering what had happened.
“Potts and Roxanne are dead,” Edith informed her dully. “You’d better leave as soon as you can. There’s a pouch of coins in my satchel near the bed. Take that. There should be enough to get you to New York . . . or someplace far off.”
“But what about Freida?” Morrisa asked fearfully. “If’n I leave without buyin’ back me papers, she’ll send someone after me . . . may e’en have me killed.”
Edith picked up the pouch that Maurice had just delivered back to her and handed it over. “Perhaps there’s enough in this to buy your papers. In any case, you should leave. I would expect Mr. Thornton will be arriving some time this morning, perhaps to bring in the dead bodies or to search for you. I shall be taking the next coach north myself and then a ship back to England.”
Thoughtfully Morrisa tossed the small pouch in her hand, knowing full well what it contained. There was more than enough in it to buy back her papers, but as far as the other purse, she had no idea what it held. She could only hope that it would last her for a time, but once the money was gone, what would she do? Ply her trade again? It was a terrible gamble to leave Freida without paying her back, but there seemed no other choice if she wanted a few coins to spend on herself after she got to wherever she was going. Gage Thornton would be arriving soon and he’d no doubt be looking for her. She couldn’t wait around. She had to leave now!
Hugh Corbin limped out onto the front porch shortly after he saw Gage halting the wagon in the lane in front of his house. He was aware that Roxanne hadn’t come home the previous night, and even before he caught sight of the boxes in the wagon bed, he had already begun to fret that something dreadful had happened to her.
Gage swept his hat off his head as he approached the older man. Hugh squinted up at him, as if wondering at his mission, and Gage halted in front of him. It was the first time in ages that Hugh met him without an insult. “Mr. Corbin, I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid Roxanne is dead.” Turning slightly, he gestured with his hat toward the coffins loaded in the conveyance. “Her body is in one of those pine boxes there. I carved her name in it so we’d know—”
“Ye bastard, why did ye have ta kill her?” Hugh snarled in agony. “Wasn’t it enough that she chased after ye an’ made a fool of herself ever since ye come here! But that weren’t enough for ye, was it? Ye couldn’t rest ‘til ye took her last breath from her just like ye did Victoria.”
“I didn’t kill her, Mr. Corbin,” Gage assured him quietly. “Cain did.”
“Cain?” Hugh Corbin stared at Gage, momentarily convinced that he had taken leave of his senses. “Cain wouldna’ve killed her!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Corbin. My wife and I both saw him do it.”
“Why?” Hugh demanded. “Why in the hell would Cain do a thing like that to Roxanne?”
Gage heaved his shoulders upward slightly. “Because Roxanne wanted him to kill my wife, and he was unwilling to obey her. He killed Victoria for Roxanne, too, after she tricked him into doing it. When she threatened Shemaine, Cain swept Roxanne up in his arms and leapt off the prow of my ship with her. Roxanne didn’t survive the fall. She died of a broken neck after hitting her head on one of the rocks.”
Hugh Corbin gaped dully at Gage, hardly able to understand what the younger man was telling him. After a moment of strained silence, he wiped his trembling hands on his breeches and muttered half to himself, “ ‘Twill take me a while ta dig two graves. . . .”
Gage looked at the smithy, not sure he understood what the man had said. “I thought I’d try to find that old woman’s cabin in the woods where Cain lived and bury him out there. If you know where it is, it would help me. . . .”
“I’ll bury Cain beside Roxanne.”
“Are you sure you want to do that, Mr. Corbin?” Gage asked in quiet sympathy. “After all, Cain did kill her. . . .”
“This was where Cain was born; this is where he’ll be buried.”
Gage wondered if the shock of Roxanne’s death had addled the smithy. “As far as I can remember, the woman in the woods never said where Cain came from. Are you saying that Cain was born in Newportes Newes . . . or near here?”
“He was me son,” Hugh answered in a gravely voice. “Me firstborn. He was born a couple o’ weeks afore he was due, an’ when I saw how grotesque the babe was, I told Leona ta pad her belly so’s everybody would think she was still with child. Then I took the babe in the woods an’ left him on the ol’ woman’s doorstep. Didn’t seem right somehow ta kill me own son. After the hag found Cain an’ spread the news around, I told some people that Leona was goin’ inta labor with our own babe, but I wouldn’t let anyone come inta the house. Later, I built a tiny coffin, weighted it down with a small bag o’ grain an’ told the townsfolk that the son what had been born ta me an’ Leona had come inta the world dead. I didn’t want ta own up ta that hideous li’l creature I’d taken in the woods, but Cain was the only son I e’er had.”
“Did Roxanne know that Cain was her brother?”
“I never told a soul . . .’til this moment . . . an’ now it just don’t seem ta matter anymore.”
Gage left the man alone to deal with his sorrows as best as he could. The smithy had made his own way in life, and it had become obvious to Gage during the short time he was there that Hugh wanted no one to pity him. He would remain as stubborn and harshly stalwart as ever.
Gage helped the smithy unload the top two coffins, then he took the third and a statement of how Potts had met his death to the British authorities in the area. Gage then proceeded to the tavern and found Freida in a raging tizzy.
“I’d like to talk with Morrisa,” he informed the madam. “Do you know where she is?”
“I wish I did,” Freida snapped irritably. “She left here without lettin’ any o’ us know she was leavin’, an’ from what I hears, she caught a ride goin’ north with the first fella what come along, a mountain man what’s been visitin’ her lately. ‘Twould seem she ain’t plannin’ on comin’ back any time soon.”
“Then I take it Morrisa didn’t bother to buy her freedom.”
Freida snorted angrily, attesting to the accuracy of his conjecture. “Ye can bet when I catch up with her, she’s gonna wish she had.”
“I suppose Morrisa was more afraid of what I’d do to her than she was of you,” Gage surmised.
Freida squinted a glance up at him. “Potts go out ta yer place ‘gain?”
Gage responded with a nod. “This time he tried to kill me and said that Morrisa told him to do it. He meant to kill my wife after doing away with me.”
The madam swept him with a lengthy perusal, seeing no visible wounds. “But ye’re here an’ Potts ain’t.”
“His coffin is down the street a ways.”
Freida pursed her reddened lips in a wrinkled “Oh?” as she leaned back in her chair to stare at him. “So’s ye’re here lookin’ for Morrisa an’ maybe thinkin’ ye’ll do her in like ye promised, but ye’re gonna have ta wait yer turn, ’cause I’m gonna find her first an’ lay inta her so harsh she’s gonna wish she done gone ta the grave.”
“Be my guest. As long as she’s out of the territory, I think I can forget about her being a danger to Shemaine.”
“Oh, I’m gonna bring her back alright or kill her tryin’. I gots friends what keep me informed ’bout things. Until I finds out where she’s gone, I’ll be a-thinkin’ up what’ll be the best punishment I can give her for leavin’ here without me knowin’. She ain’t gonna be much use ta me all scarred up by a whip. The gents won’t mind a finger or two missin’ on a harlot as long as she’s got enough ta get their attention. An’ I knows some other stuff what’ll make the bitch take notice. If’n Morrisa’s smart, she’ll behave herself from then on. Otherwise, she’ll be regrettin’ it ‘til her dyin’ day. That much I’ve promised her, an’ I always keep me pledge.”
Gage didn’t know which posed a greater threat to Morrisa, being at the beck and call of a mountain man or being at the mercy of a vicious adversary like Freida. Whatever her fate, he seriously doubted that she would enjoy herself overmuch.
News of Edith du Mercer’s hasty departure from Newportes Newes reached Gage before he left the tavern, and he returned to his family confident that Maurice du Mercer had handled the situation in a way that he had deemed fit. Later, when Shemus and Camille arrived at the cabin after venturing into the hamlet, they informed Shemaine and Gage that Maurice had come to see them and had explained his intentions. He was giving some consideration to the idea of eventually settling near Richmond and paying court to Garland Beauchamp to see what would come of that relationship. At the moment, however, he was still in love with Shemaine and had decided it was best to put some distance between them for his own peace of mind. He was planning on returning to England after an initial visit with the Beauchamps, and in a year or so would be returning to the colonies and traveling upriver to Richmond. If, at that time, Shemaine had been widowed or left to her own defenses, she was to leave word for him at the inn in Newportes Newes. Since she was apparently deeply in love with her husband, he would leave her alone, but should she want him ere he wed another, he would return to her stoop with all the eagerness of a smitten swain.
Gage bristled at the announcement, but he could hardly blame the man. In fact, if Shemaine were ever widowed, Gage could not imagine a better man than Maurice to replace him as her husband. Still, Gage hoped he would completely frustrate the Marquess’s desires and live to an ancient age with her, for she was clearly the kind of wife a husband could treasure beyond all the ships, fame and fortune in the world.
Shemus blustered at the urging of his wife and cleared his throat as he faced his son-in-law. The fact that William sat nearby only added to his discomfiture. “Now that ye’ve been cleared o’ the murder o’ yer first wife, I suppose I must beg yer pardon for the things I said ta ye the first day we met.”
“Only if you’re sincere about it,” Gage assured him cordially. “An apology isn’t worth much unless you truly mean it.”
Shemaine slipped an arm around her husband’s waist and, leaning against his long muscular form, smiled at her parent as she encouraged him to make things right. “You don’t really want to geld him now, do you, Papa? After all, ‘twould mean no more grandchildren after the one I’m carrying now is born.”
Her father reddened in painful chagrin. “Yer mother an’ I wanted a large family, but it was never meant ta be. Several grandchildren would make up for all the years o’ our yearnin’.”
“Then say it, Papa!” Shemaine entreated eagerly.
Shemus cleared his throat and began his apology haltingly. “I’m sorry for what I said . . . for wantin’ ta see ye cut, Gage, but . . . at the time . . . I could only imagine that ye’d taken advantage o’ me daughter. Can ye forgive me?”
“I can understand that you were concerned for Shemaine. In fact, I might have said as much if it had been a daughter of mine.” Gage extended a hand in friendship and smiled as it was readily grasped by the Irishman. “We have a common goal, sir, and that is the welfare of Shemaine. I will pledge my troth to you that I’ll do everything within my power as her husband to make her happy.”
Chortling in good humor, Shemus laid his free hand upon the ones that were still clasped together and shook them, bestowing his hearty approval upon the younger man. “I’m grateful Shemaine was bought by yerself, sir. Otherwise, it might have been a disastrous end ta her adventure.”
Shemaine freely expounded upon her father’s conjecture. “Before my arrest, Papa, I didn’t have the wisdom to search beyond the realm of my own limited aspirations. Against my will, I was set to a different course in life than the one I had directed my sights toward, and yet, looking back, I can only believe a kinder hand must have been guiding me through my hardships, for ‘tis boundless love and joy I feel in my heart today for my husband, for my son, and for the child to come . . . and for our families.”
“Hear! Hear!” Gage cried, and a triumphant shout of agreement came simultaneously from William and Shemus. “Hear! Hear!”
The foaming waves curled away from the Blue Falcon’s cutwater as the vessel skimmed effortlessly away from the tidewater region into the open sea. Her white sails billowed out with the wind pushing at her heels, and beneath the clear blue sky, the gleaming shrouds almost bedazzled those who stood on the deck experiencing the wonder of her first flight. A feeling of awe was shared by all, the captain no less than any.
“She’s a beauty!” Nathanial Beauchamp exclaimed, casting a brief glance toward the man who stood at his side. “And you, sir, have created a marvel!”
Gage likened the ecstatic racing of his heart to that special moment when Shemaine had accepted his proposal of marriage. Yet he could find no words to speak, for his heart was full.
William Thornton reached up a hand and laid it upon his son’s shoulder, squeezing it in silent communication. The joy that welled up within him had brought tears to his eyes, and he could not trust himself to voice his own praise for fear the gathering thickness in his throat would convey the emotion he was presently trying hard to restrain.
“Daddee, look at the big fish!” Andrew cried, pointing toward the school of porpoise racing along the starboard side. The boy caught Gillian’s hand and begged, “Lift me up high, Gil’an, so I can see ’em better.”
Shemaine smiled as her husband joined her. His right arm came around her shoulder, drawing her close as his left hand slipped underneath the large shawl that she had donned to mask her belly, which had just begun to protrude. Beneath the covering of the wrap, he fondly caressed the gentle roundness.
“I think Nathanial likes the Blue Falcon, my sweet,” Gage murmured.
Shemaine looked up with loving eyes and dared to correct his statement. “I think Captain Beauchamp is mightily impressed with the Blue Falcon, Mr. Thornton. He’s been grinning ever since we got under way.”
“Aye, I’ve noticed.”
“But then, so have you, my darling, almost as much as Flannery.” Shemaine inclined her head to indicate the old shipwright, who stood in the middle of the deck, visibly exhilarating in the feel of a good ship beneath him. His wrinkled face was lit up with jubilant glee, and it could be said that his smile stretched from stem to stern, showing his sparse teeth.
Gage thought the old man vividly expressed what they were all feeling. “Nathanial selected the right name for her, my pet. The Blue Falcon suits the brigantine. She’ll soar through these waters like a bird of prey.”
Shemaine cocked her head aslant to gaze up at her husband with a curious grin. “I’m thankful you’re not a ship’s captain, sir. I fear I’d soon be taking second place to a wooden mistress.”
“Eh, never that, my love,” Gage murmured, resting his chin on top of her head. “You’re my only mistress and my dearest love. I could no more sail away from you than my own heart.”
“Aye, ‘tis that way with me, too.” Shemaine sighed. “I could never leave you. When we first came together in love, it was not only the merging of our bodies but our hearts as well. We’ve truly become one.”
“Aye, love, and our child will be a token of our love, for our joy was complete when you conceived.”
Shemaine nestled her head against his chest. “Aye, to be sure, Mr. Thornton. To be sure!”