A Gentleman By Any Other Name (22 page)

“My fiancée would be extremely put out with me if I did not answer questions put by you, sir,” Julia told him, cutting him off, because this had to be said. “I was out walking by myself today—such a fine day, you'll agree—and foolishly believed the handsome bay horse inside the stable yard fence wouldn't mind if I stepped inside the fence to pet it. Well, it appears, sir, the horse did very much mind, and if it weren't for Spencer's timely arrival, I might well have been trampled. I have so little experience with horses, you see. I was very naive. They aren't like puppies, are they?”

“Oh, Julia, that's awful!” Alice exclaimed, and Cassandra quickly put her arm around the child and pulled her tight against her chest, effectively quieting her.

These Beckets worked well together, Julia thought quickly before continuing her enormous fib. “Well, sir, I came away with nary a scratch, but Spencer bruised his arm badly, and that poor horse suffered a nasty scratch against the fence.”

She patted Spencer's arm, then folded her hands on the edge of the table as she smiled at the lieutenant. “I should have known I couldn't hide my reckless action from Chance and I will confess all to him when he returns. But if you could please, Lieutenant, be discreet if you should happen to see him as he is out and about on the king's business, I would greatly appreciate that kindness. Chance worries so over me, you understand.”

Their food grew cool as Lieutenant Diamond apologized for a good five minutes and then finally took his leave.

In the silence that followed, Julia nervously counted to fifteen inside her head before anyone spoke. And then everyone spoke at once.

“Callie pinched me when I tried to talk. That wasn't nice,” Alice complained, and Cassandra quickly apologized.

“That was brilliant, Julia. Diamond all but
ran
out of here, fearing for his commission and seeing himself in the mud on the Peninsula, going toe-to-toe with the French like a
real
soldier,” Fanny exclaimed as she used a large fork to skewer a thick lamb chop.

Morgan grinned. “You tell a fine tale, Julia. Horses aren't much like puppies? I could hardly keep from laughing and ruining everything. And Spence as the hero? Do you think the good lieutenant saw my eyes cross at that bit of nonsense?”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Spencer ordered in the way brothers speak to annoying sisters as he retrieved his sling and tossed it to the floor. Then he turned to place a kiss on Julia's cheek. “Morgan's right, though. That was brilliant, and I was an idiot. I should have known Chance wouldn't let his heart cloud his judgment.”

Now it was Julia's turn to go pale, a moment before she felt color running into her cheeks. “Yes…thank you, Spence.”

Alice tugged on her sleeve. “Are you sure you aren't hurt, Julia?”

“Positive, darling,” she said, hugging the girl close as she looked at Eleanor, who had yet to say anything.

Eleanor just looked at her, as Julia held her breath, then nodded in that ladylike, regal way of hers and went back to her soup.

Julia exhaled and picked up her own spoon.

“Spence?”

“No more, Morgan,” he growled.

“Very well then, suit yourself. See if I care a snap if you bleed to death.”

Spencer looked at his left sleeve and uttered a soft curse. Clearly his violent show of no longer needing his sling had reopened his wound.

“If you'll allow me to be excused, Elly?” he said, getting to his feet to bow to Eleanor. Julia could now see both the dark wet patch on his sleeve and the trickle of fresh red blood running down over the back of his hand.

Spencer made it halfway out of the dining room before slowly crumpling to the carpet in a faint.

And that fairly well put paid to the Becket's evening meal.

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Julia and Morgan donned heavier capes, as the weather had turned damp and misty, and made their way along the shoreline to the village, Chance's ring tucked up in Julia's pocket.

“Do you know how Spencer is this morning?”

“Spence is fine. Odette took care of him, but she was angry. Couldn't even remember her English, but just kept railing at him in that mix of French and whatever it is she speaks when she's upset.”

Julia shivered. “I don't think I'd like to be on the receiving end of Odette's anger. But Spencer really worried me last night.”

“Spence is much too headstrong,” Morgan said dismissingly, neatly hopping from the shale and sand up onto the wooden flagway that was wide enough for she and Julia to walk side by side. “Hot-blooded. Always wanting to play the hero. Papa should simply buy him a commission and let him trot off to war. It's all Spence wants. All Rian wants, too. They're both terrified the war will be over before they can get there.”

“And this worries you?” Julia asked, carefully picking her way on the wet, slippery flagway.

“No. Not a bit. A person should do what a person wants to do. And it's even worse for us women.” She stopped, turned to smile at Julia, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don't you ever wish to just
do
something? Forget about your skirts and your
fragile
nature and just do something?
Be
somebody?”

Julia frowned, truly not understanding whatever it was Morgan was trying to say. “I am somebody, Morgan, and so are you. And Mr. Becket is wonderfully lenient. You won't find such freedom of behavior in London.”

“Then that's decided. I won't go. You tell Chance for me, would you? Tell him I most humbly decline his kind invitation—or something of that sort.”

“Chance invited you to come to London for a season?”

“Uh-huh, but I won't go now, not if there are going to be a multitude of rules Chance would expect me to obey, because we'd both end up being very disappointed,” Morgan said, turning to peer into the small, dusty shop window. “Oh, Ollie's waving me in. I suppose the leather has arrived for my new riding boots. Italian leather, you know. The very finest.”

“But aren't we—never mind,” Julia said, smiling at her own naiveté. From Florence to Spain to the French coast to Romney Marsh. “Shall we go inside?”

“No, no, I'll take forever. Ollie insists on new measurements each time.” Morgan leaned closer. “I think he likes holding my feet and looking at my legs, but he's an old man now, and I don't see the harm, do you? I giggle and tell him my feet are ticklish, and he smiles and blushes.”

“You're incorrigible, you know,” Julia told her. “And I think I like you very much. Where is the blacksmith located?”

“At the end of the village and then another few steps along, in case the forge catches fire. I'll join you when I'm done or you can just walk back here, if you don't mind? Waylon's probably waiting for you.”

“Will I have to giggle as I let him hold my hand to measure my finger?”

“Only if you want his wife to take a pitchfork to you,” Morgan said, winking, and Julia headed toward the blacksmith shop, now able to see the smoke rising from the forge.

She couldn't help but notice people stopping, staring at her, so she lifted her chin and smiled, nodded to the ladies and kept moving, her pace increasing as she passed by the larger building displaying a burned-wood overhead sign,
Last Voyage.

By the time she reached the smithy, Julia wondered if she had grown a second head, for all the curious looks she was getting, which possibly explained why she hadn't noticed she was being followed.

She'd pulled open one of the remarkably heavy doors and taken no more than two steps into the dark, overheated shop smelling of hot iron, where a leather-aproned man the size of a door himself yelled at the young boy working the bellows on a nearly white-hot fire, when a voice behind her said, “Guard the door, Gautier.”

Julia instantly froze in place, then turned about to see Jacko. Looming over her, smiling that delighted, deadly smile. Just the sort of smile Julia imagined the devil wearing as he welcomed newcomers to hell.

“Good morrow, Miss Carruthers,” he said, gifting her with a rather insolent salute. “Gautier? I said, guard the door.”

“
Oui,
Jacko.”

Julia stepped back several paces, then peered around Jacko's heavy-shouldered bulk to see a small man in a tight-fitting red-and-white-striped seaman's jersey and rather ragged, definitely baggy drawers. Gautier smiled at her.

“From the
outside,
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?”