Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (41 page)

Kieran departed the next morning. He promised to visit often
and reminded Elizabeth he was just fifteen miles away, across the bay in
Basseterre if she needed him. Donovan shook his hand and bade him a polite
farewell. Elizabeth could not shake the impression that the men had quarreled
after their interlude in the garden and Kieran had been asked to leave.

It bothered her, but she decided to let it go for now.
Perhaps Donovan was justified in his concern. She had been frightened
yesterday, much more than she cared to admit. Perhaps he was being silly or
jealous of her time with Kieran. At any rate, she did not wish to argue with
him about it. She’d let a few days go by, give his ire a chance to wane and
then address the issue.

*******

 Later that same afternoon, Donovan’s eyes were aglow with
intrigue as he lifted her into the canopied curricle and climbed up beside her.

Lush jungle vegetation gave way to a sea of waving green as
he guided their carriage along a low road skirting cane fields on the eastern
edge of the island. The breeze was crisp and demanding on the windward side of
the island, refreshing on such a hot day. Elizabeth clutched her hat to hold it
fast. Even with the hairpin, it threatened to float away as the lively winds
buffeted through the light straw weave.

They passed a windmill poised to catch the strong breezes
coming off the sea. Rough scaffolding hugged the front of it. Squinting in the
brilliant sunlight, Elizabeth could make out the figures on the top of the
platform who worked busily to repair one of the damaged blades.

There were several low buildings nearby. An array of large
copper vats with a series of pipes connecting them were being set up near the
mill in preparation for the coming harvest.

After the juice was pressed from the cane stalks under the
wind powered grinding stone, the series of troughs delivered the liquid to the
copper vats. Once there, the juice was boiled until only fine granules
remained. The granules had to be pressed into clay cones for shipment to
England, where it would be further refined and then sold exclusively on the
English market. It was short harvest season, a matter of weeks. It was a labor
intensive process requiring every able man’s efforts through the long days,
Donovan explained as they moved past the mill.

The view of the sea was blocked by lush foliage on either
side of the road as the landscape gave way to a thick jungle. Donovan brought
the carriage up short at the end of an interior road. He secured the horses to
a nearby tree, and then helped Elizabeth down. As soon as her feet were on the
ground, he kissed her thoroughly and then held her against him for several
moments before releasing her and taking her hand to lead her up the trail.

The path was narrow, hemmed in by thick foliage on both
sides and straggling branches.

“That’s unusual.” He remarked, examining branches and large
leaves that had been snapped off along the trail to the interior jungle.
“Someone else has been here not too long ago. I expected to have to hack our
way through the brush.”

It was then that Elizabeth noted he had a machete clasped in
his free hand, and a brace of pistols beneath his vest. Couldn’t the man relax
for a moment and let down his guard?

He stopped at the crest of a steep incline, giving her a
chance to catch her breath. As if having read her thoughts about his inability
to relax and enjoy the day, he once more took her into his arms, although he
didn’t try to kiss her as she was nearly panting from the exertion. He just
held her against him and gazed down at her with unveiled adoration. “It’s not
much farther, my sweet. I could carry you, if you like.”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. This is what comes of making me
stay in bed to rest all day. I used to go out walking in the woods all the time
in England.”

“Alone. It’s not proper for woman of your station to do so
now. Your grandmother allowed you far too much freedom as a girl.”

She made a face at him. “Nothing happened to me in the
woods.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it could have.” He
returned. “Come.”

He helped her down the steep embankment. They continued on
the path for several moments. Elizabeth admired the lush foliage and the exotic
thrills of birdsong as she allowed him to lead her deeper into the jungle.

A sudden movement ahead of them made her cry out. A snake
meandered across the path before them. It was well over six feet long, just as
Peter faithfully reported. Donovan stood still, the machete held out, watching
the serpent with wariness. It lingered, lifting its head as it gazed at them
for what seemed an eternity before slithering away into the safety of the
jungle brush.

As she watched it, a cold fear surrounded her, a sense of
foreboding.

“Come. He’s gone, he’ll find a fat rabbit or two and then
sleep away the afternoon.”

“No.” Elizabeth gasped, that uneasy feeling only growing at
his insistence that they continue deeper into the snake’s lair. “Serpent’s are
messengers from the underworld.” She said without thinking. “They are the
harbingers of death.”

“Lizzie.” He shook his head and gestured about them with the
blade. “This area is populated by indigenous snakes; it doesn’t make it an evil
place. Snakes are useful. Like cats, they eat rodents. Come.” He tugged at her
hand.

After studying her grandmother’s book, she knew a snake
crossing her path was an omen that spirits from the underworld were near. Donovan
didn’t believe in the ways of their Celtic ancestors, and he obviously thought
her silly for being uneasy.

They stopped at a translucent pool fed by a small waterfall
at the opposite end. Lush vegetation and flowers hugged the rocks about the
waterfall, and a fine mist of spray added to the mystique of the place. Moss
covered rocks jutted out to the right, and the trilling of wild birds
complemented the serene music of the flowing falls.

“This was one of my favorite places to loll away the
afternoon as a boy.” Donovan told her with a smile. “I came to visit my
grandfather for a couple of months every spring. Gareth and I used to slide
over the falls and let the current carry us to the opposite edge of the pool.”

It was breathtaking, and yet Elizabeth could not dismiss the
eerie sensation in the pit of her belly since encountering that enormous snake.
She gazed about, trying to relax and enjoy the outing as Donovan intended. She
gasped as she looked out at the jungle beyond the pool. Three figures were watching
them from across the sparkling pool. They stood beside a mossy rock.

“What is it?” Donovan slipped his arm about her, drawing her
close as he followed her startled gaze. “What frightens you so?”

“Those men, they’re watching us.”

He shoved her behind him. A cocked pistol was instantly in
front of him. He squinted, holding the arm gripping his machete up to block the
shimmer of sunlight from the falls. “I don’t see them. They must have slipped
back into the thick jungle growth.”

“You can’t see them?” She whispered frantically, peering
around him. “Donovan, they’re standing right there.” She pointed. “Beside the
waterfall, next to that big pointy stone.”

He stared determinedly at the spot directly across the pool.
When he turned to her, his face was stricken. “I don’t see them. You said there
were three men?”

Elizabeth held her tongue, remembering his rebuke regarding
the snake.

“Lizzie, talk to me. Tell me what it is you see.” His tone
had changed, from disdain to alarm. He clutched her shoulders. “We’ve been
looking for the three missing indentures for weeks. We assumed they found a way
off the island somehow. If you see them now and I cannot, it can only mean one
thing.”

“You don’t believe in ‘ghosts and spirits and all that
metaphysical’ horse crap’. I heard you telling Pearl so on the ship.”

“I’ve become a little more open minded about the spirit
world since then.” He placed his pistol back in his belt and took her hand. “Tell
me what you see now. Are they speaking to you? What do they look like?”

“They’re wearing dirty work clothes. They are barefoot, and
they’re wearing leg irons.” She said. “They’ve been hurt. One looks as if his
face was beaten in. His forehead is open.” She made a face. She could see
inside his skull, it was dark grey and shiny. “There’s a very large gash.” She
brushed her own brow to indicate the spot.

The spirit closest to them beckoned for her to follow him.
She walked around the pool, toward the three men waiting at the jagged, mossy
stone. Donovan followed, keeping a hold of her arm. He had the machete gripped
firmly in his sword hand.

The spirits glided ahead for several paces, and then melted
into the ground behind a huge boulder adjacent to the waterfall. Elizabeth
followed them to the spot, and crouched on the ground, letting her palm rest on
the freshly disturbed earth.

She listened and then repeated to Donovan what the spirits
told her.

“Mr. Crowley had been ill for days. The overseer accused him
of lying to get out of work. He demanded Mr. Crowley get up out of his bunk and
go outside to the lineup to go out to the fields. When he didn’t the overseer
hit him with his cudgel. He kept hitting him on the back and when Mr. Crowley
still didn’t get up, he whacked him on the forehead with it. When the two men
sharing his hut returned from the fields they found him dead. The overseer
denied their accusation, saying one of them had to be the killer, as he’d left
the man alive that morning.”

“Damn Winslow.” Donovan swore. “I knew he had a brutal
streak. I warned him many times to restrain himself. What happened to the other
two?”

“Mr. Winslow ordered the two men tied to the posts in the
prison yard. He sent the guards away. He whipped them without mercy, saying the
punishment would go on until one of them confessed to killing Crowley. He was
drunk. He beat them to death, and when he realized what he’d done, he dragged
their bodies here and buried them.”

“Lizzie.” Donovan grasped her by the shoulders. “Sweetheart,
let’s get you back to the house. I’ll come back with Ambrose and some of the
guards from the compound to see what we can find.” He helped her to her feet,
and dragged his heel through the dirt where she had been squatting to mark it
with a deep X.

The ride back to the estate was solemn. Both of them knew
the only way to prove that what she claimed was to dig to find the bodies.

“You do believe me?” She prodded when they reached the
stable yard.

Pulling the carriage to a halt, Donovan turned to her.
“Lizzie, when you were very ill on the ship, you told Pearl things about his
mother in India, you gave him accurate messages from the woman--and she’s dead.
You spoke to Captain Rawlings’ deceased fiancée and gave Jack and I detailed
information about how she died. You gave Jack a message from her. You couldn’t
have known any of that, Sweet Lizzie, not unless Miss Pemberly told you how she
died.”

“I don’t remember it.” Elizabeth said with bewilderment.

“You were right about Linton.” He added. “And you found
Marissa’s hidden papers.”

“And I was right about the snake.”

Chapter
Thirty Six

Giles was waiting for them at the back door, his face lit up
with undisguised glee as he told them her grandfather and brother had just
arrived and were awaiting them in the salon. Elizabeth could hardly believe his
report as she rushed to the salon upon entering the house.

Donovan followed, looking vastly displeased at the idea of
guests invading his home.

“Liz!” Michael met her at the door of the salon, lifting her
in his arms and whirling her about with unfettered exuberance. “I say, you’re
light as a feather, doesn’t his lordship feed you? I can wrap my arms about you
twice.”

“Only when I’m good and as you know I rarely am.” She said,
hugging him. “Oh, Michael, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Don’t be a goose. There was only an ocean between us!” He
laughed, hugging her just as tightly. “Grandfather was determined to spend
Christmas with both of us this year.” He turned, gesturing to the thin, elderly
man observing them as he leaned on his cane.

“My dear child.” The old man moved quickly across the tile
flooring to embrace her. “I’m so relieved to see you, Elizabeth.” He whispered,
hugging her with more emotion then she’d ever thought the proud old man capable
of. When she was a girl, he seemed so autocratic and imposing, sending everyone
in the household, including their mother, scurrying nervously about to do his
bidding. He seemed frail now. His skin was papery thin, his complexion pasty.
Even his voice sounded withered and tired. She shot a glance in her husband’s
direction, longing to share her concerns with him.

Donovan had an impassive look on his face, a polite, well
bred blank. His eyes locked briefly with hers, and his impatience was all too
clear. He needed to attend this ghastly murder business. She nodded her understanding
to him, yet he lingered at the foot of the stairs.

“I situated Lord Greystowe in the blue room, my lady.” Giles
informed her, breaking the tension. “And Master Michael is in the green room,
the one you appointed for him earlier.”

“Thank you.” She told the butler. “Grandfather, would you
like to rest for a while?” She placed her hand on his arm, anxious to establish
physical contact with him and discern the situation a little more. She sensed
an undercurrent of anxiety in the old man. She couldn’t discern anything beyond
that. “I was just on my way upstairs for an afternoon nap. I can’t seem to make
it through the day without one. Shall we both go?”

“Yes. I’d fancy a bed that doesn’t rock and sway. I’ve yet
to get my land legs again. You there, young buck.” Grandfather held out a bony
hand to Donovan. “Help me up the stairs. We need to have a private word. I fear
that we may need to make some drastic changes to our legal agreement.” It was a
command, not a request.