His Lady Midnight (26 page)

“I will meet you there within two hours.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he repeated.

The carriage rolled back out onto the road that had come to an end in this barnyard, and Phoebe turned toward the house. She was not surprised when the door opened as soon as the carriage vanished around a corner. A brawny man with sun-bleached hair walked toward her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am here to speak with Charlie Gerber.”

He rubbed his hand against the side of his nose, then, yawning, pointed toward a paddock. “He usually works over there.”

Phoebe thanked the man and walked toward the unpainted fence edging the field. By all that was blue, she needed to have Jasper warn the farmers who took in the escapees to take more care. The man should not have given her this information without asking her to provide some sort of proof that she knew Charlie Gerber and had a good reason to speak with him.

One man was working in the paddock among a herd of sheep. He was cutting out one sheep to shear it, humming a quiet tune as he worked. He had a healthy appearance about him. His dark hair fell forward into his face, and his clothes were stained with dirt and sweat.

“Are you Charlie Gerber?” she asked as he glanced toward her.

“Yes.” He wiped his hands and squinted toward her. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

Putting his hands on the top rail, he stared at her. Then his eyes grew wide. “My lady!” He threw the gate open and rushed out, closing it behind him, so the sheep did not follow. “What are you doing here?”

“Is there somewhere we can speak without being overheard?”

“In the byre.” His brown eyes were wide as he motioned for her to precede him into what was not much more than a lean-to built against the steep side of the hill.

Stronger animal odors struck her when she stepped into it. She was pleased to discover she could stand without hunching inside the building.

“What are you doing
here
?” Charlie asked.

“Your wife asked me to contact you to let you know that your mother is ill.”

His face blanched. “Very ill?”

“I would not be here otherwise. There is a carriage waiting for us not far from here. We can get you to Bath and back for a quick call.”

“But why are you here when—?”

“We do not have time to discuss this now.”

“You are right about that, Lady Phoebe,” said a voice from behind her.

Her arm was seized, and she was spun around. She gasped as she stared into a face she had hoped she would never see again. The last time she had seen him, his face had been shadowed as it was now. The last time she had seen him, he had been wearing a savage scowl as he was now. The last time she had seen him, he had been in the company of that odious sailor who had shot Jasper and she had been in Galen's arms as he had saved her from discovery.

“My lady,” growled the man, “it seems that at last we meet face-to-face.”

She heard Charlie groan, but she fought to keep her fear from showing. It would betray her. Meeting his eyes evenly, she said, “You have the better of me, sir. You know who I am, but I do not recall us being introduced.”

“I am Captain Currie, master of the
Trellis.
”

“You are far from the sea lanes here in Exmoor, Captain.” She hoped her trembling was only within her.

When he smiled, she knew her hopes had been silly. “As you were far from where you should have been when you paid to have convicts removed from my ship, my lady.”

“I believe you have mistaken me for another.” She must keep up this pretense as long as she could. With a giggle, she asked, “Are you mistaking
me
for this Lady Midnight I have heard so much about?”

“'Tis no mistake, my lady.”

She giggled again as if she found all of this a charade put on for her entertainment. “Are you so sure of that assumption, Captain Currie? I was speaking with Captain Hill recently … a very disagreeable man.” She widened her eyes. “A friend of yours, perchance?”

Captain Currie's mouth grew straight, and she knew he had taken insult just as she had hoped. “I do not do business with slavers.”

“Nor do I, but Captain Hill was at a gathering I was attending last night, and you know how impossible it is to escape the boors who are determined to prey on their betters.” She paused, again wanting to suggest she found him a match for Captain Hill's lack of manners. “He was speaking to me of this Lady Midnight, and I do believe he mentioned that her latest escapade took place while I was in Bath.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she gave a shiver. “I was so glad I was not in London. Who knows what a woman like that might do? I daresay I shall stay in Bath until the whole matter is settled.”

“That will be impossible. You must return to London.”

“Why?” Again she widened her eyes in what she hoped would appear to be innocent shock. “I plan to attend more of the gatherings in Bath. They are so much more delightful than the ones in Town. Less crowded, and there is not so much emphasis on one making a match. I am in no hurry to go back to London.”

Captain Currie looked past her. “Why are you here?”

“I missed the slower life of the country.”

“So you came here instead of returning to Brackenton Park?”

“You ask many questions, Captain.” Walking out of the byre as if she had no reason to be upset, she said, “Brackenton Park is several days' drive from Bath. Exmoor is not far, so I thought to come here to indulge in the opportunity to have a day in daisyville.”

“A wasted tale, my lady,” another man replied.

Phoebe whirled to look behind her. A trio of men stood between her and the road. Two were strangers, but the third was the man she had glimpsed when he had spoken to Jasper on the dock. This time, he held a gun openly.

“Who is this?” asked Captain Currie as he herded Charlie Gerber out of the byre.

“Someone who offered me no assistance in finding the house I have been looking for.”

“Not a convict you smuggled off my ship?”

“You are being absurd. This man has been working here for—” She put her finger to her chin as she looked at Charlie. She yearned to shout that he must not panic. This situation was as dangerous as the night she had paid for his escape from
The Southern Cross
. “How long did you say?”

“Two lambing seasons, my lady.”

Captain Currie pushed forward and grasped her arm again. “This silliness has gone on long enough. Come with me, my lady.”

Phoebe considered resisting, but the fury in his eyes warned that he would drag her if she did. When she walked with him toward a waiting carriage, she glanced back at Mr. Gerber. He was staring at the ground. She wished she could offer him consolation that his chance to return to Bath had come to naught.

Or had it?

Mayhap she could still persuade Captain Currie that he was mistaken. Beginning to prattle like Mrs. Lyttle, she accepted his hand up into the carriage. She continued the bibble-babble when she sat on the cushion. She began to discuss every person at the duchess's gathering and what each had worn and her opinions of it. Even when Captain Currie sat beside her and the carriage began down the road, she did not dare to cease her chatter.

“Are you nervous, my lady?” he asked, his tone taunting.

“No, why would you ask that?” She laughed. “Why would I be nervous now when I had to face Captain Hill last night?” She did not let him answer as she began to list all of Captain Hill's disgusting actions last night, embroidering the story as she went.

Phoebe leaned forward as they reached the wider road that would lead out of the moors and back toward Bath. If Tate was waiting by the carriage, she might be able to signal him in some way.

“Looking for someone?” Captain Currie asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“I thought I would save you from a great disappointment if you are seeking an ally.”

She folded her hands in her lap and faced him with an expression of puzzlement. “You baffle me, Captain. I know you believe me to be this Lady Midnight, but I will be glad to assure anyone else as I assure you that—”

He laughed. Slanting toward her, he said, “Let me assure
you
that you do not have any allies. Townsend betrayed you, my lady.”

“No!” she cried, her façade falling away. “He would not do that!”

“Do what?” He laughed. “Give testimony that you are, indeed, Lady Midnight?”

She fought not to collapse in tears. “How could he do that when no one knows who this Lady Midnight is?”

“Deny it if you will, but your charade has been revealed by one who should know. You cannot ignore that truth anymore than you will be able to ignore the judge's sentence that even your title will not save you from.”

Eighteen

It was a night perfect for subterfuge. The moon was lost behind clouds, and the wind-driven rain blurred the few lights along the docks. By the wharves, the ships strained and creaked, eager to be on their way along the Thames and out to sea. Distant church bells sounded the hour as the poor huddling in the city's hovels tried to sleep while the
ton
gossiped and frolicked with flirtations through yet another early spring night.

The only thing missing, Phoebe knew, was her freedom. That had come to an end hours ago when a judge had pronounced her sentence. The trial had been a mockery, rushed through so fast that she suspected someone's pockets were now heavier with gold. She had hoped someone would be there to offer her support. Galen had not come, although she was unsure if he had even known about the trial. The only observers had been two women who were waiting for their nephew's case to be judged after hers. One sneezed all the way through the trial, the other wept … loudly and incessantly.

The judge had ignored them, for he had been interested in only one thing. He had ordered, “Tell me who helped you in this, my lady, and we can be lenient with you.” He folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward to affix Phoebe with his stare.

“I told you that no one helped me.” She kept her chin raised so the tears would remain to burn in the back of her eyes. It was ludicrous to be thinking of protecting Galen when he must have, in his zeal to protect Carr from his latest idiocy, revealed the truth by mistake.

The judge frowned at her. “My lady, I am giving you a chance to save yourself before I must pronounce sentence from the bench.”

The barrister selected for her, because she had been given no chance to call her own, whispered, “You should heed him well, my lady. Honesty now may be your only salvation.”

“But I am being honest,” she said.

“You
honestly
expect me to believe that you, a wellborn lady, could have masterminded the whole of this by yourself?” asked the judge.

She started to retort that she was more than capable of knowing the greed of underpaid sailors and the desperation of those who did not deserve to be banished from England forever. Then she realized her protests might betray the very people who had helped her. “Yes, I do.”

“You give me no choice, my lady, but to sentence you to fulfill the term of the last person you took from Captain Currie's ship.” He looked through his spectacles to the page spread in front of him. “That is seven years in the penal colony of Botany Bay.”

Her protests that she was due a trial before a jury had not been heeded. How many times had she heard complaints from those she had rescued that they were guilty of no crime whatsoever and that they had been charged wrongly? She had not heeded them too closely, believing they should simply be grateful that they had been given a second chance in England. Now she knew she should have listened with more sympathy.

Phoebe walked away from the railing before she joined the others who were weeping. As she went down the steep steps into the ship's hold, which stank so badly she feared she would be ill, she realized she should be grateful that no one had given her a chance to send a message to anyone. Jasper would have tried to rescue her. If this was, as she suspected, an attempt to trap those who had assisted her, no one must try to sneak any of the convicts off before the ship sailed.

The deck rocked beneath her like something alive. She ran her fingers lightly along the wall and winced when a splinter sliced into one. She almost tripped over someone who was crouched on the floor crying. Unable to see if it was a man or a woman in the dim light, she edged around the person.

Phoebe sank down against the wall as she heard someone being sick somewhere in the darkness. Something damp seeped through her gown, but she did not move. She must accustom herself to these base conditions if … A sob threatened to burst from her throat. Drawing up her knees, she watched the shadows move past. How many people would be stuffed into this hold for the long journey?

She rested her cheek on her knees. She hoped that someone would eventually let her household know where she was. Jasper would know to contact Galen. Tears weighed on her eyes. Galen … She had never imagined she would meet a man who would make her think twice about this crusade she had embarked on. Nor had she guessed she would leave her heart behind when she was banished to distant Australia. It was tempting to imagine him boarding another ship to chase after her and live with her in Botany Bay until her sentence was over. How could he when he considered Carr his duty? He needed to be here to watch over his brother. She could not ask Galen to give up his obligations so they could be together. Not when she had been planning to leave Thistlewood Cottage to continue her duties.

One of the shadows screamed and dropped to the deck. Others shouted, fear building into panic.

Phoebe jumped to her feet and ran to the woman's side. Kneeling, she put her hand on the woman's head. She feared the woman had brought aboard one of the fevers that might keep the prisoners from surviving long enough to reach exile. The woman's skin was cool. She had swooned.