Malia Martin (6 page)

James kept his eyes forward as he slapped the reins against the gelding that pulled the cart. Except for the directions she gave him to the public house, Lady Farnsworth kept quiet as they jolted over the rutted road. Still, though they did not touch, James could actually feel the woman sitting beside him.

This was truly an awful predicament.

James had been attracted to women before, of course, but nothing like this. Holy Mother of God, all he could think about was … James shook his head sharply. He would not even put that abstract idea into a clear thought. He started doing mental lists, fervently. If he were going on a voyage to France, what provisions would he need? That went a bit too quickly, so he began on a voyage to the Colonies.

They pulled up to Harker’s Inn much too soon. Pru still hadn’t decided on a plan. With every bounce in the road, she had held her breath, wondering if the sleeping potion beneath the seat would break, or, God forbid, roll out of the cart.

Captain Ashley jumped down and nearly threw the reins at her when they stopped. Should she leave? Perhaps she could return in her disguise? No, no, that would be folly. He was sure to recognize her. Her disguise was only meant to protect her in darkness and from a great distance.

Pru gripped the reins in her hand, then glanced up as the captain said something and turned to leave her. Dusk had fallen. No, she must do this now, here, quickly.

She urged Beauty around the side of Harker’s, to the posting yard. Little Artie came scurrying up to her as she jumped from the cart. “Aya, Lady Pru, comin’ in for a bit o’a nip?” He peered up at the darkening sky. “Not much time.”

“Sh, Artie. There’s a new man about.” She fished the sleeping powder from beneath the seat.

“Ah, the one the Wolf gave the slip to?” Artie winked at her. “He’ll be bustin’ with hurt pride and all, now, wouldn’t he?”

Pru rolled her eyes. She now wished that the Wolf hadn’t been quite so eager to show up the great Captain Ashley on that cold night months before. “Just put Beauty up for me, Artie, and be careful with your words.”

She could only pray that the whole town would be more careful. Their good fortune had caused some to forget now and then that they still had to be very careful. Pru held the jar against her waist and hurried up to Harker’s. Her legs felt rubbery as she clattered over the cobblestone street.

And she knew now, most definitely, that it was not nervousness causing the strange reaction.

With a heavy sigh, Pru glanced toward the heavens. The clouds had gone very white against the darkening sky, and she could no longer see very far down the lane. It was getting late. She had to hurry.

To hide the jar of sleeping potion, Pru shifted it behind her when she entered the back of the busy pub. She saw Captain Ashley immediately. Through the hazy smoke, she could see the back of his dark head and wide shoulders.

Of course, his height and breadth were not the only reasons she found him so quickly. There was the … thing she had spoken of with Leslie. There was something about the man that just drew her attention, probably the same something that had her standing on legs that felt no stronger than a newborn colt’s. She let herself stare at the man’s wide back for a long, lovely moment, then straightened and forced her mind to concentrate on her objective to get the man foxed.

She sidled around the bar, shaking her head quickly when anyone looked as if they would call to her. Pru reached Josh Harker, finally, and caught his attention. “What’s he drinking?” she asked.

Josh knew of whom she spoke without asking. “Havin’ a pint with the officers.”

“Put a pinch of this in with his next.” She passed over the jar. “Just a bit, mind.”

Josh held the jar up and peered through the glass. “What is it?”

Pru quickly pulled Josh’s arm down. “It’s sleeping potion from Leslie.”

“Ah.” The man nodded sagely. “Good idea, Lady Pru!”

Pru smiled, not a little proud. It had taken a while for the people to accept her in the baron’s place. But they had, and it always felt good when they praised her. “Thank you, Josh.” She grinned.

“Not to worry.” Josh pushed the jar beneath the counter. “I’ll make sure this bloke’ll be goin’ nowhere this eve.” He cocked his head toward the back door. “Should probably be goin’ now, Lady Pru. It’s getting late.”

Pru glanced once more at the captain. “Just a bit will do him, Josh,” she said again. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Of course not, milady. Us here at Gravesly, we wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Pru patted the hairy arm that protruded from the man’s rolled-up sleeve. “And we’re going to keep it that way,” she said, and slipped out the back without ever being seen by the great captain.

“Josh Harker, you killed him!”

Harker looked up from cleaning glasses behind the bar, his face going ashen behind his dark whiskers. “He’s dead, then?”

Pru shook her head quickly. “No, but he’s not awake yet.”

Harker glanced out the mullioned windows of the pub. It was past noon, the sun was already dipping toward the horizon. Pru sighed and climbed onto one of the stools between Paul, the butcher’s son, and Mrs. Witherspoon.

“Afternoon, Lady Farnsworth,” Mrs. Witherspoon said between sips of her ale. The woman was the oldest resident of Gravesly and made sure she stopped into Harker’s every afternoon for her daily pint. “The good captain isn’t farin’ well, then?”

“No, Mrs. Witherspoon.” Pru narrowed her gaze on Josh Harker. “How much of that sleeping potion did you give the man?”

“Well, seein’ as the captain is such a big fella and all …”

“Oh, dear, Harker, I told you to give him just a pinch.”

The pub owner rubbed his beard. “He’s still breathin’, though, right?”

Pru felt like groaning. The men had carried the captain home last night before going out to meet the schooner, and he had been snoring away ever since. She had waited for him to wake up all morning, and now she just couldn’t contain her fear. “He hasn’t moved, Harker. Leslie said that he should have wakened this morning.”

“Well, he had a couple pints with the stuff, maybe he’ll come to later this evening.”

“I hope so. We’ll have to figure out some other way to deal with the captain, because I absolutely refuse to use that potion ever again, on anybody.” Pru held out her hand. “Give it over, Harker, I’m going to bury it somewhere.”

Harker disappeared for a moment beneath the bar, then straightened and, with a sheepish expression, handed over the jar. “I’m right sorry, Lady Pru.”

Prudence took the potion and shoved it in her reticule. “It isn’t your fault, Harker. I’m the one who decided to use the stuff. Now, I just want everyone to start praying that the captain wakes up soon and is no worse for wear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paul muttered.

“Of course, Lady Farnsworth,” Mrs. Witherspoon said. The old lady slapped a sixpence on the polished wood of the bar. “Good day to you all.” She slid off her stool and hobbled toward the door.

With Mrs. Witherspoon knowing, Pru could be assured that the entire town would be praying for the captain before the hour was up.

“We’ve got the last payment just in, Lady Pru,” Harker said.

“Good.” Prudence sat up straight and took the packet Harker handed to her. “Call a meeting tonight in the cellar and we’ll distribute the moneys. Then we’ll get that shipment of whiskey we brought in last night ready to go out on the road.”

“And if the captain wakes up before then?”

Pru grimaced. “I’m sure he’ll not be up to going out tonight at any rate.”

Paul was tallying figures as she and Harker spoke, and he pushed a piece of paper toward her. “Here’s the total weights, Lady Pru, and all the shipments sent to London in the month.”

“Thank you, Paul. I’ll go count the money and make sure our London backer isn’t cheating us like he’s tried to do so many times before.”

Harker shook his head. “Tightfisted bastard.” He glanced up and reddened. “Excuse me, Lady Pru.”

Prudence shrugged. “It’s true. The man takes 60 percent of our profit as it is; you would think that would be enough for him.”

Paul took a long pull of his pint and tapped the glass against the bar. “Do you think we could ever figure out who he is?” he asked.

“And what?” Harker returned to his job of cleaning glasses. “Kill him?”

Pru frowned. “Don’t even speak of such a thing in jest, Harker. You know I don’t like that sort of talk.”

“Sorry. You know, Paul, the man’s most probably some society fop. Could even be a peer, no offense Lady Pru.”

Prudence nodded.

“He’s way beyond our influence.”

Prudence fingered the money pouch in her hands. There was a contract signed by her husband and the mysterious Mr. Watson of London in her study at Chesley House. She had read it over and over again, amazed, actually, that her husband had ever entered into such a commitment. Mr. Watson had put up all the funding to start her husband’s smuggling venture and was to receive 60 percent of all profits, forever. That seemed quite unfair to Pru. On top of it all was the fact that the man controlled the money completely.

Mr. Watson took control of everything after their goods went into London. He never sent her receipts on how much he was getting for the goods, only a packet of money and an assurance that it was 40 percent of their profit. Prudence tried to figure on what they should be getting with the tallies Paul gave her, and it did seem as if they should receive more. But there was absolutely no way that she could be sure.

Of course, they did have complete control over the goods that Gravesly put
on
the schooner. They sent out wool seasonally, without sending it through customs, and received the money directly from the French captain of the schooner.

Still, Pru always made sure that she carefully showed exactly how much went out and how much they received and sent 60 percent of that to Mr. Watson.

It was rather telling, she thought, that the town made much more on their outgoing products then on their incoming ones. She sighed and tucked the packet of money under her arm.

“Well I’ll see you here later, then, and bring news of the captain.”

“Sure hope the man wakes up,” Harker muttered as he shined up a glass with his rag.

Prudence said another prayer to that effect as she left the pub and waited for Artie to hitch up Beauty for her. She had been praying, actually, since she had gotten home that morning. The sun had just been coming up, the day promising to be bright and lovely. She had been quite proud of herself, really, for pulling such a coup with the great Captain Ashley in their very town.

And then Mabel had informed her that the Captain had not even stirred, and she had begun to worry.

Now Pru took up the reins of her cart, said a hasty good-bye to Artie, and pushed Beauty into a smart trot. She had worried herself into a small fit, really. Her heart seemed to be working rather more rapidly than it should, and she could not keep her hands from shaking.

She had called in the doctor that afternoon, and he had just shrugged and said that the captain was sleeping.

Pru had heard of people going to sleep and never waking up. They hadn’t died, their hearts kept beating, but they just never opened their eyes again.

Of course she did not want the captain to be in Gravesly, he was quite a hindrance to their work. But she certainly didn’t want the man to sleep away the rest of his life.

The thought of those soft gray eyes never opening again, the dimples never deepening his cheeks made Pru inconceivably sad.

She pulled into the graveled circle before Chesley House and jumped from the cart before Beauty had even come to a complete halt.

“Still asleep,” Tuck said without her even having to ask.

She groaned and took the stairs to the front door two at a time. Clifton was in the hall looking for all the world like the scariest pirate ever to wield a cutlass.

“Don’t you keep worrying about him, Lady Pru,” he said, as she dumped the money packet and sleeping potion into his large hands.

“Of course I’m going to worry, Clifton, don’t be absurd.” She stripped off her gloves and threw them on the side table. One of them slithered right over the shiny surface and plopped onto the floor.

“Damned things,” she muttered, and bent to retrieve it.

“I’ve got it, Lady Pru,” Mabel assured her, bustling in.

“Thank you, Mabel.” Pru yanked at the ties that held her cape around her. “Has he moved at all? Has he moaned, anything?”

Mabel glanced quickly at Clifton, but her butler just frowned darkly.

“What, what has happened?”

“He’s been groaning a bit,” Clifton said. “But you don’t need to think about it at all, Lady Pru. We can take care of the captain. Looks like you’ve got some work to do.” He held up the money.

“I’ll just go check on the captain. I’ll be down in a moment.” Pru draped her cape over Mabel’s arm and ignored Clifton’s protests.

“It isn’t seemly, I say,” her butler grumbled.

“And when did I begin to be seemly, hmm, Clifton?” She gave the man a large smile and ran up the stairs. The hall upstairs was eerily quiet, the shadows long in the pretwilight. Prudence automatically slowed her steps and tiptoed to the captain’s door.