Susan Carroll (30 page)

"I had just disembarked, and I barely managed
to keep those rascally customs agents from having the very shirt
off my back. The next I know, three dockhands approach me. 'Ye've
the sound of an Irishman,' they said, none too friendly-like.
'That's right, me fine buckos,' I replied."

Phaedra grimaced, well able to imagine the
defiant manner in which Gilly must have thickened his brogue.

Gilly continued, "Then the tallest one-a lout
with squinty eyes like my grandmother's meanest sow-he up and says,
'Then ye must be one of those Irish Papists that there Robin
Goodfellow wants set free to vote all God-fearing English
Protestants out of the government, aye and bring in a Catholic king
to murder our good King George and have us all up before the
Inquisition."

"Why,I never wrote any such thing," Phaedra
cried. "All I did was call for an end to English rule in Ireland,
and say that Irish Catholics should have their rights to vote and
sit in parliament.”

"All!" Gilly groaned, slapping his palm
against the side of the last stall, startling the coach horse
within into emitting a frightened whicker. "You must be completely
daft, woman!"

"I've written about Ireland many times
before, and you've never thought so!"

"All you have done before is complain about
absentee English landlords exploiting the Irish. That's another
matter entirely, so it is." Gilly paced before her, raking his
hands through his disorderly curls. "But when you start stirring up
this Catholic business, you're like to get us all lynched. There's
too many Londoners as still remember the Scottish attempt to sweep
out these dull Hanoverians and bring back the Pretender. Or have
you forgotten the bonny, and most Catholic, Prince Charlie?"

"But Gilly, the Jacobite rebellion was years
ago."

"The English have damnable long memories. I
know some as are still jawing about Bloody Mary feeding the
Protestants into the fires at Smithfield. You don't understand your
fellow countrymen as well as I thought, Fae. They are more afraid
of Catholics than they are of the devil."

"I'm not exactly sure anymore who my fellow
countrymen are," Phaedra said bitterly.

Gilly stopped his pacing long enough to give
a sigh laden with exasperation. "I know you were meaning for the
best when you did that bit of writing, but it hasn't worked out
that way. I saw them burning copies of the Gazetteer down on the
docks today, and I think they'd like to do the same to Robin
Goodfellow and any Irishman they can get their hands on."

Phaedra sank down upon a bale of hay. Burning
copies of her work? They might as well set fire to herself. Never
had she heard anything but popular acclaim for her daring essays.
She felt strangely betrayed. She had always imagined those who
bought her paper as honest, simple men whose common sense taught
them to loathe injustice as much as she did. Now she saw them as
naught but thick-skulled fools, understanding nothing, only looking
for another excuse to riot and break heads. How unfair it was that
the winds of opinion could sway so easily. It was even more unfair
that Gilly should bear the brunt of her careless pen strokes.

Stricken with guilt, she glanced up at him.
"Then it was my fault that you've been beaten. And God knows how
many other innocent people will suffer. I-I never thought ..."

Gilly scuffed the toe of his boot against the
stray bits of straw littering the stable floor. "Whist now," he
said gruffly. "You know fretting over a deed that’s done never
remedied anything."

"But what can I do?" she asked. "I have to
try to make it right."

"I don't see as how you could be doing
that.”

"Well, I could write another article and
say-"

"And say what? That you didn't really mean
it-that it is a proper thing that a man's religion should bar him
from the freedoms granted other men? No! Perhaps it is wrong of me
to be scolding you. You wrote from the heart, only saying what is
right."

"But you might have been killed! And a poor
consolation it would be to me then, simply knowing I was
right."

Gilly's swollen lip curved into a lopsided
smile. He looked a trifle sheepish as he confessed, "We-ell, the
affair at the docks today was not entirely one-sided. I did make a
remark to the pig-eyed one concerning his mother, but I think what
clinched the matter was when I made the sign of the cross over
him."

"Oh, Gilly!" Phaedra choked, torn between
horror and amusement at his recklessness. He plunked down upon the
hay bale beside her, draping his arm about her shoulders.

"Ah, it was not much of a set-to at that.
There was only the three of them, and one was but a scrawny fellow.
I've been in far grander fights."

Phaedra shook her head, resisting his efforts
to make light of the incident."I just wish there was something I
could do."

"Well, there isn't, except wait for the furor
to die down. I think you'd best not write anything at all 'til
then."

"I had already resolved to put an end to
Robin Goodfellow, especially after meeting Jessym. Why did you
never tell me he was such a horrid little man?"

"He's a businessman, hard-headed and
practical, exactly what you needed." Gilly frowned. "But I wish you
hadn't gone near him. He didn't know who you were, did he?"

"Of course not. I went disguised. I only wish
he didn't know you."

"I'm not worried about that. If you do mean
to stop writing altogether, it seems a pity. 'But the name of
Goodfellow will be forgotten by summer's end. Right now, tempers
are running a trifle short." Gilly rubbed the back of his neck. "It
is this blasted heat. It does peculiar things to a man's brain." He
shot her a sidelong glance out of his good eye. "You don't seem to
be bearing up so well under it yourself."

Phaedra squirmed under the intensity of
Gilly's scrutiny. She tugged nervously at the front of her riding
jacket, almost afraid to look down in case she found one of the
buttons undone.

"I have been fine," she stammered. "Just
fine."

"Have you now? I wonder. I thought by this
time you would be all over me with questions about what I learned
in France."

She stood up, smoothing her skirts with a
fluttery motion. "Naturally I am most curious. Why don't you come
up to the house? I should like to try to do something more for that
eye of yours, and I'll wager you would be glad of a glass of
ale."

She tried to lead the way out of the stable,
but Gilly caught her by the elbow, hauling her back. "What were you
doing just now when I came up, tearing after that de Le Croix as
though your life depended upon catching him? He looked as though
he'd caught someone robbing his mother's grave."

"Was that how he looked?" Phaedra asked,
unable to keep the misery out of her voice. "He was angry. He
believes I sent you to France spying, hunting for proof to expose
him."

"And so you did."

"No! That was before-before-"

"Before what?"

Phaedra found she could neither answer her
cousin nor continue to look him in the eye. She felt glad of her
sunburned cheeks, hoping it concealed some of the blush she knew
must be spreading across her face.

"Your intuition about the man was right,
Fae," Gilly said as she remained silent. "He is an impostor, but I
have no way of proving it yet. The real Armande de LeCroix thumbed
his nose at his highborn relatives years ago and set off
adventuring to Canada. But this fellow who claims to be Varnais
bears no resemblance to the rest of that family."

"That doesn't mean anything," she said, a
shade too quickly. "No one else in our family has ever had red
hair, and yet that wouldn't prove me an impostor."

"De Le Croix is a man in his early
forties."

"Maybe Armande is simply one of those men who
bears his age well," she said, uncomfortably aware that Gilly was
staring at her with growing consternation.

"So it is Armande we're calling him now, is
it?"

Phaedra fidgeted with the sleeves of her
jacket as though she had nothing more important on her mind than
straightening the cuffs. "Very likely you are right about him," she
said in what she hoped was a voice of airy unconcern. "But what
does it truly matter? Most likely Armande is carrying out this pose
for a wager. I'm sure it's all some sort of a lark. When you get to
know him-"

"A lark!" Gilly seized her chin, forcing her
face upward. She tried to look indifferent, but he had known her
far too long to be fooled. "Sweet Mother of God. You've gone and
fallen in love with the man."

Phaedra shoved his hand away. "And what if I
have?"

"What if you-" Gilly nearly choked. "Now you
just listen to me, my girl. No one takes the kind of risks that man
is taking for a lark. You, if anyone, should have the sense not to
trust your heart to a man you scarce know. You allowed yourself to
be charmed by one bastard, and lived to regret it."

"Armande is different," she cried, resenting
the comparison. "He's nothing at all like Ewan. Armande is warm,
sensitive, and caring."

"And a bloody damn liar!" Gilly flung up his
hands, as though he could not credit what he was hearing. "I can
see that I've returned none too soon. You've taken complete leave
of your senses."

"This is no longer any of your concern," she
said stiffly. "I am grateful you went to France for me, but-"

"Grateful be damned." He glared at her,
looking as though he would have liked to lock her up somewhere. "I
can see that it is high time I took charge of this matter and found
exactly who the deuce this fellow is."

She thrust out her chin belligerently. "I
know as much about him as I need to know. In my judgment-"

"Your judgment!" Gilly snorted. "It is clear
you have no judgment left at all. The man's put you under some
God-cursed spell."

"I don't wish to discuss this any
further."

But her haughty words might as well have gone
unspoken for all the heed Gilly paid her. "What I need is free
access to that damned house so that I can search his room."

"Don't you dare." Phaedra gasped. "I won't
let you."

"Why not? If this fellow is as wonderful as
you say, what are you so afraid I'm going to find out?"

"Nothing ... I mean, I don't know." She could
feel talons of dread sinking deep in her stomach at the mere
thought of Gilly's suggestion. How could she possibly make Gilly
understand why she no longer wanted to know Armande's secrets? How
could she communicate her fear that a little more knowledge might
be enough to separate them forever? She had been so happy-and if it
took willful blindness to cling to that happiness for even a little
bit longer, why then, so be it.

"Fae," Gilly said, his voice gone tender with
concern. "You have to listen to reason." He tried to put his arm
about her again, but she jerked away.

"No, leave me alone. I wish you hadn't come
back. I wish you would just go away again."

Hurt welled in his eyes, but his jaw
stiffened into an expression every bit as stubborn as her own. "I'm
not about to do that. I love you too damn much to see you setting
yourself up for grief all over again. "

"If you truly love me, you will please
just-"

Her anguished words were cut off by a gruff
voice booming down the length of the stables, "Eh, what's all
this?"

Phaedra did not have to turn around to
realize that her grandfather was bearing down upon them. She heard
the floorboards creaking beneath Weylin's bulk.

Gilly muttered, "Now there'll be the devil to
pay and no mistake."

Despite her desire for Gilly to leave,
Phaedra whipped around to face her grandfather. She stepped in
front of her cousin like a mother tigress, ready to defend him
against Weylin's certain demand for Gilly's eviction.

Weylin hobbled forward, puffing with the
exertion, leaning heavily upon his cane. "Why, bless me, girl," he
growled. "What's come of your manners when you think to entertain
honored guests down in the stables?"

Phaedra gaped at him, sure she could not have
heard him correctly. She glanced at Gilly, who was looking around,
as though trying to find the guest to whom her grandfather
referred.

"This is your cousin, if I am not mistaken,"
Weylin continued in tones that sounded almost cordial. "The
Honorable Mr. Patrick Fitzhurst." Although her grandfather did not
go so far as to offer Gilly his hand, Weylin leaned on his cane,
his mouth spreading into a bland smile.

"Aye, the selfsame, sir," Gilly said faintly,
sounding as though he were not quite sure himself.

"I do have a right to see my own cousin
whenever I choose." Phaedra squared her shoulders, preparing for
the familiar battle.

"So you do, my dear." Weylin roughly tweaked
her cheek. "But why keep the poor man down in the stables? Why not
bring him up to the house?"

"But I-I ... you've always said ... " Phaedra
floundered. She knew her grandfather had been quite mellow of late,
but never had he regarded her with such an expression. He looked
almost affectionate. He wagged his finger at her as though she were
a naughty child.

"I declare," he said, turning to Gilly. "I
don't know what I shall ever do with this wild granddaughter of
mine. I quite despair of ever teaching her our civilized English
ways. Only look at this hair."

Chuckling, Weylin yanked one of Phaedra's
tangled red curls. "And I'll be hanged if she doesn't have the
marquis running about now, unpowdered like a savage."

Phaedra felt entirely too dumbfounded by this
smiling good humor even to muster a retort. Her grandfather cocked
his head, studying Gilly's face.

"Stap me, Mr. Fitzhurst, but what have you
done to your head, lad? Were you in some sort of accident?"

"No, sir," Gilly drawled. "I've been having a
bit of trouble with my eyesight. I seem to keep walking into some
of your civilized English fists. "