"Here now, that does him no good. Stand back, girl, let me see him."
"Cassandra?" Ainsley attempted to push himself to a sitting position, but Dr. Fletcher put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him back against the moldy straw. "Oh, no, no. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be anywhere near here. And who, sir, are you?"
"Josiah Fletcher. I'm the doctor your sons ordered to take care of you or they'd have my liver on a spit, that's who I am, not that I've ever had to be told my duty to my fellow man. Here, let me open that shirt, see what they've done to you. Your sons said you were kicked."
"I've been kicked before, thank you, by better men than I saw today. I'll be fine," Ainsley protested, this time managing to get to his feet. He looked at Cassandra. "You have even more power over Courtland than I supposed," he said, unbuttoning his shirt so that the doctor could press against his ribs. Even in the weak light of the candle, Cassandra could see livid purple bruises forming on his skin. "Nothing broken, you'll agree, Doctor?"
"Doesn't mean you don't hurt like a bitch— your pardon, Miss," the doctor said, opening his bag and pulling out a rolled up white bandage he then wrapped tightly around Ainsley's body while Cassandra held the shirt up and out of the way. "I'd give you some laudanum, but you won't drink it, will you? No, I thought not. Then that's all I can do, sir, save to remember you in my prayers. I'll leave you two your privacy. From what I can see— and I see much but say little— you have a lot to talk about."
Cassandra waited until the doctor was gone before she put her arms around her father, hugged him gently, stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek. "We don't have much time, Papa," she then said quietly, looking to the door that remained slightly open, bending down to hike up her skirts, exposing the knife she had strapped to her thigh. "The lieutenant wanted to search me, but…but he didn't," she adjusted quickly, having decided not to tell him about Beales.
Ainsley also had his gaze concentrated on the door. "Ah, one of Bumble's best lemon tarts, always with a nice, sharp sting to them," he said loudly as he took the knife from her, smiled, and slipped it beneath the straw. "Now what are you doing?" he then whispered to her.
She had turned her back to him and was in the process of unbuttoning her gown. "The harness Court made for Spencer. You remember it, Papa. He's since made several more. Court strapped one on me, so you could see just how it works." She turned back to him, stripped to her waist save for her chemise, the harness belted to her, running down over her shoulder, her arm, to where the deadly stiletto that could be extended by flexing her muscles just so was exposed.
"And you'll give my best to Courtland, to everyone? Tell them not to fear for me or be so foolish as to attempt a rescue," Ainsley said as he slipped out of his shirt. Again, he smiled, his voice dropping once more to a whisper. "All that seems to be missing is our new friend, Jasper's fine French cannon," he told her as he narrowed his gaze, looked at the straps, and then signaled for her to undo them so that he could don the clever invention.
Cassandra rebuttoned her gown before reaching into the pocket of her cloak and extracting a small bible, opening it to show Ainsley its hollowed-out center that held a small velvet bag heavy with gold pieces. "Court said you my have use for this prayer book, as well."
Ainsley nodded, placed the coins beneath the mattress with the knife. "There's always a use for prayer in a gaol. Again, please give Courtland my compliments. He seems to have thought of everything a poor, tortured soul might need. Now, tell me about Becket Hall. Jacko? Eleanor? Odette?"
Cassandra hastened to tell him that everyone was fine, and that Courtland, Rian, and a dozen men from Becket Village were never going to be far from the gaol. She told him Chance would probably ride all night and day to get to him, as well, and what Ethan and Valentine were about to do in London. She spoke quietly, quickly, as she emptied the portmanteau onto the crude bed— alternating her hushed words with bits of idiocy meant for the guards— unwrapped the food Bumble had prepared for him as Ainsley shrugged into a clean shirt and a jacket that would help conceal the harness.
He listened, asked no more questions, and then took hold of her shoulders, looked intensely into her eyes. "Now, here is what I've decided. Retrieve the women we've sent away. Gather everyone who wishes to leave, and have them boarded on the frigate in three days, waiting for the evening tide. Three days exactly, Cassandra, no more, for then I will be moved from here to Dover Castle. But I am confident I can buy us those three days. Court, along with Jacko, is completely capable of handling the ship, and Kinsey can captain the
Respite.
He's done it before although, granted, only in the Channel. I have left Becket Hall only once, to come here, and I will never see it again. Do you understand, Cassandra? I will never see Becket Hall again."
She nodded, too overset to speak.
"Jack has everything else, my instructions, the location of the land I've purchased in Hampton Roads. I want you to go first to Marianna Warren, until Courtland can oversee the construction of a suitable home on the property. Not that on the waterfront, but the acreage inland. You'll have a fine living there, all of you. And the Empress, Cassandra. Bad luck wears off, eventually. It stays in the family, hidden, to surface again when fate decides. Edmund will not have it, you understand?"
Cassandra listened carefully to everything her father said, and then shook her head. "No. We're not leaving you, Papa. None of us. We're going, yes, but you're coming with us."
He nodded his agreement even as he said more loudly, "My crime, Cassandra, my punishment. I'm willing to face those facts. You're grown now, all of you. There nothing else left for me to do but to know you're all safe."
"Yes, Papa," she said, agreeing with him only because she didn't know if he was really speaking to her, or to the guards listening outside his cell. She committed his every word to memory, to repeat it all to Courtland, let him decide what was important. Three days. The evening tide. Everyone who felt it necessary to leave was to be aboard the ships. "I'll tell Court what you said. But there could still be a pardon."
Ainsley smiled. "Yes, there's still that chance, isn't there?"
"But you don't think you'll live long enough for it to arrive," Cassandra said, echoing Court's words to her earlier. "Papa, perhaps you didn't always adhere to the King's laws, but that was all so long ago."
"But the Black Ghost still rides," Ainsley pointed out to her. "I've already volunteered a confession that I am also the Black Ghost, and everyone seems quite delighted with the coup of catching such a nefarious creature." He lowered his voice again. "Once the Black Ghost is hanged, Jack and Eleanor, anyone who remains in England, will be safe."
"You confessed? Oh, Papa, how could you have done such a thing? Even if Valentine and Ethan procure a pardon for Geoffrey Baskin, they'll still hang him for a smuggler." Much as she loved him, all she wanted to do now was to shake him, make him see reason. "How much penance must one man do? Isn't what happened on the island enough? What happened to my mother? Wasn't that enough?"
"Time to go, missy."
She whirled about to see the lieutenant standing there, leering at her. "No! I need more time. Just a few more minutes. Please?"
"I won't allow her to return to this hellhole, Lieutenant. Give a father a moment to say his final goodbyes to his child."
"Oh, she'll see you again. If she comes to the hanging, and again, when your body is gibbeted and hung up in some nearby village until it rots. One more minute, that's all," the lieutenant warned, stepping outside the cell once more.
Ainsley kissed her, held her close for a moment, for one last whispered conversation. "Just go, sweetheart, and don't come back here. It's too dangerous. Do you remember everything I've told you? You'll do as I say?"
She looked up at him stubbornly. "You haven't given up hope, have you, Papa? Some of what you said wasn't for me, was it, but for that horrible man. I must ask you something else. Outside, when they were…when they had you outside…Court said he thought you recognized someone in the crowd, and spoke to him. It was one of Beales's men, wasn't it, from the time in the islands."
Ainsley's eyes went flat, dark. "Liam Doone, yes. He was there."
"What…what did you say to him?"
"I wasn't polite, let's just say that, all right?" Her father smiled, some of the light coming back into his eyes, and then whispered into her ear. "Fathers and daughters shouldn't have such talks as these, not in a perfect world. But I'm flattered that you believed my sad story of hopelessness. I feel more confident now that my gaolers, with their ears pressed to the door all of this time, also believe me a beaten man, accepting of his fate."
Cassandra's knees nearly gave out on her as she sagged against him in relief. "Why, you old pirate, you," she said quietly. "You almost had me thinking you were— what are you planning?"
"I did mean one thing, Cassandra, you're not to come back here. If Edmund were to see you? It's just too dangerous." He pressed a much folded piece of paper into her hand and then motioned that she should leave him. "The guards who searched me didn't bother to take the paper and bit of pencil I'd slipped into my pocket before the soldiers arrived at Becket Hall. Give this to Courtland, with my compliments. He doesn't believe it, but he makes a fine Black Ghost."
She smiled, laughed. "Oh, Papa, I love you."
He pulled her close, whispered into her ear. "Tell Courtland I want the frigate christened before I take her to sea. We've neglected to do that."
She looked up into his face, memorizing his features. "Certainly. Do you have a name in mind?"
Ainsley smiled, and suddenly she was looking at a young man, the young man her mother had loved, strong and sure, exuberant, daring— even here, beaten physically and locked in the bowels of the Dymchurch gaol. "That I do, my darling daughter, that I do. She'll be called the
Isabella.
We take her with us, to freedom."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I SAW HIM. Oh, Court, I saw him. It was how it must be to look into the eyes of the devil himself."
Courtland led her to a chair in the small bedchamber assigned to her. He'd been all but out of his mind while she was gone, even knowing she was well protected. He'd watched over her from a distance, he and Rian, following the coach and its heavily-armed out-riders out of Dymchurch, keeping back far enough to be able to intercept anyone who might decide to follow them.
They hadn't seen anyone, but that didn't mean they hadn't been followed. It also may have meant they'd been followed very well.
He sat down beside her at the small table, pulled a plate of fruit in front of her. "Here, eat something. Are you saying that you saw Beales? Inside the gaol? I didn't think he'd— he didn't see you, did he?"
Cassandra picked up an apple, put it down again. "He saw me. My cloak hood fell back and he— that doesn't matter. That horrible man is here, Court. Here, in Dymchurch."
Courtland began rhythmically patting his mouth with his fist, sure Cassandra wasn't telling him everything, considering what Beales's presence meant to them. "And Ainsley said nothing?" he asked a few moments later. "He doesn't know Beales is this close?"
"No, I think he knows. He was worried that Beales might see me if I returned to the gaol." She reached into her pocket and withdrew the note her father had given her. "We had to be careful not to be overheard by his guards. He's written instructions to you. And he told me three days, Court. In three days, on Tuesday, we sail on the evening tide. After that, they move him to Dover Castle. He said he will never see Becket Hall again— he was quite adamant about that— and yet he will escape. Was he saying that we should— ?"
"Bring the ships here, to Dymchurch, yes," Courtland agreed, reading the closely-written but legible hand of Ainsley Becket. "And he's right, Callie. Once he's at Dover Castle, the chance of freeing him becomes much more difficult, and we'd have to rely on that pardon. Not that he'll ever live to get there."
"Don't say that, Court, please, not ever again," Cassandra begged him. "He can't die in that atrocious cellar."
"And he won't," Courtland said, getting to his feet. "Tomorrow, you and I ride back to Becket Hall, to meet with Chance. But tonight Rian and I have much to discuss concerning how we will protect the gaol. We can't have another incident like the one we saw today. It will be a long evening, Callie, and a longer day tomorrow and every day until we're at sea. I've ordered dinner for you, and a hot tub."
"I smell like the gaol, don't I?"
Courtland smiled. "I would have said a stable. One with a middling-size family of cats in residence. When you've eaten, a maid will take you to your room. Try to sleep."
"You'll come see me later? Tell me what you're planning?"
He shook his head. "It would be better if— "
"Please, Court," she said, looking up at him, fear and fatigue in her beautiful eyes.
Yes, he could see that. They were all frightened. But at the same time, those who had survived the massacre on the island were also excited, believing they would at last have their revenge. And that's how he and the others had to think of the next few days; as if they were back in the islands, those fairly lawless islands, not in staid, civilized England.
