Dark Before the Rising Sun (44 page)

“Could be as rich as the King himself, and I still wouldn't dirty me hands workin' fer the likes o' him!” an angry voice called from the back of the room, successfully gaining the attention of the same men who had looked impressed after Alastair's outburst.

“Jack Shelby's me friend, and that's somethin' the rest o' ye ought not to be fergettin',” the man warned them. An ugly glint in his eye, he pushed his way forward through the group and came to stand in front of Dante. “Reckon Jack Shelby is one to be rememberin' who's his friend and who ain't. Reckon I might even be able to remind him,” the lout said, looking around the room as if memorizing the individual faces.

“I wouldn't worry too much about Jack Shelby,” Dante spoke quietly, unimpressed.

“Oh, and how's that,
milord
?” the man wanted to know as he eyed Dante up and down contemptuously before spitting at his booted feet.

“Jack Shelby's days are numbered. You can take that message to him,” Dante told the red-faced man, whose anger seemed about to get the best of him. Then, before the man knew what had happened, the indolent-looking Marquis of Jacqobi reached out and grabbed both his arms. Pulling them behind the fellow's back, he locked them together at the wrists with one of his own hands. Then his lordship's other hand locked around the back of the malcontent's neck, and the man was escorted to the door. The other men were delighted, for they knew the bully all too well and enjoyed seeing him brought down a peg.

Out the door and up the steps he was hustled, and the man promised himself as he was propelled into the street that he'd not forget the laughing voices. He fell to his knees, his hat sailing onto the cobblestones next to him.

“Ye'll be sorry, m'lord,” he vowed, picking himself up and glaring at the open doorway. “And I'll not be fergettin' your faces, either! Ye'll be sorry. Ye just wait and see. Just wait until I'm tellin' Jack Shelby of this. Ye'll see!” he hollered as he hurried down the street, glancing back over his shoulder time and again. The sound of laughter fueled his rage.

Dante turned back to face the men standing there watching him, a different expression in their eyes. They were really seeing him for the first time, and not the rakish young lord he once had been.

“You may also pass the word that I am looking for tenants to farm the lands adjacent to Merdraco. The rents will be low, and as your landlord, I shall see that the farmhouses are in good condition. Anyone who works Leighton lands will find it a good living, and you and your families will be under my protection,” the master of Merdraco told them.

“Didn't think them lands belonged to Merdraco anymore. Thought they were Sir Miles Sandbourne's.”

Dante smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “The lands that once belonged to Merdraco belong to my estate again. Sir Miles Sandbourne no longer owns one foot of Leighton land.”

William Brownwell held out the bag of coins that Dante had tossed on the table. “Here's your money back,” he said. Alastair thought the man was rejecting Dante's offer, but then he added, “At least until I've done a day's work and earned my share of it. Then it'll be mine.”

Dante took the leather bag. “I'll look forward to seeing you at Merdraco, then,” Dante said.

“Aye, ye can that. Reckon a lot of folk will be pleased to hear that ye be their new landlord. Sir Miles wasn't very popular. Raised the rents every year, he did. Reckon that Houston Kirby returned to Merdraco with ye?” Brownwell asked casually. “Used to be a friend of mine until he disappeared about the same time ye did, m'lord. Always figured he might have caught up with ye somewhere.”

“Aye, that he did, and he's come home now, as I have,” Dante responded, his cold, pale eyes showing the first warmth Brownwell had seen in them.

“Beggin' your pardon, but does Jack Shelby know ye've returned?” he asked. He wanted to know what lay in front of him, since it seemed he was walking onto a battlefield.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we met face-to-face the other evening at the Bishop. He left rather abruptly, but he knows what to expect,” Dante told the man, figuring he had a right to know what to expect if he was going to work at Merdraco.

“Ye been stayin' at the Bishop?” asked a man who probably knew more than he should, for he knew the smugglers were fond of drinking ale there.

“Yes, Sam and Dora Lascombe have been most hospitable,” Dante replied.

“Aye, reckon so,” Brownwell agreed. “Sam's no fool. Reckon I'll have to be stoppin' by there one of these days. Pay our respects to Dora, will ye? Lot of us thought it a real shame what happened to her brother. Aye, reckon there be a lot of us who think it's about time for a change,” Brownwell suggested with a meaningful glance around at his friends.

Dante eyed the men speculatively, then nodded. “I do believe there will be some changes now. It has been a pleasure, gentlemen,” he said, and, with a slight smile, he tossed the bag of coins to the startled innkeeper, who wasn't so startled that he missed catching it in his big palm. “See that the gentlemen here have all the ale and food they wish.”

“Ye be most generous, m'lord,” Brownwell commented as he noted the men who were looking kindly at their benefactor.

“Not really,” Dante said with a grin. “They will be cursing me soon enough when I have them sweating for every shilling they earn. But perhaps they won't really hate me when they remember that I can be most generous and that I deal fairly with any man who deals fairly with me.”

“Aye, m'lord, reckon ye've learned a lot about life in your travels,” Brownwell said slowly. “And I reckon we might deal quite nicely together, now that ye've returned to Merdraco.”

“Aye, that we shall,” Dante agreed, and with a slight inclination of his head, he walked away from what remained of the group standing outside of The Pale Lady of the Ruins, the others already having disappeared inside for their fill of ale.

“Reckon things are goin' to be changin' around here fast enough now that yon master has returned to stir up trouble,” William Brownwell muttered as he watched Dante Leighton striding down High Street as though he hadn't a care in the world.

* * *

“Kirby, I do not see whortleberries listed here,” Rhea was saying to the little steward, who was selecting several baskets full of the dark blue berries.

“That's because Hallie ain't from Devonshire, m'lady. They're berries picked from the moors, and a sweeter tart covered in clotted cream ye've yet to find anywhere in the realm,” Kirby declared.

“And what of this cider, Kirby? Hallie will never be able to use so much. Perhaps we should only order about half this amount,” she suggested kindly.

“Ah, m'lady, if ye knew how long 'tis been since I had a good swallow of mulled cider,” Kirby said with such a pitiful look on his face that Rhea almost felt sorry for him. “Of course, next year I'll have made my own. Packs quite a wallop, if I do say so myself, m'lady. We used to have the makin's for it at Merdraco, but I'll most likely have to get my own wheel and trough. And of course we can't use the straw from the stables at Merdraco. 'Twould have us all six feet under by nightfall.”

“What's wrong with the straw at Merdraco?” Francis asked, eyeing the little steward as if he'd lost his mind.

“It has to be clean straw, Lord Chardinall,” Kirby replied, looking at the young lord and wondering where he'd been all his life. “Ye see, I take the apples—selected by me for their juiciness—and ground them up with a big stone wheel in this specially made, round stone trough. Then I place the pulp between layers of
clean
straw, m'lord, and press it in the cider press. The juice runs out into the kieve, a flat tub. I'll leave it there for about four or five days. That's where it starts to get that kick. I skim off anything that's drifted up to the top, and then get myself some nice oak casks and fill them up with the brew and let them sit. Won't touch them for a good while, of course.”

“Of course,” Francis agreed.

“Aye. Next year I'll let ye have one of the first sips of the first cider I've brewed in years. It oughta be somethin', m'lord,” he confided with a chuckle. “Can hardly wait for the wassailin'. Ye be sure and be here at Merdraco for the eve of Twelfth Night.”

Francis managed a smile. “I'd be honored,” he said, privately vowing he'd not be anywhere nearby come January.

“Well, let's see,” Rhea said as she glanced down at the long list of items she had ordered sent to the lodge. “Eggs, chickens, hams, cheese, veal, haddock, potatoes, celery, carrots, peas…” she said, her eyes scanning the list. Looking up, she caught sight of Dante and Alastair making their way down the street. She waved, but they didn't see her, for at that moment a small boy ran up to them and yanked on Dante's sleeve. He stopped and glanced down, and as Rhea watched she saw the boy hand him a piece of folded paper. Dante glanced at it quickly before tossing a coin to the lad. When next Rhea looked at Dante's hand, the note had disappeared, and he and Alastair were continuing toward the marketplace.

Rhea waved again, and this time he saw her. His tall figure wove through the crowded square toward her.

“I hope I haven't kept you waiting,” he said, noting the crates of vegetables and fruits being loaded into a nearby cart. “Did you have any trouble?” he asked, remembering the surreptitious glances cast their way as they rode into Merleigh.

“You should know by now, Dante, that Rhea could charm a smile from the devil himself,” Francis remarked jokingly, then thought perhaps his sister had done so just then, for a slight smile curved Dante's mouth.

“We had no difficulties. How did it fare with you?” Rhea asked nervously, for she had dreaded his first encounter with the villagers who had been so quick to turn their backs on him years before.

“It went far better than I thought it would,” Dante admitted, his smile widening. “So you had better buy even more cider, Kirby,” he told the little steward, who actually looked guilty.

“Don't look so surprised. That's all you've been talking about since we set foot back in Devonshire. Your cider had better be as good as I remember,” Dante warned him. “Where are Robin and Conny? We should be heading back to Merdraco.” He glanced around for a glimpse of two small figures and was rewarded by the sight of Conny and Robin. They were running as fast as their short legs could carry them, trying to outrun several village boys who were tossing rotten fruit at them.

Rhea shook her head as she saw Robin duck behind a rotund woman, waiting his chance to take aim at one of the village boys. The tomato he had been holding so gingerly found its mark, but Robin didn't wait to make certain, and was already hotfooting it after Conny, who had thrown his potato with unerring aim and retreated toward the safety of those familiar figures in the distance. He knew the captain wouldn't let this village riffraff accost him and Robin.

Rhea stood beside Dante, laughing with him as they watched Kirby and Alastair try to stop the horseplay. She caught sight of a scarlet figure hurrying up High Street, scarlet feathers waving with every step, and Rhea wondered if the note Dante had received had been from Bess Seacombe. Rhea couldn't help but find it unsettling that Dante had said nothing about it. For the first time since they had wed, she wondered what he was hiding.

To many a watchful night.

—Shakespeare

“I must say you were rather unfriendly the other day,” Dante commented, his quiet tones sounding like thunder in the still of the night.

Sir Morgan Lloyd spun around quickly, hearing the amused voice coming out of the shadows. “Do you always arrive early for a rendezvous?” he demanded, put out that the captain of the
Sea Dragon
had managed to catch him off guard.

“Apparently not much earlier than you do,” Dante responded while moving into the revealing moonlight, for Sir Morgan was a good quarter of an hour early for their meeting.

“I trust you are here because you received my note?” Sir Morgan inquired.

“Naturally. I do not leave a warm bed at midnight to traipse about the countryside without a reason,” Dante responded easily. “I had been expecting to hear from you. I had hoped that your hostility of the other day was feigned.”

“Had I truly believed you responsible for my brother's murder, I fear I would have taken the law onto myself and called you out, Captain,” Sir Morgan answered quite seriously.

“I was very sorry to hear of his death,” Dante said. In the pale moonlight Sir Morgan's face looked like it was chiseled out of marble.

“His murder,” Sir Morgan corrected.

“I feel a little responsible because his ship was wrecked in Dragon's Cove. The waters
are
notoriously treacherous,” Dante said, “and even the best of captains can run his ship aground,” he suggested as an alternative to murder.

“He made it safely to shore, Captain. It was on shore that he met his death,” Sir Morgan reminded him sharply.

“Could not the ship's running aground have been simple mischance? There are many wrecks along this shore, and when that happens, the villagers come from miles around to salvage what they can. I've seen a horde of them descend on a ship foundering on the rocks and strip her clean within an hour. I have even seen scavengers strip the dead of their belongings. If anyone survived the wreck and made it to shore, he most likely would have been too weak to put up a struggle if someone wanted his possessions. Perhaps that is what happened to your brother. Or, since he was an officer of the Crown, his attacker panicked and killed him,” Dante said. His explanation was quite reasonable and had his listener been anyone but the late captain's brother, he might have been persuaded.

“My brother was betrayed. Indeed, he suspected the traitor. He told me as much in a letter he wrote shortly before his death. But Ben made a mistake somewhere and lost his life as a result,” Sir Morgan said bitterly. “He was a good captain, and he knew this coast well. He would not have run aground in Dragon's Cove; he was too good, too cautious. No, something drew him in there, and if my speculations are correct, he was unaware of his position until it was too late. I suspect he was misled by the smugglers' signals. Someone flashed him a signal from shore, knowing he would sail onto the reefs. I think his murder was plotted carefully because he was close to discovering who the traitor was.”

Leaning against one of the fallen stone dragons, Dante eyed Sir Morgan through the gloom. “Why did you not suspect me of being involved? As you said, I might be behind all of this, even though I have been absent from Merdraco for many years. And, even if I were not directly involved, my sympathies might very well remain with the smugglers because I used to be a smuggler. Many of them are poor farmers and villagers just trying to make a living, and I might see no harm in their activities. So why are you taking me into your trust, Sir Morgan?” Dante asked flatly.

Sir Morgan ran a tired hand across his forehead, massaging his temples. “Because, as the master of a ship, you would never wreck one. It would go against your blood, Captain,” Sir Morgan said simply. “Once you have known a command of your own, you can never shirk responsibility for your ship or your crew, no matter what the circumstances. I cannot believe you would ever put a ship or her crew in jeopardy. I sailed against you long enough to know what manner of man you are, and you are not the sort who would betray another by so cowardly an act. You played a game with Bertie Mackay in the Straits, but you knew he and his crew were never in any real danger. You are simply not a murderer.

“I never thought that the day would dawn when we would be allies, but I think it has, hasn't it, Captain? As the master of Merdraco, you should be especially interested in seeing justice served,” Sir Morgan spoke quietly, meaningfully.

“You've heard about Merdraco, then?”

“Yes, word of an atrocity like that spreads quickly. I am sorry it happened, but I would think it gave you good reason for seeing the smugglers put out of business. Especially Jack Shelby,” Sir Morgan Lloyd said slowly.

Dante nodded. “You also are aware that Jack Shelby truly believes he has good cause to commit crimes against me?” Dante asked, wondering just how much Sir Morgan had learned.

“He is the father of the woman you were suspected of murdering. I must say, however, that time seems to have dulled some memories and old hatreds. I was in Merleigh earlier this evening, and I happened to be drinking in a popular tavern there and heard some flattering things about you, Captain. You and Mr. Marlowe paid the place a visit earlier in the afternoon and escorted one of Shelby's men off the premises most emphatically. Your actions were well appreciated by the majority. They seem to think Shelby is half mad and has been for years. They also seem to think that they might have judged you harshly over the death of his daughter. Some remember her as being free with her favors. They say that just about anyone—including a jealous wife or two—might have killed the girl.”

“I suspect they are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt now,” Dante commented, unimpressed, “only because I have returned a wealthy man.”

Sir Morgan smiled sadly. “You are bitter. I suppose that is only natural. You are also quite modest, for you made a considerable impression on these villagers, beyond your wealth. Your laying down of law took them by surprise, as did your authoritative presence, which is, I gather, just the opposite impression of the one they had of you.

“I rather hate to spoil things for you, Captain, but I need to cast suspicion on you if I am to mislead the smugglers. I want them to grow careless, especially one man in particular, and then I'll catch them in the act and have those responsible for wrecking the
Hindrance
brought to justice,” Sir Morgan promised.

“You and your brother were very close?”

“Yes, we were. My father died when we were just boys. Ben was younger than I. I suppose, as the elder, I always felt responsible for both my mother and my brother. But now they are both gone, and I am left with a promise I made to my mother a long time ago, and that was to watch out for my brother. I now shall keep that promise in the only way left to me.”

“This might seem strange coming from me,” Dante said, “but make certain you have the right men and that you have irrefutable evidence. I should hate to see your desire for revenge bring you to ruin.”

“Except for the mysterious mastermind behind the Sons of Belial, I know exactly who I am after,” Sir Morgan reassured him.

“Jack Shelby.”

“Yes,” Sir Morgan said.

“And, perhaps, your Lieutenant Handley?” Dante guessed.

“I thought I was so subtle the other day,” Sir Morgan said in mock dismay.

“Threatening to put me adrift in a rowboat is hardly subtle, but your dislike of the man was only too obvious to me, although I doubt the lieutenant realizes it. Do you think he is behind this smuggling gang?”

“He may well be the man who has planned every move the Sons have made. But I don't quite think the lieutenant, unless he is a brilliant actor, has the intelligence to run this operation. I think he is merely following orders…like the rest of them,” Sir Morgan said.

“What of Shelby?” Dante questioned. “He's a cunning devil.”

“It is a possibility, but he seems too hotheaded to have planned the wrecking of the
Hindrance
and to have set up this web of smuggling runs. No, I think he takes his orders from someone else too.”

“And you would like the smugglers to think that you suspect me of running their operation. No doubt that will bring Shelby much amusement,” Dante predicted. “If I agree to say nothing of your suspicions, then I want to be a part of whatever trap you are setting,” Dante bargained. “Either that, or I'll do some exploring on my own in order to dig up evidence against Shelby.”

“Since there are not many people around here to whom I would trust my life, I think I will find your assistance helpful,” Sir Morgan commented wisely. It seemed as if two former enemies were becoming allies, but for different reasons.

“I am afraid Rhea will have a hard time forgiving you for the other day,” Dante told him.

“I regretted having to upset her so, but I was doing it to impress the lieutenant. Perhaps, when all of this is over, and if we are still here to talk about it, she will allow me a chance to explain. Perhaps she would even invite me to tea,” Sir Morgan asked, and Dante was surprised to hear the note of longing in his voice.

“You will find that Rhea is a very understanding person. Once she understands the facts, she will forgive you, Captain, never fear.”

“I shall look forward then to that cup of tea,” Sir Morgan said on a lighter note. “But what of Lady Bess Seacombe?”

“Bess?”

Sir Morgan caught the hesitancy in Dante's voice, as well as his casual use of her name. “You sound as if you know her well. I ask only because I like to know what to expect from a person.”

“Bess and I grew up together. In fact, if you haven't already heard about it, she and I were supposed to marry. She changed her mind. Not that I blame her, for I was debt-ridden at the time and under suspicion of murder,” Dante added, thinking the latter explanation gave Bess a legitimate reason for breaking off their engagement.

“No, I hadn't heard that. I suppose you know that she is a widow?” Sir Morgan asked, wondering if there might still be warm feelings between the two.

“Yes, I had heard,” Dante remarked, but didn't say how.

“She is also very much in debt,” Sir Morgan informed him.

“No, I didn't know that,” Dante said slowly, his mind going back to the painful time when she had spurned him because he had little hope of keeping her in the style she believed she deserved. “What happened? Do you know?”

“Bad investments by her late husband. Apparently he was a bit of a fool and invested in some crazy scheme involving a plantation in the Indies. Lost his shirt too, as did several other people around here. Then the bank he had invested in closed. Seems the largest account was suddenly withdrawn and that caught the investors short. They had mismanaged their capital, made bad loans, and finally became insolvent. A rumor got started that they could not honor their other depositors' accounts, and there was a run on the bank. In order to stay out of gaol, Sir Harry and some other investors, including Sir Miles Sandbourne, who is a very respectable gentleman, had to make the bank solvent out of their own pockets. From what I understand, it nearly bankrupted all of them.” Sir Morgan said all of this without any apparent pity for the late Sir Harry Seacombe. If he had a wife and a young daughter and son, he would not have taken any chances with their welfare. “It also seems Sir Harry cared more for the well-being of his hounds and horses than he did his family. Spent lavishly on his stables. I wonder why the woman married him,” Sir Morgan said with an exasperated sigh.

Dante remained silent. At last he said quietly, “I remember Harry Seacombe. You are right, he was a bit of a fool, but he was harmless enough. I can understand why Bess married him. At one time he was very wealthy and handsome and knew how to amuse people,” Dante remembered.

“Lady Bess is still a very attractive woman, wouldn't you agree?”

Dante cocked his head slightly. “Yes, I would say she is as beautiful as she was when I left Devonshire,” Dante admitted. “Why? Are you interested in the lady?”

Sir Morgan, had Dante been able to see his face clearly, would have appeared embarrassed, but he replied evenly, “My interest is official, for I think she is involved with the smugglers right up to that slender throat of hers. And I would hate to see any woman's neck stretched,” Sir Morgan admitted. Dante got the impression, however, that he would indeed stand by and watch that very thing happen if it meant bringing his brother's murderers to justice. As far as Sir Morgan Lloyd was concerned, no one involved would go unpunished.

“Bess? Involved with the smugglers? That would mean being involved with Jack Shelby, and I do not see Bess giving the likes of Shelby the time of day,” Dante scoffed.

“When a person is in need of money, trying to keep food on the table, that person might do just about anything,” Sir Morgan replied. “Look at yourself. You changed from an indolent young lord who gambled away his inheritance into a man who fought hard to reclaim it and his reputation,” Sir Morgan reminded him.

Dante remained silent for a moment. “I'll not assist you in sending Bess to the gallows.”

“You still care for her that much?” Sir Morgan's harshly spoken words sounded like an accusation. Whether it was because he was thinking of Rhea or because he was thinking of his brother, perhaps even he didn't know.

“I have my reasons,” Dante replied.

“I see,” said Sir Morgan.

“No, I don't think you do, but it doesn't matter, for I shall help you catch Jack Shelby and the Sons of Belial,” Dante promised. “What exactly is your plan?” he asked. Only the pale moon observed the shadowy figures and heard what was said.

* * *

“There, there, Kit,” Rhea said reassuringly, pressing her lips against his soft curls. “Mama's here,” she spoke softly while gently rocking him in her arms. But her eyes were staring at the empty space in the bed where Dante ought to have been lying.