Playing with Fire (13 page)

Mr. Cathcart promptly banished the two women while he attended to his patient, and later told Tansy that he had administered rum and laudanum, as well as a dash of lime juice. He was confident that the return to consciousness had marked a change for the better, and that from now on Martin would start to improve. “But it will be some time before he is a well man again, Miss Richardson, and it is too early yet to see how he has been affected by the wound. It is my experience that the memory is often damaged by such wounds to the temple, and sometimes even the personality itself is harmed. However, it is to be hoped that in the lieutenant’s case, all will be restored to its previous state. The fact that he has rallied at all makes me optimistic.” Tansy prayed so. Oh, how she prayed so.

There was a step behind her, and Hermione joined her. “Amanda has gone to her bed to rest for a while, having expended all her energy being the doxy to every officer onboard. Her foolishness astounds me. I thought she had seen the error of her ways, but still she plays with fire. If Lord Sanderby were to find out even a quarter of the things his bride gets up to, he would call off the match immediately. She is wearing me so ragged that I now need copious amounts of fresh air to recover.” The chaperone tickled Cleo’s ear.

“Amanda has that effect on me too. I know I should not say it, but my heart sinks whenever I see her coming. I cannot bear being with her.”

“It is hardly surprising, for she treats you abominably. She will fall from grace one day, you mark my words. Beauty and a bewitching smile are all very well, but in her case they are on the surface only. What lies underneath is very different.”

What lies beneath is a gargoyle,
Tansy added silently, thinking of Mr. Pettigrew.

“I fear that unless she turns over a completely new leaf on arriving in England, she will quickly ruin her match. Not that I think his lordship is to be greatly admired either.”

“Oh?” Tansy wondered what the chaperone meant, for she knew she was the only person in whom Amanda had confided about the imprudent letters she and Lord Sanderby had been exchanging.

Hermione gave her a querying look that soon dissolved into a knowing smile. “I can see from your face that you know of the correspondence. Oh, she didn’t tell me about it; far from it. As guardian of her well-being during this journey, I made it my business to know what she is up to. Her portable escritoire, er, met with a slight mishap on the
Gower,
and I happened to glimpse the missives he sent to her at Constantinople. From their content, I can only imagine that hers to him were in a similar less-than-circumspect vein. I fear she is quite convinced of her own infallibility, and I have had enough of her. The sooner she is in Sir Julian’s hands, the sooner I will be done with my responsibilities.”

Tansy had not really thought that the end of the voyage would also mean the end of their association. “Where will you go then?”

“Well, I have a small income, sufficient to purchase myself a little house or cottage somewhere.” Hermione chuckled. “I shall end my days sitting in a comfortable chair with my crochet. Mayhap with a plump cat on my lap.” She fondled Cleo’s ear again, and the tabby rubbed against her fingers.

Tansy could not imagine Hermione Entwhistle leading such a mundane existence. “You are far too intelligent to simply do
that.
What of your knowledge of Ancient Egypt, and other such places? I believe that you should write a book, Hermione.”

“Oh, my dear, you flatter me, I fancy.”

“No, I don’t. Just think of the basalt slab with the inscriptions. I am certain that if you applied yourself, you could decipher them.”

At that, Hermione went into peals of laughter. “My dearest Tansy, now you are definitely in the realms of fantasy. There any number of learned gentlemen all over the world striving to interpret hieroglyphs. If you imagine that I, a mere woman, could come along and defeat them all on such an important matter….” She didn’t finish, but chuckled again, shaking her head.

“I don’t think that being ‘a mere woman’ has anything to do with it. Women are just as capable as men; more so, probably. So admit it—you at least have a theory about how to interpret hieroglyphs.” Cleo jumped lightly down to the deck, and trotted off toward the hatchway that led down to the gun deck. Presumably to find somewhere warm to sleep, Tansy thought.

Hermione continued. “A theory about hieroglyphs?” she mused. “Well, as it happens I do, although I should qualify that by saying the theory did not originate with me. Actually, it is your uncle’s—Sir Julian’s, that is.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My dear late husband regarded him as the finest antiquarian in all England, and corresponded with him for a short while. Their letters touched upon the riddle of hieroglyphs, and Sir Julian confided his thoughts on the subject. My husband was in full agreement with his reasoning. But then, of course, there was that terrible business with Lord Sanderby’s father, and the correspondence ceased.”

Tansy gazed at the wake stretching away behind the frigate. “Don’t you think it strange that the earl has chosen Amanda as his bride? I mean, his father and Sir Julian fell out most acrimoniously, and my father believed the hieroglyph business was not the only thing they fell out about.” There were rumors of a further quarrel over an affair one or other of them had. Tansy’s father heard a garbled whisper one night at his club, but no one knew anything for sure. Certainly no one knew who the woman was.

“Oh, Tansy, my dear, who are we to question the whys and wherefores of the aristocracy?” Hermione smiled. “You know, I believe I shall give some consideration to your suggestion about a book. I shall give myself a pseudonym like Algernon Scrimblestitch, and set the cat among the pigeons by resurrecting Sir Julian’s theories. I have sufficient funds to publish a volume myself, you know.”

“Well, Mr. Scrimblestitch, if you require a humble clerk to write out your text, I will gladly be of assistance.”

Hermione regarded her. “If you are available, then I shall take you up on that, my dear, but I do not think you will be.”

“Oh? Whatever makes you say that? The Church Mouse is
bound
to be available; just ask Amanda,” Tansy replied wryly.

“There is Lieutenant Ballard to consider,” the chaperone said quietly.

Tansy was glad of the glowing light of the sunset, because it hid the embarrassed color that again warmed her face. Had she been so obvious about her feelings that
everyone
knew? First Amanda, then Tusun, then Mr. Pettigrew, and now Hermione. She prayed Martin himself did not realize as well, for that would be too awful. “Hermione, the lieutenant and I are acquaintances, that is all.”

“Ah.” The chaperone uttered the word enigmatically.

“Don’t say ‘Ah’ like that, for it is the truth. If he is enamored of anyone, it is Amanda.”

“I’m not so sure. There is more to our handsome lieutenant than meets the eye, and if he is taken with your obnoxious cousin, my name really is Algernon Scrimblestitch.”

Tansy smiled, but then became serious again. “I shall miss you dreadfully when we reach England. You will write to me at Chelworth, won’t you? I mean, I’m bound to be there for a while at least, until I know whether or not Sir Julian will let me stay for good….”

“Oh, he will, my dear, I’m sure of it. I cannot imagine that he is the sort of gentleman who would oblige his unfortunate niece to make her own precarious way in life when he could offer her a home. Besides, there will not be any need for me to write to you at Chelworth, since I will be there myself.”

“You will? But, I thought you and Amanda were going on to Portsmouth.”

Hermione gave another of her wicked chuckles. “Well, we were. Amanda was all agog for the opportunity to meet royalty…until she found out a little more about the personage in question.”

“What do you mean?”

“The personage is a very fine billy goat that King George has graciously given to a regiment in Canada, to have as its mascot.”

Tansy stared. “A…a goat?”

“Baa-a-a-a-a….”

Tansy almost collapsed with laughter, Hermione soon joined in, and in a moment they were both helpless. Members of the crew looked at them in surprise, then grinned, for the women’s amusement was infectious, and their friendship only too evident. It was good to see, and it made everyone feel lighter.

* * * *

Shortly before the laughter broke out on deck, Martin had awoken from his daze of laudanum to find Cleo seated on his pillow, washing her front paws. She halted the exercise to look down into his pain-filled brown eyes; then she patted his face gently, as if to test if he was truly conscious. Slowly he drew a hand from beneath the bedclothes to touch the cat’s fur, and she began to purr.

He heard the low murmur of female voices carry on a swirl of air through the gun port, which was slightly open, and knew the voices belonged to Tansy and Hermione, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then they began to laugh, and Cleo jumped down to trot toward the cabin door, where she paused to look back at him, as if to say, “Aren’t you coming with me?”

Through the veil of laudanum, Martin knew she was going to the women on deck, and a spark of something fired through him, urging him to go too. The cabin seemed to revolve as he pulled himself into an upright position. His whole body ached and he felt quite ridiculously weak, but if it was the last thing he did, he would go up on deck. With a huge effort he made himself stand. His legs shook, and the throbbing pain in his head was so intense that it seemed to pulse through him. A red haze blurred his vision, but something still urged him onward. He managed to pull on a cloak that hung behind the cabin door; then with Cleo leading the way, he staggered through the empty gun room, where for once there wasn’t a marine on duty.

All sound was exaggerated, and the red haze made everything seem unreal as he climbed the hatchway. He felt as if he were in a nightmare, except that the pain was too agonizing to be imagined. No one saw as he came out into the open air, where the wind seemed to strike his skin like needles of ice. The men at the double wheel were too preoccupied with their task, the duty officer was bawling orders to a midshipman on the lower deck, and Mr. Pettigrew was blowing his whistle fit to burst as men at the masthead took too long about their work.

But Martin could still hear the two women’s laughter, clearer now, and so enticing that he had to go toward it. He saw Tansy in the light from the setting sun, her dark curls and cloak blowing in the sea breeze. Cleo ran ahead of him and brushed around the women’s hems. Hermione bent to stroke the cat, but something made Tansy turn sharply to look directly at him.

Her smile dissolved into alarm, and she hurried to him. “Lieutenant? Whatever are you thinking of? You shouldn’t be out here!” she cried, not hesitating to put an arm around his waist as she saw him sway.

He gazed at her in a dream, drawn by the generosity of her lips, the expressiveness of her big gray eyes, and the sheer honesty of her concern. Everything about her reached through his pain and fever, brushing restraint aside and exposing emotions he would otherwise have stifled into submission. He reached out to touch her cheek, and when she did not pull away with shock, his fingers slid into her hair, then to the nape of her neck, where all was warm and sensuous. He drew her mouth toward his and kissed her tenderly, lovingly, his lips clinging in a way that ached through him like the sweetest of memories.

Tansy’s whole body keened with love. He kissed her as if she meant everything in the world to him. Her mouth trembled beneath his, and she did not have the will to draw away, only the will to stay. She knew it was the laudanum that ruled him, that he probably did not even know who she was, but for these few wonderful moments she did not care. She held him to her, savoring the joy of his body cleaving to hers, and she returned the kiss in a way no proper young lady should.

But all too soon his strength faded and he began to sag to the deck. Hermione, until that moment too stunned to do anything but stand and stare, ran to help Tansy.

* * * *

Later, as the last of the sun sank beyond the horizon, Cleo sat on Tansy’s cot in the great cabin, carefully licking her paws and washing her face. If ever a cat looked pleased, that cat was Cleopatra, for she had the sleek expression of one whose plan had gone well. Her expression became sleeker than ever as she got up to go to Tansy’s pillow, which she pulled aside with deft claws.

Beneath it lay the bronze cat from Tel el-Osorkon. Tansy kept it there, for no good reason other than that she liked to look at it just before she went to sleep. The tabby began to purr and knead the blanket; then she curled up against the figurine and closed her eyes.

Randal was standing at the edge of
the woods below Chelworth. Sunset was drawing to a close, and seagulls called loudly as they swooped above the bay, where the waves crashed and foamed ashore. By his feet the grass was covered in snowdrops that trembled in the raw wind, and on the hillside above him the lights of the house were bright against the heath. The cursed place had never seemed more like an Egyptian temple, he thought sourly, studying the display of Nile grandeur set so incongruously in the Dorset landscape.

He hunched deeper into his greatcoat, stamped his feet to stay warm, and tugged his tall hat lower over his forehead. His temper, not good at the best of times, had been very frayed since he returned to this back-of-nowhere county. Not only had Richardson left London hot on his heels, leaving him very little time to find the letter, but the one search he had been able to achieve had proved completely fruitless. Aided and abetted by two Chelworth footmen, whom he paid well for their betrayal of trust, he’d turned the library upside down for dear Mama’s scribble. To no avail whatsoever. He’d been so certain the library would be the place, but it seemed not. The old boy had the vital script hidden
somewhere
in that damned mausoleum, and sooner or later it was going to come to light—preferably sooner, because he, Randal Fenworth, would not—
dared
not—rest until he had destroyed it.