Swept Away (21 page)

“That is the kind of man you deserve, Annaleah Fairchilde,” she added softly. “And you should not settle for anything less.”

“My...situation is somewhat different.”

“Why? Because your mother has set her sights on a grand block of ice like Barrimore and because your father is too involved with his son’s political aspirations to see that his daughters are equally precious commodities? Sad to say, your sister shares the same temperament as your mother and would not have questioned their decision to marry her to a wooden post--which, as it happens, her husband handily brings to mind. But you. You have a sparkle in your eyes, my dear. Do not let them blot it out.”

“How can I possibly prevent it? You give me too much credit, Auntie, for in truth I have no more wit than my sister.”

“If that were the case, you would not have lasted an hour in my company. And I would not already be missing you even though you are not yet out the door. Now come, help me move this rubble.”

Florence led the way to where an old, iron-bound sea chest sat against a profusion of scarlet silk. It was stacked high with books and papers, which her aunt had Annaleah move and stack upon another half buried vessel. On a further wave of the cane, she leaned over and lifted the heavy lid of the chest, then removed several layers of what looked like smallclothes, corsets, and stockings yellowed with age. Beneath them was a second chest, this one made of polished wood secured with a wide brass lockplate.

“Bring it over here,” Florence ordered, pointing to a dainty Louis XIV vanity table. “I lost the key about forty years ago, so it is not locked. Go ahead, open it. There should be a sapphire ring inside, along with a matching set of earrings if I remember correctly.”

Anna lifted the lid and her eyebrows at the same time. The ring was only one of dozens tangled carelessly among webs of gold chains. She found three sapphires in the midst of all the rubies, diamonds and emeralds, but they were all waved away with the cane. A fourth won a smile and a nod, a huge glittering thing with a dozen blue gemstones surrounding a diamond the size of a thumbnail.

“That should do nicely,” Florence said. “Put it on, put it on.”

“It is lovely,” Anna agreed, slipping it onto her finger. It was a tight fit and she had to force it over the second knuckle. “I would never guess the stones were paste.”

“Then you would be exhibiting good sense, my dear, because they are not. They are very real, I assure you, as are all the other pretties in my little treasure box.”

“But downstairs you said--”

“I know what I said, but if I had said I wanted to give you a trinket worth several thousand pounds, how long would it have taken for your mother to declare me an incompetent old frizzen and come searching out the rest? Now, I want that to remain in
your
possession,” she added with a grumble, “to wear or not to wear, to ferret away for a little nest egg of your own, or to sell as need be.”

“Sell? I would never sell it!”

“
Never
is a word that should be used sparingly, and only after a great deal of thought. In any case, the ring is yours to wear, to sell, to toss in the privy if the shine disappoints.”

“I...do not know what to say.”

“Say thank you and remember we are only here for one go around. Fifty years from now we will all be dust and no one will remember our names, much less the scandal of who we chose to love and who we did not. Now, run off to your room and pack. It is nearing the noon hour and Mildred will walk out the door if she is forced to cook for any more guests.”

“Thank you.” The whispered words came with an impulsive hug that left Florence’s chin quivering, her eyes damp.

“I will expect a letter the instant you arrive back in London,” Florence insisted, clearing her throat. “I will want to know every word that passes inside that coach. And naturally, if you should happen to hear anything of that young rogue you keep kissing without my permission, I would want to know of that too.”

“Oh, Auntie,” she whispered. “We parted on such dreadful terms, I am sure he would never want to see me again.”

Florence tucked a hand under Annaleah’s chin. “You just remember what I said about the word never. I suspect it is one that rarely passes Emory Althorpe’s lips.”

CHAPTER 13

Following the night of heavy rains, there was only one main road that was maintained well enough to support a carriage the size of the berline. From Widdicombe House, it followed the coastline, passing Berry Head, a wide raised promontory of rock bordered on three sides by two- hundred foot limestone cliffs. The town of Brixham, smallest of the three that skirted the harbor of Torbay, was built around the base of the promontory, and on top, because the summit presented the ideal strategic location for monitoring naval traffic moving to and fro in the Channel, there were four batteries of heavy cannon, two garrisoned forts, and a naval hospital.

Normally a speedy journey, on this day it took nearly an hour to traverse the mile down from Berry Head to Brixham. Not only was the road thick with mud, but the distance was clogged with coaches and horses carrying men and women to the best vantage points along the cliffs where they might observe the huge warship newly anchored in port. The deeper the berline drove into the narrow streets of the town, the worse the congestion, because now there were pedestrians and enterprising pie sellers filling every corner and lane that converged upon the waterfront. Most of the buildings were narrow wooden structures that seemed to lean one against the other for support, and from these the windows were flung wide and more people hung over the sills shouting, waving, chattering excitedly.

Only the constant cracking of the whip by Barrimore’s driver, combined with the threat of the four matched geldings kept the path before the berline clear. Two liveried postillions walked in front of the lead team, adding their shouts and threats to the snap of the lash. Two more coachmen in the rear suffered the indignity of the occasional piece of rotten fruit pelted from a window or alleyway, but in the end, they rolled through Brixham and followed the coastal road down and around through Paignton and on to Torquay, where wealthy patrons came to rent villas and take the sea air. Here too there were crowds on the boardwalks and beaches. The harbor held a forests of masts swaying to and fro with the motion of the tides.

Barrimore and Anthony had taken rooms in a hotel overlooking the harbor. Because they could not find a spare hackney that morning, it had made little sense to burden the berline with their belongings, so it was necessary to make a brief stop in order to collect their cases and strap them into the boot.

Annaleah was grateful for the chance to stretch her legs. Apart from the muddy, rutted roads and constant lurching to driving around obstacles, she was suffering from the strain of having to ignore Barrimore’s brooding silence. Anthony, who barely lasted long enough to make a final comment about the unhealthy effects of so much fresh air, had fallen promptly asleep when they departed Widdicombe House and remained so until the wheels rolled to a halt outside their hotel. As for Barrimore, while he had not exactly stared at her for the entire length of time, she had felt his eyes boring into her more than once, not believing for an instant that although she kept her eyes closed, she had also slept through the bouncing and jostling.

Annaleah was offered tea in the small cafe that fronted the hotel, but she chose instead to walk across the street to a small, shady park where visitors strolling along the boardwalk could enjoy the stunning view of the harbor below. The benches along the tree lined walk were all full, the walk itself crowded with men in tall beaver hats and women in airy summer gowns. Waving once at Anthony to indicate her intention, Annaleah followed the boardwalk to a more promising stretch of grass and was there afforded her first clear view of the
H.M.S.Bellerophon
, anchored well out in the middle of the great harbor.

She was a big three masted ship-of-the-line, with an ornately carved and gilded gallery of windows across the stern and two gun decks painted with black stripes running the length of her hull. Her captain, Frederick Maitland, had set out perimeter guards, for there was a circle of smaller boats tethered to her sides, presumably manned by soldiers who warned away the flotilla of fishing boats that swarmed around the outside of the ring like bees buzzing a hive.

Napoleon Bonaparte, France’s most fearsome general, self-proclaimed dictator, emperor, former master of the continent of Europe was now reduced to an insignificant dot on the deck of a ship. She remembered the stories her nurse used to tell her about ‘Old Boney’. To most children, he was an ogre with one flaming red eye in the middle of his forehead and long teeth protruding from his mouth with which he tore to pieces and devoured naughty little girls who did not learn their lessons.

“Would you care to take a closer look, Miss?”

A young gentleman standing beside her offered Anna the use of his small brass spyglass. It was bound in leather and fit neatly into her hand, but when the various sections were telescoped and the eyepiece held against the eye, it brought the warship close enough to distinguish the various clusters of officers and seamen standing on deck.

Anna lowered it and the ship shrank to the size of a walnut again.

“He was on deck not two hours ago, Miss. Napoleon himself, I warrant, for he wore the green uniform of a Colonel in the Imperial Guard and the naval bicorn with the tricolored cockade.”

Anna closed her left eye and peered through the spyglass again, counting at least a dozen men in green uniforms on the deck, most of whom wore bicorns. There were a dozen more in blue coats with gold trimmings, scarlet tunics with white crossbelts, black and brown jackets with white breeches, and still more men in frockcoats and trousers who were either not attached to the military or who were not accorded the same courtesy as the prisoner in being allowed to maintain the appearance of a ranking officer. She did not see any with flaming red eyes or long fanged teeth, nor would she have known Napoleon Bonaparte had he looked straight back into the glass and waved.

With a polite smile, she thanked the obliging young man and handed back the scope. Her amused expression remained in place for several moments after the gentleman had bowed and moved away, but when her glance flickered back to a nearby tree, her heartbeat slowed to a dull thud, and her breath was suddenly coming out in a long, dry rasp through parted lips.

There was, indeed, a single flaming eye looking straight into hers but it was not red; it was a deep, dark brown. And its mate was hidden under a swath of white bandaging that was wrapped on an angle across the face of the last man on earth she expected to see standing less than ten paces away.

Emory Althorpe spared a quick glance in the direction of the black berline before he left the shelter of the tree. He was wearing a multi-collared greatcoat draped over his shoulders, the sides of which flared like batwings when he walked toward her. He had a rucksack slung over one arm, and when the coat flapped open--before a prudent hand held it close to his body again--she caught a glimpse of a pistol barrel stuck into his belt.

Anna’s mouth dropped open wider with each step that brought him closer. Her skin turned the color of cold ashes and she was genuinely in danger of fainting when he reached her side and quickly took hold of her arm. Without saying a word, he lifted the edge of the bandage and showed her his other eye, as perfectly whole and dark and cocoa brown as the other.

“What--” her breath came out in a rush and she raised a hand, pressing it over her breast to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest. “What on earth--?”

“A necessary ruse, I am afraid,” he explained in a low voice. “I was not half a mile from Widdicombe House when I discovered that there are warrant sheets tacked to every post and pillar along the side of the road, not only detailing my crimes and proffering the handsome reward for my capture, but bearing a rather strikingly accurate sketch of my face. A bandage was the only thing I could think of upon the instant.”

Annaleah shook her head through a fresh flush of surprise, supposing neither she nor her aunt had mentioned the posters Ramsey had shown them earlier.

“But...what are you doing here?” she managed to gasp. “How did you find me?”

“I did not find you,” he said. “I followed you.”

“You
followed
me?”

At a curious glance from one of the pedestrians, he took hold of her arm and hooked it through his then started walking casually along the boardwalk, leading her back beneath the canopy of trees.

“Actually, I followed your fiancé’s coach. It was not very difficult with all the crowds, and it is a rather impressive conveyance.”

Emory’s one dark eye warned her to guard the level of her voice as he urged her into walking again. “It was just the act of an overzealous guardsman, but he was clutching a copy of the warrant when he went running back into the toll house for reinforcements. I circled around for a while to lose them and kept to the trees, not exactly sure where to go next when I saw the berline rolling by in the distance.”

“So you followed us...expecting what? That Barrimore might offer you a ride to London?”

Her dry wit won a smile, but it was hardly the devastating, breathtaking kind of expression that had affected her sensibilities the previous afternoon and evening. It was a thin flat line that was as ominous as the steely glare in his eye; unnerving enough to make Annaleah twist around and glance back over her shoulder.