“I have no intention of doing anything at this time. Merely an innocent interest in the bishop’s household staff.”
Billy’s eyes went wide. Mattie’s narrowed. But Jin had intended the warning in his tone.
“Listen here.” Mattie’s hand fisted. “You can’t be doing this sort of thing no more.”
“He’s right, Cap’n,” Billy piped, his smile momentarily dimmed. “Ain’t right no more.”
“I am doing nothing, as I have just said. We are no longer in that line of business, gentlemen. At least not as long as you work for m-”
“He’s gonna say we got to keep out of his business now, Bill,” Mattie broke in. “Reckon Miss Carlyle weren’t wrong when she said we got us the most stubborn arrogant ass of a captain this side of the world.”
“She sure did say that.” Billy’s head bounced thoughtfully.
Jin’s mouth crept into a grin.
“I sure do miss the lady.” Billy’s downy cheeks shaded to pink. “How’s she doin’ in that big ole house, Cap’n?”
“Well, when last I saw her.”
“Were she well, then?” Mattie leveled him a penetrating stare beneath bushy brows.
Billy grinned. “Bet Lady Redstone’s got her tricked out in skirts and ribbons and all them lady things.”
As it should be. And it still astounded him after these weeks that the only place he wished to be was there with her. Wherever with her, wearing whatever she chose. Or nothing. “Gentlemen, is the ship fitted out?”
“Right ready to haul away. We going somewheres?”
“Perhaps.”
Mattie pursed his fleshy lips. “You ain’t going to bribe Pecker into stealing that box for you, then, or p’raps unlocking the back door so you can go on in and steal it yourself? ’Cause I thought maybe that’s what you’d been planning.”
“No plans, Matt.” He stood. “Idle curiosity.”
He left them then, walking through the streets busy with the traffic of carriages and pedestrians, hawkers and flower girls and all the whirl of London he had come to know years earlier when he had first made his way to England in search of atonement in the land of half his ancestors. The unknown half.
Gray was right. All of London’s strata were known to him, from the lords who sat in Parliament to the boys who filched those lords’ billfolds to feed hungry families. He had known it all, and the life he led had satisfied him to some extent.
No longer. Restlessness spun through him now, and he could find no peace. But neither did he have a goal any longer, and the one avenue of hope he had retained after leaving Viola in Devonshire was closed to him now. Perhaps his father had been a gentleman of name and means. Perhaps. Without that box he would never know.
He paused to slip a guinea into the pocket of a blind beggar woman. Fast as a whip she gripped his fingers.
“Bless you, son,” she rasped, opaque eyes restive in a face weathered by day after day of hopeless labor on her street corner.
“I have never been a son, grandmother,” he said quietly. “But I will take your blessing, nevertheless.” He returned the pressure on her bony fingers, released her, and continued on his way through the bustle and life that no longer held the sharp fascination it always had for him. He did not wish to ponder the change or how it had come upon him. He did not wish to walk down that road. He knew better than to even consider it.
Malta looked more attractive every minute.
Chapter 21
“Your sister, Lady Savege,” the curate’s wife said in pale tones, “will never be a great proficient, I fear.”
“Won’t she, Mrs. Appleby?” Serena’s voice sympathized.
“She does have the necessary calluses to pluck, you see…”
From behind the doorpost in the corridor, Viola could not see the shadow of a woman, but she knew Mrs. Appleby must be wringing her hands. She had done so through each of her harp lessons. She was an accounted virtuoso on the instrument, but she was a sad shade of a person. Viola thanked God she hadn’t had to contend with women aboard her ship. She would have gone stark raving mad.
Although, of course, Jin already thought she was mad.
“… but she hasn’t the delicacy for it.”
“The delicacy?”
“The grace of poise a harpist must bring to her art.”
“I haven’t got grace of poise,” Viola whispered to the gentleman leaning over her shoulder.
“I would never say so,” he rejoined in a hush.
“But you believe so.”
“I should rather be horsewhipped than admit to it.”
“You are very peculiar, Mr. Yale.”
“A lady has never called me quite that. Dashing. Handsome. Debonair, yes. Peculiar, no.”
“Well, according to Mrs. Appleby I am not a lady, so you are still safe.”
Serena and the curate’s wife turned toward the door. Mr. Yale snatched her arm, then moved forward decorously across the threshold.
“Ah, Mrs. Appleby, we will be so unhappy to suffer your absence but it seems that Miss Carlyle has injured her pinky finger on a… a…” He squeezed her hand.
“Block! That is to say… a pulley!”
“Ah, yes, a pulley”-he shot her a speaking glance-“and thus cannot continue her lessons with you.” He released her and took Mrs. Appleby’s arm upon his. “Allow me to escort you to Lord Savege’s carriage. Albert will see you home himself.” They moved off. “Oh, Albert? Capital fellow, you know. Hasn’t any use for egg spoons, of course, and I cannot blame him a bit for it…”
“He is positively absurd.” Serena drew her arm in to link with her own. “And I think he admires you very much. He would be long gone back to London by now if not for you.”
“He is very nice. I hadn’t remembered gentlemen being so very… so very…”
“Young and handsome?”
“I was going to say silly, but then I recalled that the baron used to play ridiculous games with us. Didn’t he?”
Serena’s face sobered. “He did. I remember those games well.”
A servant appeared at the door and bowed. “My lady, a gentleman awaits you in the blue parlor. He asked to be unannounced, and for you to attend him alone, if you would.”
“How odd.” Then her eyes widened slightly. “Vi, I shall see what this is about and return in an instant. The gardener has cut dozens of flowers and I thought we might make some arrangements.”
“As long as it does not entail sewing or playing a musical instrument.”
Viola wandered to the window and stared out at the ocean stretching to the horizon. The day was blustery, suggesting a summer storm to come. If she were aboard her ship she would have the men batten the hatches and furl the sails, leaving a few aloft to guide her through the wind. She would send three quarters of them below and set a watch in shifts if the tempest raged long. Afterward, she would break out the rum or Madeira, Becoua would play a tune on his mandolin while Sam and Frenchie sang, and they would celebrate making it through yet another danger of life upon the sea.
She sighed, her exhalation condensing on the glass and disappearing just as swiftly. Two months now away from her ship and crew, and… She did not miss it.
She missed Crazy, her oldest friend, of course. She missed Becoua’s steadiness, Sam and Frenchie’s good humor, and little Gui who had cried hearty tears when she departed from Port of Spain. She missed her cozy,
