Taking the casket to a secluded churchyard, Pitney laid it beside an open grave and informed the rector of his delivery and of the burial on the morrow. Then he proceeded in all haste to bear the news to his mistress.
Ralston was at the townhouse, and Shanna seemed impatient. Pitney felt himself growing awkward, not knowing how to tell her without Ralston overhearing.
Finally Pitney stumbled out, “Yer husband—” he twisted his tricorn in his hands as Shanna gasped and stared at him with new attention—“yer husband—Mister Beauchamp—”
Ralston’s brows lifted with interest.
“ ’Tis been taken care of, and the prior has set the time for two hours after midday on the morrow.”
What began as a sigh of relief ended in tearful sobs as Shanna hid her face and fled. Mounting the stairs, she darted into her bedchamber and slammed the door behind her, closing out the world as she leaned against the portal. A dull ache knotted within her chest, and as she stared at her bed she almost wished it could have been different. Now her widow’s role was true. Sadly she regarded herself in the tall looking glass, waiting for a feeling of triumph, but strangely it never came.
THE MARGUERITE, LIKE THE daisy for which she was named, was small and somewhat plainly crafted. She was a Boston-built, two-masted brig, longer, lower, and slimmer than the English ships that shared the slip with her. The cargo that overflowed her hold was lashed down in every available spot. The weight of the cargo lowered the hull in the water until the brig’s main deck was only a pike’s length above the cobbled surface of the pier. Her captain, Jean Duprey, a short, stocky Frenchman, was as sudden of smile as of frown and flourished a quicksilver wit that made him likable to his crew. His years in service to Trahern numbered six, and if he had a fault it was that he had a great weakness for women. He knew every plank of the ship, every nook and cranny beneath the deck, and he saw every space fully laden with cargo. The Marguerite was small; but there was a well-scrubbed and newly painted look about her that spoke of loving care, and her canvas, though mended, was sound.
This was the end of the trading season in the northern climes. Goods for Los Camellos left in the Trahern warehouse were to be divided between the Marguerite and a much larger, grander ship, the Hampstead, which would set sail in December. Odds and ends of cordage, pitch, and tar went to the smaller vessel, along with other much-needed everyday items. Of special interest were four long, slim barrels carefully crated and treated with much respect by the handlers. Captain Duprey himself made sure they were securely stowed in the main hold. Trahern had ordered cannons from a German gunsmith, and it was rumored they could shoot twice as far as any gun yet cast. The squire would be put out if harm came to them.
The wan sun had lowered, and the day grew cold, bringing up vapors from the waters of the Thames. Final preparations for the following day’s sailing were being rushed, for soon the gray vapors would join and form into a dense hazardous fog that would end the labors. Shanna’s trunks were hoisted aboard, the larger ones going to the hold, while the smaller ones, containing those things necessary to meet her needs on the voyage, were placed in her cabin, recently vacated by the first officer and the mate. These accommodations proved scant; the cabin hardly provided room for Shanna and Hergus to move about at the same time. As the only women aboard they would share the tiny compartment. A sturdy iron bolt had been placed on the inside of the door by Pitney, limiting the prospect of unwelcome visitors. Any ideas the men might have had concerning the two women were quickly dispelled, for the servant hung his hammock on the deck near the passageway leading to their cabin. Though Pitney was not in sight now, both Shanna and Hergus had no doubt their safety aboard the vessel was guaranteed, if not by the knowledge of the justice that Trahern himself would mete out upon any who injured or seriously offended his daughter or her maid, then by the sure and certain fact that Pitney’s revenge would come far more swiftly.
The fog had slowed much of the activity aboard, and a sense of impatience grew. Standing beside Hergus at the rail, Shanna felt the mood of the crew and captain as well, but laid it to her eagerness to be gone from London and homeward bound. Attending the burial of Ruark had been a highly distasteful task. It had proven difficult explaining to Ralston why the Beauchamp family was not in attendance, and finally she had insisted that it was her own wish for a private service, and, as she had naught but a few days left in England, the Beauchamps had conceded to her desire, granting the new bride that last privilege with her husband.
It was Ralston whom they waited for now, Ralston and the bondsmen he had gone to collect. It had long been the agent’s practice to beat the alleyways and inns until the last possible moment for those who would accept bondage for a chance to be free of the squalor of London Common. In these times of relative peace there were hands aplenty to be had, though few of any worth. Some in the past had even been purchased from debtor’s prison, but the good workers were those who sought to better themselves. These were the ones the squire valued, and he had often voiced his objection to a man taken into bondage against his will and had sternly instructed Ralston along these lines. Yet there were new cane fields to harvest, and the urgency for more hands was acute.
The last of the cargo had been stowed and hatches closed and secured against the morrow’s sailing. As the heavy mist drifted across the deck, the slight creaking of the ship and the slow lap of water against the pier seemed the only touch with reality. Lanterns on the dock below were pale islands in the surrounding blackness. Lights hanging on the bow of the ship ebbed and brightened like twinkling stars. Somewhere in the shreds of the mist, the laughter of a man mingled with a shrill feminine giggle, sounding eerie and strange in the stillness. But as the revelry faded, the silence closed in again like some tangible thing.
Shivering with the chill that penetrated her woolen gown, Shanna snuggled deeper into the green velvet cloak, lifting a stray lock of hair off her neck and tucking it into the smoothly coiled knot at her nape before raising the hood to cover her head against the dampness.
A rattle of wheels on the cobblestones sounded below, and Shanna leaned over the rail as a wagon drew out of the thickening haze and halted near the ship. Ralston’s landau was close behind, but the two vehicles were only dark shadows in the fog. Shanna had to strain to recognize the thin, bony frame of her father’s agent as he directed the unloading of the bondsmen. Then the clanking of chains stabbed Shanna’s awareness, and she drew a sharp breath as she realized that the men were fettered hand and foot and to each other. Therein lay much of the difficulty, for the iron lengths were not long enough to allow just one man to descend alone. There were stumbles and falls as they filed out. Prodding by the several guards did not help the situation, nor did the hearty curses they applied with verve, warming Shanna’s ears considerably.
“Why must he chain them?” Shanna snapped as Hergus leaned over the rail to have a look.
“That I wouldna know, mum.”
“Well, we’ll see if he has a good reason.”
In rising temper Shanna descended the gangplank and strode toward Ralston, a growing desire to vent her rage urging her on as she sought his dark shape in the mist.
“Mister Ralston!” Her voice crackled with ire.
The agent swung about quickly and, seeing Shanna approach, hurried to intercept her.