Chapter 10
Lost Treasure.
Angelica looked down at her grandfather as he slept. He was so much frailer than he had been, and the knowledge that she would soon lose him tore at her heart.
The room was quiet, the only sound the soft ticking of an ugly ormolu clock that he had liberated from some Spanish ship back in his heyday.
When she had been away at finishing school, her memory of him had reverted to the image she had carried from childhood.
An old man, yes, but one that was still vibrant and strong, who could swing her up onto his shoulders and make her giggle and squeal until her stomach hurt.
His wicked dark eyes, the image of her own, would flash with laughter, delighting in her when she told him of some scrape she’d got herself into, or of the dreadful thing she’d said, forgetting she was supposed to be a lady like her mama.
Pirate blood, that’s what he said. His blood ran in her veins, unlike her milk-and-water mother who had no backbone whatsoever.
Certainly, she was not like her feckless father, who was not half so clever as he thought he was.
Not that she didn’t love her parents. Her mama was sweet and kind to her, and her father was disinterested enough not to trouble her.
But her pops understood her. He understood how difficult she found it to fit in with girls who appeared to be just like her and yet seemed to speak an entirely different language.
No matter how well she learned their words, she never seemed to comprehend their meaning.
She wondered what they would say if they knew her grandfather was the infamous Black Jack Baxter? That, at least, made her smile.
Getting to her feet, Angel straightened the blankets on the bed, tucking them in carefully.
“Angel?”
His voice was quiet and scratchy, and she returned to her seat beside the bed, taking his hand.
“It’s all right, Pops. You sleep.”
He made a gruff sound. “I sleep too much. I want to talk to you.”
“I’ll come back in the morning. It’s late.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly, but he got that stubborn set to his jaw that she recognised far too well. Angel sighed and gave a soft laugh. “Go on, then. If you’re going to get all tetchy and sulk.”
“I never sulk, I get even,” he said, and for a moment she saw the man he had always been glinting in his eyes.
She snorted. “All right, you dreadful creature. What is it?”
He struggled to sit up, and she helped him, her heart breaking a little as she discovered how much thinner he was. She took a long while plumping his pillows and setting all to rights so he would not see the misery in her expression. Any show of sorrow or pity would infuriate him.
Finally, she gathered her courage enough to sit down again. He gazed at her for a long moment. “I was dreaming.”
Angel’s eyebrows lifted. “Should I be hearing this? If it’s about your sweetheart, it might be too rich for my blood. Jenny Preston, wasn’t it?”
He grinned then, swift and devilish, tombstone teeth on display. “Aye, my beautiful Jenny. That’s right.”
“With the sparkling blue eyes,” Angel finished, having heard of his one true love many times before.
“Eye.”
Angel frowned. “Pardon me?”
“Eye, not eyes. Only one eye.”
Angel regarded him sceptically. She had heard many stories about the beautiful ladies who had thronged her grandfather’s life. Not that he ever went into details, but she knew enough to believe he’d cut a swathe through the female population in his day. “Your one true love had only one eye?”
He nodded, a sudden burst of energy brightening his gaze.
“If I tell you a secret, you’ll swear upon your honour to keep it and tell no one, certainly not your parents?”
Angel studied him, suddenly concerned he was getting himself riled up. It couldn’t be good for him. “Of course, Pops, you know I will, but perhaps we should talk tomorrow when—”
“No! Now, damn you.” He brought his fist down on the mattress with surprising vigour. “Don’t try to manage me like your spineless mother does! Not you. I won’t have it. You’ll swear, and you’ll do it properly or I’ll take the secret to hell and tell it to the devil. I’ll be seeing him soon enough.”
Angel swallowed hard, wanting to rage that he should not speak so, because he wouldn’t die, not for years and years.
But it was a frightened child’s response, one that refused to see what was right before her.
So, she steeled her spine when she wanted to weep, knowing her tears would only anger him further.
Instead, she got to her feet and walked to the chest at the foot of his bed.
He kept his treasures here, though not the valuable ones.
Apart from a few mementos, like the hideous clock, he’d sold all else years ago to give his daughter the chance of respectability.
He’d hidden himself and paid for her to have every advantage money could buy, except the good sense to choose a decent husband.
But in the chest were the things that were most precious to him, including a small but exquisitely crafted dagger.
The blade was still razor sharp, and Angel handled it reverently.
It was not the first time they had performed this ritual, one that was more binding to Jack than any notion of honour or legal document.
Sitting back beside him, Angel stared at the blade.
Holding it always gave her an odd sensation, as if it remembered the things it had done, as if the memories lingered, vibrating against her fingers.
It was neither fancy nor ornate, which somehow increased the sense of menace it gave her whenever she saw it.
Light danced along the narrow blade, its surface marked by faint scars no amount of polishing could erase.
The hilt was horn, worn smooth with wear, a laughing silver skull the only embellishment.
Her pulse quickened as she pressed the blade against the soft skin of her thumb, drawing blood.
She made no sound, for Jack did not approve of whimpering and whining.
He lifted his hand to her, and Angel took it, holding it steady now he had not the strength to do so.
He did not so much as blink as she cut his thumb too and pressed her own against it.
She met his eyes, her voice solemn. “I swear upon our blood that I shall keep your secret, that I will never tell my parents.”
“And you’ll never share with them what I give you either,” he told her, his expression intent.
“Your worthless pa has pissed my fortune up the wall. But this… this is for you alone, Angel. Child of my heart. I see myself in your eyes. I know my blood runs in your veins. You’re the only one worthy of it, lass, and what is left of my treasure. It is my gift to you, and you alone.”
Angel stared at him, wondering what on earth this had to do with Jenny Preston. Amusement lit his eyes as she let go of his hand and he settled it on the bed.
“You’ve always wanted an adventure, have you not?”
She smiled at the knowing look he gave her. “Well, I wasn’t planning on taking to the high seas and pillaging my way around the world, but yes. I suppose I have.”
Satisfied, he gave a taut nod. “Then I’ll give you what you seek.
Find Jenny Preston, Angel, and you’ll find the last of my fortune.
I always meant for it to be yours, but now I see I can’t trust your parents to give it to you and my strength is gone.
I’m too old to fetch it for you, or I would, but you’ll do the job, my girl. ”
The lamp flickered on the nightstand, casting his gaunt features with a harsh light that made him look like something risen from the dead, ready to take her with him to the underworld.
On the mantelpiece, the hideous clock chimed the hour, a flurry of tinkling sounds, pretty and silly and totally incongruous.
“You left your fortune with Jenny?” Angel’s voice was incredulous. Her cynical Pops, who trusted no one, had left something of such value with a woman? “But I thought she was dead? Pops, I’m sorry, but the chances of her still having it—”
“Think me a fool, do you, pet?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.
Angel swallowed. No, she would never believe that. “Forgive me.”
He snorted, sitting back against the pillows. “As if you think I wouldn’t. Now, listen. My Jenny was hanged in 1781.”
Angel started, gazing at him in astonishment. Reluctantly her hand crept to her throat. “What for?”
Jack grinned. “Highway robbery. She was on the high toby, my lass, and a fine sight she was with a pistol in her hand. It’s how we met, for she tried to relieve me of my baubles, and I was a bit more than she bargained for.”
Angel laughed softly, not finding it hard to imagine the scene.
“Well, now I’ve got your attention.” He regarded her with satisfaction, his gnarled fingers plucking restlessly at the bedcovers. “Well, you listen good, my pretty little bird. When I’m gone, you’ll fly away from home, and you’ll find where Jenny lies, and there you’ll find my treasure.”
“But how?” Angel protested.
Jack sighed, apparently content now as he closed his eyes. “You’ll figure it out. She came from Edenbridge, though. I’d start there.”
Angel gazed at him in consternation. “That’s it?”
“What do you want, a map with an X on?” he said, his lip curling.
“Well, yes, that would be nice.” Angel glared at him, which was most unsatisfying when he had his eyes shut.
“Stop bleating. You’ll have a ball, and it’s not like I haven’t given you clues enough.
You’ll find my lovely Jenny and my treasure too.
Be sure to take her flowers. She always liked roses.
” He gave a heavy sigh, seeming to diminish before her eyes.
“I was sorry when I found she was dead. She’d been gone near a year before I came back to dry land and discovered it.
Still, reckon I’ll be seeing her soon. Ah, what revels we’ll have then. Me, Jenny, and Old Nick himself.”
He chuckled softly, his breathing becoming slower and deeper as he sank into sleep.