Chapter Two #2
“Agree with everything. I’ll get out of it later if I want to.
Ah, now that is Mrs. Eldridge’s hand, is it not?
She moves in quite the first circles! Express interest in everything she has written, inquire about her stay at Grand Court, and mention Lord Durward’s coming to tea.
And Emily Carlisle’s anxiety over her wretched babies. ”
It was an exhausting couple of hours for Carina.
If Lady Mansel would only have gone away, she could have raced through the correspondence, but as it was, she had to keep everything straight in her head while the woman nattered on about the next unimportant twaddle that she wished to impress upon someone Carina already disliked simply for being associated with Lady Mansel.
But eventually, a maid came in and inquired when her ladyship wished tea to be served. Lady Mansel jumped up.
“Goodness, is it that time already? So it is! Miss Jasper, we will continue with this tomorrow afternoon. I am expecting guests.” She glared at the maid. “Now, Mary!”
While the maid fled, Carina hastily folded and addressed the final letter of the day and Lady Mansel pulled her purse from the desk drawer to rummage through it.
“Just the one hour,” Lady Mansel murmured, “since it was ten past two before we began.”
“Two hours,” Carina said gently. “It’s now a quarter past four according to the clock.”
“Ah. I don’t appear to have... Well, here is for one hour. I’ll give you the rest tomorrow. Try not to be late, Miss Jasper... I hear my guests in the hall.”
She drifted away, leaving Carina with her meagre coin to tidy the desk.
Carina knew better than to expect an invitation to tea. Captain Jasper’s daughter was far too lowly to add to her ladyship’s consequence, except as “My secretary will send you a note...”
It would be a very meagre meal tonight without employing the emergency coins.
On the other hand, tomorrow would be much better.
And, best of all, Carina thought, as she flitted down the staircase to the hall, Papa had not been drinking the whole time.
With luck, Mr. Durward—could he really be the notorious Lord Durward of Lady Mansel’s letters?
—would have distracted him all afternoon.
So, even if Papa had a tipple this evening, he would surely be able to rise early enough to obtain some employment tomorrow. ..
Her natural optimism appeared to have returned, making her smile as she reached for her bonnet from the hallstand.
The sound of a key turning in the door wiped the smile from her face. Hastily, she crammed the bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. With luck, he would stride straight in, without noticing her.
But it seemed she had used up all her luck for the day.
The master of the house entered his domain and saw her at once, even as he turned to close the door behind him.
She hated his smile. False and somehow oily, it touched his eyes with excitement rather than humour or mere pleasure in a person’s company. She hated that he was married to her only source of income, for it meant she could neither avoid him nor box his ears.
“Miss Jasper,” he purred. “How delightful that I caught you.”
“Only just,” Carina said, as lightly as she could manage. “I am on my way out. Lady Mansel has guests.”
If she had hoped his wife’s name would protect her, she was clearly wrong. As she reached for her shawl, she felt him move in behind her, his hand covering hers on the hook. She felt his heavy breath on her neck and her skin crawled.
She slid her hand free and stepped back onto his toes, managing to catch him with both feet before she leapt aside. “Oh, I beg your pardon, how clumsy of me.”
“Flustered, Miss Jasper?” he smirked.
“Just in a hurry,” she replied. “I need to get back to Harwich.”
“You will allow me to drive you. I hear there are some terrible ruffians in the town just now. Did you not encounter such yourself? A young lady alone has no protection.”
Her blood chilled as she raised her eyes to his. How did he know about the attack last night? Was it all around the town? No one but Mr. Durward had been there to help... Had he blabbed about it?
Sir Hugh smiled and placed her shawl about her shoulders. The truth rushed on her. Sir Hugh had been there.
So why had he not helped her?
Because Durward had got there first.
Though Sir Hugh’s hands lingered on her shoulders, she held the ends of her shawl and walked free, almost wrenching open the heavy front door.
“I am unharmed as you see,” she said tightly. “You are kind, but I do not fear for my safety.”
“You should,” he said softly. “For I am right behind you, and I will catch you. One way or another.”
“Lady Mansel awaits you in the drawing room,” she threw over her shoulder and strode from the house, jerking the door closed between them.
She thought she was safe from him following. This time. The servants would have been alerted by the sharp slam of the front door, and he would be more or less forced to the drawing room. But dear God, his threat was getting worse, more blatant...
Or was she letting anxiety build her over-active imagination?
Would any man, let alone Sir Hugh Mansel, go to the trouble of hiring ruffians to attack her, just to play the hero and make her grateful and pliant?
No, he must have witnessed the scene by accident or heard of it from some other unseen observer.
It couldn’t have been her father, surely, for he hadn’t remembered any of it, or even recognized Mr. Durward.
She should not even think about Mr. Durward, except in so far as he might keep Papa sober for a vital couple of hours.
.. If only she could stop worrying about Papa, she could leave Harwich, find a real position with a regular salary, live a life free of this constant worry and shame and fear for her virtue.
All it would take, surely, was a day’s sobriety for Papa to see the light, to understand what he had been doing to himself, and turn his life back around. There was hope, and she was foolish enough or desperate enough to pin that on Mr. Durward.
Until she got home and discovered both her father and Durward gone. So was the bottle.
ALTHOUGH HE HAD BEEN disappointed to see Miss Jasper go out, Durward stayed another hour and more with her father.
He wasn’t quite sure why. Certainly, Captain Jasper was an interesting old boy who had adventured around the world.
Despite his career being in merchant shipping rather than the Royal Navy, he was a gentleman, the younger son of a country vicar.
He had married an Italian wife met on his travels. Hence his daughter’s name being Carina.
Carina. Dear, beloved... Even her name, a caress upon his tongue, fed his growing obsession.
He had to acknowledge that at least half of his interest in Jasper was in fact related to the daughter, she of the angelic face and the fish-wife tongue.
A gentlewoman by birth but not by means.
Nothing was new in this faded house. In fact, it was almost bare.
There were even brighter patches on the walls where pictures had once hung.
As though anything of value had been sold.
And yet Jasper was a ship’s captain. He might not be rich, but he should not be poor.
The man’s growing restlessness, the tremor of his hands, gave Durward the first firm clues. Jasper was indeed a habitual drunk. And his daughter was coping alone.
“Have you retired now?” Durward asked casually.
“Good God, no, I’m not that old!”
Drink aged a man, of course. Durward had seen it in many of Society’s rakehells. “Got a ship in port?” he asked cheerfully.
“As a matter of fact, I do, a gallant little vessel she is too! The Queen Marie.”
“For Marie Antionette?”
“Of course.”
“I’d love to see her,” Durward said.
“Another day,” Jasper muttered, rising to his feet. “Afraid I’ve got too much to do today.” He paced to the window, looking anxiously up and down the street.
“Do you expect Miss Jasper back soon?”
“Not before dinner,” Jasper said without interest. “She’ll be up at the Manor.”
“Mansel Manor? Is she a friend of Lady Mansel’s?”
Jasper gave a sour smile. “You might call it that. Her ladyship relies on my Carina. I suppose they’re friends of yours?”
“No, actually. I ran into Mansel in the Black Lion yesterday evening. Not long after I met you. Amiable fellow, invited me for tea with his wife.”
“Off to the Black Lion now, are you?” Jasper said hopefully.
“Not yet,” Durward said, finally taking the hint and getting to his feet. “Got a few things to arrange at the bank before I sail.”
“Where did you say you’re going? Portugal?”
“In the first instance,” Durward said vaguely, allowing the captain to conduct him into the little hall. He retrieved his own hat, thanked Jasper for his hospitality, and departed. The curtains in the street twitched.
HAVING ARRANGED FOR the ability to draw funds from a bank in Lisbon, Durward went to the harbour to try and interest himself in his escape to Portugal, by the sights and sounds of foreign crews, exotic cargoes, and seamen’s tales. A new life in a new country was just what he needed.
Except he kept seeing Foster’s white face as he lay on the grass dying.
Foster was still dying. Or at least, Durward supposed he was since Calton hadn’t yet written to warn him that Foster had croaked. Once he did, Durward would be arrested for murder.
From Portugal, Durward could sail for the New World if he chose.
He wanted to escape. Didn’t he? Like Snake Sanderly from all his detractors.
Except that Durward had always had the feeling that Snake was maligned.
Durward had always rather liked him. On the other hand, Durward was not maligned.
And he was not killed. Foster was the one about to die, and Durward the one to flee.
That hadn’t been meant to happen. And now Durward was as bored with the fact as he was by the prospect of his continued life.
He paused before the ship that would carry him to Portugal and found it remarkably uninteresting too. So he walked on, looking out for Captain Jasper’s vessel.
He stopped some harbour functionary, hurrying busily past him. “Your pardon, sir, but where might I find the Queen Marie?”
“The what?” asked the harassed official. “Never heard of it. Where’s it bound?”
“I don’t know that it’s bound for anywhere. I believe it belongs to a Captain Jasper.”
The official blinked. “Jasper? Are you looking for a tug? You’d be best to—”
“A tug?” Durward interrupted. “Are you telling me Jasper is captain of a tugboat?” No wonder he called it a gallant little vessel.
“For all the good it does him. Good afternoon, sir.”
Durward walked thoughtfully back to the Black Lion, where he ensconced himself in the tap room and encouraged a bit of gossip.