by Edith Layton
He put his hand on his heart before he swept Sophia a low bow, and then rose and stood staring at her with deep appreciation. With good reason, Cristabel thought nervously. Sophia was a vision in pink and white: a tiny, pretty lady, demure and just a little flirtatious as she hid her dimpled pleasure at his compliment behind her fluttering fan the way only a fine lady could. And Black Jack, Cristabel thought with real anxiety, looked every inch a gentleman, and more, for now he even spoke like one, his voice smooth and low and filled with the secret knowing amusement that was the mark of a fine gentleman as well as a scamp.
“Master Jarvis is an old friend of mine,” Cristabel said at once, “from the Islands.”
“My interests lie in shipping, my lady,” Black Jack said smoothly, his eyes slewing from one woman to the other, enjoying Cristabel’s distress as much as Sophia’s attention.
“Aha! Like Cristabel’s papa?” Sophia said with a trill of laughter, as though it were wildly funny to even try to imagine this fine gentleman at the helm of a pirate ship.
“Ah—no. Not quite,” Black Jack said with a wide grin, as though he, too, found it ridiculous to be compared to a pirate.
Cristabel wanted to slap one of them and kick the other. “Take a better look, my lady; you also met him here in this very parlor the night before that,” she said angrily.
Sophia’s eyes grew wide as she finally recognized Black Jack. Well, now she’ll scream and Jack will have to hop it, Cristabel thought with cynical pleasure. She knew he’d get away in time, because he was as quick as he was bold, and very careful of his neck. But she was afraid for her ears. Sophia might screech the house down once she realized she’d been openly flirting with the ragged pirate she’d watched with so much awed caution before. But she didn’t. After an instant of shocked surprise, Sophia’s smile grew sly and knowing.
“My compliments,” Sophia told Black Jack. “A transformation indeed.”
“Ah, no, my lady, not really,” he answered, “for a fellow does what he has to in order to get ahead in the world. What are a gentleman’s garments, after all, but a disguise for the condition of his heart and his mind? Are there not gentlemen with the hearts of pirates? Aye, and so why not the reverse? Under my rags, my heart was as true to the code of a gentleman as it is now: because I am as pledged to honor, self-control, loyalty, and honesty as ever I was before. Only now I can show it to the world.”
He bowed again, but his curling smile was for Cristabel. To her astonishment, it grew wider with her anger. He was a pirate through and through. Not only was he a thieving magpie, plucking a person’s words and taking them for his own, Cristabel thought wrathfully, but the rogue could talk straight as she could if he wanted.
Her anger faded to real concern when she saw Sophia’s delight. She knew Black Jack for what he was, and Sophia didn’t. Sophia was very young for her years, and moreover she was neglected by her husband. And the fact that she had asked him to neglect her hardly mattered. Nor did it make any difference if she really was as captivated by Black Jack as she seemed to be or was just looking for a way to annoy her husband. Jack was too dangerous to use as a toy, as dozens of island girls and scores of more experienced wenches could testify. Cristabel didn’t like Sophia. But she didn’t wish her any harm either.
“You can show them everything you like except for your name, matey,” Cristabel told Black Jack harshly, “less you want your fine gentleman’s heart to follow your neck up when it gets stretched by a noose.”
“I’m touched by how much you care,” he said.
“Blast it, Jack!” Cristabel erupted. “’Tis no joking matter. Nor be it any of your business neither, m’lady,” she told Sophia, “so I’ll thank you to be leaving us now.”
Sophia blinked. “You’re asking me to leave you alone with a strange man in my own house? And you an unmarried girl? I’m sure Magnus would be fascinated to hear it.”
“Aye, that he would be. And so would Martin, I’d bet,” Cristabel spat.
“Ladies, ladies, don’t fight over me,” Black Jack said in delight.
“Better us than the viscount, or the mob,” Cristabel said. Then she sighed. “Look you, Jack,” she said, “there’s no sense in talking more now anyway. You know what I want. And you know I’ll get it even if you don’t help me. So if you really do have a care for me, you’ll deliver, and soon.”
“Aye, there’s truth.” he admitted. “Tonight then. Late tonight.” He glanced at Sophia again, but there was no flirtation, only cold calculation in his eyes. “Can you trust the lady to keep her tongue in her mouth about it?”
“No,” Cristabel said, “but I’ll keep watch over her until then, and I’ll cut it out of her mouth if I get even a hint that she’s going to spill it to anyone.”
“That’s good,” he said, and Sophia gasped. He clapped on his tricorne, bowed, and was gone out the door.
“I thought he liked me,” Sophia said nervously after he’d gone.
“Aye, so he does. But he likes his own self more. Most men do. Remember that now, and forevermore, my lady. There aren’t many Martins lying thick on the ground in this world.” Nor Magnuses either, Cristabel told herself wearily. So she had to do what she could to preserve them. She hoped what she learned tonight would help do that.
*
Martin and Sophia were in their separate beds, and Magnus had long since gone after their dinner together, when a footman came and told Cristabel that there were some persons to see her in the kitchens. She hadn’t undressed and so she came quickly downstairs, holding her single candle before her. The house was dark and sleeping all around her, but it was very lively in the kitchen.
At first she thought there were over a dozen men there. But once her eyes had sorted out the shadows and the eye patches, the grinning faces and broad shoulders, the bandannas and the gleaming gold teeth, she realized there were only five pirates and Black Jack himself waiting for her there. They were all grinning—and eating and drinking and sitting and lounging all around Cook’s clean kitchen, brandishing chicken legs like dirks as they talked, and swallowing down mugs of ale for emphasis. She was met with a murmur of general approval. Quiet approval. Pirates were the noisiest men she knew, as a rule. But they were also very good at holding their breath and moving like cats when they had to, because the sea picked up sounds and magnified them on still nights. Stealth was as much a part of pirating as roaring and cursing was.
“Gentlemen,” Cristabel said, nodding at them, which amused them all no end.
She colored, remembering herself. “Aye, mateys,” she said a little more gruffly, “so then, how you be, eh?”
A soft chorus of “fine, fine” greeted her, and she relaxed.
“I asked Jack here to bring you to me tonight, ’cause I got meself a vexing problem,” she said, leaning back against a carving block and fingering the edge of a knife she picked up from it. “Seems someone tried to do Magnus, Viscount Snow, last night. I was with him on the Strand when a horseman came straight for us, riding like the wind. The viscount would have been pounded to fishbait, and me with him, if he hadn’t moved quick and saved us both. Now, I know you lads had a go at him once before, and I understand why you thought you had to then—although there was no need for it, as you’ve likely discovered by now. What’s done is done and no blame given for misunderstanding, and none taken neither, is me motto and me father’s. The same applies here.
“The question be: Who has a quarrel with him now? Speak, and we’ll hear it out. Keep it to yerself, and there’ll be trouble sure to follow. I am my father’s daughter.”
“And I am her dear friend,” Black Jack said quietly, but menacingly.
“As am I—as well as being understandably especially concerned,” Magnus said from the darkened doorway.
They all tensed and turned to look at him as he strolled into the room. He carefully plucked the knife from Cristabel’s fingers. “I think I’d best not take any chances with your temper, from the look of things,” he mu
rmured to her before he faced the others. “Gentlemen and pirates,” he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, “I give you good evening. I knew you were here because I’ve had the place watched since the episode on the Strand. I didn’t expect mayhem, but I refuse to miss out on plotting—fine coat, by the way,” he remarked to Black Jack.
“Thankee. You’re wide awake, all right, even though you always look like you’re half-asleep,” Black Jack said grudgingly.
“You’d be surprised what you can learn if the world thinks you’re sleeping,” Magnus said, and then added. “But don’t give me too much credit; half the time I am bored to near oblivion by life. Or was—until Mistress Stew came into mine.” He saw her blush, and looking very pleased, he addressed the pirates again. “Now then, I’ll repeat Mistress Stew’s question, and add only one thing to it: The man who brings me information about the mad horseman will be well paid for his efforts.”
Magnus hadn’t expected much more than a silent calculated interest in what he offered. He certainly didn’t expect the tense, angry silence that greeted his announcement. It was broken by an older pirate, whose one good eye glittered with something less than anger but more than tears.
“Keep yer gold, me lord,” he rasped, “fer no man jack of us would take a penny piece for doing a favor fer Captain Whiskey’s dotter, we wouldn’t. We ain’t gents, to be sure,” he said, making a mocking bow, “but we be men of honor in other ways. We look after our own, we do.”
Magnus look unperturbed. “Well then, I salute you. But do you know who attempted it?”
They eyed each other cautiously, and satisfied by what they saw—or didn’t see—the pirates started mumbling and talking all at once. There was a ragged chorus of “no’s” and “dunno’s” until the older pirate spoke up again. “We dunno, lordship. But we’ll find out who done it—lessen it were just some drunken sprout out on the town with no cares in his fool head, but no malice neither.”
“That’s what I hope it will be,” Magnus said smoothly.
“But there be something else,” the old pirate said. “We be sorry fer mixing it up with you when last we met, lordship. But like she says, we didn’t know better then.”
“Aye,” another pirate said with a sharkish grin, “and old Redfish here”—he jerked at thumb at their spokesman, who suddenly looked as embarrassed as a weathered old pirate could—”decided to spend the night playing lift-leg with a bar wench and let us hammer the wrong man.”
“I said I were sorry, didn’t I?” the old pirate snapped. “Leave it be, or be prepared to show steel, here and now!”
“I were only commenting,” the other pirate muttered, subsiding.
“Aye. Be that as it may,” the old pirate said, sheathing his knife and turning back to Magnus with exaggerated calm, “there be no question that yer brother fair diddled the captain, and he be vexed, I be sure, but he is a fair man, just the same. He don’t hold no grudges; that, I will tell you. Now, we wants to know, so we can tell him: Since she ain’t wed, when will she be coming back? It were never his plan to strand his dear dotter alone in London town.”
“A lot you know of his plans, Redfish!” Cristabel shouted. “I’ll bet he never told you a word of them. Besides, you haven’t seen him since I have, and the lads that went back home to report to him can’t have returned to London yet unless they rode back on a waterspout. So why are you worrying? Come to think of it, why haven’t you gone back neither?”
“Aye, well, but,” the pirate said, looking down with sudden interest at his boots. “See, your father be retiring soon, so to speak, Cristabel, and so we be getting ourselves a new captain soon too…”
“Ah,” Cristabel said, “I do see. Black Jack,” she said angrily, “you tell these lads right here and now, where I can hear and see it, that I be plotting me own course from now on.”
Black Jack put his hands in the air. “Got me in your sights, luv? All right. Leave off, men. The lass is to do what she wants. And I have the word of the Viscount Snow here, word of a gentleman, that is—which he holds to be a powerful thing—that he’ll be looking after her, and seeing that she comes to no harm, at anyone’s hands, until she do make up her mind. Don’t I, me lord?”
Magnus nodded. “You do,” he said.
“That be meaning not only no harm, but no advantage of any kind be taken of her,” Black Jack said carefully.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Cristabel muttered, turning pink.
“My word on it,” Magnus said, and thrust out his hand.
The two men shook hands over the butcher block, while Cristabel muttered words neither of them knew she knew. Then the pirates relaxed, and took some more chickens and hams from the larder, and broke out bottles of red wine. The pirates shrugged out of their long coats, and Magnus and Black Jack took off their coats and loosened their collars. If any servants saw or heard the viscount visiting with his odd company, they were wise enough to keep it to themselves. The men lounged and laughed and talked softly together, telling tales and swapping lies so amiably that Cristabel, sitting and watching them, began to see no difference between the lordly Magnus and the newly respectable Black Jack, and all the pirate crew. That’s when she realized how sleepy she was and left them all to go to her own bed. She may have muttered something about a pox on them all when they laughingly bid her good night, but as she left the kitchen, she had to conceal her tender—almost tearful—smiles.
* * *
“This time,” Magnus said sternly, a few days later, “you will ride in a sedan chair, and you will stay by my side when you get out of it, and you will not stray from me after that, not once. Not even to take care of personal matters, so if there’s anything you must attend to, do it now.”
“I am not a child,” Cristabel said sweetly, drawing on her gloves, “and it’s not me that has an enemy—if there is one. So staying at your side might be the death of me.”
“No,” he said with a tender smile, as he looked down at her, “it’s you who will be the death of me, that’s certain. But I grant it’s an interesting question. If you’d like to debate it, we will. However, if you’d like to go to the theater instead, you’ll accept that I’ve won the debate, and agree to my terms.”
He stood and waited for her answer. She longed to argue. But she also yearned to go out with him tonight, and to be easy in his company. He looked so handsome in his new gray coat.
“Oh aye,” she muttered, gracelessly, “you win.”
When he didn’t speak or make a move to the door, she said, growing red-faced, “And I don’t have to ‘take care of anything else.’ But since I’m fairly bristling with knives, I’d think you’d be afraid to have me quite so close to your side,” she added saucily, because she hated to give an inch without getting back some of her own.
His lips twitched. “Thank you,” he said, “I’ll remember not to get too near…right away, that is. As I recall, even hedgehogs can get close to each other, once they get the hang of it. And they can get very close, in fact, or else there wouldn’t be any more hedgehogs.” Then smiling at her blushes, he went to the door and had the footman summon sedan chairs for her and Sophia.
Martin and Sophia went with them, but ahead of them, silent and suspicious of each other, as was usual these days. Cristabel settled herself in her chair and looked out at Magnus, who walked by her side. It was a cold, still night, but clear enough so that the stars were bright above. Cristabel felt a thrill of excitement. It was her first visit to a London theater. The only plays she’d ever seen had been performed by traveling players in the marketplace, or at night, in loud and smelly theaters lit by flaring torches and punctuated by loud and frequent catcalls and comments from a drunken audience. This promised to be both lavish and civilized. But the prospect of a night at the theater wasn’t what pleased her most.
He strode beside her and told her about the play, each word a puff of smoke on the frosty night air. She hardly listened. It was all too good to be true. The scare th
ey’d had last week had come to nothing; neither lord nor pirate had discovered anything amiss. But it wasn’t just the absence of that fear that was so wonderful, it was the absence of all fears. She was free, and in England, and with him, and she wasn’t worried about anything but her appearance tonight. And he had already told her she looked lovely.
The street in front of the theater was filled with people and horses, sedan chairs and carriages, so they had to be let down at the fringe of the mob. Sophia and Martin stood waiting for them at the curb. Magnus helped Cristabel out of her chair, and kept her close as he paid the sedan men.
The man appeared from out of the dark as Magnus turned to take Cristabel’s arm. He was cloaked in black, with a black tricorne pulled down over his eyes. But not far enough to blind him. Cristabel saw the glint of torchlight shine on his eyes as he looked at her and Magnus, and then with sudden terrible clarity saw the man’s hand come out from under his cloak with a long-nosed pistol in it.
She reached for her own pistol, even though she knew, in that weird slowing of thought and time that happens in moments of crisis, that she would be too late. She thought she screamed a warning. But the sound was drowned out by the roar of the pistol. For a moment she thought she was hit, because of the sudden flash of noise and pain as she stumbled back and the utter blackness that came before her eyes. But then she realized the brief pain was from the shock and the jolt to her body because she’d stumbled when Magnus shoved her out of harm’s way and stepped in her place to face the assassin alone. The darkness she’d seen in front of her was only because she’d seen nothing but his broad back as he positioned himself to stand between her and their attacker as he fired back at him. The rest was all confusion until Magnus staggered back a step, swearing beneath his breath, before he wavered and fell to his knees at her feet.
Sophia was screaming and Martin was reaching for his sword as the assassin, a hand to his chest, turned to run. There was another flash of fire and clap of thunder and the attacker kicked forward, before he spun around to stare at Cristabel, openmouthed in surprise. Blood rushed from his gaping mouth, and he, too, fell. That was when she realized she held her own smoking pistol in her hand. It was hot and her hand was numb from the recoil of it, so she dropped the pistol to the street before she fell to her own knees and sought Magnus in the dark.
