The Cracksman's Kiss

by Killarney Sheffield

  Kassie wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Oh, Mama. I am not sure I should. I never really fit in as a lady. People will whisper and gossip about the earl dying and leaving everything to the butler. They will think the worst of me.”

  Her mother patted her hand. “They might, but a true lady is the woman who holds her head up high and does what she must to survive.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Kassie removed the apron and hung it on the peg by the fire.

  Her mother smiled. “Perhaps you will meet a handsome young man who will ask for your hand. Then you will not have to stay here and look after your old mother for the rest of your life.”

  Kassie shook her head. “I do not want to ever marry again. I am happy here, looking after you.”

  “You are not happy, Kassandra. A mother knows when her child is heart sore. If I could but go back and undo all that has been done, I would.” Her mother gave her a sad smile.

  She hugged her mother close. “I know, mama, I know. It was my sin that caused my troubles, mine and mine alone. If I have to spend the rest of my life atoning for those sins, then so be it.”

  Her mother pulled away and took Kassie’s face in her hands. “Kassandra, I grew to love your father with all my heart, but I do not love the Bible as he did.”

  “What do you mean?” Kassie tilted her head. She always thought her mother was as pious as her father.

  “I do not believe God is punishing you, just as I do not believe a soul is doomed to walk the coals in hell if they commit a wrong. I understand your love for the comté, even though your father did not, for I too once loved a man and lost him. My father, like yours, pledged my hand to a man I did not know. Soon after our marriage, I met a man who made my heart stir and my body sing. I was going to run away with my lover, but your father found out. My lover disappeared, I never saw him again and have no idea what happened. Nine months later, you were born.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “You deserve to be happy, Kassandra. One day you will find your true happiness again.”

  “Oh, Mama,” Kassie cried flinging her arms around her. “How did you ever overcome the disgrace?”

  Her mother’s sigh ruffled Kassie's hair. “I devoted myself to your father, the church, and doing good. Soon people forgot all about it. Just as people will forget you were ever married to the earl. You will see, in time.”

  * * * *

  Later that night, as Kassie lay down to sleep she pondered the story her mother told her. Perhaps life is not just good and evil, light and dark. Mayhap Cohen was right, she was not wrong to crave love and fulfillment. It was the earl’s mistake for not wanting to love her. The sinking of the ship was not her punishment, but the earl’s way of crushing a love he could not understand. Hell was not the place for someone like her, it was for someone like the earl, who was bitter and hate-filled. She rolled over and peered out the window at the stars twinkling in the heavens. Somewhere up there, Cohen cradled their son in his arms. She would see them again, one day. Until then, she had to take life in her hand and make of it what she could. Closing her eyes, she pictured Cohen cuddling their son and let sleep claim her.

  “Cass, I am coming for you.” Cohen smiled.

  Her feet skipped across the deck of the ship. She had to get to him. He was her happily ever after. The deck seemed to melt beneath her feet, and then she was falling, down, down, down.

  Cohen floated above her with Lucca in his arms. “I am coming for you, wait for me.”

  Kassie bolted up in bed, cold sweat trickling down between her breasts and scanned her surroundings. She was in her room, her trunks packed and waiting by the door for the coach to come and take her to the Dowager’s. It was the same dream as every other night.

  A movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention. “Cohen?”

  The curtains fluttered in the light breeze from the half open window. She climbed from the bed and padded barefoot to it and peered out into the dark. All was quiet. Nothing stirred. Grasping the shutters, she pulled them shut and latched them.

  * * * *

  Kassie curtsied to the Dowager Countess. “Lady Salisbury, I am pleased to meet you.”

  The dowager put her quizzing glass to her eye and scrutinized her. “So, you are the former Countess Everton.” She gave a muted ‘hrump’, and then dropped the glass back into her lap. “You, of course, will need to update your wardrobe.”

  A flush of heat crept up Kassie’s neck and she looked down at her black bombazine dress to hide her mortification. “Yes, Lady Salisbury. I have not had a chance to leave off my mourning as of yet, since I have been busy helping my mama.”

  The dowager nodded and gave her an approving look. “A good and pious girl observes the rules of polite society. After a trip to the modiste for some brighter half mourning clothes, I think you will do nicely. My niece, Charlotte, will be making her coming out in London this spring. However, since she has only her father and a nursemaid to instruct her, I thought it best she spend the winter here with me. It seems she has been her father’s pet and has some rather … coltish ways about her needing to be tamed. You are, I trust, a very refined young lady since you were married to the late Earl Everton. Granted, he was a bit peculiar, I mean, really, hosting all male dinner parties? However, I suppose there is no accounting for taste.”

  Kassie bit her lip. “Yes, Lady Salisbury.”

  “Now, on the subject of pay—you will receive a generous allowance, and I suppose you will need a maid?” She did not wait for Kassie to reply but continued on. “You may have my girl, Sally. I have found a more mature maid I prefer. Sally is just much too young and silly for my tastes, mind you will have to share her with Charlotte.”

  Kassie nodded, trying to hold back her delighted smile.

  “My butler will show you to your rooms. Dinner is at seven and my niece shall be arriving by the end of the week.” She waved her hand in dismissal.

  With a satisfied grin Kassie curtsied and followed the butler to her rooms. She could not wait to share her latest book by the new author, Sir Walter Scott, with Sally. She was pleased to find her maid and friend waiting for her in her bedchamber. “Oh, Sally, this will be like old times. I even brought a couple of new books for us to read.”

  Sally laughed. “Oh good. I have really missed our reading sessions. You are so lucky to have a father who thought it was a good idea to teach a girl to read. My father could not even write his own name.”

  Kassie squeezed her hand. “I have an idea. The Dowager’s niece will not be here until the end of the week, how about I teach you to read?”

  The maid’s eyes brightened. “Would you? Oh, that would be grand,” she breathed.

  “We have a few hours until dinner, why not start now?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cohen cocked his knee and dropped his arm across his eyes as he lay back on the musty mattress. The clock tower clanged outside the tiny square window at the top of the wall.

  He counted the strikes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight. A guard should be making his rounds with the dinner trays soon. Not that the gruel is edible, but at least the bread is not too stale. The little stub of a candle he purchased from the guard for a ridiculous sum of one shilling flickered as an icy breeze slithered into the cell. He sneezed as dust swirled around the tiny room. The air had a crisp, damp feel to it, making him wonder if it was going to rain or perhaps even snow. Did it matter? He would be lucky if he saw the outside of these prison walls by spring, if ever again. It seemed the King did not take lightly English citizens in service to the Emperor, or having a French crew. The King had not heard—or had chosen to forget—he turned over Everton’s stash of stolen goods earlier proving his faithfulness. He wondered how his crew fared. Were they, too, imprisoned here in Newgate, or had their fate been worse than his?

  Shuffling footsteps and the jangle of keys heralded the approach of the dinner guard. Cohen remained as he was, content to let the man leave his tray and go. A squeal of rusty hin
ges announced the opening of the door. He waited for the clink of the tray being set down and the door to shut. Instead, footsteps crossed to his bedside. Something poked him in the ribs.

  Cohen dropped his arm. “If you think to torture me, get on with it already,” he growled, and then opened his eyes to scowl at his aggressor. The ample form towering over him in silence raised a hand, pushing the hood from his head. Cohen found himself staring into Auggie’s grinning face. He swung his legs over the cot and jumped to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hush. I’ve come to break ye out of this hellhole.” Auggie tossed a priest’s robe at Cohen. “Put this on, quickly.”

  “The gaoler will be around soon.” Cohen slipped the robe over his clothes.

  Auggie chuckled. “Nay, he’ll not be coming around for a while with the bump on the noggin’ I gave him.” He winked. “I hope ye do not mind, but I gave yer meal to the man in the next cell.”

  Cohen grimaced. “Mind? Hell, I would pay him to eat it.” He snuffed the candle and followed Auggie to the door.

  They paused on the threshold, pulling their hoods up over their heads. While Auggie relocked the cell door, Cohen slipped to the rail and looked down to the second story. Not a single guard was in sight. Together they jogged down the passageway to the stairs, and then made their way to the first floor. Except for the sound of dripping water and a few noddy prisoners babbling, all else was quiet.

  Auggie led the way along the corridor to the Chapel, ducking inside just as footsteps sounded on the far set of stairs. They pressed themselves against the wall, holding their breaths.

  The footsteps hurried past, then down toward the men’s courtyard.

  “Come on.” Auggie motioned for Cohen to follow.

  Cohen followed him back out into the corridor. “I hope you have a plan.”

  “Aye, a dirty one, but it’ll have to do.” Auggie grinned over his shoulder and led the way to the waste closet at the far end of the cell bank.

  They ducked into it and slid the door shut. The stench was almost overpowering.

  Cohen almost gagged as Auggie pried up the grate with an iron rod. He motioned for Cohen to help and together they lifted the square out of its cradle. Cohen peered down into the feces-filled tunnel and groaned. “This is not how I envisioned my escape.”

  “What goes in must come out, so out we go,” Auggie said, grinning from ear to ear. He lowered himself down into the tunnel until he dangled an inch above the flowing excrement and dropped.

  Cohen grimaced again as the foul sludge rose to Auggie’s hips, and then eased himself over the rim into the hole. He let go, pinching his nose and plunging into the mire. The cold slime came as a shock as it rose to his waist.

  Auggie grinned again and set off down the tunnel following the slow moving flow. Cohen shook his head and followed. If his siblings could see him now; he would be lucky to get the stink off himself before he reached France. Although, he supposed it was better than the alternative of swinging from the hangman’s noose. He strained to see the Scotsman ahead of him in the murky tunnel. “I should have brought the candle.”

  “Did ye ever light yer bodily gases with a candle as a boy, Ashton?” Auggie chuckled.

  Cohen snorted. “No, why?”

  Auggie chortled. “‘Tis better than gun powder, my friend.”

  Cohen groaned, catching his meaning. “It appears there is a great many things I do not know about you, Auggie.” He shook his head as his friend’s snort of laughter drifted back to him.

  They reached the end of the tunnel and found it blocked with a similar grate to the one in the closet. Auggie whistled long and low. A shadow appeared beyond the grate. After a moment a rope was passed through, and Auggie tied it to the bars. He whistled again and they waited. The rope tightened and the iron bars groaned under an unknown force. The rock around the grate began to crumble, and then it jerked free, landing with a splash in the canal beyond.

  Alex appeared at the entrance to the gaping hole. “Bon soir, Comté.”

  “Bon soir, Alex.” Cohen shook his hand.

  Auggie lead the way out of the tunnel and swam across the polluted water of the canal, Cohen and Alex following. They pulled themselves out on the other side and hurried to the horses one of Auggie’s crewmen held. They mounted and the four of them galloped from the outskirts of London. Once sure they were not being pursued, they slowed their pace to a walk.

  Cohen looked over at his friends. “I am forever in your debt, men.”

  Auggie grinned. “I will remember that and recall the favor if we get out of England with our heads intact.”

  “I hope we are going someplace with a bathing tub.” Cohen grinned, wrinkling his nose at their terrible stench.

  “Aye, if ye will settle for an icy stream and a bar of soap.”

  “It might take a couple bars to rid me of this terrible smell.” His mount snorted and tossed its head as if in agreement. “See, even my horse is disgusted.” Cohen’s laughter mixed with that of the other men as they rode into the dark.

  The sun was clearing the horizon when they turned onto a narrow path and followed it until they came to a small clearing where a bubbling brook flowed. After they dismounted, Auggie tossed Cohen a bar of soap and a towel from his saddle bags. “Yer an awful sight for these two eyes.”

  Cohen grinned and looked down at his dry, feces encrusted clothes. “You are one to talk. I hope you thought to bring me some clean clothes.” He looked up as Auggie nodded. They stripped out of their attire and waded into the water. The icy water was a shock to Cohen’s system. “Mother of God, it is cold!” As he scrubbed himself with the soap he looked over at the lone crew member who had not swam in the filth. “You best get a fire going or my manhood with suffer permanent damage,” he jested.

  Everyone laughed, their spirits high with the successful completion of their mission. Moments later, clean but shivering, they dried, dressed, and huddled around a roaring fire.

  “We are going to have to find a way to get through or around London to find Kassie.” Cohen stared into the flames.

  “Nay, the lass is not at her father’s parish.”

  Cohen jerked his gaze from the flames and stared at Auggie. “Then where is she?”

  “I went to the parish. Her father died. Apparently they were given some land outside of Dover. She and the rest of her family left London a few weeks ago.”

  “Dover? Well, that makes things easier. It is only another day’s ride from here.” Cohen smiled.

  Auggie cleared his throat. “Remember Cohen, she thinks ye are dead. It is possible she may have married again.”

  Cohen sobered for a moment. He supposed it was possible. His heart ached at the very thought of his Kassie in the arms of another.

  “First thing we do is eat then we will be on our way.” Auggie rose, went to his saddle bags and pulled out some dried meat, cheese, and bread. He tossed them to Cohen along with a canteen and sat back down.

  * * * *

  They pushed their mounts hard, reaching the little seaside town of Dover just as the sun was setting. Cohen looked up as they turned down the orchard lane they were told led to Widow Lamb’s small farm. The sky was clouding over with the promise of snow. He hoped it would hold off a while longer. They would be pushing their luck to gain passage on a ship and make it back to France before the winter storms set in, if they could find a vessel willing to make the treacherous journey between the two countries. Perhaps it would be better to find a ship headed for Spain or Holstein Denmark and make their way across country to Marseilles.

  As they approached the tidy little cottage a big, hairy sheep dog launched himself from his spot beside the door and loped toward them barking with fierce protectiveness. Their horses spooked and by the time they got them under control the widow herself stood at the doorway, musket in hand.

  She looked back and forth between them with a worried frown. “What business do you have here?”

  Cohen dismounte
d, passing his reins to Alex and held up his hands. “We mean no harm. We are simply looking for Kas—Lady Everton.”

  She swung the barrel of the gun to point at his chest. “What do you want with my daughter?”

  “I am Comté Cohen Ashton.” He smiled when her eyes widened in recognition of his name.

  Her look hardened. “What kind of devilish trick do you seek to play, sir? The comté died in a shipwreck many months ago.”

  He gave her a slight bow. “I assure you, Madame, I am very much alive and well. The tales of my death are a mistake and nothing more.”

  She glanced past Cohen at the big Scotsman. “You there, you must be Auggie Forton, for I cannot picture any who fits the description better of the man my daughter claims saved her life.”

  Auggie nodded, dismounting and giving her a gallant bow. “Aye, I am, Madame.”

  She lowered the gun. “William, come take these horses to water,” she called over her shoulder. A young boy of about eleven hurried from the cottage. He and Alex took the horses and led them around back. Widow Lamb propped the gun against the door jam. “Please, come in while I set a pot of tea brewing.”

  Cohen and Auggie followed her into the cottage. They sat on the worn furniture in the cozy parlor. The Widow Lamb returned from the kitchen within moments with a chipped tea service. They waited in silence as she poured.

  When Cohen could stand it no longer, he asked the question burning in his mind. “Where is Kassie?”

  The widow looked up from pouring and set the pot down. She picked up her own cup and sat across from them. “She is not here, your lordship. What do you want with my daughter?”

  “I have come to take her back to France, to her son.”

  She gasped. “Lucca is alive?”

  “Yes.” He paused, uncertain he wanted to know her response to his next question. “Does she remain unmarried?”

  “She is in service to the Dowager Salisbury, as a companion to her niece, but I beg of you to leave her be. Her heart has been hurt enough. Let her find what happiness she can, now after all the pain she has been through.”