Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  "The alarm is out!" A woman's voice.

  "We'll need a shirt and pants of Jock's," Jamie ordered. "Get them for me and go back to bed. The less you know..."

  The woman lit a candle from coals in the fireplace and handed it to Jamie. "Do you want the horse?"

  "No. Burn these things as soon as you can."

  The woman nodded and moved away into the darkness. Jamie fumbled for a spot on the wood paneling, then gave a push and a small door opened. "Inside," he commanded.

  Charity ducked her head and stepped into a small window-less room, furnished only with a crude table and chair, looking glass, and a low bed. "What is this place?" she asked.

  Jamie closed and latched the door, then began to strip off his clothes.

  "What do you think—"

  "Quiet. Take off your clothes and—" A tap came at the door and Jamie opened it to receive a handful of clothing. He shoved them into her hands. "Take them off, and the moccasins. Put these on. Do as I say! Now!"

  In slow motion, Charity obeyed. Before her eyes, Jamie changed his clothing and began to scrub at the freckles on his face. Twenty years came away with the redhead's features. Taking a bucket of water, he ducked his head in it and the auburn color rinsed away to be replaced with an expensive white wig. Next a tricorn hat and a long coat with silver buttons took the place of the priest's garments.

  The strangest thing was yet to come. Jamie laid a small trunk on the table and opened it, taking out small pots of salve and brushes and paint. Rouge and eyeliner, charcoal and powder transformed the homely old man into a dapper middle-aged gentleman. And when he turned to face her in the candlelight, his voice held the burr of the Scottish Highlands. "Captain Angus MacKenzie at your service, mistress."

  Chapter 8

  "Holy Saint Anne!" she swore. "Who are you, Jamie Drummond? What are you? There's more of Satan about you than a holy father!" She backed away into the shadows of the low-ceilinged room.

  Jamie's laugh was genuine. "There's no witchcraft here, Charity. I told you I traveled with an acting troupe. One of my jobs was to make up the players. I had a good teacher." He grinned. "Quite effective, wouldn't you say?"

  "Effective?" Her tone lashed him. "Effective to pretend to be a priest? To take my confession? You commit sacrilege! And place your own soul as well as mine in danger." She choked back tears of anger. "I trusted you."

  "And I saved your neck! Have you forgotten where you were when I plucked you like Moses out of the water?" His face was deeply flushed under the makeup. "And I didn't hear your confession! I only said God would forgive you."

  "Don't bandy words with me!" she spat. "You're a liar and a cheat. And a smuggler to boot! If you saved my neck, then we're even. I owe you no more!"

  He crossed the room in a heartbeat and took her by the shoulders. "Why, Charity? Why were you there at the Red Boar dressed like that? Why did you risk your life to warn me?"

  His face loomed over hers and she could feel his urgent breath on her lips. In an instant he would kiss her. In vain she tried to twist away. "I was a fool," she whispered. "I heard... I overheard Major Whiggsby tell of the trap to catch the smugglers. I went to your house, but you were already gone."

  "How did you guess?" He pressed his lips into her soft hair. "How did you know that I was involved in the smuggling?" He drew her to him.

  Charity stamped down with all her weight on the arch of his boot. Jamie gasped with pain and she dodged away, putting a chair between them. Her eyes searched for a weapon, and her fingers closed around the handle of a pewter mug. "Come no closer," she warned. "I've dealt with tougher men than you."

  "Charity, listen to me." He took a step toward her. "I didn't want to deceive you."

  "Not much you didn't! Liar! Blasphemer!" She raised the tankard menacingly. "You'll not sweet-talk your way out of this. I'd as soon lay your skull open as blink an eye!"

  Anger thickened his voice. "We've no time for your tantrums! You'll get us both hanged by your woman's hysterics. Finish dressing. We'll talk of this later. What's important now is getting out of Oxford alive."

  "I'll go nowhere with you! I'll bide here until morning. No one will notice a serving maid at daybreak."

  "Would you put a goodwife and her family in danger? No, Charity, I know what's best. You'll come with me. I've given the imaginary captain a reputation for favoring cabin boys. If we hide that hair of yours, and do something about your bosom, we can walk the streets unhindered." He went back to the table. "Let me darken your face a little. Perhaps the hint of a beard."

  "I'll never forgive you for this," she warned. "Never!"

  "Never is a long time."

  In minutes they were back out on the street. Teeth clenched, Charity glanced back at the darkened house, not sure she would recognize it again in the daylight. It was better she did not know the house or the woman who had helped them. She pulled the worn jacket closer around her. Would someone question a fancy boy who wore a coat in summer?

  No one did. They passed soldiers and an angry magistrate, receiving no more than reproachful scrutiny. By a roundabout course, they reached the woods where Charity had left the cart and driver.

  "Wait until I put on my clothes," she whispered. "I'll tell the boy you have business with Master Drummond. He'll take you home."

  "I hate to leave a trail to my own plantation." Jamie hesitated.

  "Better that than to be found on the street at morning with no story. Where is your ship? Your crew?" She scoffed. "As I thought, you are no more than a second-rate smuggler as well. You wouldn't last a month in England."

  "You'll never get into that dress if you don't let me lace you up."

  "Turn around! Have you no shame!"

  "Do you want me to shut my eyes? Be reasonable, woman. You can't get into that rig in the dark without my help." Despite her protests, Jamie came to her aid, buttoning the tiny pearl buttons and smoothing her tangled hair. "That's better. You don't want the driver to think you've been rolling in the hay."

  Charity shoved the boy's clothing at him. "I'm in no mood for your sweet lying tongue! Save it for someone who's a bigger fool than I am."

  "I'm sorry, Charity," he said. "Really I am. When I first met you on the bay I couldn't let you know I wasn't a priest. I was coming from Annapolis. By the time I knew you, it would have been even more dangerous to reveal my identity... dangerous for you. I never meant to involve you." His hand touched her cheek. "It's probably hard for you to believe, but I care for you a great deal."

  "You're damned right it's hard for me to believe."

  "I'm not a thief, whatever you believe. England is bleeding the Colonies dry with her taxes and giving us nothing in return. Maryland will suffocate without goods from other countries—without a market for her products. I'm not alone in this. Most of the best families are involved in one smuggling scheme or another."

  "I've never heard a scoundrel yet that didn't make excuses for his crimes." She brushed away his hand. "Leave me be, Jamie. I want no more of your touch or your words."

  "You liked them well enough before."

  She was conscious of his breathing in the darkness. "Aye. I did. I let my body rule my mind, a thing I have been warned against."

  He caught her roughly against him; his mouth pressed against hers. She could feel the beating of his heart through their clothing. His kiss was urgent—demanding, yet tender. Charity willed herself to give no part of herself in return. He could kiss her lips, but he could not touch her heart if she would not permit it.

  "Darling, don't do this to us," he murmured into her hair. "I was wrong, I know it now. Don't shut me out."

  The cold anger in her brain cooled the rising passion in her blood. Don't listen! a silent voice cried. She wrenched herself away from his embrace.

  "Charity, please," he said hoarsely.

  "I'm through with you, Jamie Drummond," she said coldly. "For the sake of what we were I'll help you to escape, but I want no more of your affection—real or pretended
." Proudly she turned on her heel and walked, back straight, to the place where she had left the boy. The sound of footsteps behind her told her that he followed.

  The ride back to Widow's Endeavor was a silent one. If the boy had questions about the sea captain hunched beside him on the seat, he kept them to himself. Charity had him leave her at the lane.

  "Drive the captain to Bold Venture. Speak to no one. Come straight home and tend the horse. Tomorrow you will be rewarded for this night's work. And if I hear you have a loose tongue... your reward will be to have your back striped and your indenture sold to the Quakers at Marshy Point!"

  "No, Miss Caroline!" he protested. "I won't say nothin' to nobody! You can count on me!"

  "Her ladyship may not know what goes on in the servants' quarters," Charity continued sternly, "but I have ways of knowing."

  "Not a word, Miss Caroline! Upon my soul." He gathered the reins in both hands and slapped them over the horse's back. Edgar the groom had called him stupid, but he wasn't—not by half. He'd not cross the fire in Mistress Caroline's eye by carrying tales. No sir!

  The captain removed his hat and gave an exaggerated salute to the lady. "My thanks for your help, mistress. Mayhap we shall meet again someday." The Highland burr was so thick in his speech the boy could hardly understand him. Charity walked away without a glance backward.

  * * *

  Charity made her announcement at breakfast. Both she and Lady Deale were red-eyed from lack of sleep. Elizabeth had ridden in just as the meal was being set on the table. Elizabeth had assured her that although Lady Edith was badly bruised, no bones had been broken.

  "I left her resting comfortably," she added. "Harry was beside himself. Men are helpless in any crisis."

  "I have decided to marry the squire," Charity said calmly. "The banns may be read as soon as you think proper." Gracefully she took her seat at the end of the table and waited for Elizabeth's reaction.

  Elizabeth sighed and reached across to take Charity's hand. "You look terrible, child. I would not see you wed in sorrow. If you believe you will be unhappy with Richard..." She trailed off, looking intently into the luminous gray-green eyes. "You have become a daughter to me. Believe me when I say I want only what is best for you." She smiled and squeezed the slim hand.

  "The squire is a good man. I think he will treat me fairly and be a good father to my children. I like him. In time... in time I will come to love him as a wife should. I thank you for your concern, but I have taken advantage of your hospitality too long. I think I can make Richard happy. I know I will try." Charity brushed a stray curl away from her cheek. "You have been as kind to me as any mother." Rising, he went to Elizabeth and embraced her. "There are no words to express my thanks for all you have done for me."

  Elizabeth coughed to cover her discomposure and patted Charity's shoulder. "There, there, child!" she said sharply. "We have both benefited. I would not have you feel beholden to an old woman who does what she pleases. You have yet to know the loneliness of a dried-up, aging widow. Now don't cry, you'll ruin the lace on your dress. If you've made a decision, we've a great deal to do, the least of which is to inform the bridegroom."

  Charity returned to her chair and reached for a steaming cup of dark tea. Jamie! His image formed in her mind as her lips formed words to answer Elizabeth. He is a rogue and a fortune hunter! He'll end up dead and take me with him if I let him! She must learn to play a part, to become Caroline. If she played the role long enough, perhaps it would become real. Jamie deceived me. He's a smuggler, a common criminal. The pain was real, but she would shed no tears for him. There was nothing she could do about her heart... it was lost. But a person could do quite well without a heart. What was the word Jamie had used? Effective. Well, her body could be quite effective without her heart. If Richard did not awaken fires of passion in her veins, neither did he bring heartache and betrayal.

  "...the clergy," Elizabeth continued. "I will leave all that to Richard. Since he is a major support of the parish, I am certain..."

  Charity had watched the sun come up from her window, watched as the total blackness was softened by a glimmer of coral, and then brilliant rays of light. She had sat there as one made of marble, motionless, as the anger drained out of her body with the coming of dawn. And with the passing of the night, she released her hopes and dreams. Some things were beyond reach. After what Jamie had done, he was not to be trusted. And without trust, love withers.

  "Eat something," Elizabeth urged. "And then go up and nap for an hour or so. There are not enough hours to do what must be done, and I won't have you sick. We'll have the reception here, naturally. What would you say to having Jamie give you away?"

  "No!" Charity sat bolt upright in the chair. "Not him!"

  "I'm sorry, I'm an old fool. Harry, then. I know he will be delighted. He has no children of his own and he loves anything that smacks of pageantry. It will ensure you a fine wedding gift as well." The older woman chuckled. "Won't Olivia be in a fury? With any luck, she'll have a stroke and you won't have her to deal with."

  * * *

  A week later, Elizabeth called Charity from the garden. "You have a visitor."

  Brushing the grass off her homespun dress, she scrambled up from the flower bed. "Who is it?" Her gray-green eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Not James Drummond?"

  Elizabeth glanced about the garden. "No. It's Father Anthony from Philadelphia. He's on his way to the Carolinas by ship. He was in Oxford for a few days, and Jamie met him there. I believe he has come to hear your confession."

  Charity stared at her in disbelief. "Jamie brought him here?"

  "He did. But he's gone back to Bold Venture. Father Anthony is waiting in the great hall. He has only a few hours before his ship sails. Will you change before you see him?"

  Staring down at the stained dress and worn moccasins, Charity flushed. "Oh, yes... I... I'll just be a few minutes."

  The answer to her unasked question came softly. "This one's a real priest, child. You have my word on it."

  The hour with Father Anthony did much to relieve the pinching of Charity's soul. The guilt which had engulfed her since learning of Jamie's deception had been truly frightening. Father Anthony did not approve of her marriage to a Protestant and warned her that she further endangered her spiritual well-being by entering into such an arrangement. His penalties for her past sins were harsh. It didn't matter. Charity's soul was as clean as a new-scrubbed milk pail.

  Her attitude toward Jamie softened a bit. If she could be forgiven the death of the tanner, who was she to bear a grudge against a fellow sinner? Hadn't he shown his concern for her by seeking out and bringing a real priest?

  It could not, of course, interfere with her betrothal and marriage to the squire. On her left hand she wore the symbol of that pledge, a square emerald set in old gold. She had given her word to Richard. She would marry him and be as good a wife as it was in her to be.

  Her step was lighter and her smile more radiant as the days passed. Richard came almost daily to inform her of the wedding plans. He had not refused to go through a Catholic ceremony if a priest could be found who would perform it. But he did insist that their children be Church of England. Charity kept her own counsel on that. There were no children yet, and when they came... would not a young wife have great influence on her devoted husband?

  Elizabeth had brought a seamstress and two assistants from Annapolis to sew a beautiful gown of lace and satin, sea-green and shimmering and set with tiny pearls. Charity had protested at the cost.

  "Nonsense!" Elizabeth retorted. "What other daughter shall I marry off from Widow's Endeavor? Let me have my fun!"

  The marriage was to be held in Oxford Town. How Richard had soothed the clergyman Charity did not know or care. It was to be a simple ceremony; Lord Beauford and Lady Edith had agreed to witness the ritual. His gift, a heavy purse of silver, had already arrived.

  The gown was completed and the wedding invitations sent and acknowledged. Richard had told he
r there'd been a terrible scene between him and his children when they learned of the wedding. He had assured her that she would be protected financially as soon as she became his wife.

  "I will leave no poor widow, Caroline. You will not be beholden to your stepchildren, you know. They have all had plenty from my estate and shall have more, but they shall not keep you from a fair share." He patted her hand. "I have made a new will."

  "Do not talk of death before our wedding!" Charity protested. "It is unlucky! You will surely live to be a hundred!"

  Richard chuckled good-naturedly. "I told them you were no fortune hunter. No one wishes me a long life more than I do, you know, not with a pretty piece such as yourself to warm the winter of my days." He laughed aloud at her rosy blush. "You are a delight, Caroline. Moreland House will echo with the joy of your coming." He brushed her lips lightly. "I'll save my vigor for our marriage bed!"

  Charity's blush deepened. She was no innocent. She believed that she was one who would come naturally to the art of physical love. Still, Elizabeth's great hall at midafternoon did not seem to be the time or place for such frank discussion. It was hard to think of the squire as husband, and yet that was what he would be in four more days, until death parted them. It would take a great deal of adjustment.

  The dream came back to her and she shifted uncomfortably on the loveseat. She had dreamed of her wedding, and it was so real she had awakened dazed and confused. In the dream, she had been standing before a priest. She had repeated the vows as he instructed, and when she gave her new husband her hand so that he might slip the gold ring on it, she looked up into his face. To her surprise, it was not Richard! It was Jamie Drummond! In the dream, she had protested. She had thrown her bouquet over the altar rail, but the priest had not listened. She had tried to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor. Jamie had smiled at her in that calm, maddening way, and the holy father had continued the ceremony.

  Then Jamie had kissed her. She broke away and ran down the aisle, but the guests were all laughing at her. Jamie called after her, "Come back! Come back!" And then suddenly she was in the water again, and the waves were washing over her face!