The Black Rose

by Christina Skye

  "I — I don't know, Letty. I must have passed out after reaching my room. I remember it was dark and ..." Tess's brow furrowed as she saw the candle flickering on the side table.

  "Hawkins must have brought it, miss. He had a key this time too. Hobhouse tried to stop him, but the officers pulled Hobhouse away.

  When we came back, we found him sprawled in the corridor. Out to the world ..." The woman's voice trailed away.

  Tess shivered, feeling cold fingers of fear brush her spine. How close had she come to violence at Hawkins's hands this night?

  Her eyes dropped to the pewter candlestick on the floor and her breath caught sharply. Could she have used that on her squat intruder? If so, why couldn't she remember?

  White-faced, she looked up at Letty, who only shrugged.

  Holding her dress closed with cold fingers, Tess slid from the bed and walked to the window, watching rain lash the roof in sullen sheets. For a moment a ragged bolt of lightning shimmered out over the marsh and then disappeared.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something glisten on the carpet. Slowly she bent down, picking up a key which had fallen just beneath the window.

  Her key. She didn't even need to test it to know it would slip effortlessly into the keyhole.

  Dear Lord, what was happening to her? Asleep, she was haunted by savage dreams, only to wake to a greater horror.

  But she would not give in — neither to Hawkins nor anyone else. Her shoulders stiff and resolute, Tess faced the suffocating sense of helplessness and fought it down, just as she had done so many times before. Where terror had once gripped her, now fury began to blaze. Her eyes snapping, she thought of Amos Hawkins's fat fingers probing her dress.

  No more! she swore. Never would she run. Never would she give in by even a single inch — to anyone or anything! The Angel was hers, and Fairleigh too.

  If smuggling was what it took to keep them, she'd spirit a cargo of brandy past the ghost of Mr. Pitt himself!

  * * * * *

  "The filthy pig! How dare he do this?"

  The next morning Tess stood staring down in rage and disbelief at a mound of linens and towels slashed beyond any hope of repair. "Where is he?" she demanded as Hobhouse came to stand beside her.

  "I laid him out on a table in the taproom, Miss Tess. He woke up the same way he went to sleep, I should imagine — snarling and ugly. Took himself off with much cursing and vows of retribution. He had a knot on his head the size of Maximilian's beak, by the way. I don't suppose you'd happen to know where he got it?"

  "I don't remember a thing," Tess said with perfect sincerity. Then, as her eyes returned to the torn linens, she muttered a curse beneath her breath. "I only wish I'd hit the bloody swine harder!"

  Twenty minutes later she tooled her little gig through the narrow streets of Rye, the wind whipping her long hair and tossing auburn strands into her eyes. Her blood still boiled at the thought of Hawkins's arrogance, but Ravenhurst's cool mockery was worse.

  The man was vile! He was insolent. He was —

  She slowed her horse, smiling a greeting to a pair of ancient dowagers who had been friends of her mother.

  He was despicable, degenerate, and depraved! Worst of all, he was dangerous.

  Tess's hands tightened on the reins. Thank God he hadn't recognized her as the soot-faced urchin from the alley. When he discovered that ...

  If, she reminded herself sharply.

  And then, with a defiant little shrug, she cracked her whip and sent her horse bowling along the Winchelsea road toward Fairleigh. Her cheeks glowing, she sped through green fields dotted with fat Sussex sheep. It was a scene of timeless peace and heart-stopping beauty.

  And Tess saw none of it.

  Instead she saw before her a pair of cold eyes that promised deadly vengeance. But she would teach the cursed Londoner a few things, Tess swore, the first being that she was a dangerous person to provoke.

  Her thoughts were still agitated when she reined in her horse and turned up the tree-lined drive to Fairleigh. Halfway up the hill, she stopped and jumped down, tossing the reins to the old servant who came ambling over the lawns.

  "You can put her out to graze, Thomas. I'll be up at the priory."

  To his credit, the old man asked no questions, only shook his gray head and mumbled darkly under his breath while he led Tess's roan mare away. He'd been at Fairleigh twenty years now — long enough to know that strange things went on in the hills above the priory's weathered stone walls. Thomas was wise enough not to mention them, however.

  Like everyone else, the taciturn old servant had lived long enough on the marsh to know that those who ask no questions are told no lies.

  * * * * *

  The sun was warm on Tess's shoulders as she sped up to the sun-drenched walls of the priory, on the crest of the hill. She would have a look at the manor house later, but first she meant to see how Jack was faring.

  Rounding a high wall of weathered stone, Tess turned around to be certain she was not being watched. Then, satisfied that she was quite alone, she bent down and tugged at a small stone near the base of the wall.

  There was a faint click; a narrow crack opened above the stone. Quickly Tess reached in and released the latch hidden below.

  A moment later a long rectangular section of the wall opened out into a door.

  Stale, cold air whispered out of the dark passage. Somewhere far below a man coughed urgently, then broke off in a raw, grating moan.

  Jack!

  Her heart pounding, Tess plunged down the passage, following the faint trace of light until the long, timber-lined tunnel opened onto a room of stone. Lying in one corner, tossing restlessly on his pallet of straw, was the white-haired man known as the Romney Fox.

  Without a word, Tess sank down beside her friend, gathering his cold hands between her fingers. His face was strained and pale, she saw, and his eyes glassy with fever.

  "Tess? Is that you, lassie?" Jack's black eyes blinked and then narrowed on her face. "Of course it is," he added in an undertone. "No one else knows this place's secrets, save for yourself." Suddenly he stiffened, racked by another spasm of coughing.

  Helplessly Tess watched, unable to do more than smooth the wool blankets around him.

  Finally the coughing subsided. Slowly the white-haired smuggler opened his eyes, only to fix Tess with a furious glare. "Now then, lassie, I'll have some answers from you! What in God's name were you thinking of? That fool Hawkins might have had us both last night, and today would see us dancing from a rope! Are you so ready to meet your maker?" he demanded harshly.

  Tess's fingers tightened on the blanket. "I've every intention of living to a ripe old age, Jack. And of making enough money to repair Fairleigh's faded glories. In the meantime, however, I've an inn to run and my father's creditors to be repaid. Can you tell me any other way to do it?" she countered, her gray-green eyes challenging.

  The smuggler scowled. " 'Tis no life for a woman, Tess, and certainly not for a lady such as yourself."

  Tess only tossed her head angrily. "Fine words, Jack, but who's to pay for those silk dresses and gloves of kid leather? Who's going to keep the Angel in brandy and new linens? Who's going to keep Ashley —"

  "Ashley?" the man said with a snort. "The lad should be here helping you, lass, not raking about with that lot of ne'er-do-wells, fine school or nae. Get him home, Tess. Give up this wild masquerade."

  "I can't, Jack. Not when I'm so close to everything I've ever wanted."

  "So close to dying, more like! Can't you get that through that damned stubborn head of yours?"

  "It's a risk I'm prepared to take."

  "But I'm not, by God! Not when your blood would be on my hands, for I'm the one that led you into this mad scheme."

  " 'Twould be on my head alone, Jack," Tess countered mutinously. "I'll not answer to you or to anyone else. I'm not your daughter, remember." Her face softened slightly. "Though I believe I love you more than ever I did my own blood si
re."

  Jack's fingers sought hers. For a long moment neither spoke. "When did you take this daft idea into your head?" he asked finally.

  "Not quite two years ago. The same night my father ..." She did not finish her sentence.

  "The night you heard about your father's death," the Fox said slowly. "I had a feeling — but it won't do, I tell you! 'Tis one thing to share in the profits of the run. Aye, I was glad to bring tea and silks to help you and the boy. But not this!" He raked a tired hand through his thick white hair. "My God, lassie, what would your mother say if she knew I'd led you into such a life?"

  Tess only shrugged her slim shoulders. "She'd be glad her daughter was holding on to Fairleigh in the only way she knew how. From all I remember of my mother, she loved this place as much as I do."

  The man on the pallet closed his eyes, a faint smile lighting his face. "Aye, she did that, Tess. I'll never forget the hours she spent planting daisies and primroses in her white garden." His voice hardened then. "But she didn't love Fairleigh that much! And she'd never forgive me if ..." His eyes opened, hard and glittering. "Give me your word, it's over. I'll not have your blood on my conscience, lassie. Not when I've so much on it already."

  Tess shivered, realizing there were many things that she didn't know about this man, great parts of his life that he kept carefully concealed from her.

  Jack's cold hands circled her wrists. He struggled to rise on one elbow. "I want your word, Tess! Now! No more runs with my gentlemen. I'll not rest until I have your promise." His fingers tightened, biting cruelly into her wrists.

  "I won't give it, Jack. I can't. Not yet."

  The smuggler's face darkened with anger. A moment later, coughing hoarsely, he fell back against the pallet. His hands began to shake and he released her, then dug his fingers into the woolen blanket.

  Tess watched helplessly until the spasm passed. Finally he lay still, limp and exhausted, his eyes closed. "Don't worry, Jack," she whispered, smoothing the blanket about his chest. "I've learned my lesson. I'll be far more careful in the future."

  But the man beside her did not answer. He had already sunk back into a tortured, restless sleep haunted by crueller ghosts than his beautiful visitor could ever imagine.

  Slowly Tess stood up, rigid with fear. He was in a bad way, this time, was her Fox. Always before he'd had the devil's own luck, eluding dragoon and excise officer alike to lead the King's men a merry dance over marsh and weald. Yes, somehow he'd anticipated their every movement with an accuracy that was uncanny.

  But not this time, Tess thought, looking down at his ashen face. And all because of her. If he hadn't turned back for her, he'd be safe and far away by now.

  Perdition! Angrily, Tess brushed away her tears. What good were tears, anyway? What good did regrets do now?

  Her watery gaze fell on the crossed swords at the far end of the room. For a moment her eyes lit as she remembered how Jack had first taught her to fence, delighting in her grace and deftness. For Tess, it had been as if a door was thrown open in her grim, lonely existence. Yes, from the day of their meeting long ago, when Jack had stumbled wounded onto Fairleigh land, he had swept through her life like a Channel gale, teaching her to share his zest for living.

  And now?

  With a frown, Tess bent to touch the chased silver hilt of the epee. They were her grandfather's weapons, carefully hidden here from her father, who would otherwise have pawned them long ago. As he had pawned everything else of value at Fairleigh.

  Even his own daughter.

  Tess bit back a little cry and looked down to see the foil's point biting into her fingers. Her features frozen, she watched blood well up from the wound.

  No regrets! No more nightmares. Her father was gone and she was free from his tyranny forever.

  Propelled as if in the grip of a dream, Tess followed the tunnel to the surface, then crossed the narrow stone courtyard and climbed the uneven steps that led to the priory's half-ruined roof. Slowly she walked to a wide corner tower and leaned her elbows upon the sun-warmed rock, staring out at the sweep of land and sea spread before her.

  To the south lay Rye and beyond that the Channel, its turquoise swells merging seamlessly into a perfect azure sky. The sea was calm this day, with no more than faint flecks of white far out beyond the point at Dungeness. Squinting, Tess could just make out a two-masted lugger sailing toward Winchelsea. Something about the vessel made her think of the French ship, the Liberte, glimpsed briefly the night before.

  The captain must be a bold man to bait the Royal Navy in its own den! But there were many kinds of courage, Tess knew. Some screeched loudly, demanding admiration, while others glowed quietly through the long nights of pain and despair, unseen and unappreciated by all but a few.

  That sort of courage was far harder to sustain, but it was what Tess had tried to learn as she fought to save these barren walls that she loved so well.

  Even now she could not say what drew her to this wreck. The priory's days of greatness were centuries gone, while Fairleigh was in only slightly better shape. From her vantage point high on the tower, Tess could see sparrows nesting in the house's eaves and panes missing from the broad mullioned windows.

  Yes, the walls had succumbed to damp rot and all the stairs were unstable, but this was her home, the only place she would ever feel safe. Fairleigh was in her blood, and she would do whatever she must to save it.

  Even as a little girl Tess had made her mother repeat Fairleigh's ancient legends over and over. Tales of how the Romans had raised a sea fortress here beside a great port city. Tales of how in later years the Normans had followed, raising their keeps around the Roman masonry dotting the marshes where once the sea had lapped.

  A prickle of fear slipped down Tess's spine. She thought of the oldest legend of all, a melancholy tale that had always made her mother cry. Well Tess remembered sitting crosslegged on the rich black earth while her mother tended her garden of white flowers. Unmoving and silent, Tess had listened time and again to the story of two doomed lovers who had met their death somewhere on Fairleigh's grounds.

  They still walked the parapets, so it was said, on moonless nights when the wind blew sharp and cold up from the sea. Thomas claimed to have seen their ghostly shapes several times, along with the sound of weird, distant pipes.

  Another sharp pang shot down Tess's spine. She shivered as blackness lapped at the edges of her mind. How could she be so stupid? It was nothing more than a child's tale, after all.

  And she was no longer a child.

  With a little shrug she stood up, her eyes running lovingly across the emerald hills, then sweeping down to the turquoise waters of Fairleigh Cove. Yes, this was where she belonged. This was the only home she would ever know. Neither ghosts nor excisemen nor one cursed ex-naval officer would ever drive her from this place.

  * * * * *

  For two hours Tess remained in the passage. During that time Jack did not awaken, but her patience was finally rewarded when his color gradually returned and his breathing grew less strained.

  Realizing there was nothing more she could do for her friend, Tess smoothed the blankets over his restless form and turned to leave. As she emerged from the passage, a shrill cry overhead drew her eyes skyward, where a snowy gyrfalcon wheeled gracefully in the wind, its long white wings carving a cloudless sky.

  Tess froze, mesmerized by the perfect beauty of the bird's soaring flight down to the sea. In that moment she felt a fierce, stabbing jealousy. How wonderful to fly that way, knowing neither worry nor boundaries!

  It seemed suddenly to Tess that she had been bearing responsibility for others as long as she could remember. For years she had cared for her frail mother, protecting her from her dissolute husband's ire. With her mother's death, Ashley had fallen to Tess's care.

  Then had come their father's ruin and the threat of losing Fairleigh.

  Far in the distance the falcon plummeted from sight. Tess's shoulders slumped, leaden with weariness. Jus
t for once she wondered what it would be like to lay her burdens on another's shoulders, to know the comfort of strong, supporting hands.

  But she knew it was not meant to be. Not for her, at least.

  And what need had she of such dreams, anyway? They were only illusions to soothe weak minds. No, she needed nothing and no one. She had learned life's bitter lessons well.

  Unbidden came the memory of a pair of furious eyes the color of wintry seas.

  Tess's shoulders straightened in defiance. I'll show you, your bloody lordship, she vowed silently.

  I'll show you all!

  Chapter Ten

  Hobhouse was waiting anxiously by the front steps when Tess drove the gig around to the stables at the rear of the Angel. One glance at her majordomo's tense face told her something was very wrong.

  "There's three of them waiting inside, Miss Tess. 'Tis the same three biddies who were here last week, asking for donations for their latest charity. I told them you might not be returning until very late, but they refused to leave. Said they'd put this matter off long enough."

  Tess frowned. She knew with a cold certainty that the ladies in question had not come to pay her a friendly social call. On the contrary, the redoubtable Mrs. Tredwell had shown nothing but scorn for Tess — on the few occasions she'd deigned to take any notice of her, that is. To make matters worse, the woman's dissolute scamp of a son had begun nosing around the inn, contriving once to corner Tess outside the wine cellar and probe at her with his sweaty hands.

  All of which made Tess harbor no illusions as to the nature of this visit.

  "How's Jack?" Letty asked quietly when Tess entered the front hall.

  "His color is better, I believe. Thomas will look in on him until I can get back. Now, what's this about visitors?" Tess asked crisply.

  "It's that nasty Mrs. Tredwell. She's brought along her two minions, the Crabtree sisters. There she was, hovering about the foyer like some great vulture, doing her best to make everyone uncomfortable. And we all know whom she plans to sink her claws into next! A nastier piece of work I never hope to see!"