Jonna's mouth flattened at the reproof. It was never a pleasure to be considered small-minded. It was even worse to be small-minded and wrong. In this case she didn't believe she was either. "The carriage, Captain Thorne."
"I have duties here," he said. He indicated the men milling around behind him on the wharf as well as the ones still on the ship and the gangway. He could imagine they were all trying to look busy, but in a way that would give them the best view of this confrontation.
"It appears you've unloaded the last of the cargo," she said. "I don't see the men bringing anything else up from the hold."
"It's unloaded," Decker said. "But you know that's not the end of it."
"It certainly isn't." Her voice was pleasant enough, but the words were not meant strictly as a reply. "You can get in my carriage on your own, Captain, or I swear I will have you thrown in."
Jack gave Decker a frank assessment. "She'll do it, and you can't fight it. Go on with you. I'll do what's needing to be done here." He tapped Decker lightly on the shoulder, not missing the younger man's wince. "And I'll come round to your room to check on you."
"That won't be necessary, Jack," Jonna interrupted. "He'll get good care in my home." Ignoring Jack's unflattering astonishment and Decker's raised eyebrows, she tapped her cane once and pointed to the carriage. "Now, Captain Thorne."
Decker climbed in. He braced himself in one corner, fully expecting Jonna to sit on the bench seat opposite him. Instead she sat at his side, and when the carriage rolled forward she held him still.
"I was told you were in a fight," she said. "From the look of you I'd say I was misinformed."
"No, you heard correctly."
"I didn't say I misheard. I said I was misinformed. I'm not naive, Captain. A fight is between two people. No one person did this to you. You were in a brawl."
Decker let his head be cushioned by the padded leather. He closed his eyes. "Perhaps I just couldn't defend myself."
"I don't believe that." She thought about it a moment. "Not unless you were held down."
He opened his eyes long enough to give her an arch look.
Jonna's own eyes widened. "That's what happened, isn't it? You were held down."
"Close enough."
"Then why were you arrested?"
"I suppose because I was the only one left when the authorities arrived."
"The magistrate told me it was because you started it."
"That would be the other reason," he said dryly.
His quiet amusement bewildered Jonna. "Do you shrug off everything with an ironic comment?" she asked.
"Not everything." His tone was serious again. He let her think about that. "Why didn't you tell me about the wagon driver?"
The change of subject set Jonna off balance. "What driver? What are you—"
Decker raised one finger. It was as much energy as he could muster, and it was the least painful movement he could make. It was enough. It got her attention and stopped her from talking. "The day your ankle was injured on the dock," he explained. "Why didn't you tell me it wasn't an accident?"
Jonna stiffened and knew her reaction did not go unnoticed. Decker's arm tightened slightly over hers as if he expected her to pull away. It was his injuries, not his strength, that stopped her from doing just that. "It was an accident," she said. "Why should I say otherwise?"
"Before I left for Charleston I spoke to three people who remember the incident a little differently than you."
"Who gave you leave to do that?"
One corner of his mouth turned up at her rather priggish tone. "I don't need your permission to talk to people," he reminded her.
"When I'm the subject you do." The effect of this statement was the opposite of the one Jonna wished for. Instead of being put in his place, Decker actually laughed out loud. Her only satisfaction, and it was a small one, came from the fact that it hurt him to do so.
He had opened his eyes and was watching her out of the corners of them. He didn't miss that smug smile hovering about her mouth. The hell of it was, he thought, he liked that expression. He liked the faintly haughty lift of her chin, the shadowed dimple at the corner of her lips. He liked the controlled steadiness of her breathing and the way she sat so still against him. Jonna Remington was a singularly beautiful woman and didn't know it. Decker thought he liked that best of all.
"Your permission aside," Decker said, "the fact remains that I asked some questions."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because the driver of that wagon should have come back to make amends, and he didn't."
"I told you I was gone by the time he had his horse under control."
"He could have found you," Decker said. "He should have found you. Everyone at the harbor knows who you are. The only reason he didn't come back to apologize or to inquire about your condition was because what was done was done deliberately."
Jonna said nothing, and she noticed that Decker did not seem to require a response. She looked past him to the carriage window, beyond that to the lamp-lighted street. She realized that they were within minutes of reaching her home, yet she still knew almost nothing about the fight that had caused his injuries and his arrest.
Then, suddenly, intuitively, she did know. She had been asking about the brawl, and he had begun talking about the accident. What she thought had been a change in the subject had merely been one part of the whole. He hadn't shifted the subject as much as brought it around to what was important to him.
As the carriage slowed she felt it sway when the driver leaped down from his perch to help them out. "The fight was about me," she said softly, just before the door opened. "You fought about me."
Her tone was neutral as if she couldn't decide whether she were astonished or appalled. That uncharacteristic indecisiveness made Decker smile. "It was a brawl," he reminded her. "And I lost."
* * *
Decker woke in the middle of the night. At first he couldn't identify his surroundings. The fact that his cabin wasn't rocking was in itself disconcerting. Then there was the softness of the bed, the scent of freshly laundered sheets, and the cocoon-like warmth of several thick blankets. It was the portrait above the mantelpiece that finally oriented him.
John and Charlotte Remington were looking at each other, but Decker felt as if they were watching over him.
He sat up. Instantly there was a movement on the other side of the room as someone rose from the rocker. Backlighted by the flames, the figure at first seemed to be one of the servants. Only as it approached the bed did he recognize Jonna.
"Can I get you something?" she asked. "Water? More laudanum?"
He frowned. There was a muzzy memory of something being spooned down his throat as he was put to bed. Laudanum would explain the cotton head he had now. And unfortunately, although his mind was dull, the pain was still sharp.
Jonna reached for the dark bottle of opiate on the nightstand, but Decker put out his hand to stop her.
"I don't want any," he said. His hand closed over her wrist, and even though she made no further move to get the bottle he did not let her go. "What time is it?"
She looked over her shoulder at the mantel clock. "Just past four."
"Have you been here all night?"
"Only this last half hour. I woke a while ago and couldn't fall asleep again. I thought I would check on you and discovered the maid in attendance wasn't having the same difficulty with sleep that I was. I sent her to her room." Jonna felt the lightest pressure on her wrist. It was all that was needed to draw her down beside him. Her eyes slipped over his bruised and battered face and came to rest on his mouth. "I suppose if you don't need anything I should go back to my room," she said.
"I suppose you should."
He didn't let her go, and she made no move to leave.
Jonna's gaze dropped away from his mouth and fell on the hand that lay over her wrist. "I had planned to tell you I don't want you working for me any longer."
Decker nodded. It
was what he had expected to hear when Jonna arrived at the harbor.
"It wasn't because of the fight," she said. "Or even the arrest. Those things happen from time to time, and though Jack thinks I don't understand how or why, I do."
She could feel him watching her. Even without looking at him she sensed his quiet amusement. "I know the men work hard on board ship. The sea may be open, but the quarters are confined. Disagreements that aren't settled on board sometimes get settled in port, usually after a few drinks and some intemperate words."
"And you thought that's what happened tonight."
Still looking at his hand, Jonna nodded. "I didn't like it," she said. "It sets a bad example for the men under you and I expect... no, I demand better."
Decker knew that she did, and no one who worked for her minded, least of all him. It was the gravity of her expression that made him want to needle her. "But you were prepared to forgive me."
She gave him a sharp glance. "I was prepared to flay you."
His eyes dropped to her mouth this time. "With your tongue?" he asked. "Or were you thinking of using the cat on my back?" He watched in fascination as her face flamed and her lips parted on a breathless little sound of surprise. It was only then that he took pity on her. His gaze lifted to her eyes again. "You were about to take me to task for disappearing at the jail," he said. "That was why you were going to relieve me of my employment, wasn't it? Because I embarrassed you?"
Jonna's wrist came away easily from his grasp, and she knew it was because he had let her go. The distance she was able to put between them now was there as much by his permission as by her desire. "You did embarrass me," she said quietly. "To leave the way you did, instead of coming forward to talk to the magistrate, or thank me, it showed neither regard nor respect. That was cause enough to end your employment."
Decker didn't disagree. "Yes," he said. "It was."
Jonna sighed. She stared at the flames in the fireplace.
Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "And it would have been impulsive and petty for me to have done so."
This admission was not what Decker had expected. Jonna Remington's pained honesty had taken an inward turn. He supposed it was that kind of thinking that had kept her up and eventually had brought her to his room. When she showed no inclination to go, but continued to stare steadily at the fire, he asked, "What makes you happy, Jonna?"
She didn't answer. He studied her profile, the pure, clear lines that were almost without expression. He knew she had heard him and knew now that she wouldn't answer him, that possibly she couldn't answer him. Nothing about her profile changed as tears welled in her eyes. They clung to the edge of her lower lashes for the longest moment before one, only one, escaped. The lone tear, sparkling like a liquid diamond, slipped down her cheek. She made no move to brush it away or blink back the others. They hovered, then fell in quick succession, and finally disappeared.
Jonna stood. "I think it would be better if you wouldn't ask any more questions," she said.
"Of you?"
"Of anyone." Then she closed the discussion by crossing the room and closing the door.
* * *
The rocker made an alarming creaky protest under Jack Quincy's weight. He paused, waited to see if it would support him, then finished tipping it back while he placed his boots flat on the bed frame. He picked up his end of the conversation with Decker as if there had been no interruption. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "Damn, if you're making any sense."
"I'm making sense," Decker said. "You just don't want to believe it." He sat up, pushed the pillows more firmly behind his back, and leveled Jack with a hard look. It was difficult to be taken seriously when his right eye was almost swollen shut and he grimaced with pain every time he moved. "Listen to me, Jack, because Jonna won't. If she believes that business on the wharf wasn't an accident, then she's not admitting it, at least not to me. But she might talk to you. You've had her ear almost all of her life, and she trusts you. I think she has suspicions about what happened but doesn't know what to do about it." Decker paused, judging Jack's interest.
"Go on," Jack said. "You've got my attention."
"Three men, all separately, were willing to tell me that the driver who lost control of his horse and wagon ran the animal directly at Jonna."
"Either he had control or he didn't," Jack said.
"They say he grabbed the bridle but didn't pull the mare in."
"Maybe he couldn't."
"Maybe he didn't want to."
Jack's feet dropped back to the floor. "There were more than three witnesses. You must have talked to others."
"I did."
"Well? What did they say?"
"The ones I talked to before I left for Charleston told mostly the same story."
"The same one Jonna's telling," Jack said.
Decker nodded. "But even some of them wondered why the driver didn't come back to ask after Jonna's well-being. When I probed a little more, no one could identify the driver." Decker saw this information finally yielded a reaction from Jack. "I know," he said. "That struck me as odd, too. You know someone always knows somebody else on the wharf. I don't think I worked more than a half day before people I'd never seen before were calling me by my name."
"Ponty." Jack couldn't resist reminding him. "They were calling you Ponty. And it wasn't your name." He held up his hands, surrendering when Decker gave a hard, very nearly angry look. "All right. So no one knew this man. I'll grant that's unusual, but it makes him a stranger, not a killer."
"I don't know that he meant to kill her," Decker said. "But I believe he meant to frighten her."
"Frighten Jonna? Why?"
"I don't know."
The rocker began to creak with the precision of a metronome as Jack moved fore and aft. He considered what he'd been told. "Tell me about the fight," he said after a few moments.
Decker's jaw was stiff. He worked it back and forth until it gave a satisfying pop. "Jonna's right about one thing," he said. "It wasn't much of a fight. There was a message waiting for me when Huntress docked. It said if I had more questions I should inquire at Brown and Birney's."
"You read this note yourself?" Jack asked. "Are you sure you got it right?"
A faint flush crept under Decker's skin. "I read it good enough, Jack. I've been practicing. It wasn't as complicated as logging my journey."
"All right," Jack said. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that—"
Decker brushed the explanation aside. "I went to B and B's."
"You left the ship?" asked Jack. "Before you had the cargo unloaded?"
"I know. It's against regulations, but I had to go." Decker's frank look was unapologetic. He would do it again. "I waited in the tavern only a few minutes before someone approached me. I didn't recognize him. I suppose that should have raised an alarm; if it did, I was deaf to it. He wanted to talk to me behind the tavern, and I followed him out."
Jack winced, knowing what was coming now. "He had friends, I take it."
Decker held up three fingers. "They blindsided me immediately. I went down, and I don't think I ever came up."
"Did you tell Jonna you started the fight?" asked Jack.
Decker tried to remember the carriage ride back to Beacon Hill. "I probably did," he said. "Is that what she told you?"
"She said the magistrate told her that and you confirmed it. You have a talent for making her think the worst of you."
"That doesn't matter." Decker knew it was more than a mere talent. He practiced it like a craft. "What do you think, Jack? Is there substance to what I've told you?"
There was a pause in the creaking again, while Jack regarded Decker with a keen and knowing eye. "I don't think you gave yourself that shiner and two broken ribs," he said finally. "It's a mercy you weren't killed."
Last night, when he had been taking the blows to his chest and head and groin, Decker would have considered a quick end very merciful. "Mr. Brown walked out ba
ck... or maybe it was Mr. Birney... whoever it was frightened them off. Mr. B. sent for the authorities, and somehow I ended up being the one carted off to jail."
"I think their purpose was to ask you some questions. Apparently you weren't very cooperative. You struck some of them."
"I did?"
Jack nodded. "Best I can put it together, Jeremy Dodd came looking for you from the ship and arrived in time to see you being taken away. You must have sent him after Jonna."
"I remember doing that."
"You could have asked for me."
Decker had wondered how he would explain that. The answer presented itself simply enough. "Bloody hell, Jack, I don't recall hitting anyone. Who knows why I sent Jeremy after Miss Remington instead of you."
"What about at the jail?" Jack asked. "Why did you leave like that?"
"I wanted to get back to the ship. I knew that if the two of you saw me, you wouldn't let me go to the harbor—which is what happened when you did catch up with me. I had duties to finish. With everything else that had already occurred, I didn't want to neglect them." Decker watched Jack take it in, consider it, and finally accept it. "Will you talk to her?" asked Decker.
Jack sighed. "Aye," he said heavily. He had no liking for the task that Decker had set for him. "I'll talk to her."
* * *
Decker slept off and on throughout the day. Maids came and went, changing the bindings on his ribs when he soaked them through in his sleep, bringing trays of tea and toast, tending the fire, and placing fresh compresses on his eye. By nightfall Decker had had as many intrusions on his privacy as he could tolerate. He was considering locking the door when a trio of servants trooped in again, this time with a hip bath and buckets of hot water.
They helped him out of bed, even when he insisted he could manage the thing himself, and didn't leave him to his own devices until he was stripped to his drawers. When they were gone Decker finished undressing and eased himself into the hot water. Ribbons of steam rose from the surface as it rippled around him. Decker's contented sigh was audible in the quiet room.
At first he didn't want to move. The water was like a liquid bandage, supporting and caressing every part of his sore body. Gradually he unfolded himself as much as the copper tub allowed; then he reached for a towel one of the maids had left at hand. Folding it in quarters, he placed it behind his head. Decker's eyes closed almost immediately, and he was asleep soon after that.
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