'Trap you?" Taken aback, he said, "How could you be trapped? I went to the mine because—"
Admired for her ability to meet emergencies with calmness and common sense, Jennifer was far from being calm now. Her common sense told her she had been stupid, and the thought that this man had cleverly deceived her awoke a hurt and a rage such as she'd never before experienced. She was thrown into a panic by the depth of her distress, and she interrupted wildly, "Because you are a Riding Officer! You have been searching for free-traders, just as I thought! It was all carefully planned to insinuate yourself among us, and—"
"Are you at that again?" Anger overwhelmed him. He seized her arm as she drew away from him. "You know how ill I was when Mrs. Newlyn found me. Do you really think I would go to such lengths only to hoodwink—"
"Yes! I do! If truth was told, you were—were likely beaten by free-traders and decided to turn it to—to good account!"
"If ever I heard such silly twaddle!"
"Oh! How dare you!"
But in his desperate need to convince her, he would have dared anything, and said fiercely, "I gave you my oath! Have you forgot?"
"You told me you were under a vow, and that because of it you had to stay here. I was so stupid as to think—you were so cunning as to make me think you had taken a holy vow because of some—some terrible crime! The truth is that your oath was to the King!" Once more she tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. She half-sobbed, "Let me go!"
"Not until you listen! I am not—"
"I won't listen! I don't believe a word you say! You have lied since first you came! Deceiving us all with your loathesome play-acting! I knew you were no—no tramp, but I thought perhaps—"
He dropped the reins and took her by the shoulders. "If you will just—"
On a note of hysteria she cried, "Do not dare put your filthy hands on me! Open the door at once, and drive me back!"
His filthy hands… Shocked back to sanity, he released her abruptly, and stood very still, as white as she now was flushed. Then he turned to swing the carriage door open. Disdaining the hand he offered, Jennifer stumbled past. Blinded with tears, confused and frightened by conflicting emotions, she tripped on the step. Jonathan leapt to steady her, but in her overwrought state she thought she was being attacked, and with a choked cry whirled and struck out frenziedly. Her flying fist caught him in the eye, and he reeled back, still holding the door. The coach rocked. From the box came a scrambling sound, followed by a strange, high-pitched gobbling. It was not a birdsong the horses knew and they were still nervous. They sidled and stamped about, causing the coach to rock violently. Caught off balance, Jennifer staggered and uttered a faint cry. Jonathan grabbed her outflung arm, jerked her to him, and sprang clear as the team lunged against the traces.
It was the last straw. Jennifer burst into tears.
"Oh, God!" groaned Jonathan. "Do not! Oh—pray, ma'am, do not!"
"I… cannot .. help it," she wailed.
Frantic, he set her down, and began to dab at her wet cheeks with his handkerchief, finding it necessary to keep one arm about her, pleading with her not to cry, while she clung to his cravat and sobbed ever more unrestrainedly.
"Jennifer, please stop! My beautiful… dearest girl… I cannot bear to see you cry."
At this, her eyes opened very wide. She pulled back, peering up into his anguished face with tears gemming her lashes. "You—you're weeping, too…" she gulped.
"I know," he said. And lost to everything but her grief, added with a tender smile, "You hit me in the eye."
"Oh." One hand lifted to caress his cheek. "My… poor dear…"
He could no more have stopped from turning his head than have stopped the sun in its journey; no more have refrained from kissing that soft white hand, than have ceased to love her.
Gazing into his eyes, reading the adoration there, Jennifer was as enchanted as he. She lifted her face.
The village idiot bowed his head and kissed the lady of Castle Triad, and, for a heavenly stolen moment, the world and its problems ceased to be.
Chapter 8
Jennifer stirred, sighed, and opened her eyes to gaze dreamily at a rather rumpled jabot and a dark blue coat.
Ecstatic, Jonathan bent to kiss the smooth brow of this girl he adored. And with devastating suddenness another face was before him. The face of a middle-aged gentleman with a lot of white hair and a strong, stern face, who wore the black robe and plain white stock of a clergyman.
The world of grey reality rushed back. Fate had offered him a challenge, and again, he had failed! He was a social outcast, not fit to touch the shoe of this peerless angel. His hope had been to protect and guard her from any danger. Well, he was the danger! And far from protecting her, he had been so lost in love that he'd dared to kiss her. Worse; he'd felt her sweetly passionate response. The Code of Honour demanded that an offer of marriage follow such an act. A bitter laugh racked him. How could a penniless outcast such as he offer her marriage? Unconsciously, his hands tightened on her shoulders. His head began to pound, as it did sometimes, even now, but it was as nothing compared to the self-disgust that scourged him.
Confronted with her own awakening, Jennifer still clung to him, blinking in bewilderment into a convulsed face she scarcely recognised; flinching to that harsh embittered laugh.
He thrust her from him. "I am so sorry! Can you ever—" His voice broke. He spun on his heel and stalked toward the horses, who had wandered off and were grazing beside a group of the ancient standing stones.
Jennifer stood motionless, impressions crowding her dazed mind. Her first kiss… An ache in her shoulders where his strong hands had held her… "We cannot have even the village idiot developing a tendre for you …" Papa had thought that was a fine joke. If he should find out… If Howland knew… They would kill him! How could this have happened to her? She'd given up hope of marriage, but she had dreamed of that magical experience called falling in love. And, dreaming, she had conjured up a dashing and handsome gentleman, well endowed with kindness and good humour. She had not considered title to be a requirement, nor great wealth, but he would be comfortably circumstanced, with a London house and a pleasant country estate somewhere. A far cry from Crazy Jack, a penniless and nameless vagrant, haunted by disgrace and the shadow of some terrible tragedy. A man so utterly ineligible that to suggest him as a possible suitor would either result in hilarity, or give rise to anxiety about her sanity. She thought, 'I must have suffered a brief attack of madness, that's what it is!'
He had come up with the horses and tethered them to a tree. She watched him wander to the tall stones, and lean there, with his shoulders bowed, and his head downbent.
The madness was upon her again, because she was running to him. "You were going to ask," she said breathlessly, "if I could forgive you."
"It was… past forgiveness," he acknowledged, in a low, dull voice. "Even the… wish, was inexcusable. I deserve…"
"To be flogged."
He nodded.
"I think," she pointed out, "that would be the least of what my menfolk would do."
"Yes."
She sat on one of the fallen stones. "And I will not forgive you," she declared.
"No. Of course." He turned away, as if ineffably weary.
"Where are you going?"
"To get the team. I'll… drive you back to the castle."
"To surrender yourself for execution, when if you had any brains you would instead run away. Very far, and fast. But you will not run. You never do run, do you? You will instead do the honourable thing."
He stood half turned from her, one slim hand on the cold granite, and he muttered in the halting timid voice of Crazy Jack, "I have no—honour."
"So! My first kiss has been taken by a dishonourable gentleman! A pretty performance!"
"Don't… please. Do you think I… am not ashamed? That I don't know how I have—insulted you?"
"I cannot hear you. Come and sit down."
He
hesitated, then sat on a boulder some distance from her.
"No, not over there." She indicated the stone beside her. "I do not care to shout for everyone to hear."
Hesitating, he glanced at the expanse of open countryside, but then obeyed.
"So," she said, "you love me, and are ashamed of it."
His head jerked up. "No!"
"Do you say that you dared to kiss me—not even liking—"
"I worship you! And—Oh, Lord!" He gestured helplessly.
"You were born a gentleman. If you were still a gentleman, would you offer for me?"
"You know I would."
"And—would my menfolk consider you an eligible parti?"
"Yes—No—" A hand was pressed to his temple. "I don't know! I think I was well born, but not of great fortune. And—what difference can it make? It is all lost now. I have made a horrible disaster of my life. I am no longer a gentleman. I shall never… be able to approach you."
"Approach me! You did more than that, Jack, or Johnny, or Jonathan! I am shamed, and quite ruined. And…"—her voice shook slightly—"I am at my last prayers, you know."
An angry frown came her way. "Do not talk such rubbish!"
"Ah. That was Jonathan speaking, I think. But—truth is truth, sir." She leaned to him, her eyes very tender. "Johnny, Johnny, you are such a fool. Such a gloriously honourable fool."
He looked once into the dearest face in all the world, into the eyes that held a glow promising everything he daren't dream of. His breath was snatched away and it took all his resolution to turn his head.
"No." Jennifer put her hands on each side of his face, and turned his head back again. "Oh, my dear—do not take all the blame to yourself. Does it not occur to you that, far from being the fragile, dainty wisp of a creature you obviously fancy me to be, I am tall and strong? If I could keep so crude an animal as Hibbard Green at bay, should I not have easily been capable of defending my—my good name from so gentle and high principled a man as you?"
He took her hands away, and when they turned to close around his, he shut his eyes for an instant, not trusting himself to look at her. But he could not keep his voice from shaking when he said, "You are sorry for me, is—is all. You took pity on me, and you have allowed your warm heart to mistake pity for—for—"
"For—love?" She felt him tremble, and guessing how he longed to hold her in his arms, respecting him the more for his struggle against allowing her to love him, she said gently, "And what if my heart is not mistaken, Johnny?"
"You mustn't even think such a thing!" He sprang up, to stand with his back turned, and a hand again pressed to his temple, and whispered a despairing, "Dear God—help me! Make her understand, for her own precious sake!"
The intensity of his anguish deepened her fear. She bit her lip, then said, " 'Tis you must make me understand, Johnny. If I am to be denied the man who should—by rights—offer for my hand, I beg—no, I demand—to know—why?"
"Can you ask?" He swung around and said harshly, "You know what you are! You know what I am! Are you blinded to what the world would say? Do you know what I can offer you? Nothing! Do you want to share my lot? My God in heaven! Do you fancy me so lost to decency as to allow you to share a life that is a hell on earth? I have sunk beneath the scorn of the lowest criminal—is that what you wish to share? Shall you sleep in the rain and mud with me? Shall you beg for food as—as I have done, until you are so hungry you snatch eagerly for scraps thrown out to the dogs? Would you watch proudly while I was flogged or stoned or beaten because I am suspected of witchcraft, or, because of my speech and manner I am judged to be 'different'? And if—may the good Lord forbid!—if you should be at my side when someone from my past recognised me…" His voice broke. He sank onto the stone once more, bowed his face into his hands, and said a muffled, "Ah—I could not… bear it! Do you see now… why I am so ashamed of having kissed you?"
She had listened, appalled and scarcely breathing, to his wild tirade. For a moment, torn between pity and horror, she was speechless. The voice of reason acknowledged that he spoke truly and that by any measure of common sense she should climb at once into the carriage, collect Tilly, and the instant they reached Breton Ridge send this man away forever. But she was a woman, and the voice of reason does not always speak as strongly to women as the voice of the heart. So it was that she touched his disordered hair gently, and said, "Everything you say is very well, Johnny. Except for one thing. You said I know what you are. And that is not so. I know what you have become. I do not know why."
He said dully, "I… told you."
"You told me a thimbleful. I want to know—everything."
"I cannot tell you what—what I don't know myself."
"Then tell me what you do know. Your name, for instance."
"I told you. It is Jonathan. If I could remember my family name, I'd not further dishonour it by claiming it as my own."
"You were a sailor, I think? An officer? Navy? Merchantman?"
"East Indiaman. But—I don't even remember her name. I was—was her captain."
She was startled. So he'd captained an East Indiaman! A fine accomplishment for so young a man! She persevered, "And on your last voyage there was some trouble on board? Perchance you had to discipline a member of the crew—with—with tragic results…?"
He shook his head, and staring blindly before him, began to speak, brokenly at first, then with more assurance. "We were bound for… Plymouth—out of Calcutta. She was a fine ship, and I had… a good crew. We were—lucky with wind and weather. Along with the cargo… we had taken on passengers. A family going home from long service; a gentleman and his wife and their three grown children and—and their… grandchildren; an army officer and his wife and mother. There were several merchants with their wives. And a gentleman escorting his two nieces… one of whom—" He paused, and touched his temple again. "One was young and very beautiful. And, she and… I…" He paused, while Jennifer listened, tense, and dreading what he would say, yet knowing she must hear it all.
"The night after we left St. Helena," he went on, "it was very hot and we were becalmed. Not a breeze for hours. I was on the quarter-deck when the—the lady brought an invitation from her uncle to join him in the roundhouse for a birthday toast." He stopped, as if reluctant to go on.
Jennifer prompted, "And you went and—er—"
"I should have guessed. But her uncle had paid extreme handsomely for their accommodations, and I hesitated to offend him." Noting Jennifer's uncertain expression, he said, "A commander is permitted to sell space to passengers, you know, and to get the best price he may."
"Yes, I did know that was the captain's right, but—I'm not sure where the roundhouse is situated."
"'Tis at the stern, the full width of the quarter-deck, adjacent to the captain's stateroom and the dining room. On most voyages the roundhouse is partitioned off into several private spaces, each with a port, but Mr. Phillips had purchased the entire area just for the three of them. When we went inside there was—there was no one else." His eyes fell. He said, "I should have left at once… but she flirted charmingly, and—and she was lovely. And… that's all I remember clearly. Until the storm. I woke up in my cabin, alone and—and very drunk." He heard her gasp, and smiled bitterly. "You wanted to know. So now you do. I must have been drunk for most of the voyage, for it is all a blur. But I remember—her face… her teasing and her laughter and—and the brandy. And some hideous headaches as a result. I think, by the time we encountered the storm, I must have been ill. I was thrown from my bunk with… with the brandy bottle. I reeked of it. The ship was being tossed like a straw, the waves were mountainous, the wind… shrieking. It was night. Pitch black." The words trailed off again, and he sat still and silent, staring always at the ground.
Jennifer said incredulously, "And you were alone? What of your servants? Where was the woman?"
"My clerk and steward probably had all they could do to save themselves. There was nobody near me. We were sinking
fast. My ship, and…" He shrank lower but made himself say it. "I discovered later—much later—that there were nine and twenty lives lost. Nine and twenty human beings. The family… the little children… Many of my crew. People with loved ones—dependent upon them, mourning them. I… destroyed them all. But—I can still see their faces. Heaven help me, I shall never forget them! Nor the survivors ever forget my shameful betrayal of my sworn duty. My sacred trust. Their fine young… drunken captain!"
There was a long silence. Stunned, Jennifer asked, "What then? How did you come ashore?"
"I—don't know. I was drowning at one minute, and on the beach the next, as it seemed. But I couldn't move. Some men came and they went and fetched a priest. He took me in, and cared for me. Though I think—I know he despised me."
"Was he the one who made you take the vow?"
"Yes. He knew of the wreck and of the—the loss of life."
"Then he must have known the name of your ship. And who you are!"
"Yes. He told me… but…" He drew a hand across his eyes. "I forget things, you see." His shoulders slumped. "I suppose… 'tis how I shield myself because I cannot bear to remember my shameful conduct."
She demanded, "Why do you keep touching your temple? Have you the headache now?"
He'd not been conscious of the action, and lowered his hand at once. "I am very well, I thank you."
Jennifer stood, frowning down at him. She looked stern, which was to be expected. He started up, but drew back instinctively when she suddenly sprang at him.
"What's this?" she demanded, grasping his rumpled hair and spreading it apart. "My heaven! What a frightful scar! When did this happen?"
"I'm not… sure."
"Was it when your ship sank? Was your head bandaged when the priest was caring for you?"
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