by Gwyn Cready
“Whose home is this?”
“Why, Mrs. Turnbull’s, of course. Mr. Henry Turnbull’s father left her this and everything in it when he died.”
Forty-two
Gerard pushed the sausages around his plate, barely aware of the boisterous patrons at the Squeak and Sizzle. The conditional bequest from Mrs. Turnbull wasn’t tiny. It’s wasn’t the financial equivalent of a silver stickpin and handful of crowns. If Serafina agreed to marry Edward, the bequest from Mrs. Turnbull would lift her from the throes of bankruptcy to a place high atop society, where she’d never have to worry about money again.
Gerard knew the money by itself would not buy Serafina happiness. He’d watched his grandfather, a thoroughly repugnant man, spend his old age obsessed with fluctuations in the stock market and furious with decisions made by the boards of companies he no longer controlled, his millions bringing him no perceptible pleasure at all. His father, bland to the point of invisibility, had never had to work, really—only listen to the reports of the men who invested the family fortune. He’d sunk slowly into a wretched pit of half-lidded alcoholism, serial infidelity, and moroseness. It was no wonder Gerard had taken a pass on everything Newport, Rhode Island, had to offer.
But he was equally aware of the soul-grinding problems not having enough money caused. His admin, a lovely, smart woman named Bev, had had to resign when her husband was laid off from his bookkeeping job, so they could sell their small Brooklyn apartment, the one asset they had, and move to a less-expensive trailer in South Carolina, where her husband got a job as a part-time manager of a local grocery store. Gerard still used Bev to manage his travel. She’d cried when he’d called to offer her the freelance work.
Doing a job you love—and earning enough money to live from it—was the only recipe for happiness Gerard had ever found. Mrs. Turnbull’s money would give Serafina the chance to do that.
“Why the dowie face, lad?”
Gerard lifted his gaze to John Dawes’s interrogatory stare.
“Pardon?” Gerard said.
“You look like yer gilpie dropped a puddock in yer groats.”
“You know what? I feel like my gilpie dropped a puddock in my groats.”
“There’s only one cure for that.”
“What’s that?”
Dawes reached under the bar and plonked a stout bottle of whiskey in front of him, followed by a glass.
Gerard turned the bottle. Kerr whiskey. Of course. He poured himself a long draw. “You married, Mr. Dawes?”
“For these last twenty years.”
“What would you do if your wife had an illness, and there’s a cure, but she’ll have to take it every day and it’s only available on a faraway island in the Atlantic, an island on which you’re not allowed, which means if she takes the cure, you’ll never see her again?”
“Och, that’s a hard one.” Dawes frowned. “Will she die without the medicine?”
“No. But she’ll be damned uncomfortable.”
Dawes threw the rag he held over his shoulder. “Uncomfortable? Like a club foot?”
“Aye. Or wheezing or gout.”
Dawes leaned in closer, as if he were telling Gerard a secret. “You ken, I am quite in love with my wife. Not every man in here is, but I am. She nearly died when she had our daughter nine years ago. I prayed and prayed for the fever to go—and I’m no’ a praying man. Nothing reminds you of the importance of something like thinking you might lose it. I complain now and then, but my life would be empty without her. If she fell ill, I’d send her to the island. No question.”
“Really?”
“Oh, aye. And d’ye want to know the first thing I’d do after that?”
“What?”
“I’d storm the bloody place. They can make the cure as hard to get as they want, but no one’s going to keep me from being with her while she takes it.”
Dawes is a wise man. Nothing would keep Gerard from Serafina, even if she married Edward.
He swirled his drink. Having come to that certainty, he went a step further. Would it be a good idea for her to marry Edward to take possession of the bequest? Edward wouldn’t fight it, since he would come into a chest full of money too. Serafina would receive an independent fortune. There would be no divorce though. Not in this era. She would be Mrs. Turnbull, and to the world, Gerard would be the penniless lover she kept to amuse herself.
He shifted. The vision was not an attractive one. And yet if it brought Serafina a ship and the freedom to do what she wanted, could he bear it? Yes. No question.
Then he remembered what he had nearly forgotten: Serafina was already married. To him, or so he thought. She couldn’t marry another. No matter how much Gerard might wish for her to have the money, it couldn’t be. Serafina would never commit such a transgression.
He felt the iron band loosen, and he exhaled. He and Serafina would learn how to survive without the Turnbull bequest. He didn’t know how, but they would.
Gerard lifted his hand to signal for a refill, but before he could open his mouth, a call of “Edward Turnbull!” rose over the noise of the tavern.
Gerard turned, looking for the man who’d been so much on his mind, but found himself instead looking into the surprised gaze of Father Kincaid from St. Giles.
Kincaid walked over, and Gerard almost asked if he, too, was an acquaintance of the cad until he remembered that Kincaid thought that he, Gerard, was Edward Turnbull.
“Ha! Never thought I’d run into you here,” Kincaid said. “I’ve been looking for you since yesterday.”
“I’ve spoken to all my colleagues,” Gerard said, remembering his promise about the steeple. “Talked it up to everyone. You should be expecting an absolute run on the place, I promise—”
“Oh, gah,” Kincaid said, signaling for an ale. “I wasn’t running about looking for you for that. When a man makes a promise, Bruce Kincaid takes him at his word. No, I was looking for you for quite another reason. I have the information you were looking for.”
“Information?”
He gave Gerard a gentle elbow and turned to Dawes. “The man doesn’t remember asking me to find out if he got married or not.”
Dawes laughed. “What? Married and he canna remember?”
“Drunk, he was. Drunk as a puffin.”
“And what’s the answer?” Gerard said. “What happened?”
“Well, Archie finally made his way in. It seems you did not convince the lady to do the deed. I canna say what deeds ye did outside St. Giles, but ye did no’ marry.”
Gerard shook his head to clear out the cobwebs. “But you said I insisted, that before I’d sign the register copy, I said we had to be married.”
“Oh, ye definitely said it, but the couple that came in later, the ones Archie remembered, wasna you. Look at it this way: If it’s so important to ye, ye’ll now have a chance to do it while you’re awake, conscious-like. And there’s no rush, of course, as your names are already on the register.” Kincaid lifted his mug. “Slainté.”
Numb, Gerard reached for his whiskey. He and Serafina had created the fake marriage record, but they had never actually married. They’d apparently even bought a ring, but they’d never married. Undine’s spell would take effect exactly as it was supposed to. Gerard would be whisked away, heartbroken, and Serafina would be alone and penniless unless he convinced her to marry Edward.
He lifted his glass and drank till it was dry. Then he put it down and looked at Dawes. “Another, please, and keep them coming.”
Forty-three
Gerard knocked on the upstairs door at the Hollow Crown, ignoring the sharp thump of overindulgence behind his eyes, and adjusted the parcels in his arm. He’d been tempted to stop downstairs for a fortifying drink, but he’d been gone all night and half the day, and he’d avoided what needed to be done long enough.
Duncan, l
ooking splendid in a rich green kilt with silver appointments, cracked the door. He looked Gerard over, diagnosed his hangover instantly, and shook his head. “Idiot,” he said and swung the door wide.
Abby was at the mirror, adjusting something feathery in her hair. Undine sat by the fire, sipping wine, and Serafina stood by the window, looking breathtaking in a dark blue gown that picked up the sapphire in her eyes.
“There you are.” Abby met his gaze in the mirror, but Serafina’s attention was focused on something beyond the glass.
“I sent a note,” Gerard said, putting his packages on the table. “You got it, I hope.”
“We did. Duncan,” Abby said pointedly, “could you help me with my clasp?” She pulled away just as Duncan reached for it, leaving his arms dangling in midair. “In here.” She gestured to their bedroom. Duncan shrugged apologetically and followed her in. The door closed.
Undine unfolded herself. “I suppose I should see if—”
“Excuse me.” Serafina disappeared into her room and shut the door with a bang.
Gerard shoved his hands in his pockets. “Am I going to get the cold shoulder from you too?”
Undine chuckled. “A beautifully descriptive phrase. I didn’t realize the denizens of the twenty-first century possessed that much of an imagination. Mr. Innes, you look like a man in need of a fortune reading.”
“Thank you, no. I didn’t much enjoy the first one. In any case, I know what’s going to happen to me.”
“False confidence. Such a typically male flaw. You also look like a man in need of a bath. You’re still planning to accompany me to the dinner, are you not?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. I’ve introduced myself to Elizabeth Hiscock as the debonair James Bond, and I promised her I’d look for her there.” His gaze went to the closed door. “I think I’d better talk to Serafina.”
“Give her some time.”
“We don’t have time,” he said.
“That’s rather amusing coming from a man who has been hiding away nearly an entire day. What makes you think you don’t have time?”
He lowered his voice. “I was wrong. We’re not married. The spell hasn’t been altered.”
Undine exhaled. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. What about the ring she’s been hiding?”
The ring—another thing Undine knew. He shrugged. “I guess she bought it to make it easier for her to try to claim the cargo if it came to that,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I don’t remember everything from that first night, but I know for a fact we didn’t marry.”
Undine pointed to her room. “Come. We’ll talk in there.”
She led him in and took a seat on a large chest. A copper tub filled with water sat in a corner, and he hesitated.
“I had a bath drawn for me,” she explained, “but I find I’m not in the mood. Take it, please.”
Gerard longed for the rejuvenating qualities of that hot water. He’d be better able to face Serafina with the foolish excesses of the night before washed from him. He slipped off his jacket and began to undo his shirt buttons.
“I am verra sorry to hear your news,” Undine said. “I know you’d set great store by the implications.”
“We need to do something to help Sera.”
Undine put a finger to her lips and gestured to the wall separating Serafina’s bedroom from hers. “Keep your voice down,” she said in a whisper. “She can hear us. Why do you think she needs help?”
“Have you seen where she lives?”
Undine shook her head. “Serafina has been one of our party since I met her.”
“You and Duncan and Abby have been very good friends to her. The place she lives is”—he shook his head, remembering the low circumstances—“wretched. She has nothing now that the cargo is gone. Not even a gown to wear. She’s dead broke—penniless.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a crumb.”
* * *
Serafina wrenched herself away from the wall, the throb of shame in her ears as loud as the trumpet blare of fury. How did he know? And why would he tell Undine? She’d become an object of pity and laughter, as if someone had placed her in the town square and nailed her ear to the pillory. And not just anybody. The man she thought loved her. She wanted to run, to hide her face, to never be seen again.
She marched into the empty sitting room, then into the hallway. She grabbed a passing maid and said, “Tell Lady Kerr I need some air.”
* * *
Undine said, “Abby can help her.”
Gerard shook his head. He knew what Serafina’s reaction would be. “She won’t take it. And I could help her if she came back to New York with me. And I might be able to help her here, but not now. Not yet.” He kicked the tub, angry with himself.
“She won’t starve. She’s too smart. She’ll accept Abby’s help if it comes to that.”
“Don’t you see? I don’t want it to come to that. And you shouldn’t either.” His shirt hung open and his hand was on a trouser button. He waited for Undine to step out or at least turn her head. She didn’t. He gestured to his pants. “Do you mind?”
“Not in the least.” She turned slightly, not enough to block him from her view.
He gave up. With a few quick moves, he was undressed, and with one more, he was sinking into the water. He wondered for an instant what it might have been like to have Serafina climbing in with him, perhaps in her own muslin chemise, the fabric puddling in warm wet curves around her hips. He’d have loosened the ribbon slowly, and the straps would’ve fallen off her shoulders, freeing those soft, round breasts. But it would be her eyes, simmering with desire and defiance, that would’ve entranced him, and the press of her palms on his chest as she began to move. Oh, Sera…
“Mr. Innes?”
He jerked hard enough to spill water over the tub’s side. He wished he had an aluminum foil hat. There was something about the exasperated look on Undine’s face that made it seem like she was drawing the thoughts from his head with the strength of an electron magnet. “Yes?”
“Are you ready to focus?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We have another problem on our hands tonight.”
“What’s that?” he said, reaching for the soap.
“My contacts intercepted a note from that miserable Henry Boyle regarding a bribe England is sending to Scotland.”
“Henry Boyle?”
“The chancellor of the exchequer. ’Tis a final effort to sway the votes of the men in the Scottish Parliament. If exposed, it would turn the people of Scotland even harder against the union and make it near impossible for Parliament to ignore them.”
“So what’s the problem? You have the note,” he said. “Expose it.”
“The note doesn’t have Boyle’s name or signature on it. We know, but it wouldn’t work as cudgel. Our best bet is to try to dry up the source of the bribes. We know they come in a small amount at a time—enough to bribe a single lord—and go through a high-placed man sympathetic to their cause.”
“Hiscock.”
“Aye.”
“Is the money for the bribes part of the stolen cargo?”
“We don’t think so. It needs to be gold, and we’d have heard if a cache of gold coins had hit the streets of Edinburgh. But now that we know Hiscock is the man aiding England, we can narrow our efforts. And tonight I’m going to see what I can find out.”
“While I press Elizabeth Hiscock for the location of the warehouse. Oh, God,” he said with a long sigh. “I wish I could spend my last hours with Sera and not that girl. But I know it’s the best thing I can do for her.” He realized it was time to get to the heart of the matter with Undine. “There’s another option.”
“For the gold?”
“No, for Sera. Edward wishes to marry her.”
“And Serafina turned him down.�
�
“There’s more to it,” Gerard said. “I visited Edward’s mother. She very much wants to see Edward right his wrong and marry Sera.”
Undine snorted. “Good luck.”
“It would be a good marriage for her—financially, I mean. Mrs. Turnbull intends to leave Serafina a sizable bequest. I don’t know the exact amount, but it’s a tenth of her estate and even with a conservative estimate, Serafina would live very well.”
“Then why would she marry?”
“Because the bequest is contingent on a marriage to Edward.”
Undine groaned. “She’ll never say aye.”
“But she should.”
Undine straightened her gown and coughed. “There is a third option as well, you know.”
Gerard knew what the option was. He’d been thinking about it most of the night.
“Are you going to ask what it is?” Undine said.
“No,” he said. “I’d rather see her married to Edward. A marriage to me gets her nothing.”
“You’d rather see her married to Edward? Yesterday, you could barely contain your pleasure when you thought her marriage to you had stopped the spell.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I found out about the bequest. Serafina should be at sea. She needs a ship. She could kick the ass of any man afloat. But no matter how many times I go over it, I can’t find a way to be able to give her that.” Gerard hung his head, defeated.
“Perhaps you misunderstand what she needs. I’m not going to argue with you, Mr. Innes. If your mind is set, there’s nothing I can do to change it. What can I do to help?”
“I don’t know exactly how marriage works here, especially among the wealthy, but with her own money, mightn’t Sera be free to…live as she wished? It’s certainly how they live in my time.”
“She would,” Undine said. “I can think of very few couples who do not hide certain things from one another.”
“I don’t mean the freedom to take a lover—though I hope Serafina would find someone to make her happy in that way. I mean the freedom to sail.”
