by Kruger, Mary
“Come in, my boy, come in,” George Abbott said, smiling. Brendan didn’t have to look closely to know that the smile didn’t reach the man’s eyes. It rarely did. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Tolerable.” Brendan removed his curly-brimmed beaver hat, looking around for a place to put it, since none of his host’s servants were visible.
“I’ll take that.” Abbott held out his hand for the hat. “I gave my butler the day off,” he said, over his shoulder as he led Brendan into a cluttered, book-lined room off the hall, and Brendan understood instantly. Abbott wanted there to be no chance of their discussion being overheard. For though he held no title in the government, he was nonetheless crucial to it. With the tension building between the United States and Europe, his task was delicate: gathering intelligence. His duty was to find people willing to act as spies. Brendan, as the Raven, had worked under him for several years.
“Thank you.” Brendan moved a stack of books from a burgundy leather wing chair and sat down, surveying the room, which he’d seen only once before. Like its owner, it was untidy, with papers everywhere, strewn on the dusty surface of the mahogany library table, on chairs, even on the floor, evidence of a manuscript in progress. Where there were no papers there were books, except for a table holding a chess set of black and white marble. Rebecca would love this room, he thought, and forced his thoughts onto another subject. Rebecca was in the past.
“So.” Abbott sat facing him, a deceptively genial soul in a crumpled dressing gown worn over a wrinkled shirt, and with his hair in a fringe on his balding head. Only his eyes belied the facade of placid amiability; they were dark, sharp, and somehow cold. They were, Brendan thought, the eyes of a shark. “It’s a month since the Raven disappeared.” He loaded his pipe with tobacco, appearing not to notice the flakes sifting down onto his sleeve. “You caused quite a commotion, my boy.”
Brendan leaned back. “So I understand.”
“Never thought Talbot would cause such a fuss. Did you know he’s circulated posters offering a reward for your capture?”
“The devil he has!” Brendan said, startled. “Where?”
“With any ship that leaves port, and all around town. I have one here.” Brendan took the paper Abbott handed him in silence, and frowned at it. In large type, the poster proclaimed that a reward of one thousand dollars was offered for the capture of the Raven, dead or alive. Above that was a crudely-drawn picture of a vicious-looking rogue. Brendan relaxed. The only resemblance to himself he could see was the eyepatch. “The devil take it.”
“Exactly. Hand me the tinder, will you, my boy? Thank you.” He struck a flint and set it to the tobacco. “Pity you had to take his daughters.”
“As you told me to take hostages, I did so,” Brendan said through gritted teeth. “To cover our real purpose. The Talbot sisters were the only hostages available.”
Abbott drew on the pipe and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I may have said something like that, yes. It was important no one knew it was Neville we really wanted. Important to you, too, my boy, and don’t forget that. But, ‘pon my soul!” He lowered the pipe. “Two young ladies! Not done, my boy, not done at all.”
Brendan regarded him coolly. No, not done, but that hadn’t stopped him from taking them, had it? Nor had it kept him from making Rebecca his. Ah, Rebecca. “Were Neville’s papers worth it, sir?”
Abbott looked up from relighting his pipe, his eyes sharp. “You didn’t read them?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Neville’s been deported, by the way. Almost as soon as he returned.” He glared at the pipe. “Damn thing never would draw right. Yes, valuable papers,” he went on. “Though I must own I was surprised when you sent them by courier, rather than deliver them yourself.”
“I thought to avoid Washington City for a time.” Brendan studied his fingernails. “Didn’t want to chance running into Talbot.”
“Ah, yes. Him.” He drew on the pipe again, and this time made a satisfied sound. “You may be interested to know that Neville’s papers contained a list of people sympathetic to the British side. Handy to have, should there be war. We’ll know the traitors to look out for.” He puffed in contented silence. “Talbot was on the list.”
“The devil he was!” Brendan exclaimed.
“Oh, yes. We’ve known about him for years. One of the reasons there’s so much fuss just now is that he applied to the British legation for help when his daughters were taken. Of course, they came to us.” He blew out smoke. “Very sticky situation.”
“I can imagine.”
“Both sides calling for the Raven’s head. It might be best if you disappear for a while, my boy.”
Brendan sat hunched over, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. “And do what?”
“What you’ve always done when the Raven isn’t about. Now. Tell me all that happened, exactly.”
What he’d always done? Abbott was damned cavalier about his safety. There was a price on his head, and his services to his government were now a liability. None of that seemed to bother Abbott, however. But then, Brendan had known exactly what he was getting into when he’d offered himself for this work. “The first I realized the Talbot sisters would be aboard the Curlew was in St. Thomas,” he began, and went on to relate all that had happened over the next month. He left out nothing, even admitting that he’d kept Rebecca in the cabin with him, to keep her and her sister safe. But he did not say a word of what had really happened between him and her. He did not tell of how she had so unexpectedly enchanted him, of how in her arms he’d found a paradise he’d never known existed. Nor did he say that his life since she’d left had been bleak and gray, that he no longer took pleasure in steering his ship, or in the mission he’d successfully completed. He most especially said nothing about his strong, nearly overpowering need to see Rebecca.
Abbott’s lips were pursed when Brendan finished talking, and his pipe had gone cold. “Not good,” he said, the genial note gone from his voice. “Do you know what the talk is of the Talbot sisters?”
“No, sir.”
“That they were both ravaged repeatedly while aboard your ship.”
Brendan sat bolt upright. “They weren’t!”
“I know that.” Abbott held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture as Brendan rose and paced to the window. “To be fair, most don’t believe it. The younger sister has received naught but sympathy.”
Brendan spun around. “And Rebecca?” he demanded.
Abbott concentrated on relighting his pipe. “Said to be confined to her room.” He puffed on the pipe. “Talbot is a vindictive man.”
Brendan swore, making Abbott look at him in surprise. “Damn him. If he’s hurt her—”
“I hope you’re not thinking of doing something foolish.” Abbott’s drawl stopped Brendan at the door. “Such as going to see her.”
“That is what I was thinking, yes.”
“Very foolish, my boy. You’d be recognized in an instant, and what then?” Abbott looked up at him, his eyes shrewd. “We couldn’t do anything to rescue you. Not without acknowledging that the government has actually authorized the use of pirates against a country that technically isn’t our enemy.” He set the pipe down. “And what would that do to our other agents?”
Brendan walked slowly back into the room. Like it or not, Abbott was right. There was a larger issue at stake than his feelings for Rebecca. If his part in gathering intelligence became known, that of the other agents Abbott controlled might soon be compromised, as well. And there would go an important weapon against England. “Devil take it,” he said, throwing himself into the chair. “I can’t just do nothing.”
“You have to.” Abbott’s voice was almost gentle. “Things will have to sort themselves out.”
“But, damn it—”
“In the meantime, we’ll have to think about what to do with you.” He leaned back, puffing on the pipe. “I think, my boy, that the Raven has outlived his usefulness.”
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Rebecca sat in a straight chair by the window in her room, looking longingly out at the activity on Prospect Street, and down the hill to the broad Potomac beyond. Three weeks she had been locked in this hot, airless room, while the world outside her burst with life. In some ways, it was a relief. She could imagine the gossip and innuendo being spread about her, especially after her previous suspected fall from grace. Not that anyone knew what had really happened, but that, she had learned to her pain, didn’t stop the gossips.
In quite another way, however, it was sheer torture. It wasn’t just being locked up, far more a captive here than ever she had been on the Raven; it wasn’t just being cut off from Amelia, nor was it her meager diet. It wasn’t even the estrangement between her and her father, who had yet to forgive her for her actions aboard the Raven. It was the enforced inactivity, with nothing to do save a little reading, and that only in the Bible. For, without something to keep her mind occupied, Rebecca was slowly, and quite definitely, going mad.
She did not think about Brendan. That was a conscious decision she had made when she’d stepped into the Commonweal’s boat and realized that she had made a terrible mistake. She did not think about her weeks on the Raven. She simply did not, by the expedient of reciting every prayer she had ever heard, singing every hymn she’d ever sung, whenever thoughts of Brendan threatened. Such piety pleased her father, who saw it as a sign of repentance, but she knew better. It was the only way she could keep from dwelling on a time, a place, a person, now lost to her.
The nights, however, were different. At night, in her dreams, she saw again the cozy cabin aboard the Raven; heard seabirds overhead and felt the ship rock her to sleep. In her dreams she saw a bright blue eye, hair as dark as a raven’s wing, a merry smile. She felt strong arms about her and a muscular body pressed close to hers; she smelled the salt of the sea and the essence that was Brendan’s alone. And she heard a voice calling her sweet names: lass, leannan. In her dreams she remembered everything, and when she awoke, it was to grief so vast and so deep she feared she would drown in it.
She didn’t. Instead, she submerged it again, deep inside, only to be swamped anew whenever it resurfaced. If Father would only let her out, things would be better. She could keep busy with running the house and chaperoning Amelia. Father, however, wanted to be certain she wasn’t increasing before he allowed that. She had told him aboard the Commonweal that she wasn’t, and again here at home, but he seemed not to believe her. Nor did he listen when she told him she was glad of it, perhaps because he knew it was a lie. That she wasn’t carrying Brendan’s child was one of her greatest griefs. Being unmarried and pregnant would have been difficult, and yet still she yearned for it. She yearned to have a child created by the love she and Brendan had shared. Now she never would.
A key clicked in the lock, and she turned her head, welcoming any distraction from the tedium of her captivity. It would be Ruth, their maid, bringing her her dinner of weak tea and gruel. Rebecca detested the stuff, but she had to eat. Father apparently hoped hunger would make her submissive. To her surprise, however, it was Ezra who stepped into the room, locking the door behind him
“Father.” She rose, her legs trembling from inactivity and hunger and a little bit of fear. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He gestured her away from the chair and sat there himself, leaving her to stand; one was not allowed to sit on the beds in the Talbot house. “Have you repented, girl?”
Rebecca’s lips thinned. So that was what he wanted. She should have guessed. It was the same question he’d asked her every day since the rescue. Usually, though, he visited her in the evening. “There’s nothing to repent, Father,” she said, as she always did. “I did what I had to do.”
“What you wanted to do,” he sneered. “Little slut, just like your mother.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this.”
Ezra surged to his feet. “You dare to speak to me in such a way?”
“Yes.” Rebecca stood her ground; giving in would not make matters any better. “You know why I did what I did.”
“Huh. Because you’ll chase after any man,” he grunted, but he sat again, mopping at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Continue to defy me in such a way, Rebecca, and I’ll see to it you stay in this room.”
“You can’t keep me locked up forever!” she burst out. “Who will take care of Amelia?”
“As for that, I’m not certain I care for your influence on her. Lord Blaine will not marry her now, you know.”
“You can hardly blame me for that.”
“Can I not?” He studied her. “It would have been best if I had made you stay in the country after your bastard died, instead of letting you return—but I did not come up here to discuss that.” He leaned back, hands laced over his belly, eyes glittering oddly. “I have decided that you may leave your room.”
“Father! Oh, thank you.”
“Do not thank me. I have not forgiven you, girl.”
Her eyes were downcast. “No, Father.”
“What you did was unforgivable. However, since there seems to be no consequences, there is no longer any need to keep you hidden. You are lucky no one knows you consorted with the Raven.”
“Yes, Father.”
“They only suspect it. I would like to make you deal with the scandal yourself.”
Rebecca’s hands curled into fists. “Yes, Father.”
“But that would only hurt Amelia’s reputation, so I will not. But you will behave yourself in future, girl, or you’ll find yourself out on the streets. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good.” He rose. “I’ll expect you belowstairs to see to the ordering of the house.”
“Yes, Father.”
“And there is something else.” He stopped by the door, his eyes glittering again. “Some news.”
“Yes?”
“About the Raven.”
Rebecca looked up. “What about him?”
“The navy caught up with him two weeks ago. United States, not British.” He made a face. “Regardless, they did their duty.”
Rebecca’s grip tightened. “What—what happened?”
“There was a battle. The Raven sank—”
“No!”
“—with all hands,” he went on, inexorably. “Everyone.”
“Papa.” Rebecca forced the words out through dry lips. “Are you telling me—”
“Yes.” For the first time, he smiled, and it was a chilling sight. “The Raven is dead.”
Part II
Chapter Sixteen
Washington City, May, 1812
The day so many had awaited had come: the day of the annual horse race. At the National Race Course, some miles north of the Capitol, were gathered nearly every resident of Washington City. Mrs. Madison, along with her coterie of friends, Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Thornton, sat in their carriages, while Mrs. Law, proud of her riding, was on horseback. President Madison, not known for his love of sport, was here also, seated upon a fine gelding. On the other side of the track were the ordinary people, the tradesmen and merchants and the like, while farther down slaves and freedmen alike gathered together, all betting boisterously on the outcome of today’s events. Within the enclosure were booths selling refreshments, and on their wide plank roofs people stood, to gain a better view of the track. Even the members of the British legation were present, Sir Augustus Foster, the British minister, with his staff, in spite of the tension between the United States and England that seemed to be leading inexorably to war. For this one day enmity had been put aside. Washington City had gone to the races.
Amelia alighted from the Talbots’ traveling coach and grasped Rebecca’s hand. “Oh, just look at this!” she exclaimed. “I vow I haven’t been this excited since we stopped attending Mrs. Madison’s levees.”
“And well that we did,” Ezra said, taking Amelia’s arm and leaving Rebecca to trail behind. “Never did trust the Democrats. Jemmy Madison w
ill have us in a war before we can blink, see if he doesn’t.”
“Oh, Papa,” Amelia said, but indulgently. For once Ezra sounded genial, his complaints more automatic than heartfelt. “I vow, to hear you speak, the world will come to an end! Rebecca?” She twisted to look over her shoulder. “There you are, I feared we’d quite lost you.”
“Not a prayer of that,” Rebecca muttered, raising the skirts of her gray silk sarcenet dress as she stepped around some horse droppings. Oh, to be anywhere else but here. Unlike Amelia, she had been relieved when Father, a staunch Federalist, had decreed that they would no longer attend the levees Mrs. Madison held every Wednesday evening at the President’s House. If it had been up to her, they wouldn’t be here today, either. Not that she begrudged Amelia, sparkling and pretty in her new high-waisted walking dress of sky blue mull, her pleasure, but social life was a trial for Rebecca. No one quite knew what had happened aboard the Raven, but that hadn’t stopped anyone from speculating. Added to that were the unconfirmed rumors of Rebecca’s earlier fall from grace. Though she was accepted in society, most people were wary of her. Trailing behind Amelia and her father, Rebecca made her way through the crowd, past vendors hawking lemonade and beer, much in demand on this warm day, and greeting acquaintances, a smile fixed on her face. No one actually snubbed her; some even returned the smile. Still, she could feel the coolness, as palpable as a blanket of snow. Her transgressions had been neither forgiven nor forgotten. It was not going to be a pleasant afternoon.
Amelia was craning her head to see past a tall man standing ahead of her, as they neared the track. “I wonder which one is Mr.Brand? Papa? Do you see him?”
“No, and you will act with decorum, miss,” Ezra growled, glaring at Rebecca. “See to it that your sister behaves.”
