Sandra Heath

by The Haunting of Henrietta

  It was after nightfall, and the Avalon still ran before a good wind. The clear winter sky and a full moon gave visibility for miles, and the temperature had risen unexpectedly. It was no longer necessary for all ropes, winches, and pulleys to be checked every half hour to see they were running freely, and a lookout could be sent up the mainmast without any danger of him freezing to death. At last it seemed the great freeze might be over.

  Jane and Kit rested in each other’s arms in a corner of the crew’s mess room. They had found a comfortable pile of blankets and Rowley was snuggled up contentedly with them, sleeping deeply for the first time since being abducted. About six of the sloop’s crew of thirty played cards at a table, while one of them sang a slow sea song to the grind of a fiddle. No one realized the specters were there.

  Now the joyful diversion of Rowley’s return had subsided, Jane and Kit’s thoughts returned to the bad omens they’d witnessed. Something evil was at hand, and all they could do was wait for it to strike. They tried to talk about something more cheering, especially their renewed hopes of a happy outcome between Henrietta and Marcus, but the awful feeling of apprehension remained.

  In the main cabin, the dinner à deux was almost at an end. Henrietta had done the best with her appearance, putting up her dark hair as becomingly as she could, and donning the second of the two gowns she’d brought with her. It was made of lavender wool that matched her eyes, and had white fur at the throat, cuffs, and hem. She usually felt confident and at ease when wearing it, but from the outset tonight she’d been self-conscious and unsure. She’d examined her recent actions in the minutest detail, and found herself wanting. Why was she flirting with danger all over again? Her dealings with Marcus in London had broken her heart and put her reputation in peril, yet here she was, unchaperoned and considerably at risk from her own weakness. Being her cousin’s bridesmaid wasn’t all that important; indeed everyone in the family would have understood if she’d stayed on at Mulborough because of the weather. Instead she’d not only accepted Marcus’ offer, but had even persisted when the maid cried off.

  In her heart of hearts she knew she was a fraud. No amount of pretense could disguise the simple truth; she was doing it all because she wished to be close to the man whose caresses she still craved. Nothing had changed since that first moment at the masked ball. She’d fallen head over heels in love, and was still head over heels in love. Not only was she playing with fire foolishly, she was doing it willfully. It seemed she would never learn how dangerous this man was to her peace of mind and reputation!

  Having already found it difficult to accept that she was still in love with him, it was even more difficult to accept that she was still prepared to risk so much just to be with him. Throughout the meal she had nervously deflected the conversation from anything sensitive or delicate by asking a barrage of questions about the sloop, but now, as they sat at the table, separated by the glow of a candle, she was only just maintaining her poise. She was also running out of questions.

  Marcus was quietly amused and patiently answered everything she asked, no matter how trivial, but when, after floundering about for inspiration, she lighted upon the unlikely topic of compasses, he sat forward and interrupted. “Henrietta, are you really interested in such things?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I could discourse at some length on the mysteries of sea charts, then go on to describe how a sextant works, and even how to pick up a pen and make an entry in the ship’s log, which I’m sure you are eager to learn, but instead I’m going to draw the line upon all things nautical.”

  “I am interested, truly I am.”

  “You can’t humbug me, Henrietta Courtenay. You’re doing your utmost to avoid talking about us.”

  She looked away. “There is no point. The past is over and done with.”

  “Is it?”

  “What point is there in chewing upon old bones?”

  He smiled. “Old bones? Forgive me, but the bones did not seem so old when we came on board today; in fact you chewed upon them with considerable ferocity. As I recall, I was accused of being a heartless gamester whose trickery didn’t quite reap the anticipated reward.”

  “And so you are.”

  “What, exactly, am I supposed to have done?” he asked quietly. “You see, if my memory serves me correctly, and I’m certain it does, I sought your hand in marriage, but after accepting, you sent me a very curt note terminating the matter, and then flung yourself into Sutherton’s predatory arms instead.”

  “Your résumé is more notable for its omissions than its content,” she replied.

  “What omissions? Your abandoned conduct in my arms, perhaps?”

  She colored. “How like you to say that.”

  “Do you now deny your passionate response?”

  “No, but then I was gullible and naive, was I not? In fact, I was the perfect prey for a predator such as you.”

  “Prey! Oh, come now ...”

  “What of your own conduct, sirrah? If mine was abandoned and passionate, how would you describe yours? And before you answer, perhaps I should remind you that I know you entered into the liaison simply to humiliate me! Being a thoroughgoing Fitzpaine, you decided a mere Courtenay had to be humiliated and then ruined socially. My seduction was the object of the exercise, and in order to achieve it, you lied about your identity. On top of that you set the whole shabby business down in White’s betting book for all to see!”

  Marcus stared at her. “You cannot honestly believe any of that,” he said then.

  “I believe every word.” Tears stung her eyes and she flung her napkin on the table and got up to stand by the windows facing over the sloop’s creaming wake.

  Slowly he rose as well, and came behind her. “Henrietta, I swear upon all that I hold dear that I am innocent. I didn’t set out to humiliate or ruin you, and I certainly didn’t place a wager of any sort in White’s book.”

  “Don’t lie, Marcus. You used me most foully, and if Sutherton had not told me—”

  “I didn’t do it, Henrietta, and if anyone is a liar in it all, I suggest you look to Sutherton. Look at me, damn you!” He caught her wrist and whirled her about to face him. “The only thing of which I stand guilty is calling myself Mark Paynson, and that I did because immediately after the cotillion I made it my business to learn your name. On discovering it to be Courtenay, I feared you would spurn me if you knew the truth. But Henrietta, I swear that although I came to you under a false name, I was not also under false colors. Everything I did was on account of my feelings for you, and on the day you ended things between us, I had been on the point of calling upon you to tell you of my birthright.”

  “How can I take the word of someone who lied so very smoothly in the past?”

  “Why do you refuse to believe me, yet accept everything Sutherton says as if it were gospel?” He released her wrist.

  She looked at him. “Perhaps because I cannot see how he could have found out about us, if not from the betting book. I certainly didn’t tell anyone, and we were always discreet, even when we met in Hyde Park.”

  “Ergo I must be guilty? Henrietta, I’m relieved your sex is barred from the judiciary, because if you are an example of female reasoning, I vow there would never be a fair verdict!” He turned away.

  “Oh, I think a fair verdict was delivered in this case, sir, for you did not succeed in your shabby game.”

  “Sutherton succeeded in his!” He ran a hand through his fair hair, and then paused. “Actually, I did tell one person, a friend who has now gone to India, but I would trust him with my very life. My only conclusion is that Sutherton must have overheard that conversation.”

  “I suppose it does not matter how he found out, simply that he did.”

  He faced her again. “It does matter, Henrietta, because if you continue to believe this business with White’s book, then you continue to believe in my guilt. Think about Sutherton, I mean really think. He’s a two-faced liar with debts so monume
ntal he needs a fortune to bail him out. How can you possibly take his word? Especially when all the time he was paying court to you, he was bedding Amabel!”

  “I know what he is. I accepted him because he saved me from you and saved my reputation as well. I felt that the least I could do was help him.”

  “So, you’re doing it out of gratitude and pity?”he replied incredulously.

  She drew a long breath and shook her head. “No, not anymore.”

  He was startled. “Do I hear correctly? The match with Sutherton is off?”

  “That’s what I said, although of course I have yet to tell him.”

  “Oh, to be a fly on the wall when you do! I’ll warrant he’s been running up countless new bills on the promise of funds after marriage.”

  “I trust that is not the case.”

  “Then you trust in vain. Oh, Henrietta, I thought you would never see sense.”

  “Of what possible concern can it really be to you? You’ve embarked upon marriage negotiations of your own, remember?”

  “Have I?” He gave a slight laugh. “Well, maybe where that is concerned, I was indeed a little dishonest.”

  “Dishonest?”

  For a long moment he looked at her, and then exhaled resignedly. “Maybe the time has come for complete honesty. Henrietta, my bride is a figment of my imagination, created in the hope she would cause you some of the pain Sutherton caused me.”

  She stared at him.

  He cleared his throat. “You may as well know it all, and do with it what you will. Henrietta, I haven’t looked at another woman since you. Oh, I’ve reached the bedside on more than one occasion, but as to slipping between the sheets, you are the only one with whom I wish to do that.” He hesitated, and then put his hand gently to her cheek.

  Her heart missed a beat. Surely she couldn’t have misunderstood? He had just told her he still loved her! When she did not pull away, he slid his fingers to twine in the warm hair at the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes as the old, forbidden sensations began to swirl unstoppably through her veins. Oh, what feelings they were, and once learned, they could never be forgotten. She had no resistance, no resistance at all....

  Pulling her close, he found her lips in a kiss that ignited her entire being. Flames raced through her veins, reducing her pride to ashes. Why pretend anymore? Why adopt an attitude when this was what she wanted? Her body ached to be consumed, and she was moving further and further into the heat. Pride, honor, vanity, all were consigned to the blaze as she gave herself to the desire that had smoldered through her days and nights ever since they met.

  His kiss became more imperative, and he cupped her breast through her gown, at the same time drawing her more tightly against his hips so that she could feel the hard contours of his body. She gasped with pleasure. Her flesh was beginning to melt, and she was at desire’s mercy. If he were to carry her to the bed in the adjoining cabin, she knew she would make no protest.

  Marcus longed to do just that. To lie naked with her, to intoxicate her with pleasure, to take her rosebud nipples into his mouth, to sink his needful virility into that sweet fastness no other man had entered before, those were the dazzling prizes that were shone before him now. Oh, dear God, how close he was to abandon . . . But he couldn’t, he mustn’t, for to give in to his senses now would be wrong. Everything had to be right, right!

  With a huge effort, he drew back from the brink. His eyes were dark with his emotion and his face was flushed. “Do you still doubt me?”

  “No,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Then—”

  Before he could say anything more, the first officer knocked urgently at the door. “My lord?”

  “Yes, Mr. Barrington?”

  “Sail astern! By the full moon the lookout suspects it’s the Légère.”

  “Summon all hands! I’ll be with you promptly, Mr. Barrington!”

  “Right, my lord.”

  The first officer shouted an order, and almost immediately the shriek of the boatswain’s whistle carried clearly into the cabin from farther along the main deck. Marcus stepped swiftly to the telescope, took it from its stand, and then went to open the door leading to the stern balcony. The noise of the sea swept in, as did the cold. The sudden draft made the solitary candle dance and flicker, although thankfully it did not go out. Spray dashed up, as white and icy as snow, and Henrietta shivered.

  Marcus braced his legs against the wind and motion of the ship, and trained the telescope on the moonlit horizon. The pale glimmer of a sail was just visible; to the lookout high in the crow’s nest, it must have been very clear indeed.

  His face set, Marcus came back into the cabin and closed the door on the winter sea and the night. As the candle flame steadied once more, Henrietta looked anxiously at him. “Is it the Légère?”

  “I believe it may be.” He returned the telescope to its stand before drawing her close to put his lips to hers once more. This time the kiss was tender, a loving caress intended to reassure. Then he grabbed his greatcoat and strode from the cabin. The bitter cold swept briefly in again, and the candle fluttered before the door swung to behind him.

  Suddenly all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. She took the telescope and stood on the morocco window seat, bracing herself as she tried to see all she could. There was a speck of white in the distance, but as she looked, it turned to luminous silver. Then everything around her began to change as well. She wasn’t on the Avalon anymore, but on another, much older vessel....

  Things had already changed for the ghosts. Rowley was the first to sense it, at the moment the lookout shouted his sighting of the distant sail. The spaniel gave an uneasy whine of warning, and Jane and Kit sat up immediately. A sinister smell of sulfur seemed to drift in air that had become oddly still, and they found themselves unable to move. It was the commencement of their unnamed dread, and their fear was almost tangible.

  They heard the alarm being raised in the nearby mess room, where the sailors were still seated around the table, but looked up sharply as Mr. Padstow flung the door open. “Sail-ho, lads! His Lordship’s about to be on deck, so look lively!” The men got up as one and made for the deck.

  Jane and Kit tried to hold each other’s hand, but their fingers wouldn’t obey. The light around them began to change, turning slowly to eerie silver. Then, compelled by a force beyond their control, they rose from the pile of blankets and were drawn in a straight line toward the stern of the vessel, as if by an invisible chain. As they passed out of sight through the mess room wall, Rowley ran after them in panic. No straight line for him. He had to scurry through open doors and up companionways, but as he dashed along the open deck, at last he had them in view again. They disappeared into the captain’s quarters just as Marcus emerged, and the spaniel slipped through the briefly opened door.

  * * * *

  Henrietta climbed shakily down from the window seat and replaced the telescope on the stand. The hairs at the nape of her neck stirred uneasily, and she felt very strange. She was used to the supernatural, but this was very, very different. Gradually the light in the cabin changed. It was no longer just the soft glow of a single candle, but had become the shimmering brightness of several four-branched candelabra. The cabin itself had changed too, becoming much larger and more plainly furnished. An old-fashioned writing desk appeared before her, and on it lay a ship’s log. She saw the vessel’s name quite clearly upon the cover: Wessex.

  As recollections of Lady Chloe’s journal swept chillingly over her, something made her turn. Her heart quickened as she saw eight hazy figures seated around a large table. They were laughing and talking, but made no sound, and among them were Jane and Kit. The door opened and a ship’s officer looked urgently in. He spoke, but still Henrietta heard nothing. The captain rose swiftly from his chair and strode toward her. She had no time to step aside, but it didn’t matter because he passed right through her to go to the writing desk. He took a small telescope from the
drawer of the writing desk, and just as Marcus had done but a few moments before, he went out onto the stern balcony to look at a sail on the horizon.

  The tragedy of 1714 echoed through Henrietta, and she knew he feared the distant sail might belong to the Basilic. Past and present had become entangled, and the Avalon had become the Wessex and the Légère had become the Basilic. Four vessels, two of them ghosts from the previous century. But what was their fate? Were the vessels of 1814 as doomed as those of a hundred years before?

  The captain came back in, spoke abruptly to the other men at the table, but still all was silent. Within moments everyone had hurried out, leaving only Kit and Jane, who held Rowley close in her arms.

  Then the silver glow faded, and as the cabin of the Avalon returned, the ghosts were temporarily freed from the spell. Jane met Henrietta’s eyes. “Old Nick has us now, and on St. Valentine’s Day he will drive us on to the Goodwins again,” she said quietly.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  As the sun rose, the lookout could positively identify the suspicious sail as the Légère. The privateer made no progress, nor did it slip out of sight, so it was clear she was stalking the Avalon. Mulborough was already a hundred miles astern as the sloop ran briskly southward before the wind. The sails cracked, the wind whistled through the rigging, and seagulls screamed wildly in the cloudless sky. The temperature was above freezing, and a thaw had set in.

  Overnight the sloop had been well out of sight of land as they cleared the large square bite out of the land known as the Wash, and now it was the low white coast of Norfolk that lay to starboard. Marcus kept the Avalon well inshore, where the water was too shallow for the privateer, but by now he’d guessed the Frenchman’s plan. Charles Lyons was biding his time, intending to capture the sloop, not destroy her. The tide was ebbing, and the area of sea ahead was a maze of dangerous shoals and sandbanks, especially off the large shingle spit known as Orford Ness. Here lay the hazard known as the Black Deeps, where beneath the water was the sunken village of Dunchurch, and it was said the church bell could still sometimes be heard tolling. No vessel would willingly risk such dangers, so Lyons was confident that even the Avalon would soon be forced to seek more open water, at which point he would strike. The Légère would crack on full sail, come up swiftly and direct a few well-aimed shots with her bow howitzers. If all went Lyons’ way, it would soon be over, and the Avalon could be in France before nightfall. It would be some revenge for being deprived of the gold at Mulborough.