The Unexpected Wife

by Caroline Warfield

  “None taken. The boy, I think, is a bigger concern,” Charles said.

  “Yes. Well. My instructions were to house the daughter. The young marquess took a position with the Company.” He made a gesture as if to brush responsibility for Thorn off his hands. “A position I might say could have benefited a man who needed it more,” he went on.

  Charles nodded, his respect for Elliot rising. “I assume you hear from the Company. Any news of the boy?” Elliot’s considering expression worried him. I don’t think I’m going to like this.

  “Scampered,” Elliot told him. “Took a position with Jarratt. Didn’t bother to resign.”

  “Jarratt?” Charles asked, but another voice interrupted before he could expand the thought.

  “Who exactly is Jarratt?” Zambak stood at the open door, rigid with outrage while Higgins fluttered behind her.

  Captain Elliot opened his mouth as if to issue a sharp reprimand but thought better of it. Zambak Hayden is a formidable sight when she’s determined to have her way—and she frequently is. Charles bit back a smile.

  “Mrs. Elliot’s maid is caring for her, Captain,” Zambak said, addressing his unspoken concern. “I didn’t abandon her.” She stepped into the room and shut the door on Higgins’s nose. “Who is Jarratt, Captain? You must know my brother is my concern.”

  Elliot’s shoulders relaxed, but he looked like he had eaten something foul. “Pushing Scot. Principle of Jarratt, Martinson & Company. He and his partner have been agitating London for intervention. Probably thinks the boy gives him an in with the Duke of Sudbury.”

  “Then he doesn’t know my father. Merely showing his son favor won’t impress him,” she said.

  Something in Elliot’s manner alerted Charles that there might be something else. “If he thinks blackmail would work, he’s an even bigger fool,” Charles added.

  “Blackmail?” Alarm tightened Zambak’s voice, and Charles cursed his loose tongue.

  Elliot’s cheeks took on a deep maroon, and he glared at Charles. “I don’t know where you got such a fanciful notion! The young man works for Jarratt. That’s all the information I have—that and the trader himself has returned to Macao.” He eyed Charles balefully. “Perhaps that will satisfy your ‘curiosity.’ Now if I may excuse myself…”

  Charles hadn’t mentioned the commission. He didn’t have to; Elliot already suspected. The temptation to ask about Julia lodged in his throat. It would keep as well. He’d heard quite enough about his wife for one day. He couldn’t do much more with Zambak under foot; he escorted her to the door. “Satisfied?”

  “Hardly!”

  “Give me a day to learn what I can about Jarratt, Martinson & Company,” he told her. The chit’s expression didn’t reassure him. He would have to act fast before she did her own snooping.

  ~ ~ ~

  Zambak demanded assistance right after breakfast, and the Elliots’ staff made a show of fetching bonnet, drawing case, and the ever-present Filipe.

  The Elliots dined in their suite the night before, and Clara Elliot never came down to breakfast. Not that she would help; she had steadfastly insisted the information that caused her collapse could not be shared with “one of tender years.” If Captain Elliot ate, he did so even earlier than the obscenely early hour Zambak had come down.

  She finally found him locked with Higgins in his study, and briefly considered forcing her way in again but knew she would get no further information. She tied her bonnet with a yank and swept from the house and up the street while the coolie trotted along. If no one will talk to me, perhaps someone at this Jarratt &Martinson firm will. Thank God the school doesn’t expect me today.

  When they turned the corner toward her destination, Filipe spoke up. “Hua say the Viceroy very angry.”

  She stopped in her tracks. Hua say… How can I have forgotten servant’s gossip? “What else does Mr. Hua say?”

  Filipe shook his head sadly. “Much evil in Canton. Viceroy . . .”

  Curiosity got the better of her. It had been obvious people were shielding her. “Spit it out, Filipe. What upset Mrs. Elliot?”

  He dragged the toe of one foot across the path. “Hua say she heard Cap Elliot tell Higgins they hung a man.”

  She gasped. “Hung a man?”

  Filipe apparently decided she would not collapse at the news. “Oh yes. Viceroy put cross in the foreign quarter—big marching ground in front of factories.”

  “They crucified him?” she asked in horror.

  His face wrinkled up, considering the word.

  “How did they execute him—kill him?” she prodded.

  “Oh.” Filipe grinned, gleefully grabbed his throat with both hands, and made gagging noises.

  “They strangled him?”

  “Strangled yes, but no finish him. English navy men very angry. They pulled down the pole, and Viceroy took him. Much fighting.”

  A riot. English jack tars rescuing a Chinese. Why? “Why did the Viceroy plan so public an execution? Why him?” she asked.

  “Very bad man. Sells opium. Smoking parlor.”

  They can’t stop the trade, and they are going after the low-level providers. Will the users be next? Do they mean to appeal to the smugglers’ guilt? There isn’t any. “Tell me what else Mr. Hua heard.”

  “Mr. Elliot leave again soon. He said, ‘Enough is enough.’ Wants English ships with guns out of the river.”

  Good for Elliot. Filipe blinked at her, eyes glittering. What else does he know? “Did he mention John Thornton Hayden? Or the Marquess of Glenaire?” She loathed the thought of servants gossiping about her brother but had to ask, and there was no telling how the servants might refer to him.

  Filipe studied his feet and his toe in the dust moving side to side again.

  She sighed, reached into her reticule, and held tight to a coin. “Tell me what you know now with no further greed, and I’ll see what we can arrange going forward.”

  Filipe reached for the coin. She pulled it back. “My lord not at Canton.” He shrugged. “Hua say he left with Mister Jarratt.” He snatched the coin.

  “And does Hua know where he is?”

  “No Lady Zam. Ask the Taipan.”

  “What is Taipan?”

  “Means great merchant, Mr. Jarratt.”

  “Where can I find this Taipan?

  Filipe eagerly obliged, leading her to the prominent waterfront premises of Jarratt, Martinson & Company. With the name in gilded letters six inches high, there could be no mistake. A lady’s entrance to the office raised eyebrows. The lady’s title raised them higher. Her questions, however, obtained little besides closed mouths and shifty eyes.

  “You know nothing about the Marquess of Glenaire? John Thornton Hayden?”

  “Perhaps Mr. Jarratt can help you, my lady.” The squirmy clerk volunteered no further information.

  “Can you tell me where I might find this Mr. Jarratt who may have information about my brother?” She pressed through clenched teeth. An unmistakable snicker set her skin crawling, but she got the information she wanted.

  Chapter 12

  Jarratt’s Chinese servants kept eyes averted and heads bowed. Zambak suspected Hua would greet a woman approaching a single man’s establishment with cheeky disdain, even one who left a calling card proclaiming her to be of the highest social status. Filipe had certainly clucked his disapproval. He sat on a chair by the door outside the drawing room she was escorted into, glowering at one and all.

  She didn’t wait long. The man who entered carried her calling card. He sent his servants out with a gesture of his head and closed the door behind them. His frank assessment of her person made Zambak’s skin crawl; the amusement in his eyes enraged her. She stood a little taller and glared back.

  “I am William Jarratt,” he said.
“You wished to see me, my lady?”

  The trace of Scotland in his voice didn’t soften the obvious disrespect in his tone. Macao, she remembered, was not London. Niceties would have no place in this conversation.

  “I understand you have employed my brother,” she said.

  “Right down to business. I like that,” Jarratt smirked.

  “My brother?” she prodded.

  “Your sources of information are impressive. His lordship is indeed my employee.” The note of triumph was unmistakable. The farmer’s son from Dumfriesshire now employed the Duke of Sudbury’s son; he didn’t hide his glee.

  “Where is he?”

  One side of Jarratt’s mouth tilted upward, and he took his time answering. She refused to pull her eyes from his, even if the gleam of power and brittle amusement made her stomach clench.

  “Going about my business,” he said at last. “He didn’t mention that he required a sister to check on his welfare when he asked for employment.”

  “He approached you?” Why would Thorn seek out this worm?

  “He begged,” Jarratt replied, his eyes straying to her hem and meandering upward. “He seemed quite eager to leave the East India Company factory. So confining there, with the rules and restrictions. Always eager to avoid offending the Chinese they are.”

  Zambak began to regret going to see Jarratt. Her mind raced. Thorn wanted freedom; that in itself was not unusual. “Is he still in Canton?”

  “Not that it’s a woman’s business, but he found my operation in Whampao more attractive.”

  Whampao. Down river from the port. The smugglers’ gate to the mainland. If a man wanted opium, Whampao would be his goal.

  Jarratt went on before she could think what to say next. “He has actually returned to Macao with me.” Something in his manner set her nerves skittering.

  “Where is he?” she demanded.

  “Here as it happens. Resting. He will not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Here?” She kept outrage from her voice with great effort. “Kindly send word to him that his sister wishes to see him.”

  Jarratt stood with his hands behind his back. She very much feared the emotion lurking in the dark eyes that examined her so closely would turn out to be disdain. She raised her chin and met his piercing eyes with a glare of her own.

  “I demand it!”

  The side of Jarratt’s mouth twitched, but he went to the door and had words with a waiting servant.

  She steeled herself to ask one more question. “What exactly does my brother do for you, Mr. Jarratt?”

  The boor’s lips quivered as if suppressing laughter. “So inquisitive,” he said.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “I fear your brother finds the product more attractive than the work, although his contacts among the businessmen who sell our product directly to customers have been most helpful.”

  Oh God—Thorn dabbles in opium. A fist to her belly would have had less impact than Jarratt’s words confirming her worst fears. She clamped her jaw shut, unwilling to give the brute satisfaction.

  A scratch at the door took Jarratt’s attention momentarily. “My servants have escorted your brother to my drawing room as you requested, your ladyship.” He gestured to the door.

  A silk-clad servant led her across the foyer. Filipe hopped to his feet and attempted to follow her. Jarratt, however, slipped between Zambak and the boy, blocking his way. Double doors opened on silent hinges, and Zambak stumbled forward, her heart pausing in its race before galloping off again.

  Thorn lay sprawled across a settee, mouth agape. His unfocused eyes stared at the ceiling. Escorted? They dragged him down here and dumped him!

  She leaned over her brother, caressed his cheek with one hand, and whispered, “Thorn?” A smile, painful in its sweetness, flitted briefly across his face. Memory of that smile peering out at her from his eight-year-old face when she helped him hide from his tutor so he could finish building one of his boats pulled at her heart. His voice echoed in her mind. “I’ll build yachts one day, bigger and faster than Father’s. See if I don’t,” he had proclaimed.

  Just as quickly, his face went slack, and the eager young boy disappeared. She wheeled on Jarratt. “What have you done with him?”

  “I? My dear lady, he does this to himself. Happily. I merely complied with your demand to see him. I did not think you wished to be above stairs in the home of a single man.” Laughter lurked in his voice.

  “I want him shipped back to London,” she burst out. “My father—”

  “I’m given to understand your father cares little what Lord Glenaire does. Foolish.”

  The sound of the heir’s title on this man’s lips sickened her. A groan from the settee tore her heart. “Don’t think the duke will let you get away with encouraging his addiction,” she spat.

  “My dear girl, your father is thousands of miles away. He obviously had little control over his heir in England. He has less now. I am the one with influence here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The young man is where he wishes to be, doing precisely what he loves best. I choose to permit it.”

  “And you could choose not to.” She turned back to the settee and took her brother’s hand, slack in hers.

  “Exactly. You’re bright as a penny just as I thought.”

  “How can I persuade you to send him home?” She turned back and sucked in breath. He had stepped closer to her. Too close.

  “Persuade. Lovely word.” Jarratt resumed his examination of her person. “I’m a merchant, Lady Zambak. Your brother’s place as my employee is an asset. What do you propose to give me in return if I turn him over to you?”

  “I have money. I could pay you to force him.”

  Laughter burst from him. “Money is a lovely thing. A man can’t have too much. It isn’t the only thing a man desires, however.” His brows rose.

  Zambak shuddered and took a step back, bumping her leg on the settee. “If you are unwilling to do business, I’ll take my leave of you—and take my brother with me.”

  “I think not. The marquess as you see is in no condition to walk. He will recover his senses, be assured of that. He always has done so—at least he has so far. Come back tomorrow. Perhaps then he’ll come with you willingly. Perhaps not.”

  “You could—”

  Jarratt’s face grew dark, amusement gone. “You have much to learn about business, my lady. I merely rejected your first offer,” he replied.

  “And I reject yours, Mr. Jarratt.” She began to walk. Filipe’s wide eyes in the door helped her restrain the impulse to run. The boy trotted after her to the outside door.

  Jarratt’s laughter followed them down the steps. She made it around the corner before the Elliots’ superior breakfast revolted and found its way into the bushes. Even as she retched, one imperative seized her. I have to get Thorn away from that man.

  ~ ~ ~

  After an hour with Elliot, Charles’s worries and concerns mounted. The Chinese had dug in their feet and would not be moved. The traders, who had taken to running armed boats across the delta from Lintin to Whampao and even to the gates of Canton, wouldn’t either. Elliot appeared to be on the brink of taking action, but it wouldn’t take much to set off the whole tinderbox.

  Zambak’s absence worried him more. She didn’t secure an interview with Elliot. When Charles inquired about, it the man seemed surprised she would want to. “Flighty thing,” the superintendent called her.

  She’s about as far from flighty as I can imagine, but she has taken off—most likely looking for information on her own. He knew it wasn’t her day for the school and dreaded to think where she might have gone. I hoped she sought out Oliver. She’ll be safe enough with him. He strode toward his next target—Willi
am Jarratt—turned a corner, and heard a frantic voice call him.

  “Yer Grace, come quick. Come quick. The lady.” Filipe ran toward him. Behind the boy, Zambak leaned over a fence, holding her stomach.

  “Zambak, what is it?”

  She shook her head and wrinkled her brow. “Bad fish,” she mumbled.

  “You’re as pale as a sheet.” Dear God! She’s trembling. Lady Zambak Hayden does not tremble.

  “I just—” she began and swallowed back a sob.

  He couldn’t bear it. She does not sob either. He wouldn’t have it. Searching frantically, his eyes hit upon a tall stand of boxwood between two houses. He pulled her into the secluded spot.

  His hand, when it touched her cheek, trembled. “Zambak,” he whispered. “What is it?”

  She shook her head, but when she tried to speak, only a moan came out.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder gently, a gesture of comfort. She leaned against him then and sobbed into his coat while his arms went around her, one hand rubbing circles on her back.

  “Thorn. Oh God, Thorn,” she cried. “My beautiful brother.”

  Behind her back, Filipe’s face twisted into a mask of pity. “Mister Jarratt. Bad man.”

  The vehemence of Filipe’s statement alarmed him even further. Torn between the urge to storm into Jarratt’s house and the need to comfort, he glared at the servant. “Explain.”

  Before the boy could answer, Zambak pulled herself upright. He let his arms drop away, but one hand slid down her arm to hold her hand.

  Filipe darted a glance at his mistress and back to Charles. “Lady Zam had questions,” he mumbled.

  Zambak pulled her hand away and straightened her spine. “Of course I had questions. No one would talk to me. You all treat me like a child to be protected from ugly news.” She swallowed hard, and he feared for a moment she would cast up her accounts again.