Tess sat. Easier to do as she was told than to think. Thinking hurt.
A few moments later, a gnarled hand pressed a tin mug of steaming hot tea into her hands. “Drink up. Everything always seems better when we’re warm and fed.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Aye, mothers always worry about their young.” She bent over a blackened pot hanging above the feeble flame in the fireplace and stirred the contents.
Tess sipped at the tea, and as the hot liquid passed her lips and traveled down her throat, she began to warm from the inside out. She also began to think, those thoughts suddenly voiced. “It has been all about choice. About freedom and independence. I craved what had been stolen from me.”
The witch ladled a grayed concoction into two wooden bowls, then handed one to Tess. “You are a woman like meself. They call me the witch because I am different. I did not fit their world and so I chose my own.”
“That is it. You chose. I wanted to choose, too. Choose my own husband.”
“And you have.”
“Yes…but it was not choice, but blackmail, for you see, my husband is not the only rogue. He married one.”
“You blackmailed his Lordship?” the old woman gurgled with laughter.
“It seemed a good idea at the time. I needed to get away, so I blackmailed him.”
“Fate has a way of stepping in when we least expect it, my lady.”
“Fate or desperation. It doesn’t matter which because it is of no consequence now.”
“You found your freedom, you chose your path. Trust in your decisions m’lady, for they are made with a part of you that knows you inside and out.”
“But I forced Aiden into marriage, surely that is no better than my uncle trying to force me to marry another. Freedom. Independence. And love,” she whispered with a sad cry. “They are so entwined, yet so inherently different.” The cloak of exhaustion was so heavy she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Tell me, which is more important, Mistress? Can one override the other?”
“They can live side by side.”
“How? Aiden has told me to leave. I had thought, once, that making my own choices was paramount…” Her voice trailed off and a tear trailed down her cheek, then another, and another. “Until,” she said with a hiccupped breath, “until I fell in love.”
And now? Now Tess didn’t know what to do. She was too scared to choose.
“Those desires can reside together, child. You just have to choose to let them, and believe.”
“Believe what?”
“That your heart’s desire will accept love.”
“But he refuses to listen.” Hadn’t that been obvious when he’d read her letter to Tulip and though she’d tried to explain its contents, Aiden had focused solely on his belief that she was guilty. That way he didn’t have to abandon the hatred that had propelled him through his own perceived guilt.
“Oh, I don’t mean words. I mean listen with his heart and his head, and look into your eyes.”
Tess rubbed her mittened hand across her face, trying desperately to stay awake. “I’m not sure he can. He’s so hell-bent on the guilt he carries. Betrayal. Revenge. Hurt. Those are the words he listens to, not love.”
“Time, m’lady. Give him time. He will have to choose soon. It is only time.”
They sat quietly then, Tess contemplating the woman’s words, realizing her great knowledge and wisdom.
It was all about trust. Trusting herself, her decisions, her reasoning, and her heart. And trusting that Aiden would find his way.
Finally, it was time to return to the Hall and pack up her belongings, say good-bye, and leave.
Why not stay and fight for what you want? What you need. For Aiden’s love.
Standing, she kissed the old woman’s cheek, taking her weathered hands in hers. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“’Tis nothing but words.”
“Words that matter, nevertheless, and for which I am grateful. That, and your sweet tea and delicious stew,” Tess said nodding toward her empty mug and bowl. “I’ll arrange for the gamekeeper to drop off some supplies.”
As Tess exited the cottage, the old woman grabbed her arm, her face flushed, and eyes darkly intense. “Go back to the Hall, m’lady, but be warned, the writing is not what it seems. Beware of the joker and his dungeon for he is dangerous and no fool. Where revenge festers, it staunches the heart’s ability to love.”
“I don’t understand. You are talking in riddles again.”
“Nay, m’lady, I tell it as I see it. The good Lord shows me and I pass it on. Now go and choose your path, and whatever you do, trust your choices.”
Choices?
The word swirled round and round in her brain as she walked back to Charnley and though the weather had worsened, snow now deep across the horizon, she didn’t care. She had choices to make.
She arrived to the concerns of Barlow and her maid, but setting their minds at rest, she climbed the stairs with leaden feet.
Choices. Trust your decisions.
Now all she had to do was wait for Aiden to return.
…
The house lay quiet the next morning, everyone on edge waiting for Aiden’s and Jasper’s return. The weather had worsened so that going for her daily walk proved impossible.
As she struggled to concentrate on a story in the latest edition of The Ladies’ Magazine, someone hammered on the front door, accompanied by shouts from Barlow. Tossing her periodical aside, she raced from the morning room, reeling to a halt as fear gripped her in its vicious hold. She wanted to be sick.
Crouched low with his back to her, Barlow cradled a body in his arms.
“Oh, dear God. Aiden.” Her screech reverberated off the walls and she fell to her knees beside them at the same moment he looked up.
“Jasper.” Tess squeezed her eyes closed. Not Aiden. Not her beloved.
Jasper reached for her hand. “You’ve got to warn him, Tess. Save him. Aiden’s in grave danger.”
Battered and bruised, his lips split, his bloodshot eyes full of remorse settled on her. “I’m sorry, ’tis my fault. I played with the devil incarnate.”
“Oh, dear God, Jasper, what have you done?”
“’Tis Nash.”
Nash! Dread soured in her stomach and her hand automatically pressed there.
“I thought I could sort it out just like Aiden said, but the bastard’s too smart. He said unless I wrote to Aiden, my debt would double.”
“He blackmailed you?”
“I sold my soul for my brother’s life. You must find him, Tess. Warn him. ’Tis all in the letter.” Jasper flopped backward, Barlow catching him before he hit the floor.
The witch’s prophecy?
Grabbing Jasper’s shoulders, she shook him. A moan spluttered from his broken lips. She didn’t care. “Jasper, you wake up, do you hear me? Wake up. What letter? Where is Aiden? What danger?”
His swollen purple-black eyelids fluttered partially open. “I wrote him that he must meet me at the Joker’s Inn on the Isle of Dogs.”
“But that’s at least four hours ride away.”
“Aye. The farther the better, Nash said. Besides it’s where his stash is.”
“The champagne.”
Surprise, despite his wounds, registered in Jasper’s expression. “You know about it?”
“I do. Now when is this meeting?”
“Today.”
Tess fell back on her haunches as the reality of Jasper’s words sunk in. Today? It would take hours to reach him.
“The letter, m’lady,” Barlow intoned. “’Tis still in the breakfast room.”
“Get it.”
The devoted Barlow scrambled to his feet, returned a few seconds later and thrust the letter into her hands. Sure enough, everything Jasper had said was confirmed on the parchment.
The letter fluttered from her fingertips as she stood, but her knees buckled beneath her momentarily.
She wrenched
herself upright. Now was not the time for histrionics. “Have Flynn saddle Dandy, Barlow. I leave immediately.” She needed to find Aiden.
She turned for the stairs and then hesitated. “And the pistol, I’ll need to borrow that again, if I may?”
“For certain, m’lady.”
Tess wasted no time and charged up the stairs into her room, sinking down on her knees beside the bed.
Not for prayers. She had no time for them, but hoped God knew she needed Him. Reaching under the bed, she withdrew her men’s garb once more.
Parading in country lanes dressed as a man was one thing, but heading to the seedy mean streets of the Isle of Dogs meant that her disguise would be more important than ever.
Ten minutes later she descended the stairs. Barlow solemnly held out the pistol and a canvas bag for her. “You’ll need some sustenance as ’tis a long way. Take the ferry from Creekside, that’ll get you across the river closer to the Dogs. Beware of those that roam the Dogs, m’lady.” His aged face creased with worry. “Are you sure I cannot go, or at least take Flynn with you?”
Tess rested a hand on his arm. “No. Alone is best. That way I will cause less interest if anyone is about.”
“With the weather freezing I doubt there’ll be many abroad,” Jasper added.
“Let’s hope not.” Tess took the bag from Barlow and positioned the long strap over one shoulder so that it lay flat against her chest. The pistol she tucked into the belt that held her trousers up.
“Tess,” Jasper croaked, clearing his throat. “Keep safe…and tell him I’m sorry.”
Tess held herself rigid, knowing if she allowed one ounce of fear or panic to gain further purchase she would crumple on the spot. She had to stay strong for Aiden’s sake. “You can tell him yourself when we return.”
In minutes she was atop Dandy and headed toward Creekside.
The ride proved brutal. She struggled to stay on the horse as it pitched every which way, the icy ground underfoot treacherous.
At last she reached the rutted pathway leading to the Creekside Ferry. She reined in Dandy and scanned her surroundings.
The place was deserted, the ferry moored. Dismounting, she tied Dandy to a nearby tree and took the narrow plank that acted as a bridge and boarded the ferry. At one end of the simple flat-bottomed barge was a canvas awning, the flap partially drawn back.
Nerves pirouetting in her belly, she did her best to ignore her increasing panic. “Hello. Is anyone there?” She yanked back the flap.
“’Ere, wot you doing? I’m trying to sleep.”
“And I’m trying to get across the river. Get up.”
“Not likely. The bloody thing is frozen. No crossing today. Not even in the barge. Nothing’s getting across.”
Alarm fired. “But you have to. I have to get to the Isle of Dogs.”
“Not today you ain’t unless you go the long way.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Neither did the other ‘un. Well, laddie, I guess you have to go the hard way.”
Her brows creased. “The hard way,” she repeated, realizing exhaustion and the freezing conditions were taking their toll. She gritted her teeth and steeled her spine. “I have to get across.” She looked to her right where the path trailed the edge of the river.
“Nay, not there.” He thumbed instead toward the frozen river. “You better start walking across.”
Raising a hand to protect her face from the icy wind Tess peered over the frozen waters.
Walk across it? Could she?
Choices, Tess.
She had no choice. “Is it possible?”
“Who knows,” he shrugged. “Just depends how desperate you are.”
Very.
“I will walk, but I’ll leave my horse here.” She dug in the pocket of her jacket beneath her cloak, and withdrew a gold coin. “Look after him well, and there will be another on my return.”
“Double it, laddie, for I fear ye may not return.”
He meant she might die. She knew that when she started out, but it had not held her back. Nothing would, if it meant saving Aiden.
Deciding it best not to think too much about death, she flipped the man another coin and tethered Dandy as best she could. At the river’s edge she gazed skyward, squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Lead me to him.”
She shoved her hands in her pockets for extra warmth, but the gloved fingers of her right hand rubbed against something. She withdrew it and held it up. “The snowdrop.”
Believe, the old witch had said. Believe enough and it will come true. Trust in your decisions.
Tess brought the dried flower to her lips, kissed it, then tucked it back into her pocket and slid a foot out onto the ice, tentatively putting her weight on it.
One step. Two. Then another and another.
The frozen river held beneath her, and while her fear hadn’t abated, a sense of possibility seeped into her consciousness.
It seemed to take forever, with each step a deathtrap waiting, and by the time she reached the far side of the river, despite the freezing temperature, her body was coated in sweat.
She took a moment to gather her bearings, surprised as several young women raced past. Their hair was tied with a myriad of colored bows, faces adorned with whorls of red rouge. Others followed, then more and more.
Tess stalled a woman, a child propped on one hip, another holding her skirts. “Excuse me. Do you know where the Joker’s Inn would be?”
The woman eyed her with caution. “This way,” she said nodding in the direction she was heading. “Though it will be quiet today, and you’ll find no girls for ye there. They be at the fayre.”
“What fayre?”
“The frost fayre. The river is frozen solid and the carnival is setting up. There be buskers and trinkets aplenty. Everything you fancy, though if ye be heading to Jokers,” she said with a sly grin, “trinkets will not be what ye after, eh?”
It took Tess a moment to comprehend the woman. “Oh, no. No. I’m—” She clamped her mouth closed. Better the woman thought her a man seeking the arms of a hussy than a woman traveling alone. With a curt nod, Tess headed off in the direction of the Joker’s Inn. “Aiden,” she whispered, “I’m coming.”
Chapter Eighteen
A tisket, a tasket what is in your basket?
For if ye be going to the frost fayre,
beware of the Joker for the thief be close by.
Mirabelle’s Musings
February 14, 1814
Tess walked boldly into the Joker’s Inn, then instantly inhaled a deep breath to thwart the rancid stench of ale mixed with unwashed bodies. Heart hammering so hard she thought it would explode; she peered across the hazy room.
Aiden. Aiden, where are you?
But her plea remained unspoken as she circled the room.
Dungeons and jokers…
The witch’s warning came suddenly to attention. She turned full circle again and again until her mind spun, as did her body.
Where was he?
Then she heard a voice.
“Champagne?”
Tess spun around and caught sight of a doxy holding a bottle high in one hand while her other grazed the cheek of a man in front of her. She winked at him. “There be more over there,” she said thumbing toward the other side of the room. Perhaps you might want Pixie too,” she cooed, dotting a kiss to his bald pate and pressing her overflowing bosom into him. The man wrapped his fleshy paws around her waist and pulled her onto his lap accompanied by the woman’s shrieks and giggles.
A door slammed closed and Tess twisted around, but saw nothing except a wall with a dingy gray curtain hanging halfway across. Checking that no one watched her, she wove her way between the tables, mindful not to lock eyes with anyone as she made for the curtained wall. She lifted the fabric away, gasping with delight.
Not a wall, but a door!
So what she’d heard had been correct. A cellar meant a dungeon.
Surpris
ed it opened easily, she quickly slipped behind the wall of fabric and through the door, greeted by the shadowy flicker of tallow candles burning low.
“Aiden? Aiden?” Her whisper echoed a thousandfold as she made her way down, alert for any response.
She reached the bottom tread, and held her breath. “Aiden?”
A scratching echoed to her left and icy fear crawled the length of her spine. Her heart thundered. She listened. There it was again. And again.
Rats. Just rats. Not Aiden.
Disappointment crushing and tears threatening, she scraped the sleeve of her woolen jacket across her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.
Find Aiden. Find him.
Another noise.
But where from? She peered into the hazy darkness, unable to discern anything.
Snatching a candle from its holder, she held it aloft and took a step closer.
A groan.
“Aiden?”
Tess drew the candle in an arc in front of her, highlighting a pile of wooden crates and barrels. “Aiden! Aiden! I’m coming.” Thank you, God. Thank you.
Clambering over the rubble, she tossed aside one box after another, rolling a barrel so she could slip past.
Darkness. All dark. She held the candle in front of her. There. On the ground.
“Aiden!” Tess stumbled across the debris and fell to her knees at his side. “Dear God, what have they done to you?”
Depositing the candle in a tin mug lying beside him, she gently drew back a clump of sodden hair from his face, only to realize the dampness was not water, but sticky blood. Aiden’s blood.
His fingers clawed at her arm. “Go! Do not stay.”
“Shush, my lord.” Tess quickly took stock of his injuries. Blood matted his hair to his scalp and his eyes were swollen and virtually closed. His bottom lip was split, clothes splattered with blood, but no bones appeared to be broken. “Nash did this?”
“Aye. You need to go, Tess.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Stubborn wife.”
“Absolutely.” She clasped him under one arm, her other around his shoulders. “Can you get up?”
But his eyes were closed again.
Fear spiraled. “No! Wake up, Aiden. You cannot go to sleep. Wake up!”
The Highwayman's Bride Page 22
