Lawrence nodded and tried to appear as though he was satisfied with this outcome.
His brother looked at him, clearly unconvinced, and snorted. “You're a damn fool. Can't you see she's in love with you?”
“Well if it's true I can't help but think she's the foolish one,” he replied, avoiding his brother's eye. “A man with a price on his head, no home, no future ... I'll not endow her with all of those worldly goods.” He looked up, holding his hands out and smiling. “I'm not such a bastard, you see.”
Alex quirked an eyebrow and then settled himself on the edge of a large crate, he gave his brother a shrewd look. “You love her.”
Lawrence laughed and rolled his eyes. “Don't be an idiot, she's a sweet girl, that's all, and I like her well enough not to ruin her.” He hoped the words sounded plausible, because they had a hollow ring to his own ear that he couldn't ignore.
“It's not too late to change your mind you know. My plan was perfectly sound. You could remain on mother's estate, assuming it's still there. Before the war I'd been searching for someone with enough vision and intelligence to oversee our interests there and you have certainly proved you have that. Oh and you could also manage the French side of some of the other ... business arrangements I have since gained a hand in.” There was something to his tone that made Lawrence look up. “I rather think it would suit you,” Alex added with a wry smile.
Lawrence looked his older brother over with suspicion. Outwardly he really looked no different from how he had ten years ago. He was a powerful man in the prime of his life. There was no grey among the thick black hair and he was impeccably dressed as he always had been. It had always amused him how the young bucks among his friends had followed Alex with a slavish devotion that he had at best ignored, and had often been irritated by. But there was indeed a change, a darker air about him, and something Lawrence recognised but couldn't put his finger on. Until it struck him, they were very much alike for all their differences. His eyes narrowed.
“What the devil have you been up to?”
Alex smiled. His expression was placid but knowing and Lawrence frowned.
“Alex?”
His brother stretched his long legs out in front of him, his black boots gleaming in the lamplight. “You were right, you know, all those years ago.” Lawrence watched him as he spoke, confused by the admission, but he saw regret in his brother's eyes. “I should have done more. I should have helped more, instead of blaming the smugglers for breaking the law, instead of helping the militia. I should have looked to the cause, the why of it. You saw that,” Alex said, his face grave, and then he smiled and Lawrence recognised the brother he had idolised in his youth. “You always let your heart rule you even then, not like me. I was always so bloody devoted to the rules, to obeying tradition, upholding the laws, even when they made no sense at all, even when they were damned unfair.”
Lawrence adjusted his position on the pallet, leaning forward so he could see his brother more clearly in the dim light cast by the lamp. The words were so unlike the man he had known. Alex seemed aware of his thoughts and gave a grim smile. “I've changed, Lawrence. For good and for bad.” He laughed, a dark sound that seemed to roll around in the gloomy cavern of the hull. “Mostly for the worse, in truth, but perhaps there are some things you will approve of?”
Curiosity now had Lawrence galvanised, and he stared at his brother with a strange feeling that he knew what he'd done, and he didn't know whether to be proud or howl with sorrow at what he'd done to that honourable man. “Such as?” he demanded.
“I decided the smugglers were ill equipt and ill led. There were others caught and sent to London to be tried and hanged in the months after ...” He paused and Lawrence felt a sharp pang of guilt at the pain in Alex's eyes as he relieved that time. “After you left. You know Jo, one of the men who worked in the gardens? He used to turn a blind eye when we were boys and filched the strawberries, do you remember?” Lawrence felt a lump lodge in his throat and nodded, he remembered. “And young Toby, from the cottages near the church, he was perhaps three years older than you? He'd not been married a year, left his wife with a babe on the way and nothing to support her.”
They sat in silence once more as Lawrence brought to mind the faces of those men, and others who had died on the beach that night.
“I couldn't bear it,” Alex snarled, his voice full of fury. “They took them to London to try them, and those judges who dished out the sentence, they walked away and dined on capon and roast beef, stuffing their fat faces while those men's families starved and were now utterly hopeless without the menfolk to provide for them. And those amiable creatures, those judges, were the honourable men of the law.” The words were spat out with such venom that Lawrence caught his breath. “It made me sick, Lawrence. As far as I knew you'd died on that beach helping those men to feed their families, and I vowed to carry on where you'd left off.”
Lawrence blinked and looked on his brother with new eyes. “My God, Alex, you're a smuggler.” He was too stunned to say anything more for a moment and then anger surfaced. “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded, as outrage and pride struggled to reassemble this new vision of the man he'd grown up with. “You're funding a smuggling ring, on your own doorstep? You'll be caught, it's ... it's insane!”
Alex folded his arms, looking quite entertained by his younger brother's outburst.
“There speaks The Rogue,” he said with dry amusement.
“That was entirely different!” Lawrence countered, narrowing his eyes and hauling on the chain he was bound with to lever himself to his feet. “I had nothing to lose and I was never in the same place for more than a day at a time. You have your home - our home! The family name, people who depend on you!”
Alex began to laugh, the deep rumble melding into the sounds of a working ship as Lawrence glared at him. “And here I was thinking you might be proud of me.” His face grew grave once more. “Lawrence, things are far worse than they were even then. Since the war ended the farmers can no longer afford to compete with the low price of imported grain. They are laying men off all around. Many are simply giving up and heading to America to try a new life there. With the mines doing badly too, people are clawing for survival and if I cannot save them by legal means, and believe me I've tried, then I'll do it as they do.”
Lawrence sighed and shook his head in defeat. “I am proud of you, dammit. Of course I am. I-I just don't want to lose you all over again.” He held out his hands as far as the chains would allow, hoping Alex would understand. “It is a comfort to know you will still be there, that the great house still stands at Tregothnan as it always has, that old Pawly is still putting the fear of God into anyone who dares come to the door, that Mrs Buscombe still makes the best pasties in all of Cornwall, and that the bal maidens are still singing on the dressing floor. Then all is as it aught to be and the world will go on as it should, no matter what mess I have made of my own life.”
To his surprise Alex got to his feet with utter rage in his eyes. “And it would be such a comfort to me to know you are back among us,” he shouted. “That I might see you and talk with you as we once did would be a sight better than knowing you are lost somewhere out in the world where I might never know if you died for real, for there would be no one to tell me of it!”
The two men stared at each other, and Lawrence felt guilt dragging at his heart. If he did as Alex and Henri wanted, he would be putting them in harm's way and if anything happened he'd never forgive himself, and if he went he would hurt them and break his own heart. He watched as Alex turned and strode away from him without another word. There seemed to be no way forward that would do anybody any good.
Chapter 23
“Wherein parts are played, and neither actors nor audience find pleasure in the performance.”
Henri stood on deck. She had passed a restless night listening to Annie snore and the ever present rush of water against the moving ship. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking
of Lawrence chained below deck. Tired and dispirited she had risen early, hoping a new day might bring a more hopeful outlook. Indeed it would be a callous heart and soul that failed to find some pleasure in the scene before her. Once more the winter sky was clear and a sharp blue, crisp and defined with cold clarity in the sunlight. The air was clean and pure, imbued with a sweet, icy chill that made it almost painful to breathe and certainly chased any lingering dullness from her tired mind. The sun hadn't long risen and was now climbing in the blue. She looked up at the sails, full and sleekly fat with the steady breeze that seemed to lay its hand so gently upon them. Everything was so still and quiet, the sails so perfectly distended that there wasn't the faintest ripple to be found in the canvas, the bright white gleaming in the sunlight, as smooth and softly rounded as sculpted marble.
“It is a lovely sight is it not?”
She turned as a deep voice broke the silence, and curtsied to the earl as he approached her.
“It is quite breathtaking,” she agreed, returning her gaze heavenwards. “And so very high. I feel the mast must be scraping the heavens as we pass, it rides so very proud.”
Alex nodded, following her gaze. “Indeed, in fact that very upper most sail is called the sky sail, so that is an apt enough description.”
“You love it here I think?” she said, gesturing vaguely to the expanse of horizon before them. “You and Lawrence both, you live for this freedom.”
He nodded and offered her his arm to continue with him as he walked the deck. “Yes, in fact I am discovering we are more alike than perhaps either of us had realised. And certainly as stubborn,” he added.
She looked up at him and saw concern in his eyes that was a reflection of her own fears. “We cannot let him go.”
“No,” he said, his expression grim. “We cannot.”
She watched as he returned his gaze to the horizon. “He has changed too you know,” he said, his voice heavy with sadness. “He was always laughing as a boy. Everybody loved him, adored him in fact. Wherever Lawrence went there was laughter and mischief. You see he was always in trouble of some sort or another, and yet none seemed to think the worse of him because he was always so sorry to have caused trouble, always so ready to make amends that no one ever wanted to scold him.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Little devil got away with murder. But now I see such a serious mind behind his eyes and it troubles me. I'm afraid the boy I knew is gone.”
She laid her hand on his arm so that he looked down at her. “He's still there,” she said, smiling at him and remembering the merry blue eyes and the wicked smile of the pirate she had first encountered. “I know he is still the same at heart, but he feels such guilt, and he fears any harm coming to us.” She sighed as frustration got the better of her once again. “So he must make us all miserable, himself included, to satisfy his stupid honour.”
He looked at her with a measuring glance that made her skin prickle. “Miss Morton, perhaps I have done you a disservice," he said at length. "I have no doubt any marriage between us would be a disastrous one, but I believe you will suit Lawrence very well.”
Henri couldn't help but laugh at his words, so begrudgingly given and none too flattering. She put her hand up to her bonnet as an icy wind tugged at it and made the ribbons dance. “Oh it’s nothing I am unused to I assure you. I'm not expected to have a thought in my head beyond the next ball and new roses for dancing shoes, so it is hardly surprising. In fact I am astonished that you would own the fact at all, let alone apologise for it.”
“Did I apologise?” he asked, one eyebrow raised and the mocking smile firmly in place, and then she saw his gaze catch something beyond her and return to her once more, his smile a little more fixed in place. “Henri, I instructed that Lawrence be brought up for some air and a turn about the deck. He is watching us.”
“Oh,” she said, as anxiety began to flicker in her heart. “And so ...”
He stepped a little closer to her, holding her gaze. “And so, if we are to proceed with our plan,” he said, pitching his voice low for intimacy. “It would be well if we are seen to be ... trying to make the best of things.” He reached out a finger and caressed her cheek and she shivered, fighting the urge to step away from him.
“Yes, I see.” She forced herself to stand in place and saw amusement in Alex's eyes.
“I am obviously more of a monster than even I had assumed. You look positively terrified," he said dryly.
Henri huffed out a breath. “Oh dear,” she said, a smile tugging at her mouth. “I'm afraid I am a very poor actress, but I hate deceiving him like this.”
Alex moved beside her and, with a hand placed lightly on her back, steered her to stand with him at the rail, looking out over the sparkling blue water. “I have no doubt, but it is our only course unless you have any better suggestions?”
Henri took a deep breath and, praying he knew what he was doing, laid her head against his arm in a familiar manner. “No, Alex, I don't, but I hope we are doing the right thing.”
“He's coming,” he said quietly and Henri didn't have to affect a look of guilt as Lawrence approached them for her heart was heavy and full of misery. Still she tried to smile at him and hoped sincerely it looked every bit as fake as it felt.
“Good morning, La... Captain Savage,” she corrected herself, remembering at the last moment the guard who was walking a little behind him.
“Good morning, Miss Morton,” Lawrence replied, and try as she might she couldn't find any expression at all beyond a bland politeness in his eyes or his manner. “And a fine morning it is, especially with a vision as lovely as you to brighten the horizon.”
“Very prettily said, sir,” Alex said, his expression as carefully blank as his brother's. “I hope you slept well?”
“Like a babe rocked by his mother,” Lawrence replied with an expansive gesture, and she recognised the persona of Captain Savage in his manner. She wondered how much of it was show and how much of it was truly Lawrence. From what Alex had said perhaps there was little to discern between the extravagant persona illustrated in the pamphlets of his adventures and the real man. “For a pirate is only ever truly at ease in the arms of the ocean,” he added with a broad grin. “And now if you will excuse me, I need to stretch my legs before my man here decides I've had enough excitement for one morning.” With a theatrical flourish, Lawrence doffed his hat and bowed, and continued on his way.
“Oh dear,” Henri muttered again, before beginning to chew at her lip with anxiety.
“Courage, Henri,” Alex said, patting her arm. “Faint heart ne'er won idiotic pirate.”
Despite herself she laughed, and then felt horrified all over again as she saw Lawrence swing around, those blue eyes watchful as he looked on the two of them together. Courage indeed.
Alex escorted her back to the cabin where she found Annie engaging in a half-hearted attempt at making the bed.
Henri flopped down in the chair by the desk feeling as worn and jaded as she had on first waking, all the good effects of the morning's sun and fresh air quite negated by her encounter with Lawrence.
“Well what's got you lookin' like you've lost a shillin' an found a ha'penny?” Annie demanded, easing herself back to an upright position with a groan.
Henri snorted. “That's a remarkably apt turn of phrase,” she muttered darkly.
Annie drew in a shocked breath. “I wouldn't be letting Lord Sinclair hear ye refer to 'im as a ha'penny, my lady. Lawks, even your pretty eyes wouldn't be able to flutter ye way out a that remark.” She moved over to Henri and began fussing about, undoing her bonnet ribbons and scolding her for going on deck at all without having her hair properly dressed first.
Henri suffered it in silence, and restrained herself from remarking that Annie had been snoring at the time her attentions had been required.
“Alex is perhaps not as dreadful as I first believed,” she admitted, once Annie had set to work teasing her hair into something that wouldn't shame either of the
m. “At least he does care for Lawrence if nothing else. But I do hope I'm doing the right thing in putting my trust in him.”
She had appraised Annie of her conversation with Alex the night before, and now filled her in on this morning's performance.
“Oh, Annie, I felt so awful, and then I felt so damned furious when he didn't seem to notice or care, he didn't even bat an eyelid. I don't know what to do for the best.”
Annie snorted and gave Henri a knowing look. “Oh, 'e noticed, miss,” she said, smiling. “Don't ye worry. Ye mark my words 'e's sitting down there now, gnashing 'is teeth an' green with envy, but 'e forced you into this so 'e can hardly back down now can 'e?”
Henri groaned.”I don't know whether that makes me feel worse or better,” she protested, and then smacked Annie's hand away with a yelp as her maid pulled forcefully on a knot, so hard it made her eyes water. Quite unapologetic Annie just rolled her eyes and hustled off to rummage in the large carpet bag which seemed overflowing with her own possessions. She emerged a moment later bearing a rather handsome silver flask and a smile. Opening the lid, she took a couple of hearty swigs before handing it to Henri.
“Here, my little duck, have a swallow a that, t'will make all seem brighter and warmer or my name's not Annie Tripp.”
Henri took the flask from her with a sigh and swallowed the uncharitable thought that she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if her name wasn't Annie Tripp. Though she knew the woman had spent most of her life living in Cheapside, in London, before coming to Cornwall to work for Lord Morton, she had never been too keen to give any other information on her parentage or origins further than an oblique here, there, and roundabouts.
The liquor was fierce and warm, and obviously good quality. “Did this come from home, Annie?” she enquired, surprised if it had that it had lasted this long.
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