Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

  They were laughing and teasing just as before and, oddly, it was this very thought that gave Justin a moment's pause. He was loving her again—how he was loving her!—and as vulnerable as he had ever been, perhaps more so. It was a gambler's game and the stakes were high, to have loved once and lost was enough for any lifetime. The only thing worth the risk of losing again was the thought of a life with her and this love.

  With laughter still in her eyes and a pretty blush, Christina sat up and tried to piece back together some semblance of her nightgown. The sleeping garment was in hopeless disarray; her attempt was futile and Justin, watching this, suddenly chuckled. "Once never seems enough with you," he said, and reached to pull her back, but just as the third party decided to wake up too.

  They spent the next half hour or so as three young children—instead of one—playing on an oversized bed. While Justin could entertain his son like no one else, but a half hour was a very long time in his son's life and the little tyke finally, rather abruptly, grew tired of his parents. Oh he loved the laughter, teasing, tickling, the wild tosses in the air, but it was time for him to get on with his own life. After all, he was hungry.

  Justin leaned against the bedpost to watch Christina as she attended to his son, bathing and dressing him for the day. He wondered if it was normal to experience moments of jealousy of one's own son.

  Wearing his discarded shirt, Christina held back her news to inquire about his trip. Justin related the difficulties of getting forty-three men from jail. "It couldn't have been done if Judge Claighborne hadn't been so taken by you—I had to promise him a dinner. I think the lascivious bastard just wants to look at you.

  "That's not true!" She pretended affront. "We two have a lot in common. Why, he's very interested in art."

  "Among other things." Watching her bend over, his shirt dropping to present him with a maddening view, he was quite certain old Judge Claighborne had far more in common with him than her.

  "Guess what!" she said in sudden excitement, setting little Justin to the floor to explore the fascinating space of his father's room. "You're not going to believe it, but—" She stopped to steer little Justin from the fire poker.

  Justin was trying hard to believe he was restraining himself from throwing her to the bed. He thought he could believe anything else.

  "Hanna wrote me a letter."

  He smiled. "I know. Jacob told me. What did she say?"

  "Oh so much! I must have read the letter a dozen times, over and over. I tried to write back. I started and stopped as many times, until the wastebasket was overflowing with my attempts. I have to see her. Oh please—let me go to town?"

  "I can't, sweetheart. Since the embargo, the town is just bursting with idle sailors, all looking for trouble." His gaze tried to penetrate the material of his shirt. "And you," he finished meaningfully, "look like trouble."

  "Oh, but with Chessy—"

  "Chessy," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't spare the number of men I would need to see you safe." Her disappointment was plain. "Jacob will be gone in another week. Hanna can stay with us for the two or three months he's gone. You can wait a week, can't you?"

  "It seems an eternity."

  "Come here," he said. "I'll help you pass it. Eternity sounds almost long enough."

  She giggled and just as she was about to fall into his arms again, little Justin discovered the wonders of his father's drawer. As Christina rushed to save her son's freshly donned clothes from the ink jar in his hand, Justin found a new keen appreciation of something he spent a good part of his childhood hating—governesses. But he had to laugh when his ink not only smeared across his son's face, but was also tossed on to his mother's, or rather his, shirt and this with the unmistakable grin of malicious forethought.

  The time for discipline had just arrived, only Justin was laughing too hard to do anything about it.

  Christina heard his laughter only too clearly. "Darling." She smiled sweetly, picking up her son who still held tight to the half-empty ink jar. "That's wonderful fun, isn't it? Let's show your father just how much fun it is to throw ink on people."

  Little Justin giggled with anticipation. Ink did not wash off skin easily and Justin was quick to rise. He grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed and held it up to protect himself. And he found himself looking down into two empty pockets. "Wait, Christina."

  His voice warned her.

  He felt into each pocket. Empty. "Did you take a letter from my robe?"

  "No. Was it important?"

  "Christina, I—" and he began explaining, even as his eyes searched the floor. She took the jar from Justin's hands, lifted his shirt, and set him to the floor. Justin quickly explained the importance of the letter, then told of Rosarn, Chessy, and Mr. Lowell, the French agents. Christina was all concern, suddenly remembering the maid's conversation, which she had completely forgotten about. "God," he finished. "In the wrong hands, the letter could see me hanged."

  She became frantic. The search was on. Three hours later, after calling in both Rosarn and Aggie, after going over every single detail of the past day of moving, after searching every conceivable place and countless inconceivable ones, the letter was still missing.

  Justin faced the unpleasant reality.

  He ordered every employee and servant in his hire to gather in his study within the hour. There were to be no exceptions. Anyone who could possibly have access to his house had to be there. Someone, somehow, had stolen the letter.

  After discussing the situation with Chessy and determining the interesting information that no one had left since the letter was stolen, Justin knew exactly what to do. He first sent message to Jacob. Sent it by Hope's seven-year-old-grandson, one of the only people Justin thought to trust beside Chessy and Rosarn. They would have to remain at the house for Christina.

  With breakfast laid before him, Justin sat in the dining room piecing together the only probable explanation. Someone had been in the house that night, intent on gathering some information for the French agents. The person had been hiding downstairs when they saw him leave his room, carrying the letter in his hand. They must have watched as he changed his mind, then slipped the letter into his pocket and went into Christina's room. Somehow, the next day, probably during the confusion of the moving of her things, they snuck into the room, found the robe and the letter.

  This seemed more likely than someone just sneaking about until they came across it. Who would look in a robe pocket for something of that nature? And none of his other things had been disturbed, as far as he could tell.

  Yes... that must be how it happened.

  Holding little Justin in her arms, nervous and frightened both, Christina watched as one by one the servants and employees filed into Justin's study. It took nearly half an hour before everyone was gathered and accounted for. Finally twenty-three people waited for Justin to address them. The spacious room looked crowded. There were hardly enough chairs to accommodate everyone, though most chose to stand anyway, feeling uncomfortable in the private domain of the man who not only paid their wages, but also the man who commanded so much respect and admiration.

  Justin entered the study, and after carefully searching each face, he went right to the point. "Someone, one of you here, has stolen a letter from me. This letter could see me hanged." Murmured astonishment rose from the gathering, quieting quickly as they waited for him to continue. "Undoubtedly you— whoever has stolen this letter—have been bribed by an agent of the French government. It seems these agents will do anything to stop me from trading goods to the English. While it is true that this letter could provide ample evidence to see me hanged by the French, American, and English governments, I assure you I am perfectly capable of sparing my neck and no doubt I will. However, the letter in the hands of the French agents would jeopardize the lives of each of my men on two ships that have already set sail."

  He paused and said meaningfully, "Chessy has informed me that no one has left the premises since the letter
was stolen and, therefore, I can be reasonably assured one of you still has it. I want that letter. I happen to know how much the agents are offering for it. I will pay ten times the figure. And to each one of you here."

  Rosarn and Chessy had shared with everyone just how much the French agents had offered. Math was suddenly easy for each person; the figure was multiplied by ten, that figure multiplied by the number of people in the room. The result was astonished exclamations from nearly everyone present.

  "Hear me out," Justin quieted the crowd. "You are all dismissed for the next three days to provide the opportunity for one of you to make all of you a nice sum of money. I am going to leave immediately for my townhouse. Whoever has the letter is to get it to my townhouse within the next three days. I don't care how you do it, just that you do. Needless to say, no questions will be asked of anyone's comings or goings."

  Not one person could stop from examining the faces of the others in desperate effort to discern who among them could deliver such happy fortune.

  "That's all," he finished. "With the exception of Rosarn and Chessy, who will stay on with Christina and Justin, you are each dismissed."

  For a moment everyone remained motionless but then, as though reaching some collective decision, everyone moved at once. Justin spotted Hope in the crowd and he smiled. "Hope, you stay on too. I know you didn't do it."

  The old woman flashed her famous toothless grin. "But I wish I did," she said honestly. "I'd save you the bother and turn it over now. Then I'd collect my bonus and buy me a fine new hat."

  "Don't I pay you enough for a new hat?" he asked teasingly.

  "Hell yes!" she declared in a breath. "I's the best paid cook in the county but you know I save all my money to see my children and now gran'chil'ren into trade school."

  "A good idea, though I still think you owe yourself a hat. I think I'll buy you one next time I'm in town."

  "Don't you dare. I don't take nothin' from no one for nothin' never," she said all at once, explaining what everyone had heard many times before. "That's what slavin's all about. My gran'pappy and my pappy all wore them chains too long afore my pappy had sense enough to escape the paddy rollers and follow the North Star. I remember the tales too clearly to ever give a mind to the idea of gettin' or givin' anythin' for nothin'. No sir, you save that hat for a Michaelmas gift." She wisely explained just how he should give her the new hat.

  Justin laughed and Christina, watching from his side, wondered. How could he stand there bantering with Hope when their very lives seemed on the bare thread of the good will—or greed—of someone whose identity they didn't even know. If he didn't receive that letter in three days, he would have to leave and hide out, probably for years and, oh! His men's lives were in jeopardy! And— "This is just like you!"

  Justin and Hope turned their attention.

  "Justin! I'm so scared! What if—"

  "Don't you worry now." Hope stopped her. "The good lord takes care of his own." She knew how many of her people Justin's ships had set free and she had some idea of how much Justin gave to the abolitionist paper, the Libertine. "It will all work out, always does. You'll see." With that she planted a warm kiss on Christina's cheek and then left.

  While Justin was not at all sure if he was in the class of the "lord's people," he was equally certain all would be well. For he would see to it. Quiet amusement met her concern. He spent the next few minutes trying to reassure her but this, it seemed, was as futile as filling a bucket with the bottom rusted out.

  For she had a premonition that something awful was going to happen.

  "Take me with you!" she begged as he loaded the saddlebags on his waiting horse outside.

  "I can't—"

  "I could have Justin ready in minutes and, oh! We could stay with Hanna and—"

  He stopped her by gently pressing his finger to her lips. "I won't have you in town without me and I won't be staying there very long." Planning to tackle the problem from both ends, he would be in town just long enough to get Jacob and a few others to stop the French agents himself, whether or not the letter showed up at his townhouse. He would be bothered no more. "I'll be back before you know it. You'll see." He kissed her good-bye and mounted the waiting horse.

  She watched until he disappeared down the lane, shivering despite the warm midday sun. The only way she could think to shake a suddenly monstrous anxiety was to continue searching for the letter. There was still a chance that it had just been misplaced, admittedly a small chance, but existent none the less. And she would have no rest until it was returned to Justin.

  * * * * *

  Following Jacob's orders, Steffen and Miles tracked the three men they knew were the French agents. To their utter surprise they followed the men from town out to Justin's very own house. Their orders were explicit: just watch and report back any meetings with anyone.

  "Pssst," Steffen called to Miles, who was hiding the horses and himself in the shade of the forest. "Come on! I found some cover where we can watch the bastards."

  "Where are they?" Miles asked, bringing the horses around.

  "Lurking in the woods on the edge of the lawn, like a bunch of highway cowards. And it looks like they're settin' a spell—they watered their horses and set out some grub."

  Steffen and Miles soon found themselves watching the unsuspecting party from the cover of boulders at the water's edge. They left their horses about a mile down the road, hidden in the forest out of view. Their position offered a fairly good view of the lawns and the forest's edge where the French agents hid in turn.

  "What the hell are they doing?" Miles asked as Steffen finally lowered the glass.

  "Beats me," Steffen replied, "but I suppose we'll find out. I only know what Jacob ordered and what those fools must know."

  "What's that?"

  "That Justin is not home. Geez! Camping out on his front lawn." Steffen chuckled at the idea. "Nobody could be that stupid."

  "Why don't we just shoot the bastards anyway and be done with it?"

  "Orders."

  "Well, I feel like a bloody idiot watching bloody idiots do nothing," Miles confessed. "Whatever they're going to do, I hope they do by nightfall. I sure don't take none to the idea of spending the night on a cold boulder when I got such a fine-looking lass waitin' in a nice warm bed. Did I tell you about her..." And the two men talked on as they watched and waited.

  * * * * *

  Christina emptied the last drawer of her vanity. A sewing box, needles and white silk thread, thimbles, scissors, a pair of lace gloves and scarf, a gold chain, and a perfumed sashay. Nothing. The futility of looking for the letter in such places hit her and hard, sweeping her with anxiety anew.

  She needed a walk, a very long walk. She turned Justin over to Rosarn's care, grabbed a pretty flowered shawl, and headed down the stairs. Chessy whittled in the parlor at the fireplace but otherwise the large house was unnaturally quiet. Hope was busy out in the kitchen, fixing supper. She told Chessy of her intentions, assured him she wanted to be alone, and then left the house.

  Chessy returned to his whittling. He tried to think of some reason why Christina should not be out walking alone. He could think of none. No harm in a walk.

  Why then did he have a bad feelin' tickling his brain like a feather to naked skin?

  Darkness began to sweep over the landscape. The muted colors of twilight shrouded everything, concealing what she saw would soon be the bright light of a rising half moon. She breathed deeply the fresh springtime air as one by one she tried to find the muted shades of twilight in each color she would paint: the dark, almost black blue of the lake; the russet color of the low rolling hills behind it, this in contrast to the patches of forest green, now washed in a golden red; the dark silver of the boulders, the black of the smoke rising from the chimney of Hope's family cabin near the lakefront. Anything to distract her from unpleasant thoughts of an uncertain future.

  She made her way across the lawns, heading toward the lake, separating and stu
dying each shade of color the land presented. Beauty and Beau romped alongside her. She would circle the lake but, just as she thought this, she stopped.

  It would mean crossing the creek, she realized, and that inevitably meant soaked boots in the uncertain light. Then, too, it was already getting late and—

  The shadows of three mounted men abruptly emerged from the forest edge.

  Christina froze, not with a fear of the French agents or the idea that these men meant Justin harm but with the instinctual, far more primitive fear of a woman alone and unprotected being approached by three strange men. And frozen she was, for running was not even a thought yet.

  Jean Petiers had waited for this opportunity for nearly a week. He and his two men—Franz and Robert—had been holed up at the roadside and in town, watching and waiting for a clue as to how to get to Phillips's wife. Speculations had been endless, especially after watching first Phillips and then half his household travel into town. This was their opportunity, their last chance.

  One man came forward, while the other two held back. Barking wildly, Beauty and Beau sensed sudden fear and came immediately to her side in defensive positions. Beauty would not warn but Beau found it necessary and he barked warning as the single rider approached. This gave her courage. The wide open space of the lawn told her to stay put. There was safety in open space.

  * * * * *

  "My God, they're meeting with Christy!" Steffen said in confusion.

  "Justin's wife?"

  "Aye. What 'as she got to do with them?" he asked out loud. He could make out only dark shapes but Christina's thick braids caught the moonlight. It was her, he knew it was her.

  "Shouldn't we do something?" Miles wondered in turn.

  Steffen didn't know. Jacob never said what to do if the agents met with Christina. Watch and report— that was all. "Jesus, though, if that bastard lays a finger on her—" He didn't finish but he quickly observed that wasn't what the meeting was about. She was waiting for the man. Besides, the bastards would have to shoot the dogs first, if it ever came down to it.