Steffen couldn't figure out what was happening. He had always liked Christina, but like the others left on the island, he witnessed firsthand what she had put Justin through. While he normally never tried to fathom the workings of a woman's mind, he had— again, like everyone else on the island—spent many hours contemplating how she could possibly have left him, for Justin was one of the best men Steffen had ever known; he could generate a long list of superlatives to describe the man for whom he was proud to work. And even more to the point, Christina had loved Justin, or so everyone thought...
So why had she abandoned him?
This question came back to Steffen presently and while he had trouble imagining Christy capable of treachery, like a bell ringing in his head, he suddenly had reason to suspect just that.
"Here." He handed the glass to Miles. "I've got to hear what they're saying."
* * * * *
"You would ruin Dr. Morrison's reputation?" Christina asked in disbelief. Jean Petiers could not take his eyes off the two huge monstrosities of dogs, each standing alert in a chorus of low growls. "I will do what's necessary, madame, and so will you. After all, no harm to your husband."
Lying to convince her to do the treachery, the man claimed that all he wanted were the dates and location of any of Justin's ships' destinations in order to fairly bargain for the goods. He said Justin refused to give the information himself only because he wanted to keep the number of buyers low for a smooth transaction. What Christina had trouble believing was that he thought her witless enough to swallow this tale. The apparent fact that he did, though, gave her some courage. While at first her fear had produced her stumbling temerity, now she had to pretend dull wits to convince him she believed it and would do their wretched bidding. This, in order to buy Justin time to stop them before they did in fact ruin Richard.
"I... I don't know what you mean? L—log books?" she asked in a voice that nearly trembled with a pretense of fear.
A lovely girl but obviously dull-witted. "They're big red leather-bound books. Surely you must have seen them? There should be a master plan too."
"I... I don't know! Oh please, sir, I... I can't do this!" She grasped her hands together as though in sudden panic.
"Now, now, madame, you must try. Think of your... ah, friend, Dr. Morrison."
"Oh! You wouldn't really hurt Richard, would you?"
Madonna but this filly might be too dull-witted. "I have a job to do, that's all," he snapped, suddenly angry. "Ah!" He thought of another way. "Search your husband's correspondence, especially any letters destined for England."
"Letters?" she questioned meaningfully.
He nodded. "You know of the old oak in the park?"
"In town?"
"Yes." This too was a lie. They wouldn't go to this length for all they would have to do would be wait by the roadside for her to pass. "A man will be waiting there for three days. Drop the letters to the ground and if the information is good, we will refrain from harming Dr. Morrison."
"Three days? Oh dear! Oh dear! I need more time!"
"Three days," he repeated. "And for God's sake, come alone."
"Alone? I'm not allowed out alone! I can't do it! Not in three short days!"
"You have your instructions, madame. Good day," and he turned his mount around and pressed the horse into a gallop, disappearing into the forest with his men.
Steffen watched as Christina turned back to the house in a run. He had not gotten close enough to hear the whole conversation, only small bits and pieces. But enough. Enough to know that he had been blindly misled about Christina. Enough to briefly consider shooting her to save Justin the agony.
Christina rushed into the house calling for Chessy and Rosarn both, Hope if she was around. Chessy dashed out of the parlor and rushed up the stairs after her. "Oh my God... Oh, my God..." He knew something terrible was going to happen! He knew it!
In her excitement and haste, Christina left the front door open and Beauty and Beau seized the rare opportunity to come inside. Seeing that the excitement was upstairs, they started up, each fighting to get there first.
Rosarn was in Christina's dressing room still trying to get the ink off her charge. Hearing Christina's call, she went into the bedroom. Christina went into the nursery. Chessy followed Christina. Calling to each other, the parties switched rooms and several confused moments passed before they all found each other in Christina's bedroom.
"The French agents! They're here! They talked to me! They don't have the letter!" she cried at the exact moment two large dogs, fueled by the high excitement in the air, burst into the room. For but the briefest moment, Christina's statement took precedence over two dogs, eight muddied feet between them and in a bedroom that had just been cleaned.
"Oh my God" was still all Chessy could manage.
"Where?" cried Rosarn who, protectively clinging to little Justin, turned at once to the window, half expecting to see the charge of a French brigade. There was nothing outside. She turned back around and screamed, "Stop them before—"
It was too late. Beauty jumped onto the bed, lowered to her haunches daring Beau to chase. Beau never backed from any challenge, and just as Christina threw herself on him, he jumped onto the bed. Falling to the ground, Christina picked herself up. She and Chessy both snapped into action. Chessy went for Beau, she for Beauty.
Rosarn watched in mute horror, finding the eight muddied paws on fresh bedclothes a far greater disaster than the French had ever created for her English ancestors. Certainly more imminent. Little Justin watched with giggles of sheer delight. He squirmed and squealed, wanting to get in on what looked like the most fun since tossing ink on his mother.
Convinced that Chessy and Christina were joining their game, Beau and Beauty resisted. Beneath the weight of nearly four hundred bouncing pounds of dog, another two hundred and fifty or so pounds of persons, was the bed. A bed not made for such excess.
The bed crashed with a great clamor.
A moment of stunned silence followed.
"Oh my God," Chessy said yet again.
Justin squealed with the wonder of it.
Rosarn felt faint, decided she best set Justin to the ground before she fell.
Christina picked herself up, looked at the two dogs, and in a voice she had never used before, "Get out!"
"The bed." Rosarn fanned her face.
"Forget the bed. The French agents," and she excitedly explained what had happened. After repeating the story twice, she finished with the point, "You must take a letter to Justin to tell him to come home."
"I ain't leaving you with no French folks runnin' about. Uh, uh." Chessy shook his head.
"Chessy! There's still plenty of people about—"
"No thar ain't. They most all left for town, whether to give back the letter or no, I can't say." Though, in truth, Chessy knew each of the other servants intimately. He couldn't imagine one who would steal it, even for a pot of gold. Folks have some principles, he knew, and often thanked the stars for it.
"Mac and Tomas are gone?" she asked.
"Sure thing and knowin' the two of 'em, they be stone-cold drunk in some gutter by this point. Only ones left is Hope, Rosarn, and him—" he pointed to Justin. "And he ain't good for nothing but trouble. Ole man MacPherson still here but I wouldn't trust the man to guard a piece of penny candy from a child."
According to popular thought old man MacPherson had slipped into his second childhood. No one could remember who had hired him and for what, but about all he was good for was sitting by the fire in his rocking chair, retelling fragmented stories of battles with the Indians. Hope had even started hand-feeding him.
Christina considered this. "There's always the Johnsons and they're only two miles up the road. And Hope's family. If I need help—"
"Catch the boy, Missy," Rosarn warned, always concerned with the immediate. "He's going to get hurt in the ruins of that bed."
Instead of picking Justin up, she motioned Chessy to help he
r set the headboard straight. She took one side and he the other as she continued trying to talk him into it.
He lifted the headboard with a heave. "I just—" He stopped as a slight whisk sounded, like something dropping. Two pairs of eyes locked on the floor and Christina gasped. She bent down to pick up the letter. A letter that had been stuck between the headboard and the wall.
Finding the letter changed everything. Chessy was convinced of the necessity of bringing Justin a message. Christina wasted no time in writing it.
Justin,
I found the letter! It is difficult to explain the particulars, for I write this in all urgency. The letter was lost behind the headboard of my bed, where it must have fallen from the pocket of your robe. The seal is not broken!
The French agents have found their way to our house and have accosted me on my walk. I pretended the dull wits of a silly housewife, convincing them of my willingness to do their treachery in order to stop them from ruining Richard's reputation, which he threatened to do! We have only three days to stop them.
Please hurry home! If I do not see you or hear word from you by the morrows noon, I shall borrow the Johnsons' driver, as there is no one to escort me, and take the letter to you directly.
My love,
Christina
Chessy argued over the last passage. Christina insisted. Justin needed the letter and she was just as safe carrying it into town as she was holding it at the house—empty except for three women and a boy.
"But I know the Johnsons' driver and ol' man Raymond's 'bout as good as MacPherson."
"Oh! Men make too much fuss over such things and besides, Chessy, if Justin doesn't want me to come to town with the Johnsons' driver, he'll send someone else to escort me."
"I don't know..."
"Oh please! You must hurry now."
"I don't know," Chessy repeated as he placed her letter in his jacket pocket. "I just don't know."
CHAPTER 14
Chessy saddled what he knew was the fastest horse remaining in the stables, Saber. The situation demanded urgency but, even more important, he wanted to get Mr. Phillips in charge of the events that were beginning to overwhelm him. He could always handle himself, his sweet wife, the tasks of being someone's driver. But this—letters and spying and French agents—it was all beyond him. He wanted it over and as soon as possible.
Chessy turned from the estate on to the main road shortly after midnight. A bright half-moon broke the dark of night, permitting reasonable safety at a gallop. He pressed the young, spirited, and barely green broke mare for all he dared. He wore a hand-knotted scarf and hat, leather gloves, and a thick sheep-lined coat, and despite these layers of clothing, the cold night air felt like a continuous slap to his skin. Still he raced on and the dark landscape became one long blur passing at a frightening speed.
A good four miles later, Chessy discerned the sharp bend in the road just in time. He slowed his mount. Perhaps his aging frame could take no more of the jostle, or perhaps he needed an easy breath, a moment's warmth from the bite of the wind, yet more likely, what his wife often claimed was true—he had the gift of the sixth sense.
For suddenly he felt need for caution. Feeling this, Saber pricked her ears, Chessy did the same and as he rounded the bend, he listened to the snorts of the winded horse, the click of her trot, his own heavy breathing. Just as horse and rider rounded the bend, a lantern light flashed, then out. Like apparitions emerging from fog, two dark shapes of men appeared on the road.
Highway robbers! Highway robbers, he knew, and in that instant, he kicked spurred boots into the horse's side to make a run for it.
Winded and frightened, Saber refused any more abuse and with an angry snort the young horse reared high into the air and rid himself of her rider. Chessy fell to the ground with a thud, unhurt but suffering a deadly moment of disorientation. The men quickly fell upon him.
"It's the driver!" was said in a French accent. And Chessy suddenly knew he was in far worse trouble than with any run-in with highway robbers.
A man pulled Chessy to his feet from behind and with a grip that told him to offer no resistance. Petiers stepped in front of him and looked the captive over. "Let me guess." He almost smiled. "You—mon ami—are carrying a message to Mr. Phillips from his loving but witless wife. Only she's not so witless, is she? Madonna," he swore with low viciousness, "I suspected it. Where is it?"
"Uh un." Chessy shook his head.
Petiers's pretense of calmness exploded and he kicked a knee hard into Chessy's groin. Chessy cried out and doubled over with shocking pain as hands reached to frisk him.
The loud cock of a pistol sounded from behind them and everyone froze as a gruff male voice said, "Stop right there," and Miles explained, "I shoot first and ask questions later."
Miles held the men at gunpoint. Abruptly released, Chessy fell to the ground, still doubled over in pain, throbbing from the center of his being throughout his body. Petiers and Robert stood perfectly still. Too still if anyone had noticed, for they waited on someone.
Steffen had left Miles for town once they saw the French agents holed up by the roadside. Neither of Justin's men had been able to fathom what the French agents had been up to, waiting by the roadside again, but Steffen had told Miles to simply watch. Which he had done for a couple of hours until he saw that the time for watching was over and the time to do something had begun.
"Where's your other man?" Miles demanded.
Gasping and spitting up, Chessy struggled to lift his eyes in time to scream, "Behind you!" A boot kicked hard into Chessy's face just as a heavy branch crashed hard on to Miles's head. Miles crumpled like so much cloth to the ground. His finger pulled the trigger. Blood filled Chessy's mouth and the last thing he remembered was a pistol fired at the bright light of a half-moon.
Petiers looked down at the two fallen bodies and motioned to Franz. Franz shook his arms like a dog shakes a wet coat, aching from the blow given with all his strength. Then he picked up Miles's pistol and knowing there was one shot left; not wanting to waste the fire in his own pistol, he aimed the weapon at the fallen man's head and shot.
Petiers ordered in his flawless French, "Find his horse. And you," he said to Robert, pointing at Chessy, "search him."
"Who do you think he is?" Franz asked in charge of Miles.
"One of Phillips's men for sure."
"Only one man?" he asked as his eyes lifted to nervously search the surrounding darkness.
"Had there been another, he would have made his presence known, don't you think, mon ami?" Petiers replied. Though it was indeed odd to send only one man.
Robert quickly produced Christina's letter from Chessy's pocket and handed it to Petiers, for he could not read his own native French let alone English. Petiers read it, looked up, and knew. "Madonna! We're in luck!"
* * * * *
"It's preferable to killing them, don't you think?" Justin asked Jacob as the two men enjoyed a huge morning meal together in the dining room of Justin's townhouse. They had been up hours before dawn to see the ship loaded and off, and both had worked up a voracious appetite.
"Aye, I suppose," Jacob agreed in a tone that contradicted his statement. He watched as Justin smothered his eggs, ham, fried potatoes, his flat cakes, and his corn bread in a thick pool of maple syrup. He had to smile. The only thing Justin loved more than maple syrup, he often thought, was Christina and his little tyke.
And God knows, Jacob thought to himself as he used what was left of the syrup, Justin was suddenly a happy man again. Even the missing letter, the idea of a servant's betrayal seemed hardly to bother him. He was whole and ever so in love again, and Jacob was happy for him.
Jacob mused over Justin's intention to drop the French agents off on some deserted island rather than turn them over to the law or kill them as they probably deserved, and knew where he got the idea from. "I cannot wait till we get a ship back to the island to see how ole John is doing." He suddenly laughed. "I just hope that w
ench hasn't found a way to do him in yet."
"John's about the only man I'd leave with a woman like that. I daresay he can handle her." Justin swallowed his coffee and added with a chuckle in turn, "I hope."
"Women," Jacob voiced an age-old complaint. "Sometimes I think the creator made them soft and sweet just to deceive us poor bastards."
"No doubt. Though few women are capable of her kind of chicanery; of concealing such maliciousness in their femininity." Again Justin could not help but compare Lady Knolls to Christina, the startling contrast always meaningful to him. One represented the worst in a woman, one the best.
"And thank God for that," Jacob finished and turned the conversation back to work. They fell into a heated discussion of another of Justin's captains, one whose drinking excess caused some doubt over his ability to make the run. Justin had just pushed his plate away and was weighing the decision to have the first mate assume the position when a servant announced the arrival of whom they waited.
"See him in," Justin ordered. Steffen would know the location of the French agents. Everything else was arranged: five men waited at the very moment to take the three French agents into custody. One of Mr. Lowell's ships, the only one leaving that day under the pretense of being a passenger ship, waited in port for their arrival on board. They would be brought to a small uninhabited island near Jamaica—Jamaica being the port to which the ship sailed. Mr. Lowell had thought it a wonderful idea and had been more than willing to do the business for Justin.
Steffen walked into the dining room, wearing all the evidence of something terribly amiss. He stood awkwardly before them with his head lowered, and his great shoulders sagged and his hands nervously turned his hat. He might have come to announce the death of a loved one and indeed he would have preferred that task.
"Did you lose em?" Jacob assumed the worst.
"No. Miles is out there now. I know where they're holed up." Stalling, he was silent, except to decline the invitation to join them at the table.
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