What the Duke Doesn't Know

by Jane Ashford

  Early the next morning, as James addressed a breakfast of fried ham and hot bread and coffee in the taproom, a slender figure entered, pausing just inside the doorway. He paid him no mind until the fellow walked right up to his table and stood, silently, rudely, right at his elbow. Then James raised his head, a sharp setdown on his tongue, only to discover that it was Kawena, back in her male costume as he had first seen her.

  James half rose from his chair, jostling coffee out of his cup and nearly overturning the small table it sat upon. “What the devil?”

  “I thought this dress was best for visiting sailors,” she said. “They will be less likely to—”

  “Have you lost your mind?” By sheer luck, the taproom was empty. But that might change at any moment. Anybody might come in and recognize her and ask why his “sister” had donned such a scandalous, shabby costume. What was he to say to that?

  “Your crew won’t suspect,” she said. “No one did when I traveled alone.”

  It was true that the baggy coat hid all the enticing curves of her body. And the sloppy cloth cap covered her hair and half her forehead. When she kept her head down, the brim made it difficult to see any of her face. Still… “Go upstairs at once and put on a proper gown. The staff of the inn are bound to notice—”

  “They won’t say anything. I told the landlady all about it. And swore her to secrecy.”

  “You what?” James felt as if the floor had dipped beneath him, like a ship’s deck in a big blow.

  “She saw me in the corridor outside my room. She did seem shocked,” Kawena admitted. “But when I explained—”

  James grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. He resisted an impulse to shake her. “You told her about the jewels?” he hissed. The story would be all over town in a moment. Indeed, it probably already was. If one of his crew members had the blasted things, they’d be alerted, probably on a fast horse out of town already. And their trip would be wasted.

  “I’m not stupid!” said Kawena, pulling out of his grasp. “I told her a sad tale, to get her sympathy.”

  “Tale? What tale?”

  “I said that we needed to question some rough sailors about our brother’s death at sea. That we feared there might have been foul play.”

  “Our brother?” repeated James, bewildered.

  “Our other brother.”

  “Other…?” Either he’d lost his wits, or there was something wrong with his hearing, James concluded.

  “You’re supposed to be my brother, remember?” Kawena looked impatient. “So the one lost at sea is the other—”

  “Nobody was lost at sea,” he interrupted, his mind struggling to catch up.

  “And I’m not your sister, either.”

  “Shh.” There was still no one about, but how long could that last?

  “You are so cut up over Donald’s loss—”

  “Donald?” Who the flaming hell was Donald? And how had he come into this?

  “Our other brother,” Kawena repeated, with the air of one speaking to a lackwit.

  “That’s a Scottish name,” James objected, and then shook his head. What did that matter, in this whole farrago of nonsense?

  She shrugged. “I was thinking quickly. It just popped out.”

  “Popped.” He eyed her, dazed by this new side of her character.

  “So, you are prostrate with grief,” she continued. “You and Donald were very close. You are too distraught to go about alone. I have to dress as a boy to accompany you as we try to discover his fate.”

  “Fate.” This ridiculous tale made him sound like a milksop, as well as dim.

  “She promised to say nothing,” Kawena finished. “Shall we get moving?”

  She walked out, and he had no choice but to follow. “You realize that I may meet acquaintances here? The town is full of navy men.”

  “All the better that you aren’t out with a nonexistent sister,” she retorted, striding off.

  He hadn’t meant to be out with anybody at all, James thought. He’d meant to slip off, leaving her at the inn, as she’d obviously divined. He should have skipped breakfast. But he’d been hungry.

  At least she was keeping her head down as she walked. James recovered his wits and reminded himself that he had the list of addresses. She couldn’t find anyone without him. Catching up to her, he muttered, “You will follow my lead, and keep your mouth shut. Or we will give up this job here and now.”

  She gave one terse nod, eyes on the pavement, looking very much like a sullen lad, actually. She slouched and sidled along, the picture of youthful reluctance. He had to admit she was rather good at playing her chosen part.

  James consulted the notes he’d made during his visit to the Admiralty, and they moved off.

  He began with his former first officer, as the one most likely to have kept track of the crew’s movements and noticed any unusual behavior. Simmons had received his orders for a new ship and was happy with the posting, so he was pleased to see James, and even more pleased to down a tankard of ale at James’s expense. He did give James a pitying glance when James suggested a reunion of the old crew, but he agreed readily enough, helping arrange it for that evening.

  James bought dinner and stood drinks for the eight sailors from the Charis currently in Portsmouth, and was hailed as a great good fellow all round. Kawena even played a part. Explained as the son of a friend of his family looking for preferment, pushed off on him to squire about Portsmouth to see if the navy would suit, she made an occasional sneering comment that gained him instant sympathy.

  When the meal was over, Kawena retreated into a dark corner and listened as Lord James skillfully guided the men into talking about their final voyage, with special attention to the stop at Valatu. Without saying so outright, he gave the clear impression that infractions and irregularities didn’t matter, now that he was no longer their captain. If a man had gone ashore without his knowledge, or engaged in some dubious trading on the side, well, that was the way of the world, wasn’t it? Several of the men seemed startled to hear this from him, Simmons in particular. Others, lubricated by free-flowing liquor, boasted of their exploits in various ports of call. Kawena watched their faces as they spoke and laughed, gauged their body language for hesitance or lies. Some were sly or unsympathetic or venal. Some admitted cheating natives in various exchanges, using their ignorance to come away with items worth far more than what they gave. None said anything relevant to her quest.

  As the evening wore on, James would forget that Kawena was present for a stretch of time. Then the sight of the “lad” would startle him. He would become intensely aware of her legs in rough breeches and thick stockings, of the delicacy of her hand emerging from an overlarge sleeve. His heart would pound at the thought of what would happen if she was discovered, and what she must think of the profane expressions and coarse sentiments of common sailors in their cups. When the hour grew late and amorous tales began to lace the talk, becoming more graphic as one man tried to top another, he used her youth as an excuse to depart, softening the blow by paying for a final round of drinks.

  “That wasn’t any help,” said Kawena as they walked back to their inn. She seemed unaffected by the hours in the din and smokiness of the alehouse.

  James felt a spark of resentment. It hadn’t been an easy thing, to act such a part with his former crewman. Simmons, certainly, had seen many of his remarks as out of character. Others had looked startled as well. Kawena had no notion of the discipline of a navy ship, and the distance and standards a captain must maintain. So she couldn’t conceive of the humiliation he’d suffered by pretending not to care for these things. Still, she might have thanked him.

  “I shall have to speak to some men alone,” James told her. When she started to object, he held up a hand. This had become more and more evident to him as the night unfolded. “To one man on his own, I can sugges
t that there was a problem on the voyage and promise to keep his name out of it. In those circumstances, he will say things he wouldn’t reveal before others, including an unknown ‘youth.’”

  Kawena had to admit there was sense in this. And so, on the following day, James visited Simmons again, and then the rest of the men on his list, one by one. But he discovered nothing useful. Indeed, all he accomplished was to rouse concern, and some suspicion.

  Back at the inn that afternoon, sharing a dinner of roast chicken and peas, they took stock, and had to acknowledge that they had made no progress. Kawena, gowned as his “sister” again, seemed thoroughly discouraged. “It did not seem to me that any of the men were lying,” she said. “This task is far more difficult than I imagined.”

  “When you showed up waving a pistol and offering to shoot me,” James replied, hoping to raise her spirits.

  She didn’t smile. She scarcely seemed to hear him. She sat with bent head and slumped shoulders, eyes downcast, looking more like a mournful old painting than the spirited lass who’d nearly blackened his eye. James hated to see it. His gaze followed the exquisite line of her cheek, the flutter of dark eyelashes against honeyed skin. It was like seeing a creature of leaping flame dimmed down to embers. He wanted to reignite that brightness nearly as much as he wanted to sweep her into his arms. “There are other crew members I can speak to, in London,” he suggested.

  She looked up. The budding hope and trust in her eyes nearly stopped his breath. What wouldn’t a man do to earn such a look? To prolong and intensify it?

  “We could stop there on the way back to Oxford,” he offered. “Have you been to London?”

  “I passed through. It was huge and very noisy. And dirty.”

  He couldn’t argue with her. He’d often felt the same. “The rest of my old crew is there, however.” He tried to speak bracingly. “We’ll head for London tomorrow. The roads will be better, at least.”

  She pushed a bite of chicken around on her plate. “Do you really think we will find out anything?”

  “It’s the only other thing to try.”

  Kawena nodded gloomily. James cursed himself for a clumsy fool. Why hadn’t he been more optimistic? The difference between this melancholy young woman and the lively creature he’d come to know on their journey was unbearable. A memory struck him. “Do you still want to try riding a horse?”

  Kawena looked up.

  They’d already seen her in boy’s clothes here, James noted, aware that she would insist on wearing that garb for riding. He didn’t want her doing that at Alan’s house, on streets and lanes where his brother’s friends might see them. But here… “I’ll see about some mounts,” he said, rising.

  “I’ll get ready,” she replied, color back in her cheeks.

  Eight

  When she came back downstairs and was directed to the stables, Kawena found Lord James discussing the merits of available horses with the hostler. One was already saddled. The debate appeared to be about the second choice. “Merry’s a bit of a plodder,” the hostler was saying, indicating a gray horse in a nearby stall. “But Rex”—he pointed to a brown animal farther down—“is overfond of a run, if you know what I mean.”

  “We’ll take M—”

  “Rex,” interrupted Kawena. “I want to run. Like flying.”

  James tried to intervene. “You want a gentler mount for your first—”

  “Rex,” Kawena insisted. She’d seen plow horses in the fields. She knew what plodding looked like. And she wasn’t going to be stuck shuffling along the roadway like a sack of meal slung over a donkey. After the disappointments of the interviews, she felt an urgent need to throw herself against the world.

  “He ain’t dangerous,” said the hostler. “Just a little…frisky on occasion.”

  “Perfect,” she pronounced. She liked the word. Frisky was exactly how she wanted to feel—the opposite of the increasing pessimism that burdened her. She met Lord James’s eyes. She would not be fobbed off with a plodder. Fortunately, he sighed and gave in.

  Rex was saddled, and Kawena lifted onto his back. As the hostler adjusted the stirrups to her feet, Lord James explained the reins and how to communicate to Rex what she wanted. Then he sprang onto the other mount and led the way out of the stable and into the lane.

  It was an odd way of sitting, Kawena thought as they made their way through the streets of Portsmouth. The horse seemed much wider when you straddled him than he had looked from the ground. And his movements caused her to sway back and forth. Lord James had told her to grip with her knees, she remembered. She tried, and Rex jolted forward, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a market basket.

  “Hold up,” Lord James said as the woman glared at her. “We’ll keep to a walk until we’re farther from town.”

  “Walk, Rex,” said Kawena. She recalled then that he’d said you tightened your knees and leaned forward when you wanted to go faster. So she did the opposite, and was pleased when the horse settled back into a walk. Riding was really quite simple, she concluded. She didn’t know why people made such a fuss about it.

  Lord James guided them toward the seaside, leaving the bustle of town behind. Kawena welcomed the sight of the water, even though it was not her ocean. This one was gray and edged with small stones instead of sand. The waves hissed and clattered in quite a different voice.

  “You’re doing well,” Lord James called.

  Kawena knew that. How could she not when all she had to do was sit there? “I want to go faster,” she replied.

  “The trot’s a bit more difficult…”

  She was deathly tired of things that were difficult. Indeed, nothing in life seemed easy, just now. Surely a ride along the beach was a simple matter? All sorts of people rode, all over this country. She’d seen tiny children atop huge farm horses. Perhaps she should stay just above the beach, however, if you could even call a field of pebbles a beach. She would not have wanted to run in those stones. Rex would probably not care for it either. Kawena pulled on one of the reins, as instructed, to turn her horse parallel to the shore. “Let’s go, Rex,” she said, leaning well forward and pressing her knees into his sides.

  He went.

  And in an instant, the ride changed utterly. Rather than an easy seat, the saddle was now a precarious, jouncing perch, threatening to jerk out from under her, first one way, then another. The stirrups wanted to fly out to the side. Pounding hooves replaced her smooth progress, and the landscape streamed by in a breathless blur.

  “Kawena!”

  Lord James’s call seemed to come from far away. She did not dare turn to see where he was. It was all she could do to hang on.

  “Pull up! Pull up!” he shouted.

  The reins—one pulled on them to slow down, she remembered. But her reins were clutched in her two fists, above where her fingers were twined in Rex’s mane. She would have to let go to pull on them, and she wasn’t going to do that. Nor did she dare loosen her knees and sit back. Crouching over Rex’s neck seemed by far the better, indeed the only, choice.

  Rex veered onto sand. Water splashed around them, thrown up by his pounding hooves, and for a moment, Kawena feared that he was carrying her right into the sea. Then she saw that they were on a long spit that stretched out to a great rock rearing up from the sea far ahead. Shallow waves fanned across the sand. As they passed through a dip, their passage threw up sheets of salt water, soaking her from head to foot. Stinging seawater lashed into her eyes. All Kawena could do was duck her head and cling.

  Rex raced on. Time seemed to both stretch and contract, a muddle of jolts and spray and thudding hooves. He would have to stop when they reached the crag, Kawena thought. But he did not. The horse’s hooves clattered onto a stony path slanting upward, and he kept right on going. The sound seemed to echo. Then Kawena realized it was another horse. Lord James was pounding along just behind her.

>   He didn’t catch up, however, until they both emerged on top of the crag and discovered a small house tucked into a flat space there, facing the sea. Kawena had just time to glimpse it, and marvel, and then Lord James was beside her, his horse shouldering Rex to a standstill, his hands grabbing for her reins. In a quick tussle of hooves and teeth, he brought them to a halt. “Have you lost your wits?” he shouted.

  She’d been about to thank him. She changed her mind.

  He jumped down, and then practically dragged her from the saddle while keeping hold of both sets of reins. Kawena felt the jar of the landing through her feet and knees. The horses danced nervously. Lord James loomed over her, pressing her back against Rex’s flank. He looked furious. “Why didn’t you pull up?” he said.

  Kawena realized that her cap was gone. Her hair was coming loose from its tight braids; wet tendrils trailed along her cheeks. She was soaked and cold, except where Lord James’s chest rested against hers. That part of her was warming. His angry face was inches away. She was interested to find that she wasn’t the least bit afraid of him, despite his fit of temper. In fact, she was very much inclined to kiss him. She wondered what he would do if she did.

  Rex tossed his head and stamped. Lord James jerked away, looking nearly as wild as the horse. A large wave hit the crag, shattering blue-white and throwing spray high into the air. Wisps of damp drifted over them. “We need a place to get dry,” he said.

  James looked to the house. It appeared to be vacant. Spotting a small stable on the right, he led the horses toward it. “Come with me,” he commanded. He was still so angry with Kawena he could scarcely speak to her. Did she have any idea how close she’d come to serious injury? He had watched her almost bounce out of the saddle a dozen times. Of course she didn’t. She was a heedless, headstrong hoyden.