“Francine...” She cut him off again.
“No. I’ve played fiancée and whore; wife and mistress. I’ve done it all, and I have no regrets. I’m good at what I do, and you’ve needed me.” She glared at him defiantly when he took her hands in his.
“I did need you, and you are the best.” Much as it upset him to do so, he was forced to face the truth. He used his sister because she was exceptionally skilled at espionage and because she had talked him into letting her join him. It began just after her beloved husband, a captain of a commercial trader, had been killed by privateers.
Pregnant, she had lost her baby. The midwife who had tended her, and even her own doctor, explained that because of the damage done to her in the miscarriage, she would never become pregnant again—she would be barren.
It was after she had recovered from the double tragedy that she vowed never to allow any further emotion or heartbreak to enter her life. She told him he was her only hope: he and the life he had created for himself. Eventually, over a period of months, she had convinced him to let her join him. She had proven invaluable, and he never regretted the decision. Even when he had seen her lying helpless at the bottom of the stairs at New Windsor, he had not regretted it.
“You are the best,” he repeated, “and I would hate to lose you, but I still have the hope that you will marry and have a real home and a husband you can depend on.”
“Who would have me?” she snapped at him, then squeezed his hand in apology. “I’ve used my body as if it were a weapon. I’ve been used—both poorly and well—and I would not expect a man to accept what I have done.”
“The man who would not accept it is one you don’t need. There are many who would not care about your past,” Sean replied. Francine smiled at him, a bittersweet smile of understanding.
“You think of others as you think of yourself. You’re different from other men, Sean. I know that no matter how many had possessed the one you love, you would only see the present and the future. It is a shame that there is only one of you.” She shook her head ruefully. “And more the shame that the one who exists is my brother.”
“There are others.”
“To business,” she continued, thrusting aside the issue of her own happiness. “How can Ian be explained? By all rights, I should have a lady’s maid.”
“Damn!” Sean exclaimed, a dumbstruck expression crossing his face. “I forgot completely.” Francine laughed now, as the tension in her face eased.
“Why don’t I just say that my servant fell ill just before our departure? I’m sure Lord Albert can arrange for another girl to help out. It may not even be necessary once I’m there.”
“The only thing that is necessary is Ian’s availability. We both need him with you,” Sean reminded her. Ian always acted as a liaison between them. She nodded her agreement, glancing at the small clock on her bed table as she turned toward her brother.
“It is growing late,” Sean said, catching her hint. “I had better be off.”
But before he could get to his feet, Francine pulled him into an embrace. “Be careful,” she warned him with a smile and a kiss on his cheek. “And tell Robert thank you for his care.” Sean looked at her for a long moment, wondering what it was he saw in her eyes when she said Robert Chatham’s name.
He smiled at her, told her to be careful, and that he would see her soon, in England, as they had arranged.
<><><>
The wind caressed Kira’s skin, cooling her while she rode. Her hair billowed out behind her as she bent her head to the horse’s neck. The heat radiated from him as he galloped onward. She became one with the animal, forgetting everything and abandoning herself completely to the pleasure of riding.
The horse’s powerful muscles carried them forward, past cypress and palmetto trees, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze of the late afternoon.
Flecks of perspiration flew at her from the horse’s neck, reminding her that the heat of the day would soon take its toll on the animal. Kira sat up and pulled lightly on the reins, causing her mount to respond to her gentle urgings and slow its pace. Then she reined the gelding in completely.
Dismounting, Kira patted his neck, speaking softly as she walked him slowly back to the stables. Her father had taught her how important it was to cool off the animal after a ride. This was a responsibility the rider owed the horse for the good work it had done and for the pleasures it had bestowed.
She felt better after the ride than she had all day. Last night’s party had taken its toll on her. The disappointment of the parting talk with Chatham, and anger at what she’d learned about Abraham bothered her. But oddly enough, even after all that, her sleep had been undisturbed and dreamless. Ruth, on the other hand, looked unwell, as though she hadn’t slept a wink.
Kira slowly wandered back to the stable, her thoughts again drifting to Robert Chatham. She didn’t understand how she had misread him. In most cases she was able to tell friend from foe quickly. And last night, Chatham had seemed to radiate only friendly feelings—until the end of the evening. Well, she would see him tomorrow night and perhaps find a way to use him. Perhaps she could get him to bring Abraham with him, so that Ruth could see her husband.
Kira stopped abruptly in her tracks. Then she laughed, astounded at herself for thinking this way. Had she stooped so low that she would not use her own mind in her defense but would expect to use other people instead? Had she become another whimpering female like Abigail Montague? No. She knew herself to be a woman who could think and act. And she had no intention of waiting five years to find an eligible man or to cajole her uncle into giving her what was hers.
With new-found determination blazing in her mind, Kira handed the horse over to the stable boy and walked back to the main house. Once there, she sought out the majordomo and questioned him about her uncle’s whereabouts. She was informed that he was in town that afternoon but was expected back after dinner. She was impatient, since she longed to face him now, but at least she would have time for a bath and a change of clothes before dinner.
When Kira entered the relative coolness of her rooms, she found Ruth already there, preparing her clothing for the evening meal. She had picked out one of Kira’s older, imported dresses, with a tight bodice of blue silk, trimmed simply with a band of the same material. The pleats and the fullness had been removed to concur with the new fashion, making it into a rather tight fitting and completely stylish dress.
“Not for tonight,” she told Ruth. “I’ll be dining alone. Uncle James will be in late tonight.” Kira watched a range of expressions cross the young black woman’s face at this remark. She could still not shake off the feeling that something was bothering Ruth.
“Don’t worry,” she said, taking her friend’s hands. “I said I would find a way for you to see Abraham. I intend on doing just that tomorrow night.” Kira smiled, accepting her own words because of the confidence that filled her earlier in the day. “I’ll wear the white house gown tonight,” she said gaily, sure that she had everything under control. “And I would love a nice bath. I’m as sticky as I can be!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ruth in an emotionless voice, as she began to help Kira undress.
“Please smile, Ruth. You’re starting to sound like the rest of Uncle James’ slaves! Now don’t worry. We’ll be out of here soon.”
Ruth didn’t answer and Kira decided against pushing her friend. Life at New Windsor was hard on the slaves, and Ruth could become dispirited.
When Kira had removed her man’s shirt and linen chemise, she quickly took off the breeches and the special underclothing she’d had one of the seamstresses at Haven make for her. Kira stood naked, letting the air dry the perspiration that still covered her as she waited for Ruth to fill the bath. She walked to the window and stood behind the white gauze curtain. The curtain, although sheer, blocked her from any eyes that might look upward, while it allowed Kira the luxury of watching whatever was happening outside.
“Bath
is ready, Kira,” called Ruth softly, several minutes later. But just as Kira began to turn away from the window, a figure came galloping across the front entrance to the main building. She could not make out the rider, since he dismounted in a jump and ran to the front door before she could catch a glimpse of his face. The door knocker banged loudly. The rider was clearly in a great hurry.
Kira walked to the cast iron tub and, as she sank down into the luxury of the warm water, let a contented sigh escape from between her lips. She closed her eyes as she lolled in the warm bath, and for a moment, Ruth’s soft voice failed to rouse her.
“This one?” asked Ruth, as she held up a white dress that had a low, square-cut neckline and short, puffed sleeves. The dress was simple in design, with only the minimum of frills. It was a looser fitting gown, much less revealing than the refashioned dress she had offered Kira earlier.
“Yes, that one will be much cooler. Perhaps only two petticoats?”
“I’m sure that would be fine,” responded Ruth, trying to put more spirit in her words than she felt.
Ten minutes later, Kira stood. The water cascaded from her body before stepping into the towel that Ruth held. When she was completely dried, she put on the two white silk petticoats and then the dress. Ruth stepped behind her and pulled the subtly hidden drawstring on the back of the bodice until it supported Kira’s full breasts. Then she tucked the strings into their specially designed folds. Next, Ruth helped Kira slip into her shoes, a pair of delicate white low-heeled slippers. When Kira was done dressing, she went to the small chair and table and brushed her long hair. She enjoyed this task and rarely let Ruth do it for her.
“A chignon,” she told Ruth. A severe look would be best for her confrontation with Uncle James. The black girl began working with a comb and pins, and a few moments later, Kira’s hair was pulled back and almost invisible from the front. She looked at herself in the mirror and nodded. The look was businesslike and to the point, just as she intended to be with Uncle James. A momentary flicker of doubt crossed her mind, but she shrugged it away. She could no longer tolerate this imprisonment!
James Cornwall returned home while Kira was eating dinner. He nodded his perfunctory greetings as he passed through the dining room, and then went straight to his study. The expression on his face was warning enough to those he encountered to stay away from him.
Three men had already arrived to see him, and they were waiting when he entered his library. The first was Tathers, the man from Massachusetts; the second was Cornwall’s foreman, who now ran Haven; the third was first officer of H.M.S. Trafalgar.
“What’s going on?” demanded Cornwall, as he closed the door and took off his riding coat.
“James,” said Tathers, “First Officer Gooding has a request. The Trafalgar needs a full complement of supplies, and we’ve just received word that another two ships will be joining her.”
“I told you that it would be at least three more weeks before I could supply any more ships.” Cornwall stalked to the desk and poured himself a brandy from the decanter without offering any to his guests. “That damned Finch has the entire bay area under watch.”
“Could we not do it as before?” asked his foreman. In the past, they had loaded one of Cornwall’s own ships with the supplies for the British man-o’-war, ferried out in the ocean to meet the other ship, and, under cover of darkness, transferred the supplies.
“Not this time,” cut in Gooding. “We need a full complement. There has been a lot of activity off the coast of Louisiana, and the admiral has been ordered there.”
The fruitless conversation continued for half an hour, but when the men could not come to terms, the foreman left with Gooding, while Tathers remained with Cornwall.
Kira was on the veranda when the two men left and, assuming that he had finished his business, she decided that it would be a good time to speak to her uncle. She had made up her mind. She would leave New Windsor with Ruth and go north. She had distant cousins in Boston, and there she would be able to unearth the truth as to how her uncle had swindled her out of her rightful inheritance. Of course she would not explain this to him. She would merely ask permission to visit the Cornwalls of Philadelphia for a short period. She would tell him that she needed to get away from her memories.
Kira knew her uncle would have to agree. James Cornwall was anxious for everyone to know how benevolent he was and how much he cared for his family. It was always he who invited the other relatives to visit, and he who always volunteered financial assistance—although in minimal amounts—to the less fortunate members of their family.
Kira decided to play upon this point, allowing him to send her to the branch of the family that was closest to him. By the time she had arrived at her real destination, it would be too late.
Kira reached the door of her uncle’s study and paused for a moment, gathering herself for the assault. As she lifted her hand to knock, she saw that the door was slightly ajar. She could hear voices within and she caught her breath when she heard her uncle mention Haven.
“I will need only two more weeks and Haven will be ready. Can’t you get the admiral to hold off?” asked Cornwall. His usually commanding voice was reduced to an obsequious whine that shocked Kira. What was Uncle James doing with Haven?
“James, we both know Haven was a lucky stroke. You were to have made other arrangements. What happened to those?” Kira recognized the voice of James Cornwall’s house guest and felt another shock of surprise about the fact that he, not Uncle James, seemed to be in charge.
“Because of the increased surveillance, we have been forced to slow down supplying our British friends.”
Kira felt faint. Her uncle was helping the British against his own people! He was using Haven to help. She had never believed him capable of such treachery. Kira turned away, sick with this knowledge, but stopped when she heard the other man’s voice go harsher and loud as he berated Cornwall.
“We need every supply we can gather, and we need it now. I thought you understood. Especially after we found that spying lout that your brother sent to inform the Navy. If you hadn’t arranged to get rid of your brother, I would have done so myself! And then where would you be with your precious Haven and its supposedly easy and accessible supply point.”
A burning lance pierced her heart, its point ripping straight through to the core of her being. Her father’s last word rose in her mind: “treachery!” Rage consumed her—a rage so incredible she was powerless in its grasp. Her father, the man she had held above all others, snuffed out like a candle for her uncle’s evil purposes! The very thought robbed her of all ability to reason logically. Kira charged into her uncle’s study and ran at him, her eyes wild.
“Murderer!” she screamed, lunging at her uncle. She saw panic mount in his face at the unexpected intrusion, and before he could react, Kira was upon him. Her fingernails raked his cheeks. She kicked him brutally with enraged strength. The glass of liquor dropped from his fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering noisily.
“You! You killed him!” she screamed, pummeling his head with her fists. Suddenly her arms were pinned to her sides by Tathers. Kira lashed out again with her feet, kicking backward, trying to step on the man’s foot with the heel of her shoe. A yelp told her she had hit her mark and his grip loosened on her arms.
Kira tried to break free, but the man managed to hold her. Her uncle pulled free from her grasp and backed away, holding the back of his hand to one cheek. When he took his hand away, it was covered with blood.
“Hold her,” he told his accomplice as he removed the sash from his waist. He directed the man to turn Kira around and, when she was in position, he tied her hands securely. Then he signaled the other man to release her.
James Cornwall took a handkerchief from his pricket and gingerly wiped the blood from his face, wincing with pain. He met Kira’s contemptuous gaze with a leering smile.
“Yes, it was I who arranged your father’s death, and I am supplying the Englis
h ships in these waters. I am about to be knighted, you see. When the English destroy the country’s so-called government, I will run this area of the country. And everyone, my precious niece included, will address me as Lord Cornwall!” He stepped close to Kira. She recoiled from his fetid breath, a mixture of food, liquor and stale tobacco. Her stomach turned at the hideous way her uncle was looking at her.
Quickly, her right foot lashed out and struck its target. Her uncle screamed in agony and fell to the floor, clutching at his manhood.
The other man grabbed Kira by the back of her neck and threw her roughly to the floor. Then he went over to Cornwall and helped him up.
“You’re just like your mother,” Cornwall snarled at her, “a rotten miserable whore!”
Kira lay silently on the floor, her rage now slowly ebbing as she realized how dangerous her position had become. She watched Cornwall straighten up. His bloodied face made his anger all the more threatening.
“You have much to fear, and soon your fear will be realized.” Cornwall walked to a cabinet on one wall of the study and withdrawing a key from his jacket pocket, he unlocked the door. When he turned back toward her, he had a glass vial filled with a small amount of white powder nestled in his hand. He took the vial, added some of its contents to a glass and poured some liquor into it. He and Tathers dragged Kira into a chair and, despite her fierce struggles, forced her mouth open. The contents of the glass made her gag, and she had no choice but to swallow.
Kira felt nothing but the burning of the liquor. “And what story will you fabricate for my death?” She spat drops of the concoction in her uncle’s face. Cornwall laughed, as he wiped them off. “It was not poison, dearest niece, only something that will keep you silent until I can dispose of you properly!” His smile faded as he looked at her. “There have been too many deaths. Another would only create rumor and possible scandal. No, my dear, I will keep you alive, at least for a while.”
Kira was fast becoming lightheaded and so terribly dizzy she could not even keep her head up. Her mind wandered and her uncle’s face dissolved in pieces before her eyes. His mouth was the only part of him she could still see. The obscene, taunting lips smiled. His voice floated to her, disembodied.
A Whisper Of Destiny Page 13
