Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  Sir Morgan Lloyd spun around quickly, hearing the amused voice coming out of the shadows. “Do you always arrive early for a rendezvous?” he demanded, put out that the captain of the Sea Dragon had managed to catch him off guard.

  “Apparently not much earlier than you do,” Dante responded while moving into the revealing moonlight, for Sir Morgan was a good quarter of an hour early for their meeting.

  “I trust you are here because you received my note?” Sir Morgan inquired.

  “Naturally. I do not leave a warm bed at midnight to traipse about the countryside without a reason,” Dante responded easily. “I had been expecting to hear from you. I had hoped that your hostility of the other day was feigned.”

  “Had I truly believed you responsible for my brother’s murder, I fear I would have taken the law onto myself and called you out, Captain,” Sir Morgan answered quite seriously.

  “I was very sorry to hear of his death,” Dante said. In the pale moonlight Sir Morgan’s face looked like it was chiseled out of marble.

  “His murder,” Sir Morgan corrected.

  “I feel a little responsible because his ship was wrecked in Dragon’s Cove. The waters are notoriously treacherous,” Dante said, “and even the best of captains can run his ship aground,” he suggested as an alternative to murder.

  “He made it safely to shore, Captain. It was on shore that he met his death,” Sir Morgan reminded him sharply.

  “Could not the ship’s running aground have been simple mischance? There are many wrecks along this shore, and when that happens, the villagers come from miles around to salvage what they can. I’ve seen a horde of them descend on a ship foundering on the rocks and strip her clean within an hour. I have even seen scavengers strip the dead of their belongings. If anyone survived the wreck and made it to shore, he most likely would have been too weak to put up a struggle if someone wanted his possessions. Perhaps that is what happened to your brother. Or, since he was an officer of the Crown, his attacker panicked and killed him,” Dante said. His explanation was quite reasonable and had his listener been anyone but the late captain’s brother, he might have been persuaded.

  “My brother was betrayed. Indeed, he suspected the traitor. He told me as much in a letter he wrote shortly before his death. But Ben made a mistake somewhere and lost his life as a result,” Sir Morgan said bitterly. “He was a good captain, and he knew this coast well. He would not have run aground in Dragon’s Cove; he was too good, too cautious. No, something drew him in there, and if my speculations are correct, he was unaware of his position until it was too late. I suspect he was misled by the smugglers’ signals. Someone flashed him a signal from shore, knowing he would sail onto the reefs. I think his murder was plotted carefully because he was close to discovering who the traitor was.”

  Leaning against one of the fallen stone dragons, Dante eyed Sir Morgan through the gloom. “Why did you not suspect me of being involved? As you said, I might be behind all of this, even though I have been absent from Merdraco for many years. And, even if I were not directly involved, my sympathies might very well remain with the smugglers because I used to be a smuggler. Many of them are poor farmers and villagers just trying to make a living, and I might see no harm in their activities. So why are you taking me into your trust, Sir Morgan?” Dante asked flatly.

  Sir Morgan ran a tired hand across his forehead, massaging his temples. “Because, as the master of a ship, you would never wreck one. It would go against your blood, Captain,” Sir Morgan said simply. “Once you have known a command of your own, you can never shirk responsibility for your ship or your crew, no matter what the circumstances. I cannot believe you would ever put a ship or her crew in jeopardy. I sailed against you long enough to know what manner of man you are, and you are not the sort who would betray another by so cowardly an act. You played a game with Bertie Mackay in the Straits, but you knew he and his crew were never in any real danger. You are simply not a murderer.

  “I never thought that the day would dawn when we would be allies, but I think it has, hasn’t it, Captain? As the master of Merdraco, you should be especially interested in seeing justice served,” Sir Morgan spoke quietly, meaningfully.

  “You’ve heard about Merdraco, then?”

  “Yes, word of an atrocity like that spreads quickly. I am sorry it happened, but I would think it gave you good reason for seeing the smugglers put out of business. Especially Jack Shelby,” Sir Morgan Lloyd said slowly.

  Dante nodded. “You also are aware that Jack Shelby truly believes he has good cause to commit crimes against me?” Dante asked, wondering just how much Sir Morgan had learned.

  “He is the father of the woman you were suspected of murdering. I must say, however, that time seems to have dulled some memories and old hatreds. I was in Merleigh earlier this evening, and I happened to be drinking in a popular tavern there and heard some flattering things about you, Captain. You and Mr. Marlowe paid the place a visit earlier in the afternoon and escorted one of Shelby’s men off the premises most emphatically. Your actions were well appreciated by the majority. They seem to think Shelby is half mad and has been for years. They also seem to think that they might have judged you harshly over the death of his daughter. Some remember her as being free with her favors. They say that just about anyone—including a jealous wife or two—might have killed the girl.”

  “I suspect they are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt now,” Dante commented, unimpressed, “only because I have returned a wealthy man.”

  Sir Morgan smiled sadly. “You are bitter. I suppose that is only natural. You are also quite modest, for you made a considerable impression on these villagers, beyond your wealth. Your laying down of law took them by surprise, as did your authoritative presence, which is, I gather, just the opposite impression of the one they had of you.

  “I rather hate to spoil things for you, Captain, but I need to cast suspicion on you if I am to mislead the smugglers. I want them to grow careless, especially one man in particular, and then I’ll catch them in the act and have those responsible for wrecking the Hindrance brought to justice,” Sir Morgan promised.

  “You and your brother were very close?”

  “Yes, we were. My father died when we were just boys. Ben was younger than I. I suppose, as the elder, I always felt responsible for both my mother and my brother. But now they are both gone, and I am left with a promise I made to my mother a long time ago, and that was to watch out for my brother. I now shall keep that promise in the only way left to me.”

  “This might seem strange coming from me,” Dante said, “but make certain you have the right men and that you have irrefutable evidence. I should hate to see your desire for revenge bring you to ruin.”

  “Except for the mysterious mastermind behind the Sons of Belial, I know exactly who I am after,” Sir Morgan reassured him.

  “Jack Shelby.”

  “Yes,” Sir Morgan said.

  “And, perhaps, your Lieutenant Handley?” Dante guessed.

  “I thought I was so subtle the other day,” Sir Morgan said in mock dismay.

  “Threatening to put me adrift in a rowboat is hardly subtle, but your dislike of the man was only too obvious to me, although I doubt the lieutenant realizes it. Do you think he is behind this smuggling gang?”

  “He may well be the man who has planned every move the Sons have made. But I don’t quite think the lieutenant, unless he is a brilliant actor, has the intelligence to run this operation. I think he is merely following orders…like the rest of them,” Sir Morgan said.

  “What of Shelby?” Dante questioned. “He’s a cunning devil.”

  “It is a possibility, but he seems too hotheaded to have planned the wrecking of the Hindrance and to have set up this web of smuggling runs. No, I think he takes his orders from someone else too.”

  “And you would like the smugglers to think t
hat you suspect me of running their operation. No doubt that will bring Shelby much amusement,” Dante predicted. “If I agree to say nothing of your suspicions, then I want to be a part of whatever trap you are setting,” Dante bargained. “Either that, or I’ll do some exploring on my own in order to dig up evidence against Shelby.”

  “Since there are not many people around here to whom I would trust my life, I think I will find your assistance helpful,” Sir Morgan commented wisely. It seemed as if two former enemies were becoming allies, but for different reasons.

  “I am afraid Rhea will have a hard time forgiving you for the other day,” Dante told him.

  “I regretted having to upset her so, but I was doing it to impress the lieutenant. Perhaps, when all of this is over, and if we are still here to talk about it, she will allow me a chance to explain. Perhaps she would even invite me to tea,” Sir Morgan asked, and Dante was surprised to hear the note of longing in his voice.

  “You will find that Rhea is a very understanding person. Once she understands the facts, she will forgive you, Captain, never fear.”

  “I shall look forward then to that cup of tea,” Sir Morgan said on a lighter note. “But what of Lady Bess Seacombe?”

  “Bess?”

  Sir Morgan caught the hesitancy in Dante’s voice, as well as his casual use of her name. “You sound as if you know her well. I ask only because I like to know what to expect from a person.”

  “Bess and I grew up together. In fact, if you haven’t already heard about it, she and I were supposed to marry. She changed her mind. Not that I blame her, for I was debt-ridden at the time and under suspicion of murder,” Dante added, thinking the latter explanation gave Bess a legitimate reason for breaking off their engagement.

  “No, I hadn’t heard that. I suppose you know that she is a widow?” Sir Morgan asked, wondering if there might still be warm feelings between the two.

  “Yes, I had heard,” Dante remarked, but didn’t say how.

  “She is also very much in debt,” Sir Morgan informed him.

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Dante said slowly, his mind going back to the painful time when she had spurned him because he had little hope of keeping her in the style she believed she deserved. “What happened? Do you know?”

  “Bad investments by her late husband. Apparently he was a bit of a fool and invested in some crazy scheme involving a plantation in the Indies. Lost his shirt too, as did several other people around here. Then the bank he had invested in closed. Seems the largest account was suddenly withdrawn and that caught the investors short. They had mismanaged their capital, made bad loans, and finally became insolvent. A rumor got started that they could not honor their other depositors’ accounts, and there was a run on the bank. In order to stay out of gaol, Sir Harry and some other investors, including Sir Miles Sandbourne, who is a very respectable gentleman, had to make the bank solvent out of their own pockets. From what I understand, it nearly bankrupted all of them.” Sir Morgan said all of this without any apparent pity for the late Sir Harry Seacombe. If he had a wife and a young daughter and son, he would not have taken any chances with their welfare. “It also seems Sir Harry cared more for the well-being of his hounds and horses than he did his family. Spent lavishly on his stables. I wonder why the woman married him,” Sir Morgan said with an exasperated sigh.

  Dante remained silent. At last he said quietly, “I remember Harry Seacombe. You are right, he was a bit of a fool, but he was harmless enough. I can understand why Bess married him. At one time he was very wealthy and handsome and knew how to amuse people,” Dante remembered.

  “Lady Bess is still a very attractive woman, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Dante cocked his head slightly. “Yes, I would say she is as beautiful as she was when I left Devonshire,” Dante admitted. “Why? Are you interested in the lady?”

  Sir Morgan, had Dante been able to see his face clearly, would have appeared embarrassed, but he replied evenly, “My interest is official, for I think she is involved with the smugglers right up to that slender throat of hers. And I would hate to see any woman’s neck stretched,” Sir Morgan admitted. Dante got the impression, however, that he would indeed stand by and watch that very thing happen if it meant bringing his brother’s murderers to justice. As far as Sir Morgan Lloyd was concerned, no one involved would go unpunished.

  “Bess? Involved with the smugglers? That would mean being involved with Jack Shelby, and I do not see Bess giving the likes of Shelby the time of day,” Dante scoffed.

  “When a person is in need of money, trying to keep food on the table, that person might do just about anything,” Sir Morgan replied. “Look at yourself. You changed from an indolent young lord who gambled away his inheritance into a man who fought hard to reclaim it and his reputation,” Sir Morgan reminded him.

  Dante remained silent for a moment. “I’ll not assist you in sending Bess to the gallows.”

  “You still care for her that much?” Sir Morgan’s harshly spoken words sounded like an accusation. Whether it was because he was thinking of Rhea or because he was thinking of his brother, perhaps even he didn’t know.

  “I have my reasons,” Dante replied.

  “I see,” said Sir Morgan.

  “No, I don’t think you do, but it doesn’t matter, for I shall help you catch Jack Shelby and the Sons of Belial,” Dante promised. “What exactly is your plan?” he asked. Only the pale moon observed the shadowy figures and heard what was said.

  * * *

  “There, there, Kit,” Rhea said reassuringly, pressing her lips against his soft curls. “Mama’s here,” she spoke softly while gently rocking him in her arms. But her eyes were staring at the empty space in the bed where Dante ought to have been lying.

  Opening her nightdress, she guided Kit’s little head to her breast and sat back against the pillows while he nursed, his fine fringe of lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes began to close. Rhea continued to sit there rocking him while she hummed softly, and soon his tiny hands stopped their kneading. His head rested heavily against her breast while he slept in her arms, contented.

  Carefully Rhea placed him back in his cradle and arranged the fine wool blankets around his shoulders, rocking the cradle for a few minutes when he gurgled and threatened to waken. Then he sighed and slept.

  Pulling her gown together, Rhea walked to the window. A bright silver stream of moonlight poured into the room, and it was almost like standing in daylight. She stared out on the wild disorder of the gardens below.

  Where was he? With dread she remembered the other night when she had awakened and found the bed beside her empty. Rhea strained to see into the night, but the gardens and trees seemed to darken and crowd closer to the lodge as she watched. In the distance the shimmering sea looked blindingly brighter. The shadows around the lodge seemed to be moving. Rhea rubbed her eyes, staring harder at the line of trees that suddenly seemed to hide secrets.

  She gasped as she watched a tall shadow grow taller, then detach itself from the copse and move closer to the lodge. Then she sighed, for she knew that walk. As he drew closer, she could almost make out his familiar features. She smiled in relief. She was acting as foolish as Robin and Conny, and she would never listen again to their stories of ghosts and Wild Huntsmen.

  Rhea continued to watch as Dante’s figure approached, then disappeared from view as he walked along the path leading to the lodge entrance. She was about to turn away from the window when she saw another shadow sliding away from the trees, and her heart began pounding deafeningly, for the figure was a lady dressed in flowing white robes.

  Dread rising inside her, Rhea knew she was seeing the spectral figure of the Pale Lady of the Ruins, an omen that meant certain death.

  Twenty-eight

  Guess if you can, choose if you dare.

  —Pierre Corneille

  In the cold, rev
ealing light of dawn, Rhea found herself questioning what she had seen the night before. She still believed that she had seen something moving through the trees, but she had said nothing about it to Dante. Her mind was occupied with something more important, for he had denied leaving the lodge. Or, rather, he neglected saying anything about leaving the lodge for a midnight assignation, which she was beginning to believe had been his purpose in stealing away.

  She found herself remembering the note he had been handed in Merleigh and had also neglected to tell her about. Had he, perhaps, gone to meet the person who had sent him that secret missive? And could that person possibly have been what she saw from the window? In the back of her mind she kept remembering that scarlet figure she had seen in Merleigh at about the time Dante received the note.

  Whatever he was involved in, he apparently had no intention of telling her, for, upon entering their room, he had met her inquiring gaze and said nothing about leaving the lodge. He had explained that he couldn’t sleep and had gone downstairs to get some brandy. Indeed, he was holding a dram glass of the burnished liquid. As he stood there in his bare feet, his nightshirt tucked into his breeches, one would almost have believed his story. But Rhea suspected that his muddied boots and his coat were lying outside the door and that the brandy was for taking the chill out of his bones. But she doubted that he’d been out searching for the smuggling gang, for there was a moon riding high, and he had said that the smugglers preferred to work in darkness.

  Dante asked what had awakened her, and her explanation that she was feeding their son seemed to relieve his mind. He smiled at her and seemed to relax. Then he placed the glass on the bedside table and, sitting down next to her, took her into his arms as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Rhea had felt the pressure of his lips against the side of her neck. His hands moved caressingly across her shoulders before encircling her waist. His brandy-scented breath was warm against her face, then his lips found hers for a long moment. Despite herself, Rhea felt that quivering sensation growing inside of her, that need to respond to his every desire. But she would not do so this time, she argued with herself, not with a lie between them. Especially not with the suspicions she felt, for that would make a mockery of their love.