Cherished
Page 29
Without batting an eyelash, he said, “Shall I douse the candle or will you?”
Through set teeth, she replied, “You may believe that I don’t give a straw what you do, or who you do it with. But just think on this, Peter. Once I am restored to decent society, once I am in London, I may very well pay you back in your own coin.”
“Take a lover by all means.” He sounded bored. “I wish you would. But permit me to give you a piece of advice. Try if you will to be a little less of the egoist. You are in love with yourself and it shows. My dear, it’s a grave flaw which repels even those who are determined to love you.” Then in an altered tone, he said, “I should know,” and so saying, he doused the candle.
Sara was fit to be tied. Frozen with wounded pride, she lay in her cold bed like a block of ice. How dare he say that she was in love with herself! A fine opinion he had of her character! An egoist! It wasn’t true! Oh, it wasn’t true! She didn’t think only of herself. She was as good-hearted and as sweet-natured a girl as Molly St. Laurent, and if Peter didn’t see it, he must be blind.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, grinding her teeth together, fuming in silence as she listened to her husband’s soft snores. After a while, the hard edge of her anger began to soften a little. She wouldn’t allow that she was an egoist, but she was coming to see that she was not entirely blameless for the sorry state she was in. She wasn’t really cold and unfeeling. She was unhappy and therein lay the source of all her troubles.
This truth seemed so self-evident and, at the same time, so novel, that she mulled it over in her mind for several minutes. The moment before sleep claimed her, she knew that she was on the threshold of a great and momentous discovery. England wasn’t the answer. If only…
The following morning, when the ladies sat down to breakfast, their landlady offered the information that the gentlemen had left earlier to accompany Mr. Fraser on a tour of the warehouses and that they would return presently.
“What warehouses?” Sara’s question was an idle one. Her thoughts were miles away.
“The North West Company’s warehouses,” replied Mrs. Deare. “It’s where the trade goods are stored.”
None of the ladies evinced a spark of interest, and after setting down the laden tray she was carrying, Mrs. Deare made an unobtrusive exit.
Conversation was desultory and soon faded into long, thoughtful silences. Emily was subdued, having spent a restless night. Hester was preoccupied and Sara was seething.
It seemed that she was in everyone’s black book and she did not give a brass button, she told herself forcefully. She had been judged and found wanting by them all: Hester, James, Peter, especially Peter. Only William remained unfailingly kind. And Emily, of course.
“Did you say something?” asked Emily.
“I was clearing my throat.”
“Oh.”
Sara regarded her sister from beneath the sweep of her lashes. How long had it been, she wondered, since she had really looked at Emily? That wan little face, those dark circles under her eyes—words could not speak more clearly of her sister’s distress. She had an urge to say something comforting, but she did not know where to begin. What could she say? She had left it too long. The time to comfort Emily was when the crisis had burst upon them. As it was, they were almost like strangers—they, who as children had never been out of each other’s pockets.
Without thinking, she stretched one hand across the table and patted Emily awkwardly. The surprise on Emily’s face was enough to bring hot color rushing to Sara’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, Emily,” she said. “I’m so sorry,” and she did not know what else to say.
The door opened to admit James Fraser, and Sara’s hand dropped away. He gave them a long quizzical look and said, “I’ve been sent to fetch you. Our companions fancy themselves as voyageurs. You must come and see. They are trying their hands at managing one of the great Montreal canoes and doing not too badly, I might say.”
The ladies exchanged a quick look and resignedly rose to their feet. James’s words did not surprise them. There was something in the air at Lachine, a sense of adventure, an undercurrent of excitement that was irresistible to gentlemen. The glamour of the fur trade made little boys of them all.
Outside the door of their lodgings, a coach was being loaded with their baggage. There was nary a sign of their escort, though their maid was already inside the coach. They took no coats, for the temperature on that May morning was warm. At James’s suggestion, however, they fetched their parasols, for even a watery sun could inflict that horrid bane of a lady’s complexion: freckles.
“This won’t take long,” said James, steering the ladies toward the wharves. “And we are only eight miles from Montreal, so there is no necessity for haste.”
At the wharves, there was the customary pandemonium that had an odd order to it. The shrill calls of the agents who were overseeing the loading of the great canoes blended with the snatches of song which came from the crews who did all the labor. Several canoes were already manned and waiting for the signal to get under way. It was from one of these that a young voyageur, with a huge grin on his face, detached himself to meet them. His French was unintelligible to the ladies, though James Fraser had no difficulty in conversing with him. Their laughter rang out richly and James turned back, shaking his head, smiling.
“Major Benson and Addison, along with our escort, have embroiled themselves in a race,” he said. “There is no cause for alarm. We are to catch up with them at St. Anne’s. You’ll enjoy the little outing.”
Before the ladies could grasp the full import of his words, they were swept up by three laughing voyageurs and deposited in the very center of one of the long boats. In vain, they cried out their alarm. The signal was given and a cheer went up, and as the great craft swung smoothly into the current, a dozen paddles sliced as one into the water.
Emily twisted her head and almost collapsed with relief. James was in the canoe with them, standing in the stern, steering the great boat with his paddle. His eyes glittered with excitement and his lips curved in a smile. Her relief soon gave way to indignation. Before she could take him to task, Hester got there before her. She had said only a few choice words, however, when one of the voyageurs, the chanteur, sang out the opening bars of “En roulant ma boule,” and her voice was drowned out as the refrain was taken up by the whole crew.
Smiling wanly, shrugging philosophically, and casting a meaningful look at Sara, Emily forced herself to relax. There was no real cause for alarm. The voyageurs would set them down at St. Anne’s and Peter and William would convey them back to Lachine. As soon as her feet touched terra firma, however, she was going to have the satisfaction of telling James Fraser exactly what she thought of his “little outing.”
The “outing” was not the little jaunt they had supposed. An hour passed and there was no slackening of their swift pace through the choppy waters. Lachine was left far behind, as was the flotilla of Montreal canoes. Emily was itching to blister James Fraser’s ears, but the voyageurs were indefatigable in their singing, so much so that she could hardly hear herself think, let alone talk. Stewing in outrage, she adjusted her silk parasol to the sun’s rays and feigned a serenity she was far from feeling.
After a while, she became aware that their canoe was flanked by two other vessels, one of which was smaller than their own Montreal canoe. She surveyed it for some few minutes, wondering idly why one of the voyageurs seemed out of place. It was impossible to get a clear view of him, but there was nothing untoward in his dress. He wore a red kerchief on his head, and his shirt was open at the throat, typical voyageur attire. He looked to be a powerful man, and Emily decided that he sat a little taller in the canoe than his companions.
Before she could think too deeply about it, the guide in the bow of the boat made a signal with his hand. Abruptly, the singing stopped and the oarsmen pulled hard on their paddles, guiding the craft toward shore. The smaller of the canoes, Emily noted, was following in t
heir wake.
As they drew closer to the shore, the fine hairs on the back of Emily’s neck began to rise. Whatever this place was, she knew it wasn’t St. Anne’s. This place was isolated. At St. Anne’s, there was a church and a convent, that much she remembered. There was a dock here, however, so the place wasn’t completely without habitation. Frowning, she scanned the shore for a sign of Peter or William and their canoe. There was nothing.
Her eyes flew to James Fraser, but he was occupied in steadying the craft with the aid of his paddle. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes searching for the voyageur who seemed so out of place. Her eyes found him and then she knew!
“Sara!” she said tightly, and her senses were alive to every sight and sound. “Sara, when we dock, you go first and don’t wait for anybody, do you understand? There will be a path, oh, God, there must be a path! The path will lead to a house. This is a matter of life and death! Get help, Sara, or hide yourself until help arrives. Don’t talk. Don’t argue. Just do as I say. And don’t look back. Hester, you stay exactly where you are.”
Sara’s eyes were huge in her face. For the first time, she, too, became aware of a number of incongruities. There flashed into her mind every dire warning her husband had made concerning her safety. Leon Devereux had tried to make away with her, might still try to make away with her if only he could get to her. It was for this reason that she was to return to England. But Leon was not here. Even so, something was very far amiss.
“Now!” shrieked Emily.
The shrill tone galvanized Sara into action. She was off like a shot. Emily made good use of her companions’ momentary surprise. Before they knew what she intended, she lowered her little parasol and charged, sending two men flying overboard at one go. In the next instant, she dived for the dock and had dragged herself up. Brandishing her parasol in front of her like a rapier, she prepared to hold them at bay until they overpowered her.
No one made a move, except to haul their two hapless companions on board. Hester sat there with her mouth open as though Emily had taken leave of her senses. By degrees, men began to shake their heads and smile. Soon, they were laughing. Baffled, Emily stared at them.
“Emily!”
Emily’s heart leaped to her mouth. The canoe with Leon in it had almost touched the dock. A quick glance assured her that Sara was nowhere in sight. “Run, Hester!” she shouted, then picking up her skirts, she went haring off along the shoreline. She did not get very far before powerful masculine hands closed over her shoulders.
“Emily! Don’t you know me?” There was a smile in his voice as he turned her to face him. “Emily, my love!” His dark eyes moved over her, then he pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Oh, God, this has been the longest week of my life!”
She was frozen in shock, her lips cold and unresponsive beneath the fierce pressure of his. When he pulled back, he was frowning.
“What is it, Emily? Are you sulking because I did not come for you sooner? I could not take that chance. And I dared not let James carry a message for me in case you inadvertently gave the game away. Emily, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Coming up at that moment, James Fraser enlightened him. “Prepare yourself for a shock, dear boy,” he said, taking no pains to disguise his amusement. “If I am not mistaken, the sweet wife of your bosom is quite convinced that you are a murderer.”
The frown on Leon’s brow intensified, then he laughed. “No, truly! Tell me what’s wrong.”
Emily opened her mouth, but no words came, only a hoarse sound that, in her own mind, was the beginning of an apology.
James clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Believe it!” he said, and there was not a shade of humor now in voice or visage. Contempt blazed out at her. “It grieves me to tell you, Leon, that your fine friends, to a man, are convinced of your guilt. Didn’t I tell you how it would be? If they catch up to us, you are a dead man.”
Leon’s arms dropped to his sides and he took a step back. His voice was without expression, as were his eyes. “I should have expected this,” he said.
Emily stood woodenly, cringing from that cold look, knowing that she had made the worst mistake of her life and that she would never be given the chance to correct it.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Murderers! Rogues! I’ll see you hang for this outrage!”
No one paid particular heed to Hester’s harangue. The voyageurs smiled and shrugged off their incomprehension. Leon and James were rummaging in one of the packs.
The ladies had been rounded up like lost little lambs and herded, with every mark of respect, to a small abandoned cabin at the end of the path which led from the dock. They were subdued but no longer terrified out of their wits.
Leon found what he was looking for and tossed a bundle of deerskin garments upon the rickety table. “For the place where we are going,” he said, “you will be more comfortable in these. You have five minutes to change and not a moment longer.” He smiled insolently before continuing. “You may keep your drawers on, if it pleases you, but your stays and petticoats remain here.”
At the mention of the unmentionable, Hester’s thin lips stretched taut across her teeth. “You, sir, are no better than a…” She floundered as she groped for the foulest word she could think of.
In other circumstances, Emily might have admired Hester’s courage. As it was, her mind was teeming with questions. She addressed the first one to James Fraser. “Where are William and Peter? What have you done with them?”
“They are safe and sound, locked up, along with their escort, in my warehouse in Lachine. No, really, no harm has come to them.” His next words were terse and for Leon. “I’ll wait outside. Time is wasting. We’d best be off.”
Sara stirred and glared at him accusingly. “You told me that your voyageurs would never permit any man to insult a lady.”
James answered negligently. “I lied,” he said, and beckoned to his men to follow him out, leaving Leon alone with the ladies.
“Where…where are you taking us?” asked Emily.
“Into the wilderness.”
At the blunt answer, Sara and Hester let out a startled cry. Emily stood a little straighter.
“Why?” she wanted to know.
“Why do you think?” His lips were pulled back in a parody of a smile.
“You’ll never get away with it.” Hester’s brave words were belied by the tremor in her voice. “William and Peter will come after us. Nothing is surer. And if they find that you have harmed one hair of our heads…”
Leon slammed out of the cabin. After a moment of stunned surprise, Emily went after him. He had taken only a few strides before she caught up to him. Grabbing for his shirt-sleeve, she dragged him round to face her.
“Why did you run away?” she cried out. “Why didn’t you stay and explain what you were doing in Mrs. Royston’s rooms?”
By slow degrees, his posture relaxed. He no longer looked as though he were a rampaging panther on the prowl. Even his smile was more natural. Touching one finger to her cheek, he purred, “Barbara Royston was my mistress. Isn’t that so, Emily? You’re not that naive. You know why a man visits his mistress in the dead of night.”
Once, when Emily was a child, she had fallen out of one of the pear trees in Rivard’s orchards. All the breath had been knocked out of her body. She felt the same sensation now.
When he jerked his sleeve from her hand, she came to herself. “That doesn’t explain why you ran away.”
“Barbara Royston was dead when I got there. Murdered. When I stepped out of her door, two gentlemen were waiting for me. One of them was armed. What would you have had me do?”
“Are you saying that William and Peter…?”
She was shaking her head, and the gesture brought his simmering temper to a boil. “Think what you like. You always do. But understand this. You will do as I say. And I say that if you are not changed in five minutes, I will forcibly strip the clothes from your back and dress you myself.”
She yelled at the top of her lungs. “I’m not going anywhere till I know where you are taking me.”
Leon straightened and turned to face her, hands on hips. It was as though the panther had finally condescended to notice the kitten who was stalking him.
“Home!” he yelled back.
“England?” From that distance, he could not have heard the whisper of sound that died in her throat. Even so, his face darkened.
“To New York,” he retorted, and gave her his back.
In the cabin, Hester and Sara had already donned the deerskin garments Leon had set out for them. Sara was white-faced and silent. Hester did enough talking for the three of them. She was gnashing her teeth together in helpless fury.
“How dare he ask decent women to wear the garments of savages! From the very first, I knew what he was. He is a foreigner. Didn’t I say so? He wants to drag us down to the gutter where he belongs. This is an abomination. My brother…”
Emily brought the diatribe to a close. She pinned Hester with a steely look; her voice was tipped with ice. “We are going to New York. I don’t know what route we are taking, but obviously we are going into the wilderness. Leon is right. These garments will be more comfortable. We wouldn’t last a day in our tight stays and petticoats.”
“New York?” Hester’s eyes darted about before focusing on Emily. “And you believe him?”
“I believe him. Sara, help me get out of this gown.” As Sara’s trembling fingers undid each tiny button, Emily continued in the same controlled tone. “I don’t believe Leon murdered Mrs. Royston, and even if he did, we are in no danger. If he had wanted to mur—make away with us, he has had ample opportunity.”