A Matter of Grave Concern (36 page)

“Why did you not mention this before?”

“Because I think she’ll still help us. She just wants something more than money, ye ken?”

“Like what?”

Richard exchanged a look with his brother John, who had come to stand beside them, before turning back to Nathaniel. “She wants to meet you.”

“What, does she think I can simply ring the front bell at Bridlewood and introduce myself?” Nathaniel asked.

Richard shook his head, apparently taking Nathaniel’s words at face value. “I’d not ask you to do that. Just come with me once. That’s all it would take.”

“But why does she want to meet me?”

“She’s heard rumblings among the older servants about your mother and you, and she says she wants to know that you’re real.”

“No doubt she wants to have something to gossip about,” John put in. “She ain’t but seventeen or eighteen. Her days get long in that big house with nothing to break them up but a spot of tea and a juicy tidbit. What else could she want with you? She’s in this as deep as we are. If the duke ever discovers that she’s been stealing his controller’s books and schedules and letting us take a look, he’ll send her to Newgate right along with us.” He grimaced at the reminder of prison. “Still I, for one, understand if you think it’s an unnecessary risk.”

Richard glanced at his brother. “I’d say Mary’s made it necessary enough. Unless we find another way to get the information we need, we’re out of a job. And nothing could be more simple than what we got going—”

“Of course Richard doesn’t want to lose Mary. He likes what she gives him along with the information,” John exclaimed.

Richard laughed, but Nathaniel didn’t find anything to do with his father amusing. “So what do you suggest?” he asked Richard. He had visited the duke’s lavish Clifton estate only once, when he was seven, but that day held enough painful memories to last him a lifetime. He had no wish to probe the wound.

“Mary always meets me in the woods near the pond. She can’t read, so she brings the books with her. It takes me a few minutes to find out what we need to know, then I pay her and send her on her way
. . .
or I would if you were with me,” Richard added with a devilish grin.

Nathaniel thought for a moment. It wouldn’t be easy to replace Mary. As one of the housemaids, she had access to every room in Bridlewood Manor. And being uneducated, she remained above suspicion. “Very well, when we put in at Bristol, send her a message telling her I’ll come.”

Turning and finding Trenton gone, Nathaniel left Tiny and John to their revelry and went below, where his first mate was already scratching numbers in a large black book.

“Not bad,” Trenton said as Nathaniel entered the captain’s cabin. “Eighty crates of tobacco. Should bring a good price.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer. He was still thinking about Mary and Bridlewood and, as always, his father. “What?” he asked, glancing up.

“I said, according to the ledgers, we’re doing well. If every ship goes like the
Nightingale
and the one we took a few days ago, it won’t be long before we’re both rich.”

Nathaniel smiled.
Rich
had a pleasant ring to it. Not that he knew from experience. Before Martha was killed, he had grown up in a small shack with her sister, Beatrice, and Bee’s eight children. Bee’s husband had run off after the birth of their last son—Nathaniel had never known why—but the formula of so many living off so few, namely Martha, destined all to a life of poverty. Though he loathed thinking of it, Nathaniel would never forget the hard, stale bread, the cold winter days without any coal and the dark nights when they’d been too poor to buy candles.

Yes
, Nathaniel thought,
if one couldn’t be loved, one could at least be warm, comfortable and full, always.
“But it won’t be this easy for long,” he replied. “These ships were no challenge because their crews hadn’t any prior warning. They were at sea before we took our first ship. But word will have gone out now, and things will begin to change.”

Trenton grunted. “Nothing ever stays easy for long.”

“Like Mary, for instance.” Nathaniel stretched out on his bed, propping his arm behind his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trenton’s face showed concern.

“She wants to meet me.”

His first mate’s chair scraped the floor as he shoved the ledgers away and stood up. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go along with that. If your father catches you at Bridlewood—”

“I know, but we can’t lose her. Our whole operation depends on the information she gives us.”

“To hell with the operation. You go to Bridlewood, and your life will depend on her, too.”

Nathaniel shrugged and gave Trenton a grin. “You, my friend, have a problem with trust.”

The hilltop village of Clifton, famous for its pure air and picturesque vistas of the Severn Estuary and the Welsh hills, sat one mile to the west of Bristol, high above the River Frome. Nathaniel had long admired its beauty, and he was not alone. Some of Bristol’s wealthiest residents, most of them Quakers, owned homes in Clifton.

Nathaniel and Richard made their way through Bristol, up to Clifton, and then to the duke’s country estate where they waited by the pond to meet Mary. They stood in silence, patting the noses of their hired mounts to keep them quiet, as the moon’s light peeked through the crooked branches of the many oak trees surrounding the water. Mary was supposed to arrive at midnight, but it was well past that, and Nathaniel was becoming uneasy.

“Does she usually come on time?” He tried to see through the trunks and limbs and leaves that completely blocked his view of the house.

“She’s not the most punctual girl I’ve ever met,” Richard responded. “But then, she’s never in much of a hurry to get back, either, ye ken?”

Nathaniel saw the gleam of Richard’s teeth as his mouth spread into a smile. “I’d find another maid to dally with, if I were you,” he replied. “There’s no telling what my father would do if he found you here. He’s certainly not a man of conscience.”

“You worry too much,” Richard said. “How could he prove my connection to you?”

“Entirely too easily. You’re not nameless and faceless when you board his ships, you know—”

The snap of a twig made Nathaniel fall silent. Someone was coming. His eyes bored into the darkness, but still he jumped when Mary popped out of the trees behind them.

“
’Ere I am,” she laughed. “Did I scare ye?”

Nathaniel didn’t answer. Mary was a wiry young girl with medium-brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She had sharp little teeth and a flat, shapeless figure; nothing much to recommend her, but Richard gave her a hug.

“Did you miss me?”

“No, an’ I know better than to believe ye missed me.” She laughed again, her eyes turning to Nathaniel with apparent interest. “Oooo, ye did bring ’im. But ye never told me ’e was so ’andsome.”

“That’s because he’s an ugly bloke in the light,” Richard responded. “His hair’s as black as one of those American savages everyone talks about, not the flaming red of me own, and while I admit his eyes are blue, they sometimes look as pale as ice. You should see him when he gets angry, which I must admit, he does, and entirely too often.”

Nathaniel couldn’t resist a smile at this quick accounting of his attributes, or lack of them, but he hadn’t come to be inspected like a horse. He was ready to get hold of the heavy book Mary hugged to her breast, and doubly eager to be away from Bridlewood.

“Well, ’e wouldn’t be ’is father’s son if ’e didn’t ’ave a temper,” Mary responded. “The duke’s been a miserable soul ever since the two of ye took that first ship. I can scarcely keep a straight face when ’e starts rantin’. I swear, the mention of ye makes ’im apo-apo
. . .
what’s the word?”

“Apoplectic,” Nathaniel replied dryly, deriving a small bit of pleasure from picturing his arrogant father out of his mind with rage.

“That’s it. ’E’s apoplectic near ’alf the time.”

Nathaniel felt the maid’s hand on his forearm.

“But ’ow did ye get so tall?” she asked. “Yer a full ’ead taller than yer father.”

“Perhaps I’ve my mother to thank,” Nathaniel responded. “May I?” He put his hand out for the book she still held to her flat chest, and finally she shrugged and relinquished it.

“
’E’s in an awful ’urry,” she remarked to Richard, a grimace claiming her plain face.

Nathaniel quickly lit one of the candles he had brought in his pack and laid the book open, searching for the information he needed. The pages were filled with the names of ships; the dates, times and locations of their departures; their destinations; even a list of their anticipated cargo.

Nathaniel smiled as he memorized the schedule for the following two weeks, but the smile froze on his face when he heard voices, men’s voices, coming through the trees.

“There’s someone at the pond,” a stranger shouted. “Come on!”

Running feet pounded the ground, making apprehension prickle down Nathaniel’s spine. Whoever it was, they were close. And they were coming closer still.

He glanced up to see a look of shock, then fear, cross Mary’s face. Snapping the book closed, he shoved it into her arms and pushed her back into the cover of the trees. “Run,” he whispered. “Go back another way and return this. The sound of our horses will draw them after us and keep you safe for a bit, but you must hurry.”

Nathaniel leaped onto his horse as Richard did the same, then he glanced around, wondering which direction to go. The water was on one side, their pursuers were on the other, and he had no idea what he might encounter in front or behind him.

“How do we get out of here?” he asked Richard.

Richard shrugged and pointed. “I’ll go this way, you go that way. We’ll meet back at the tavern, where Trenton is waiting for us.” Then he dashed away, leaving Nathaniel to charge ahead in the direction specified and to pray they could both escape.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

P
HOTO
© 2011 M
ICAH
K
ANDROS

When Brenda Novak caught her daycare provider drugging her young children with cough medicine to get them to sleep all day while she was away at work, she quit her job as a loan officer to stay home with them. She felt she could no longer trust others with their care. But she still had to find some way to make a living. That was when she picked up one of her favorite books. She was looking for a brief escape from the stress and worry—and found the inspiration to become a novelist.

Since her first sale to HarperCollins in 1998 (
Of Noble Birth
), Brenda has written fifty books in a variety of genres. Now a
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author, she still juggles her writing career with the demands of her large family and interests such as cycling, traveling and reading. A three-time Rita nominee, Brenda has won many awards for her books, including The National Readers’ Choice, The Bookseller’s Best, The Book Buyer’s Best and The Holt Medallion. She also runs an annual online auction for diabetes research every May at
www.brendanovak.com
(her youngest son suffers from this disease). To date, she’s raised nearly $2.4 million.