Authors: Susan Carroll
But she had meant to glide away majestically, mysteriously,
not skittering, bumping into the walls like a half-blind mouse. She banged up
against a fragile hall table, overturning it, sending a Wedgwood vase crashing
to the floor.
But she did not pause as she heard an oath, the sound of a
footfall behind her. Someone was coming after her, and she didn't need to turn
around to know who it was.
Scrambling madly, fighting both veil and skirts, she hurled
herself down the hall. Locating the door at the end, she seized the handle and
pushed. Unused for so long, the blasted thing stuck. Chloe put her shoulder to
it and shoved, but she only managed to thrust it partly open when she was
seized roughly about the waist.
This would have been the moment for a good bloodcurdling
scream, but Chloe was too breathless to manage it She pounded wildly at the
arms banding her with a grip of iron.
"Let me go," she gasped. "What kind of fool
would chase after a ghost?"
"Oh, stop your nonsense, Chloe," Trent said. Still
holding her tight, he freed one hand enough to wrench back her veil.
Moonlight filtering through the oriel window enabled her to
see clearly the anger glittering in his eyes, the hard set to his jaw.
"What the devil do you think you are playing at—"
he started to demand, but he was obliged to break off the furious scolding.
Sounds came from the other end of the corridor. Doors
opening, and voices calling told Chloe that the rest of the household had been
aroused. She could just hear Lucy's frightened cry.
"Emma, what was that crash?"
"I don't know, my dear. I was about to find out."
"Never fear, ma'am," Lathrop's sleepy voice
called out. "I will investigate."
Chloe's heart sank. She knew that in another moment they
would all be spilling into the hallway, demanding explanations. She had a
lowering vision of how ridiculous she was going to appear when the lamps were
lit. Bad enough that Trent had caught her, but whatever would she say to her
eldest sister? Emma was going to be so shocked by this prank, so disappointed
in her.
"Oh, please," Chloe whispered, wishing the walls
could just open up and swallow her.
Her plea came involuntarily. She did not really expect it to
be heeded, let alone answered. Therefore, she was startled when Trent released
her. Forcing the door further open, he thrust her onto the darkened landing
beyond.
"Stay here and be quiet," he commanded.
"Don't you stir so much as a step."
Chloe was too astonished to think of doing otherwise. Besides,
when Trent pulled the door closed, without her candle, she was left in
unrelenting darkness. Shivering in the draft that wafted up the narrow
stairwell, Chloe pressed close to the door, trying anxiously to detect what was
transpiring on the other side.
The door was so thick, she could not hear well, only enough
to guess at what was taking place. The high-pitched voices of Emma and Lucy and
the deeper one of Mr. Lathrop all seemed to be questioning. Thank goodness
Agnes was such a sound sleeper, incapable of being roused even if the roof had
collapsed upon her. If she had joined the group in the corridor, Chloe's
absence would surely have been noted.
As it was, Captain Trent was able to convince everyone that
Mr. Doughty had merely been sleep-walking, suffering from the effects of a
nightmare. Poor Doughty sounded distraught enough to make this quite
believable, his jabbering about a ghost all but incoherent.
Chloe heard Trent ordering the steward and everyone else
back to their beds. After what seemed an eternity, she caught the sound of
doors closing, the household once more settling to silence.
Leaning up against the door, Chloe breathed a sigh of
relief. Much as she hated it, she had to feel somewhat grateful to Trent for
rescuing her from the embarrassment and full consequences of her folly. When
she heard the thud of his footfall, she quickly stepped back from the door,
shrinking against the wall.
He swung the door open, the light from the candle he held
momentarily blinding her. "Chloe? Oh, there you are."
She held up one hand protectively before her eyes. She
realized that the makeup that had appeared so sinister in the shadows must look
foolish in the light. She hardly knew what to say to Trent.
"Captain, I ..." she began.
But he ignored her halting efforts, saying in clipped tones,
"You will go remove that white muck from your face, then meet me below in
the drawing room. If you do not come, I will fetch you. We needs must
talk."
Chloe slowly lowered her hand, her vision adjusting enough
to note the inflexible lines of his face, the hard martial light in the
captain's eyes. Spinning on his heel, he marched away, and Chloe felt a tremor
course through her. It appeared that she had escaped nothing. The consequences
of her little charade were yet to come.
Nearly a quarter of an hour later, Chloe descended the dark,
silent stairs, heading for the parlor. The stiff brocade of the ancient gown
yet rustled about her, but her face had been thoroughly cleansed, damp tendrils
of her hair clinging to her cheeks from the vigorous scrubbing.
As she approached the drawing room, her heart seemed to be
pounding in her throat. She thought she knew how an officer must feel on his
way to be court-martialed. Through the open doorway, she could see her solitary
judge.
Trent stood poised, awaiting her entrance, his arms locked
rigidly behind his back. He had rekindled the fire on the hearth, and the
leaping flames behind him cast his shadow, a giant, looming specter up one
wall. Chloe stepped into the room, gathering what tatters remained of her
dignity and defiance.
She presented herself before him, chin held high, saying
nothing, waiting for him to speak first. He subjected her to a long, grim
silence, the weight of a most awful stare. Chloe imagined this must be the method
Trent used aboard his ship when he was attempting to intimidate some
insubordinate seaman.
At last he rapped out, "You have five minutes to
explain what the devil you were thinking of, playing such a cruel and childish
jest."
Although Chloe flushed, she said, "I will concede
that what I did was rather foolish, but I would hardly call it cruel."
"Truly? I will grant you that Mr. Doughty is not a
fellow of great intelligence. He is a simple but good-natured man. I thought
you had far more regard for him than to prey upon his superstitions. Was it
that amusing to terrify him half out of his wits?"
"I never meant to do that. I thought he would be asleep
in his own room. I did not intend for anyone to see me except for. . ."
"Except for me?" Trent finished when she
hesitated.
The answer was so obvious, Chloe did not answer, merely
setting her lips into a stony line.
"I see," Trent said. "It was only me you
hoped to scare senseless."
He stalked closer. Her every impulse called out to her to
retreat, but she forced herself to stand her ground. His fingers flicked
contemptuously against one of the balloon-like sleeves of her gown. "Did
you really think you could frighten me with this ridiculous masquerade? What
did you hope to gain? Did you actually believe you could drive me from this
house by pretending to be a ghost and moaning 'Go away!'?"
"I don't know what I believed. You made me so desperate
that I think I would have tried anything to be rid of you, to send you back to
your wretched ship."
Chloe was appalled at herself as she blurted this out. But
there was no recalling the blunt words. She tensed, awaiting Trent's answering
flash of anger.
But he spoke bitterly. "At this moment, you don't know
how happy I would be to oblige you, ma'am. I wish the devil I was back aboard
the Gloriana, where I don't have to deal with—" He broke off, raking his
hand back through his hair, the gesture rife with frustration. "Go back to
your bed, Chloe. This discussion is useless."
He strode away from her, leaning one arm up against the
mantel, his profile lost in shadow as he stared into the dying embers of the
fire. It took Chloe a moment to comprehend that he was dismissing her She
should have felt relief, taken to her heels at once.
But she could not do so, not when she was under some
obligation to the man. She cleared her throat. The words were the most
difficult she had ever had to say, but somehow she got them out.
"Thank you for not letting the others find out about
what I tried to do. Emma would have been so angry and unhappy with me."
"This may be hard for you to realize, Chloe, but I did
not come here intending to sow discord between you and your sister."
"No? Well, I thank you anyway."
She had expressed her gratitude. She was free to go now. Yet
something held her to the spot. Perhaps it was the glimpse she obtained of
Trent's face. His anger had drained away, leaving him looking inexpressibly
weary and strangely hopeless.
He was no longer demanding any explanations, and yet
somehow she felt driven to explain. "It is not that I bear you any ill
will in particular, Captain. I would want to chase away any suitor who came to
claim Emma except for Mr. Henry. You see, when Papa went away, he told me to
take care of the others. To be the keeper of their dreams."
"Their dreams, Chloe? Or the ones you think they should
be having? With great patience I endured watching you thrust Mr. Henry
and Emma together. I even tried to observe her more closely on the chance you
might be right." Trent shook his head. "I saw nothing but politeness
and a little embarrassment."
"Emma is very good at concealing her feelings,"
Chloe faltered. So good, in fact, there were times when even her own sister did
not feel quite so sure she understood Emma.
"I can see why you would prefer Mr. Henry as a brother-in-law,"
Trent said. "He is a very good man, a description that cannot be applied
to me. I have been called a hard man, relentless, aloof—all those things that
make for a disciplined officer but not a very congenial companion.
"But there is one advantage to Emma's marrying me, Miss
Chloe." He straightened, giving her a rueful smile. "I won't be
around that much to plague you. This time next Christmas, I will be back aboard
ship, keeping my solitary watch. You might have reflected on that and tried
being a little kinder."
His words stung Chloe more than anything else he could have
said. It was the first time anyone had ever accused her of being cruel. But
then, she also suspected, it was the first time Captain Trent had ever asked
anyone for kindness.
"I am sorry," she said. "It's just that
everything has changed so. Nothing has turned out the way I ever thought it
would be. We were all so happy here before Papa went away. Then one terrible
day, your letter came saying my father was dead. It was so hard."
"I understand," he said quietly. "Far better
than you realize. I was but ten years old when the admiral summoned me to his
cabin to inform me of my own father's death. He read the dispatch to me and
expressed his condolences. I saluted and returned to my duties."
"You were given no time to weep?"
"It was my turn on watch. I was lucky, though. There
was a storm. When the sea is driving spray over the side, one kind of salt
droplets on a man's face very much resembles another."
He spoke without emotion, but his eyes clouded with the
memory, and for one moment, Chloe no longer saw a man but glimpsed a
ten-year-old boy, trying valiantly to conceal his grief from his mates.
Scarce realizing what she did, Chloe slipped her fingers into
his. He raised her hand, looking wonderingly at her hand for a moment. Then,
with a heavy sigh, he released it.
"I suppose what you really want to hear is about your
father, not mine I should have told you sooner, but you already disliked me so
intensely."
Squaring his jaw, he said, "Sir Phineas died saving my
life."
He waited for her reaction. When she said nothing, he
continued, "The French war ship was so close. It seemed they would be
attempting a boarding any moment. I was already bleeding from a wound to the
shoulder. Sir Phineas was struggling across the deck, coming to help me, I
think. I tried to warn him to go back.
"A sharpshooter from the other deck took aim, most
likely at my uniform. But as he fired, your father stepped forward and---and
you know the rest. Now you may hate me without compunction. You know exactly
how I was the cause of your father's death."
He started to walk away from her, but not before she
glimpsed the pain in his eyes and the burden of guilt he must have carried for
far too long.
She caught his hand again, saying gently, "I only know
one thing—that you are a man whose life my father must have believed was worth
saving."
He flashed her a look of such grateful astonishment that it
tugged at Chloe's heart. Although she realized how difficult this was for him,
she could not help asking, "Do you think it was very painful? Did my
father suffer for long?"
"No, the end came very quickly, and such a look of
peace stole over him, I shall never forget it. He seemed to stare beyond me at
the last and whispered a name. It sounded like Maria."
"Did he?" Chloe raised her head. She looked almost
radiant. "That's all right, then."
"It is?" he asked, thoroughly bewildered.
"Yes, don't you see? Maria was my mother's name. She
came for him?' Her bright expression momentarily dimmed. "If only we could
have brought his body back to rest beside her in the churchyard, where he
belonged. That was the hardest thing of all, to think of Papa being tossed into
the cold, cruel sea."
"Do you think so?" Trent said. "Myself, I
have more of a fear of being buried beneath the hard, unfeeling earth. I would
much rather be lowered into the arms of the lady of the sea."