Authors: GnomeWonderland
My dearest Lady Juliet Ramon Van Ness . . .
She quickly read the contents. Congratulations, expressions of gratitude and praise, gushes of warmth, and on and on. The great admiral made it sound as if she had single-handedly saved the British Empire. "And may I please take this opportunity to express my further congratulations on your recent marriage. . . . There is no finer man in all of England. . . ."
She read it twice over before looking back up. "I'm honored . . . flattered—"
"Ah, you deserve it, Juliet. I might add that with Garrett's permission, Nelson wants to personally introduce you to the court before Garrett's own position would put you there. Apparently Kingston—who by the way swore to Garrett to keep it a secret—told Nelson your beauty is unparalleled and your grace that of an angel. He was most eager to meet you." Then revealing his thoughts he said with profound solemnity and sadness, "And by God's fortune, may he live long enough to have the pleasure."
The solemn thought spawned another and she asked quietly, "Leif, will it matter if Garrett doesn't have a wife to show the world? What will he say?"
Leifs prolonged silence filled with tension, broken at last when he said, "Garrett has never concerned himself with such details. That's not the issue at hand."
She searched his face for meaning. "Leif, what's wrong?"
He only shook his head. "I don't know, Juliet. It's not my place anyway." He sighed, leaning back. "Garrett is sorely taxed right now, all the talk of war and glory and England's vulnerability and, well, you know how he struggles with that. Nelson is a madman right now, they all are. Garrett has never celebrated the glory of war. Not when he only sees some poor lad spread across deck with a burnt face and cinders where his eyes once were, hanging on to a severed limb as he screams for his mother—" Leif stopped, seeing the natural effect of the words appear not as horror but as pain in her eyes. She was one of the few women who understood Garrett's moral fortitude. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
Subdued, she shook her head. Garrett hated participating in the killing and destruction of war as much as she did, even if his participation changed nothing but the side of the victor. Garrett's religious beliefs had always affected her profoundly; she supposed they always would. Twenty years from now Garrett's words would echo through her thoughts as she listened to men talk of politics and the world and wars, the endless wars. She'd hear Garrett talk of national bigotry and racial hatred, of men dying for little more than a change on a line on a map.
"What will happen to him now? Did Nelson give him new orders?"
"Aye, they've been agreed upon. We have to wait until our network of spies can determine if the French suspect us or no."
"And if they do?"
He smiled with humor. "Ah, then Black Garrett will be a legend few people believe and Garrett will be free at last to resume his life."
"Which he wants?"
"Desperately. Yet it's not likely the French will suspect him. We might have another year or two yet." Leif ended the subject with a shrug,"We shall see." He paused to gain courage before leaning forward and taking her hand, a gesture of intimacy, underlying the importance of what he would now say. "There is something I want to say to you. I want you to remember something, a simple truth: men—most men—will do what's necessary to make a woman happy. They will lie, cheat, steal for a smile—"
The door opened as he spoke and Peters and Matt entered with the supper trays. Juliet stared with incomprehension, understanding what Leif said but not knowing why he said it before she rose to help set the table. The men's spirits were high, the result of their triumph and Garrett's speech, and the two men hurried away to join the celebration going on topside. She was about to question Leif but Gayle came through the doors, bursting into the quarters with unleashed excitement and enthusiasm, all of which was for the thousands of men heading to battle. She let him read her letter and told him how flattered she felt, "Imagine me—truly a bona fide nobody—being addressed by the great admiral—"
"Nobody?" he questioned. "Who on earth said you were a nobody?" He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Nobody but a young lady of the highest distinction! A beautiful, bright, courageous lady. Let's say I take you top side for the celebration. Would you like that?"
Juliet nodded with transparent eagerness. She would like anything that took her away from Garrett, the tension between them, even if for one night.
"I don't think you should."
Gayle looked at his father, who pretended to examine Garrett's volumes. "Why not? The sheets shouldn't be flying until the fourth or fifth cup and you know how well everyone behaves around her—"
"Tonight is about other things, son."
Gayle followed his father's gaze to the cat and Juliet watched sudden anxiety fill the bright blue eyes. Confused, she turned slowly around turning to discover the source of his anxiety. Tonali sat looking at the door, his long tail curled around his legs. Yet his agitation pushed him up, making him pace in a circle, before stopping to wait again.
Gayle knew well what Tonali's agitation signaled.
Gayle's hand tightened around hers and she turned back with the question, "Gayle, what's wrong?"
Those bright blue eyes shot to her with alarm, just as the door opened and with a gust of warm wind, Garrett stepped inside. Juliet felt a hundred tiny pinpricks on the back of her neck, a warning even before she turned to see Garrett there, seeing everything all at once. He wore rugged work clothes: a loose fitting beige vest and breeches, a black belt and tall black boots. A dagger hung from his belt and a thick leather shoulder harness held his pistol, hanging loosely under an arm, accented the blatant masculinity and danger radiating from his tall frame.
"Ah, an intimate gathering, the perfect setting," Garrett said easily enough as his gaze swept the room. Unbuckling his shoulder harness, he swung it onto the peg behind the door. "One cycle is through; another begins," he said with a deceptive air of nonchalance, as his gaze settled on her, even as he bent down to comfort his cat.
The effect of his gaze felt devastating, immediate, like the energy before a thunderstorm, the very next breath felt charged with sudden, inexplicable tension. He was only upset over Nelson and the idea of thousands going into battle, she told herself. Though he smiled politely and asked about her letter, and though she replied as best she could, he seemed too polite, his smile only a pretense somehow, insincere and full of condescension. The way he stared . . .
"Perhaps some trite poetic sentiment? The way I stare at you. . . ."
She blushed as she remembered, feeling the utter foolishness of her question for the hundredth time. Self consciously, she smoothed her frock and brushed whisks of loose hair from her face. Glancing nervously away, she could only pretend not to notice how he stared at her as he rose at last.
Gayle had turned his back to hide his feelings from the room, while Leif watched in silence as if he waited for something to happen. Tonali hissed angrily, baring teeth, then lifting a paw. Garrett caught the paw and shook it. "Settle down, boy. You will not help tonight."
Tonali hissed again, silently stalking over to the place where Juliet stood. With wide-eyed fascination she watched the cat circle her legs thrice before sitting down, pressing against her legs. She gasped as his long tail curled possessively around her feet. "What's wrong with him?"
"Like most males, love, Tonali is fiercely protective."
She knelt down to comfort him. "Oh, but why now? I'm not being—" She stopped, as sudden understanding crashed into her consciousness. Two tall black boots stepped in front of her and she felt his hand on her arm, helping her up. She shook her head, a denial of what she saw in his eyes. "I ... is something wrong?"
"In the world of men? Plenty. They are all idiots, love, full of sound and fury signifying nothing. Speaking of theatrics, I think the time is long overdue for a little drama to be enacted—"
"Garrett ..." Gayle said the name as a plea.
"What, Gayle? Don't tell me you have something to say before the curtain rises after all? No? I thought not. Well, let us enjoy this small flicker of our candles, however brief, over supper, shall we?"
What was wrong? What could it be? Something between Garrett and Gayle? An unnatural silence came over the table as they were seated, unbroken even as Garrett poured the wine for the others, refraining himself, while Leif served up the fresh fish and oysters, glazed carrots, rice, and fried potatoes.
She looked to Gayle for help. He refused to meet her eyes though, staring hard at his untouched plate of food. What had Gayle done to elicit Garrett's anger? In many ways Gayle was even closer to Garrett than Leif, and the two, sharing so many of the same interests and intellectual pursuits, were as close as brothers. She had never seen them fight before, not once—
"Juliet, is something wrong with your fish?"
Garrett's voice startled her and she shook her head, quickly, quietly. Gayle's eyes shot to Garrett, bright with fear or anger. She looked at Leif to do something, but he, too, refused to meet her eyes. "Gayle, what troubles you so?"
Garrett took a sip of water and set the goblet down with an audible clink, eyes focused on Gayle. "Like the rest of us, love, he is waiting for you to step up on stage."
She turned to Garrett, her eyes filling with confusion. "What? I don't understand."
"Of course not. You are the innocent after all, a thing we should have kept foremost in our minds, if not sacred in our hearts. Let me help you, love. A good drama begins with a slow escalation of tension, the ten sion rising of course from a conflict. So we can start with the most benign kind of inquiry: are you not anx ious to return to England, Juliet? Aren't you wondering how long it will take now?" *
Juliet sat very still, searching for understanding that simply was not there. She looked from one face to the other, everyone solemn, quiet, still. Her gaze returned to Garrett, who seemed if anything oblivious to it. She nodded slowly.
"Ah, so you do have some small curiosity about your future. I was beginning to wonder." He glanced over at Gayle. "The curtain has risen, Gayle; brace yourself. Well, love," he said to her, "with the trade winds, it should take less than a week."
Less than a week . . . The thought took hold in her mind. What would it be like to see him again? How would it feel after all that had happened; what would he say to her? Could it be that he'd just be so happy to see her that he'd be able to forget what had happened? What if he never even knew? If not, could she keep it from his mind forever more? And what plans had he made? Even if he wanted to, could he marry her? Surely his father—
"Juliet, love, I won't let the curtain drop again. Here, I'll help prod your lines again. I've noticed you've shown a curious lack of interest in what will happen once we arrive in England. Why is that, I. wonder? Don't you have any questions, Juliet?"
She shot a frightened glance at Gayle, who looked just as alarmed as he averted his gaze. She had a thousand questions, maybe more, but she didn't know when, if ever, it would be wise to ask. She had been imagining it would all happen without a discussion. Better safe than sorry. She slowly shook her head.
"Odd," Garrett commented with a marked air of sarcasm. "I've never known a woman who didn't concern herself with her future. Don't you even want to know where you'll be staying, love?"
Confusion lifted on her face. Where she'll be staying? What could he mean by that? A place she'd stay before he arranged the reunion? Would she not remain on board the ship? "Garrett, please ... I don't know what you're doing . . . what you mean by all this?"
"You're playing it well, Juliet; your ignorance is real and believable. You need a bit of an explanation, though, I see. We are enacting a long overdue drama, remember? Gayle wrote the script some time ago. He cast himself as the culprit, the villain so to speak. Ah, but clever dramatist that he is, some malevolence will also shadow the parts Leif and I play as well, though Leif and I can pretend ignorance of any wrongdoing. Of course, you may humor our pretense or not, as you see fit." His tone lowered, "You, love, are cast as the innocent victim, and I wish to God, Gayle," he turned to the young man, "we had taken one damn moment to think of the consequence of making her play that part again."
"Garrett, don't do this to her—"
"I have to, Gayle; it's too late to turn back now."
Juliet stared with equal parts fear and confusion. She didn't understand what was happening, any of it, not a word of Garrett's exaggerated metaphor made any sense to her, except that he was scaring her again.
"Aye," Garrett said, turning back to Juliet, his voice lowered, his tone speaking to her even before she understood. "With that now said, it's your turn to speak, love. You are to answer my question: why is it you don't want to know anything about what will happen to you once we reach England?"
Thoughts clamored for her attention yet passed too quickly to catch. She looked from Garrett to Gayle and back again, telling herself to be calm, that it couldn't be so bad, even as Tonali paced near Garrett's side. A mistake, it would be a mistake. . . .
"Answer the question, love."
"Gayle told me not to speak of it."
"Not to speak of what, love?"
"Gayle!" she whispered his name, a desperate plea for his denial. Yet Gayle sat perfectly still, except for a brief shake of his head, and she stared, just stared.
"Not to speak of what, Juliet?" Garrett's stern tone jerked her head slightly, calling her back.
"Of what's to happen when we return."
"Ah, here we are. And just what was it he said would happen that you shouldn't talk to me about?"
Juliet stared hard at the candlelight reflected in the goblet. "My . . . reunion."
Garrett did not pause, yet he could no longer keep his fury from sounding as he said at last, "And what reunion could you possibly be imagining?"
"No," she whispered in denial, as her vision blurred and she slowly shook her head. "Garrett . . . please—" She reached a hand to him and he caught it, her fingers curling tightly around his one, though she still stared at the light reflected in the goblet. She never saw which finger Garrett focused his gaze upon. "You can't do this-"