Wilde, Jennifer (43 page)

The
proprietor greeted Jeff effusively and personally conducted us to our room.
There was a large mahogany four-poster with a rather worn violet satin
counterpane, a matching dresser with tall oval mirror, and a roomy mahogany
wardrobe as well. A carpet with faded gray and rose patterns covered most of
the polished hardwood floor, and soft violet curtains hung at the windows. The
furniture was all old and looked as though it had been over many a rough trail,
but everything was neat and clean, and the room had an undeniable charm. When
the packs arrived, Jeff stowed them away in the wardrobe, and then he eyed the
bed and beamed happily.

"Sure
beats sleepin' on blankets under the stars, don't it?"

"It
certainly does."

"You
tired?" he asked.

"A
little. I'd like to rest a while."

"Tell
you what, why don't you take a nice long nap? I gotta take care of some
business, like I said, and when I get back—" He paused, grinning that
sheepish grin I had grown so fond of. "When I get back, we'll celebrate in
style."

"That'll
be nice. How long will you be gone?"

"Oh,
maybe three hours, maybe four. Long enough for you to have a good rest."

He
stepped over to the wardrobe and took out one of the packs, opening it on the bed.
I moved to the window and pretended to gaze out at the gardens back of the inn,
but by turning my head slightly to one side I could see him in the mirror. I
was surprised to see him taking a roll of bills out of the pack. I hadn't known
he had any money, had thought he gave it all to Derek. Jeff peeled off several
bills, thrust them into his pocket, and put the rest back in the pack, stowing
it away in the wardrobe again. I turned around to face him. If things went well
this might be the last time I ever saw him. The sadness welled up again, try
though I might to control it. Jeff cocked his head to one side, peering at me.

"Somethin'
botherin' you?" he asked.

"No,
I'm just tired."

"You
look like you just lost a loved one."

"That's
silly."

His
fringed buckskins were incredibly dirty, and there was a streak of dirt on his
jaw. His sandy hair was dirty, too, and he smelled of sweat and leather and
woods, and he had never looked more endearing, those warm brown eyes gazing at
me with affection, those wide lips ready to spread into another grin. I wanted
to rush to him, wanted him to hold me close, wanted him to stroke my hair and
croon to me and banish the nervous tremors inside. I hated what I was going to
do to him. I actually felt guilty.

"Everything's
gonna be all right, Marietta," he said.

"Is
it?"

"I
got a big surprise planned for tonight."

And
I have one for you, I thought.

"You
go on and get some rest," he said. "Tonight's gonna be a night you'll
never forget."

He
turned to leave. As he moved toward the door, my heart seemed to be pulled with
every step he took. I called his name. He turned, puzzled. I hurried over to
him. He grinned, slipping an arm around my waist, drawing me to him. The lips
curled at the corners. The eyes were filled with pleasure.

"Just
can't let me go, can you?" he teased. "Can't stand for me to be out
of your sight."

"I...
I just wanted to say... goodbye."

"I'm
only gonna be gone a few hours, wench."

"I
know, but..."

"You'll
miss me?"

I
nodded, and he put his other arm around me, lowering his mouth over mine. He
kissed me, firm, moist lips caressing mine, and I wrapped my arms around his
shoulders, savoring each second, sad, hating myself, sorry when he drew back
and released me.

"There'll
be more when I get back," he promised.

"Goodbye,
Jeff." The words were barely audible.

He
left then, and I stood there staring at the door he had closed behind him,
bracing myself, trying to hold back the tears. I finally sat down on the bed,
leaning against one of the heavy posts, too weak to do anything just yet. I
kept remembering. I remembered the waterfall and our riotous bath together and
the explosive bout that followed, the achingly tender lovemaking that followed
that. I remembered the cave and my fear and the way he had held me, so very gently,
stroking my hair, his lips brushing my temple every now and then. There had
been so many good moments, and against my will I had grown very fond of him,
fond of him in a special way that had nothing to do with real love, the kind I
still felt for Derek, even after all that had happened.

It
was nothing short of incredible. Jeff was a rogue, however amiable, and he
planned to sell me to a brothel, however reluctantly, and
I
was the one
who felt guilty because I was planning to flee while I had the chance. Where was
my spirit? Where was the will to survive and succeed? I stood up, thrusting all
tender thoughts out of my mind. He was in love with me, but he still intended
to take me to New Orleans, and I was fond of him, but I couldn't let that
prevent my doing what I had to do. He would be disappointed and angry and hurt,
but... but to hell with him! The man was a white slaver. He probably didn't
love me at all. I had probably imagined the whole thing. How could he love me
and still plan to take me to New Orleans?

I
was
filled with determination now, that hard core tightening inside, all tender
feeling and emotions vanished. He said there were boats leaving every day for
New Orleans. There would probably be one leaving this afternoon, and I would be
on it. I had planned to stow away at first, but now I could pay my fare. He had
lied about the money, had told Derek eighteen hundred pounds was all he had to
his name, and just a few minutes ago he had peeled bills off a large wad. How
many other things had he lied about? It served him right to lose me. I would go
to New Orleans, and then I would take another boat as soon as I could. Perhaps
I would go to Paris or... or Spain. Great ships left New Orleans all the time,
I knew, and I would take the first one available and leave this raw, sprawling
land full of hazard and unrest. If there wasn't enough money to pay my fare, I
could earn it easily enough. New Orleans was full of wealthy men.

I
took the pack out. I didn't bother to count the money. I placed the whole roll
in my skirt pocket, slung the pack back into the wardrobe, and slammed the door
shut. Resolution gave way to anger, and that was good. It strengthened my
resolve, made this all the easier. How dare he treat me with such affection
when he planned to deposit me in a brothel! He was sly and deceitful and I had
allowed myself to be taken in by his charm. It had made the journey much
easier, but the journey was over now and it was time to face reality.

How
to get down to the docks without him seeing me? I didn't dare step out the
front door and walk through town. He might be anywhere, just down the street,
in one of the shops, anywhere. I stepped to the window again and looked down at
the gardens. They stretched to the very edge of the bluff, and a steep, rocky
incline would spill down to the stretch of land below. Perhaps I could climb
down the incline. It might be dangerous, but I couldn't possibly risk getting
down to the docks any other way. If the incline were too steep here, I would
simply walk along the bluff until I found a spot where descent would be
possible.

I
left the room. Coming up, I had noticed a flight of stairs at the end of the
hall, obviously backstairs used by the servants. I moved down them and found
myself in a small back foyer, one door leading into the kitchens, another
leading out into the gardens in back. My anger had dissolved. I was nervous
now, and there was a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. I stepped
outside and strolled as calmly as possible to the foot of the gardens and
peered down. Directly below, there was a grassy strip, then a narrow dirt road,
then more grass leading to the muddy bank of the river. The incline was steep
but not impossibly so. It was perhaps a hundred feet down to the land below,
and there were heavy vines growing down over the rocks. It wouldn't be
pleasant, but I felt sure I could make it down without too great a risk.

I
took a deep breath, frightened, trying to quell my fear. There were bound to be
a lot of footholds, and I could hold on to the vines. I had to do it. I simply
couldn't risk going through town, not knowing where Jeff might be. I sat down,
dangling my legs over the edge, and then I turned, inching my way down,
grabbing hold of one of the vines as my feet touched a narrow ledge of rock. I
was over now, clinging to the face of the cliff, and it was insanity, sheer
insanity. I realized that immediately. The wind whipped at my hair and tossed
my skirts about my legs. I was terrified, but I forced myself to move down,
finding another ledge, holding to the vine. I made the mistake of looking down.
The land seemed far, far below, and I knew I would be killed if I fell.
Insanity! I closed my eyes, leaning against the rock as my heart pounded away.

Several
moments passed before I was able to ease myself down further. My right foot
found a root jutting out of the rock. My left foot dangled out in space, but I
had a firm grip on the vine. As I lowered myself, the weight of my body caused
the root to tear loose. I slipped a good ten feet, would have fallen had I not
been clinging to the vine. My feet banged down on another ledge, not a foot
wide, and I paused, catching my breath. Staring out, I could see the river. A
large boat moved slowly past and I could barely make out the tiny figures
standing on deck. They must have been startled to see a woman in a red dress
flattened against the face of the rock, clinging desperately to a vine as the
wind ripped at hair and, skirts.

I
peered down, saw another foothold a few feet below, to my left. I let go of the
vine I had been holding and caught hold of another, moving down slowly,
touching the jutting rock with my right foot. Little by little I descended, and
when I paused again I saw that I was halfway down. It wasn't so difficult, I
told myself. I was lying, but I didn't dare give way to the sheer panic that
threatened to demolish me. Gripping the root with both hands, I started to move
down some more, and suddenly there was a ripping noise, a shower of dirt, and
the vine swung out into space and sailed to the ground. I tottered for a
moment. This was it! I was going to fall! Then a great gust of wind struck me,
flattening me against the rock. My fingers gripped the rock, but there was
nothing to hold on to. I was poised on a tiny ridge or rock no more than eight
inches wide, and as soon as the wind died down I was going to tumble over
backwards.

Wild,
disconnected images flashed through my mind, the kind a drowning man is
supposed to see just before he goes under for the last time. My mother was
laughing, serving ale, basking in the admiration of the men at the inn, and I
reached for a mug, which turned into a wineglass, and then I was sitting before
the fireplace, elegantly clad, demure, smiling as my father told me about the
wonderful plans he had for me. The image blurred, dissolved, and I saw the
house on Montagu Square, saw Lord Mallory leering at me, handsome, demonic,
destructive, and his face disappeared and I was in that dank, dreadful cell, in
shackles. Angie grinned, perky, defiant, showing me how to pick the lock on the
shackles, and then Derek was in bed, delirious with fever after the snakebite,
and I touched his cheek and he was storming across the yard toward me and I was
holding a basket of apricots and they spilled and Jeff and I were riding
through the dense green and brown forest.

The
wind died down. Abruptly. The images had flashed and flickered in a matter of
seconds. The wind was gone and I hadn't fallen. Out of the corner of my eye I
saw another thick vine spilling down perhaps two yards to my right. If I could
gradually edge over, catch hold of the vine... I prayed for strength, and after
a while it came and I began to inch over toward the vine, cautiously, and then
the ridge gave out and I could move no farther. I reached for the vine. My
fingers were inches away from it. I would have to swing over and catch hold of
it. I couldn't. If I missed, if I failed to get a firm purchase, I would fall.
Panic swept over me, and there was one dreadful moment when I didn't care, when
I knew I was going to fall crashing to the ground and simply didn't care. Not
caring, I lunged for the vine and caught hold of it with both hands. I swung
out into space and my hands slipped down the vine and then I swung back toward
the rock and landed on a wide ridge several feet below.

The
vine held. It was strong, sturdy. I moved on down, finding footholds to my
left, to my right, and I was calm now, concentrating, fear gone at last. My
feet touched the ground. I let go of the vine and stepped back and looked up at
the cliff looming in front of me. I had to tilt my head back in order to see
the top. I knew I was mad to have attempted to climb down it in the first
place. I was down now. That was all that mattered. I shoved long, tangled locks
of auburn hair away from my cheeks, brushed the dirt and dust from my red
skirt. It must have taken me almost half an hour, but I had made it. I had an
impulse to burst into gales of laughter, an impulse I curbed immediately. There
was no time for hysterics, no time to dwell on what I had done. I turned and
started walking up the road in the direction of the docks.