Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Jump to new as of December 12, 1999
Part 22 Posted on Thursday, 4 November 1999
Christopher simply stared. His heart pounded wildly in his ears. He barely had time to hope nobody had seen Georgiana come in, before he realized she had said something.
"Christopher?" she said timidly. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you." He knew Georgiana had wanted a child, but why now, of all times? Why did it have to come now? "Are you positive?" She nodded and smiled, and his fear turned to joy. He grinned widely, pulled her from the bed, held her face in his hands, and kissed her passionately. Then he forced her to sit back down on the bed. Kneeling beside her, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me right off? Why didn't you send me a note? I would have come home."
"I couldn't send you a note without being certain of where you were staying, or what name you were using." She combed his hair with her fingers. He dropped his eyes to the floor. "What name are you using?"
"Matthew Morgan again. How long have you known?"
"Almost three weeks."
"Why are you only telling me now?" he looked hurt. "Oh, you already told me that."
"It doesn't matter. All that matters is we are going to have a child, and you will come home now. You will come home now, won't you?"
He stood up suddenly and ran a hand through his hair.
"I can't," he said softly. "It is absolutely impossible. I think you can understand why."
"No, I don't understand. Why should you stay away when you are about to be made a father? Why is this more important than your family?"
"Georgie, I already told you how dangerous this business has been lately. I thought you understood."
"Are you talking about Sam?" He nodded. "Well, how do you know this `they' you keep referring to are the ones who killed him? Have you thought that perhaps he was taken by a robber?" she asked desperately. She could not bear to think of leaving without him.
"Oh, Georgie," he groaned, "You don't know the half of it. The bodies were identical in injuries--excepting only that Miss Bombay had been raped."
She was horrified. He went on in a low, almost dangerous voice.
"Knife directly in the heart. Arms and legs broken." When he was close enough, he touched her neck lightly with one hand. "Throat cut from ear to ear. Wrists sliced..."
"Stop!" she cried, one hand over her mouth. She felt sick. "I don't want to hear anymore! Why must you... Christopher, what if they do that to you? What shall I do? You would be safe at home."
He realized he had frightened her. Indeed, it was quite obvious. He closed his eyes, and pulled her gently back to him. She cried into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, cherie," he said softly. "I shouldn't have said those things."
"I love you, Christopher," she all but whimpered, "Do you love me?"
"Of course I do!" he cried, startled. "How can you doubt it?"
"How?" she said bitterly, wiping her eyes. "It seems you would rather be here, with the crime and pestilence, than at home with me."
"Please, Georgiana. This is not a question of who or what I love, and what I do not. I love you more than anything."
"Then why do you not come home? Nobody here knows who you are. I know you've snuck places before, when you did not want to be observed. You told me so yourself."
"This is different. Can't you understand? I would come home if there was a way, but there isn't. I have to think of you, and the child, too." He tried to hold her, but she pulled away. She had made a decision, he could see it in her eyes.
"I think I do understand," she said softly, straightening her shoulders considerably. Lips set in a grim line, she continued. "You have to make a choice. It is either me, or this business. It seems you cannot have both."
She ran out of the room before he could reply. He went after her, quite literally on her heels, but she did not notice. She threw herself into the carriage. Josee and Anne turned around abruptly - they had been walking around the street in order to keep warm.
"Christopher!" said Josee. "What did you do? Why are you dressed like that?"
"Mr. Blakeney?" Anne was quite surprised to see the son of the magnificent Sir Percy Blakeney dressed in the simple attire of a London miscreant. However, he did not have time to explain himself.
"Georgiana!" he shouted, knocking on the carriage door, which she had securely locked.
"What happened?" asked Josee.
"Apparently, I said the wrong thing," he said ruefully, once again running a hand down the back of his neck.
"That would be a first. Let me see what I can do." She pushed him aside, and started pounding on the carriage.
"Georgiana, let us in! Anne is freezing!"
"I am perfectly fine, I assure you," said Anne, confused. Josee told her to be quiet. The window opened, and Georgiana looked past the other two women, and at her husband.
"I shall know your decision if you are not home in a week."
"You are not coming home?" Josee asked, stricken.
"Georgiana, please. Try to understand..."
"One week," she repeated, and closed the window.
Josee looked angrily at her brother and said,
"What is this all about? Did she not tell you she was expecting?"
"Yes, but..."
She slapped him hard, then led Anne around to the other door - what she should have thought of doing previously. She would never understand her brother, not if she lived to be a hundred years old.
Part 23 Posted on Saturday, 6 November 1999
After the Blakeney carriage turned the corner, Christopher turned and ran quickly up the steps. He had work to do. If Georgiana needed him home in a week, he was certain he could finish the case in two or three days. Several reasons for her outburst had occurred to him, one of them being her fear - she had never known her own mother, due to a difficult childbirth.
However, the fact that their argument had taken place in a public street did not occur to him, until he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. His hand paused for an instant over the doorknob, as he waited for whoever it was to jump him. He knew, if that was the lurker's intention, he would probably be dead by now, so he went inside. At this time of night, he had never seen a single person anywhere near his room--except Sam. Because of this, the instinct he had developed since he first left home did not abate, and he stood in the middle of his room for several minutes, still waiting for whoever it was to pounce.
He shook himself suddenly, and began gathering papers together to go over them once again. He heard a board creak outside his door. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he paused to listen. Nothing happened.
He went to the door, and looked out, just in time to see a shadow flit around the corner of the building. He smiled to himself, and closed the door again. Perhaps he could finish the case tonight. A few minutes later, he went back outside, to see if the shadow would follow him. It did. He decided to have a little fun with it, before the confrontation, and went into the nearest tavern. After looking around, and seeing that none of his acquaintances were there, he went to the bar and ordered a drink.
"Matt?" said the bargirl in horror. He cringed. He had forgotten Peg worked here.
"Hello, Peg," he said, cheerfully, turning to face her. "How's business?" It was not a friendly question. She was aware that he had somehow discovered her part in his "accident" last year, and backed away, not saying a word. He shook his head in disgust, and focused on determining exactly how long would be sufficient to stay to justify going back to his room so quickly.
After that time had passed, he stood outside the tavern just long enough to let his newest shadow know he was ready to leave. Once again, as he was about to open his door, he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. This time, however, he moved quickly, and brought the shadow to the ground. It screamed as they tumbled briefly on the extensive top step. The spy was an extremely small fellow, and absolutely no match for Christopher, who soon had him pinned to the ground. However, the little person would not stop fighting, until Christopher raised his hand to strike.
"No! Don't 'it me!" it cried, and flinched instinctively. Christopher froze, and realized it was not a man he was holding. It was either a child, or a girl. He tore its cap off, and a pile of black hair tumbled out. The girl looked at him in horror. Amazed, Christopher helped her to her feet, and brought her into his room. After he had lit a candle, he could see she was a Gypsy, and obviously malnourished.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded roughly.
"'Ow'd ye catch me?" she asked.
"What is your name?"
"I know your name, Christopher Blakeney," she said smugly. Knowing it would be best not to acknowledge the hit, Christopher repeated his first question.
"What are you doing here?"
"They sent me ta discover your habits," she said.
"Who sent you?"
"They did," she said expressively. He raised his eyebrows.
"What is your name?"
"Anala."
"Where do you live?"
"Everywhere."
"Are you going to tell me anything useful?" he asked in exasperation.
"Why should I? You won't pay me, and they would kill me if they found out. Show some sense!" She rolled her eyes. He smiled.
"I see you are not as dull as I had first thought. So, you wish to be sensible. Well, think about it this way. I could take you right now, and turn you over to the police. There is a very zealous police officer, who happens to be there right now, named Calloway, who..."
"Do ye think I've never been in jail before?" she asked, and rolled her eyes again, putting her hands on her hips. "But ye wouldn't know if it 'appens ta become less fearful the more you've been in it."
He decided it was best not to correct her on that point.
"I see," he said as he stood up to open a window. He offered her some food, and she accepted greedily. He studied her for a moment, drawing the silence out purposefully, as it seemed to unnerve her.
"Exactly how many times have you been in jail?" he asked conversationally. She thought for a moment.
"Four or five. I can't remember. It would've been more, 'cept I got a man now what keeps me out."
"That must seem convenient," he said. He noticed she had finished eating, and handed her a towel before she could use her sleeve. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead."
"Who do you work for?"
She grinned.
"That's me own business." She stood up. "I thank ye for the dinner, Mr. Morgan, but I must be goin' now." And before he could realize she had apparently forgotten her earlier `discovery,' or stop her, she had jumped out the window. He thought she had killed herself, and went to see if anybody was down there. He was very surprised when he saw nothing.
"Sink me."
He was even more surprised when she reappeared an hour later, this time knocking boldly on his door.
Part 24 Posted on Monday, 8 November 1999
"You gotta 'elp me," said Anala, panicked. She flew into Christopher's room without hesitation, and shut the door loudly. "They're gonna kill me," she said.
"Who are going to kill you?" he asked, noticing her face was badly beaten.
"They are," she said again. There was a heavy knock on the door, and she shrieked and dove for cover. The door burst open, and a man Christopher recognized stepped into the room.
"Mr. Terry! What are you doing here?"
"Where is she?" Mr. Terry demanded, and went to the bed, where Anala was huddled in the fetal position. He pulled her out by the hair. She cried out in pain. He would have dragged her out the door, but Christopher was standing in front of it, with his arms folded resolutely.
"What do you think you are doing?" he asked.
"This girl had a part in killing my Victoria," Terry sputtered, outraged. "I'm surprised you didn't know that."
"I didn't kill nobody!" Anala exclaimed, and stomped Mr. Terry's foot. She scurried away into the far corner of the room. Christopher started towards her, but she held a knife out in front of her.
"She's mad!" said Mr. Terry.
"I ain't!" she said, twisting the knife in her hand. "I told you I'd been in jail before. Did I tell you why?"
"Calm down, Anala," said Christopher slowly. "Give me the knife."
"Don't be stupid!" she retorted. "If you wanna know what 'appened ta Victoria, you calm down, and let me show ye," she said to Mr. Terry.
She had their attention.
"What do you know?" asked Christopher.
"Follow me," she said mysteriously, and she put the knife back into her belt and went out the door.
"She's mad!" said Mr. Terry again.
"Crazy or not," said Christopher, "She might lead us to something worthwhile." He followed Anala. His instincts told him not to, but this case was keeping him up nights, and if Georgiana wanted him home in three days, the quicker it was solved, the better. A few minutes later, Mr. Terry caught up to him, breathless.
"You know," he said, panting, "I would not follow her if I were you. She's a dangerous little minx. Pretty, though," he mused.
"Really? I hadn't noticed. I think she needs to eat more."
Mr. Terry laughed.
"Of course; they all do. But she's a smart one... for a Gypsy," he amended.
Anala came up to them again, and said,
"One of you is gonna 'ave ta get us past the guards; they all know me too well."
The two men looked at each other. Christopher shrugged, and kept walking.
"You are both mad," Mr. Terry announced. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he saw a huge man looking daggers at their group. He swallowed hard, and pulled Anala toward him.
"Take your 'ands off me!" she screamed, then he pointed at the man.
"Do you know him?" he whispered.
"Who? Oh. 'Scuse me," she said, and went off in the direction of the man. They talked seriously for a few minutes, then she led him over to them. "My man wants ta go with us, to protect me."
"I think Anala can protect herself," said Christopher dryly, with a look at her knife.
"That's what I said," said Anala disgustedly. "But 'e would come. So, you fellas talk. At least now I know for sure we'll be able ta get past the guards."
Christopher knew this man looked familiar, but he could not tell why. He decided to introduce himself.
"Oh, well," he said, "The more, the merrier, I say. I am Matt Morgan, and this rolly gentleman is Mr. Walter Terry. He is paying for the trip, aren't you, Terry?"
Terry shrugged and nodded, petrified of the large man.
"And you are?" Christopher continued.
"Michael Lancaster," said the large man pleasantly. These two companions of Anala's seemed enormously stupid. Christopher almost choked - this was Georgiana's cousin, the one who had been missing. He could not help wondering why he left off his title in the introduction. He only smiled, however, and clapped the future duke on the shoulder.
"Good to have you, Michael Lancaster," he said. "I'm surprised I've never seen you around before."
"Well, we don't all have your notoriety, Mr. Morgan," said Michael thinly. He didn't like that this man, who was much younger than himself, and therefore closer to Anala's age, had been the one Anala turned to in crisis.
Christopher laughed.
"Well, if you want it, you may have it. But I wouldn't go repeating it. Much of it is hogwash."
"How much of it?"
"Enough to discredit what is true."
"Did you ever kill a man?"
My, this man is curious.
"That's what they say." Christopher glanced sharply up at him. "But of course, that means nothing, does it?" he said enigmatically, and left Lancaster to come to his own conclusions.
Anala led them to a tea merchants' ship, and as she had predicted, Michael was able to get them past the guards.
"Why are we here?" asked Mr. Terry irritably. Anala gave him a cross look, and he shut his mouth. Michael was not finished interrogating Christopher.
"So, Morgan," said he, "What do you think of Anala?"
"I wonder you ask; you seem so taken with her yourself," he said somewhat sarcastically. He hoped Lancaster would stop talking. He could arouse unwanted attention.
"Oh, I am not jealous, really, I was just wondering. That Mr. Terry seems quite besotted."
"Yes, some people are not so constant as others."
"What do you mean?"
"His fiancee was killed not two months ago."
"Oh. How do you know him?"
Before Christopher could come up with a convincing lie, three burly men jumped out in front of them. They pushed Anala out of the way dismissively, and focused on Michael and Christopher (Mr. Terry had fainted). Michael's size demanded two opponents, but Christopher could have done well to spare his own, as well. He was quickly pinned against a wall with one burly arm, and doubled over with another.
The man did not wait for him to catch his breath, but pulled him to a standing position by his hair. Not for the first time in his life, Christopher wished he had his father's size, as the man was able to knock him to the ground with one blow. He rolled out of the way, just as the man's large boot came down two inches from his head. He took advantage of the man's surprise at having hit the floor instead, and pulled him down, arms flailing.
Christopher climbed quickly to his feet, and looked to see how Michael was doing. One man had fastened his arms behind him, and the other was having at him. Christopher tapped the man on the shoulder, grinned, and ducked out of the way of the blow. The man stumbled forward, and Christopher hit him over the shoulders. Michael was then able to dispose of his remaining assailant.
"Thanks, Morgan," he said, panting. Christopher grinned.
"A portion of one's reputation is usually true. But only a portion."
"I've never been in a fight on a ship before."
"There's a first time for everything, Montgomery." He remembered too late that Lancaster had not introduced himself as Lord Montgomery, but by his Christian name. He grimaced as he could sense Michael remembering the same thing.
"I say, how did you..." But he did not get to finish the question, for the one giant that had not been disposed of snuck up behind them and knocked them both out.
Part 25 Posted on Tuesday, 9 November 1999
When Anne arrived home early the next morning, she found John in a foul mood.
"Oh, you're home now, are you? And are you going to tell your husband, who has been up all night worrying about you, where you have been?"
"I might, if he asks nicely," said Anne, calmly untying her bonnet.
"Is there a good reason for my wife to quit my party so abruptly? You did not even tell me what to say to the guests who asked after their hostess."
"I am sorry, John, but an emergency came up, and there was no time to lose."
John softened, and smiled crookedly.
"Am I to expect this behaviour often, or is it simply a one-time happening?"
"I do not have the power to see into the future, so I could not say."
"Exactly what was this emergency."
"It is not my place to say; it does not concern either of us."
"That did not stop you from going."
"Miss Blakeney asked me to come." At least, from what Anne remembered, she had. She had not slept all last night, so she hoped her memory served her well.
"I hope Mrs. Blakeney and Miss Blakeney did not go back to Richmond?"
"They did."
"That is bad. Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney are still here."
The corners of Anne's mouth twitched a little. In a few seconds, she was laughing uncontrollably.
"Anne, are you drunk?"
"No, no. I am sleepy, and the irony of the Blakeneys's situation... Oh, never mind. Shall we go to bed?"
"I have just finished my breakfast."
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten. Well, I am terribly fatigued, so if you will excuse me...."
"We all missed you, little Anne."
"You did?" she asked softly. He blushed, and stammered out,
"Well, Stacy was crying, and you are the only one who can quiet her..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at his feet. Disappointed, she turned back to the staircase.
"Good-night, John."
Part 26 Posted on Thursday, 11 November 1999
Christopher knew what was going on around him before he fully regained consciousness. He knew the boat was rocking, and he knew he was close to being sea-sick. He could also feel something rubbing across his wrists most annoyingly, besides the ropes. He opened his eyes, and grabbed the offending thing with his fingers. Somebody behind him cursed soundly.
"Watch it! I was close to getting that undone." It was Michael Lancaster. Apparently, they had been tied back-to-back and left in a dark room aboard the ship.
"What?" Christopher blinked groggily. For some reason, he could not get his eyes to focus.
"My, you are dense. These ropes are chafing quite dreadfully, and I mean to have them off in an hour."
"Where are Anala and Mr. Terry?"
"In the corner over there."
"I have a question to ask you, Lancaster," said Christopher pensively, trying to maneuver himself out of the larger man's way.
"What else is new?"
"Well, besides the obvious `why are you so demmed condescending,' there is the nagging `how much do you know about this business?'"
"What business?" asked Michael through gritted teeth. His fingers were cramped from the unnatural positions in which they had been bent.
"Everything that happened last night."
"It has been nearly ten days."
Christopher laughed.
"Be serious."
"I am serious. We have been here for nine days, at least."
Christopher stopped struggling. He could not have been asleep for nine days!
"H-how?" he asked hoarsely.
"How what?"
"How did time pass so quickly? Why did you know, and I didn't?"
"Apparently, they think you're more dangerous than I," said Michael resentfully - after all, he was bigger. "When you started to wake up, some men came down and drugged you with chloroform, or something. They must've been waiting for something, because this is the first time they have been away for more than an hour."
Christopher's head hurt, and he was suddenly depressed. Lancaster felt his shoulders slump, and said,
"Is anything the matter?"
Christopher laughed shortly.
"Do you mean besides the fact that there's no chance of escape, and even if there were, we've already been here for ten days, so..."
""So, what? What's ten days? I've been drunk for longer periods of time. And if you'll stop leaning on me like that, I can have us out of here in no time."
Christopher leaned forward obligingly.
"Where did this ship come from?" asked Lancaster.
"I believe it is the one I heard about, that carries tea from India."
"So, what would tea merchants have against us?"
"Against you, nothing, I suppose. I believe you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What does Anala have to do with it?"
"She's one of them."
"One of who?"
"One of them."
"Look, I thought before you were stupid..."
"Thank you."
"But now I think you're sly."
"Oh, thank you."
"So, how did you know my name?"
Christopher had nothing to lose now, but evasiveness had become a habit.
"I met your sister last year."
"I find it hard to believe that my sister would be associating with you, no offense, of course. And even if she did, she would not be telling just anybody about her long-lost baby brother."
"I agree. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Fitzwilliam hardly said anything at all to me."
"Laura is not married, sir."
"Yes, she is. She married her cousin two or three years ago, and they have a daughter."
Lancaster thought a moment, then said ruefully,
"I knew there was something different. His Grace, my father, would not tell me, though."
"I can believe that, having met your father."
"How do you happen to be meeting all my relatives?"
"One of them happens to be having my child."
"What?!"
"That's right," Christopher laughed bitterly. "And now she will hate me."
"If you do not explain yourself at once, I will have to call you out."
"That will be rather difficult, considering these tea merchants have a certain knack for slitting throats."
"Mr. Morgan," said Michael hotly, "You have compromised one of my blood. Now, I don't know who, but a compromise is a compromise."
"Yes, I did compromise her," Christopher said, in reference to the night Georgiana spent in his room when they first met, "but nobody really knows about that incident last year, except her brother. I do not see the need..."
"Last year? How long have you known her? Who are you talking about?"
"My wife, of course!"
"Your wife?"
"Yes, Cousin Michael."
"Cousin! How can you, a common vagrant, be related to me, the future Duke of Carrington?"
"I shall ignore that insult, since I cannot think anybody related to my Georgiana could willingly be so rude."
"Poor Georgiana," said Michael feelingly.
"Indeed," said Christopher quietly, then changed the subject. "How long do you think they'll leave us down here? My shoulders are rather tired."
"I cannot believe Darcy would let Georgiana marry..."
"You are coming dangerously close to making me angry, Lancaster."
"Such a degradation! I cannot believe it. No, sir, you are lying."
Christopher rolled his eyes.
"Very well, then. Why should I care at this moment? You may be able to look on this situation lightly, but the men in charge of this ... conspiracy will be coming down those stairs any moment now, and you are challenging me to a duel. Frankly, that is the least of my worries. Whereas I would almost certainly best you in a duel, these men have the means to, and are not afraid to kill. They have already killed at least twice. If I were you, I would start worrying about whether or not I was going to live through today."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. We will be laughing about this in a week. Besides, I told you they've already been down the stairs several times."
"How long have you been awake, exactly?"
"About three days," he yawned suddenly. "They come down every few hours, take that Mr. Terry back with them, and a few minutes later they toss him back down the stairs. He sat there and cried for a good hour the last time it happened."
"Why did they not take you, or Anala?"
"They thought I was asleep, and Anala was."
"Perhaps they will not slit our throats, after all," said Christopher, after much pondering.
"I should say not. Why go to all the trouble?"
"Then why go to all the trouble? Why kill Sam, but not us? It doesn't make sense."
"You say Anala is one of them?"
"I am almost as sure of that as I am sure that ... of my name."
"Why? Simply because she is a Gypsy?"
"I caught her following me last ... the night we came here. Then, when those men attacked us, they did not harm her."
"No, the did not harm her a bit; all they did was push her into a wall," said Lancaster sarcastically. "And they did not harm Mr. Terry; all he did was faint. Fine specimen of a man, that. I'd wager his trousers weren't dry, either."
Christopher pondered that idea for a minute, then said,
"I believe you are right; Mr. Terry is in on it, as well."
"Oh, wonderful. Anala and Mr. Terry, partners in crime. That would make a fine addition to your journal, would it not, Mr. Morgan? Perhaps get your name in the papers?"
"If I cared about papers, I would not be wasting my time on a closed case. I would go after something juicier."
"Anala is not capable of something like this."
"If you love her so much, why don't you marry her? Make it so that she doesn't have to be a criminal."
"A duke cannot have a Gypsy for a wife. My father might disinherit me."
"You and Mr. Terry should be classed together: both cowards."
"I may be a coward, but I shall die rich."
"Oh, yes, and that will certainly come in handy when you die."
"What would you know about it?"
"More than you think. You were right, by the way. I don't think Darcy would have let Georgiana marry a common vagrant without a penny to his name."
Michael was about to say something witty, when two men came down the stairs.
Part 27 Posted on Saturday, 13 November 1999
The two men came over to Christopher and Michael, freed them from each other, and pulled them up roughly. Another man came down, and said,
"Mr. Morgan. What a pleasant surprise to see you awake. You must forgive the measures we were forced to take, but as you should know, drastic times...."
"Yes, yes," said Christopher impatiently. "Well?"
"Why isn't Anala awake yet?" asked Michael.
"My, my, you are concerned about our little Anala. You did not seem to be so worried about your friend here."
"Him?" Michael scoffed. "I've never seen him before in my life, and would not care if I never saw him again."
"And I am sure Mr. Morgan would reciprocate, but there is not time for that."
"Time is of the essence, I agree," said Christopher. "But what have you to say about keeping us hostage here for ten days?"
"I had to be certain you would not run off as soon as you woke, as I was not here when you first graced us with your presence. I wanted to talk to you."
"So badly that you sent several thugs to try to do away with us?"
"Yes. You see, I wanted to know why you are here."
"I wanted a bargain on tea," said Christopher sarcastically.
"I never did care for tea," Michael mused.
"Come, come, Mr. Morgan, we both know that you suspect our company of having something to do with Victoria Bombay's untimely death..."
"Suspect is a rather soft word, I would think."
"And I would like to tell you myself," the captain ignored Christopher's words, "that neither I nor any of the crew on this ship ever met or even saw Miss Bombay before her picture was in the paper two months ago."
"Oh, yes. I remember now," said Michael. "That was the girl whose body was found in the forest, was it not?"
"Yes," said Christopher shortly.
"I buy and sell Indian tea, Mr. Morgan. That does not make me an expert in Indian dealings. Just because there was a Hindi inscription on the tree next to the body, that does not implicate me, or my men, of such an unspeakable act."
"Then how do you explain that you knew about the inscription?"
"Common knowledge," said the captain.
"No, it is not. The tree was never even mentioned in the papers, and you claim that is the only means you have of knowing about the murder. Is that not a contradiction?"
Michael was impressed. He folded his arms, shifted his weight onto one foot, and raised his eyebrows smugly at the captain. The captain looked down at the floor, and chuckled ruefully. He motioned to his two bodyguards to secure the two cousins-in-law tightly.
"Very well, Mr. Morgan, I see there is no fooling you," he said, pacing the floor.
A confession? thought Christopher. That was terribly easy. He pulled his arm away from the bodyguard and straightened his clothes fastidiously. When the captain stopped directly in front of him and stared down at him intimidatingly, his smile was pleasantly bland. The bodyguard realized what had happened, and took firm hold of his arms once again.
"Yes," said the captain, "some of my men did have something to do with the murder."
Here's another nice mess Anala has gotten me into, Michael thought.
"Did you instigate it... sir?" asked Christopher. "I'm sure you can tell me, for you'll be well out of port before I get to the police."
"You're shrewd, Morgan," said the captain. "That is not necessarily a good thing," he added at Christopher's self-satisfied smile. "However, you missed one tiny detail: I could kill you now, and nobody would be the wiser."
Good God! thought Michael. He's serious! He looked at Christopher, whose expression was still insufferably calm.
"I don't think you will. If you meant to do that, you would have done so ten days ago. I think you have something else in mind entirely. And whatever you say, despite your uniform, I see nothing to indicate you are really in charge of this game."
"It is not a game," the captain said seriously. "But whether you think it is or not, you are welcome to play." He nodded to the bodyguard slightly, who loosed his hold on Christopher.
Christopher blinked, and frowned. This invitation was unexpected. He looked down and folded his arms, thinking.
"What makes you think I would join you?" he asked lowly. His eyes looked dangerously at the captain, who sighed and began pacing the room again.
"When I first heard of you, I thought you had been hired as a private detective to the Bombays. I started my own investigation, and now have quite a different opinion of you. I know you are a man who will do anything to get what he wants. Although you are very young, you have already accomplished more than either of these fine samples of what I need that you see here." He motioned to the bodyguards.
"You think I'm a mercenary," Christopher finished.
"I don't think those words..."
"Those words exactly suit the situation. Although `hired killer' would also apply."
Vaguely, Michael wondered when Morgan was going to explode. The captain did not seem to notice.
"So, you understand what I am asking," said the captain. Christopher nodded shortly.
"I think I do. Although you might have saved your breath. I'm not interested."
"I don't think you understand. I can't let you leave here alive, knowing what you do, unless I know you are on our side."
Christopher looked at Michael, who was petrified. He wondered if there was any chance he could pretend to accept the man's offer, and be able to take his new knowledge to the police before anything happened. No, he knew that was not likely. More likely they had a job waiting to be done right away, to "prove his worth."
And then there was Georgiana. What would she do if he was killed? Regret and hopelessness flooded on him when he thought of her.
But what could he do? It was a lose-lose situation. If he accepted, he would be a murderer. If he refused, he would be murdered. Unless...
He looked at Michael again. The man was scared out of his wits. Something sparked in Christopher's eyes, and he turned back to the captain, his face expressionless.
"I'm still not interested."
"Didn't you hear me? There is nothing preventing me slitting your throat right now."
"Then do it."
"What are you saying, man?!" Michael shouted. Christopher silenced him with a glare immediately, then glanced back at the captain.
"You say you can, but you don't. You might tell one of these men to do it for you, but you would never do something so messy."
We're finished, thought Michael. I might as well play along.
"Why not?" he said. "It would be fitting for such an inconsequential man to try to gain fame by committing a few murders. And he could not get any dirtier than he is now. How often do you bathe, sir?"
"That's enough!" the captain shouted, and turned to go. "Kill them," he told the bodyguards, then added as an afterthought, "And make it painful."
"One moment," said Christopher calmly as his personal thug began fastening his arms behind his back. "One more question. I'm certain you can spare a minute to grant a dying man his last request."
"Why should I waste my time on a dead man?"
"Why did you do it?"
"I did not do it. Kristna killed Miss Bombay."
"Who is Kristna?" asked Michael.
"Kristna is the fiancee of one of my men. Miss Bombay had infatuated him. Kristna was jealous, so Kristna killed her."
"So why did you involve yourself?"
"Yes," Michael added. "Why risk your life for your mate's fiancee?"
"Neither of you would ever be a sailor. But now that will be final." He left.
Part 28 Posted on Sunday, 14 November 1999
The two thugs led Michael and Christopher to another room, presumably to remove Anala and Mr. Terry from harm's way. During the trek, Christopher took careful note of where on the ship they were. Michael seemed determined to put a brave face on it, but even so, his hands were trembling. Christopher grinned to himself. Yes, Michael's large, cowardly frame would work well.
The thugs pushed them into the room, and removed their bonds. There was a table with two plates of food, and they were instructed to eat while the thugs went to collect some necessities. Michael seemed surprised that they had been left alone, unbound, and immediately headed to the door while Christopher headed for the food.
"It's locked," said Christopher, picking up a piece of stale bread. Michael tried the door, anyway, and cursed when Christopher was proven right. "I told you," said Christopher unconcernedly. He put the bread back in disgust.
"How can you be so calm?"
"What good would it do to be agitated? Wish they would have brought up some decent food. Stale bread and dry potatoes aren't much of a last meal. And I haven't eaten in ten days."
"Oh, don't be so tiresome! Don't you know they're going to kill us?"
"Oh, yes, I know that." Christopher went to another corner of the room, where two crates were sitting inconspicuously in the shadows. He lifted the lid of one, whistled lowly, closed it again, and sat on it.
"How ... how do you suppose they'll do it?" Michael asked, nearly wringing his hands. Christopher was sorry for him, but it could not be helped. He pretended to think a moment before answering,
"I don't really know. I always figured, if I had to die, and dying in bed was out of the question, I'd like to be shot straight through the heart. Painless, you know. But I doubt they'll go for something as easy as all that. You heard what the captain said: make it painful."
"Yes, I know," said Michael, pacing the floor.
"Are you cold?" Christopher asked suddenly.
"No, I am positively baking."
"Strange."
"Why did they leave?"
"Are you anxious for them to return?"
"No! But what could they be doing?"
"I suspect they are retrieving some instruments of torture. Have you ever been knifed?"
"No."
"I have."
"Are you bragging?"
"Not at all. You did not let me finish. It is not a pleasant business, of course, but I imagine this will be ten times worse, whatever it is."
"You are joking."
"Afraid not. You see, those men were Indian. In India, they do nothing by halves. When the captain says to make it painful, they make it as painful as possible."
"Why are you telling me this?" Michael asked suspiciously.
"I thought I should warn you. You would not want to scream in front of these men. You must make a good representation of English grit." He stood up, and slapped him across the back.
"English grit, eh?" Michael was white as a ghost. Christopher nodded. They heard the bolt on the other side of the door being lifted. Michael motioned for Christopher to follow him, which he did, leisurely.
"Hurry up, man!" Michael hissed. When they were standing next to the door, Michael put a finger over his mouth, and raised his hands over his head. Christopher grinned. This was working out exactly as he had planned. He could barely keep from laughing.
The door opened. The two thugs stepped inside. Michael quickly mouthed the word "Now," and both men threw themselves onto the gigantic goons.
Since Michael was almost as large as the goons, he had an easier time of it than Christopher, who was doing his very best to give as good as he got. Christopher engaged the thug in a chase across the room, trying to wear him out. When it seemed that would take a great deal longer than advisable, he took a plate from the table and smashed it across the man's head. Although not unconscious, the thug was momentarily dazed, and Christopher took the opportunity to dart out the door. Michael followed close behind.
A few shouts went up when it was discovered the "prisoners" had escaped, and for a moment Michael thought they would be recaptured. Therefore, he was very grateful when Christopher pushed him roughly overboard. However, Michael was startled, and succeeded in pulling Christopher with him. They landed nearly on top of each other in the shallow water. There was much sputtering and flailing of arms before Christopher brought Michael back to his senses with a resounding slap. Michael blinked.
"I'm wet."
"You're in the water, genius." A shotgun boomed. "Let's get out of here."
Part 29 "What was in those crates?" Michael asked when they were once again safely on dry land.
"I have no idea. It might have been shrouds."
"Shrouds? Not instruments of torture?"
"No. Where did you ever get that idea?"
"From you!"
"My dear man, you did not take me seriously? When I was talking about torture, I was speaking in general terms."
"Pardon me, you were not." Christopher chuckled, and it dawned on Michael. "You were trying to scare me. You told me a story, like you would tell a child." He pouted.
"You'll forgive me, but you must see that my little story-telling saved our lives. They might not have used torture, per se, but it would have hurt, nonetheless."
"You're sly, Morgan."
"Thank you."
"Incorrigible, conceited, infuriating, lying, manipulative..."
"Please, you will only make my vanity stronger."
"That was the most clever thing I have ever seen!"
"You haven't seen much, have you?"
"I meant what I said."
"In that case, that is about the most sincere compliment I will probably ever receive."
"So, are you going to have that Kristna woman arrested now?"
"No."
"Why not? She did it, didn't she?" The answer to that question was obvious to Michael before it was out of his mouth. Christopher looked at him skeptically, but only said,
"No, she did not."
"How do you know?"
"Whoever killed Miss Bombay did not do it out jealousy. The inscription on the tree implied a religious motive, a reward of great significance, perhaps in another life. I do not think Hinduism rewards people for killing the person who stands in the way of their love affairs."
Michael cursed again. Christopher was right. And of course this meant that Anala was still a suspect."
"So what do we do now?"
"After a quick rest and a meal, I'm going home."
Michael wondered why he would rest before going home.
"But what about Anala?"
"We shall see."
"Well, we will resume work tomorrow. Where do you live? I'll meet you there."
"I do not recall asking you for assistance."
"I want to see Georgiana."
"So do I, that is why I won't be here tomorrow."
"Where are you going?"
"Grillon's."
"The hotel? Why?"
"I need a horse," said Christopher as if it were obvious.
"But what about Anala?"
"What about her?"
"I love her."
"Then marry her."
"I can't. My father... What if she is a murderer?"
"Ask her."
"Well, where are you going, if I need your help?"
"Home."
Part 30 Posted on Monday, 15 November 1999
The Darcys, Fitzwilliams, and Lord and Lady Cavendar were expected for dinner, and Anne was certain she was forgetting something in the arrangements.
"John, were the roads cleared after the storm last week?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes, I think so."
"You think? Why can you not be certain?"
"Yes, they were cleared."
"Should I ask Mrs. Darcy or Lady Cavendar to play? Or perhaps Mrs. Fitzwilliam?"
"I do not know; maybe we will play cards."
"You are exasperating!"
"You are amusing."
"I am trying to make the house pleasant for our company, and all you can do is sit there, reading your paper!" She snatched the paper away from him.
"Anne, everything will be fine. You did not get this crazy for my birthday party."
"Crazy? Now I'm crazy?"
"Calm down. All you have to do is call Mrs. Lindell; she will take care of everything."
"Mrs. Lindell!" said Anne scornfully. "What does she know?"
"She has been the housekeeper here for twenty years!"
Anne threw up her hands in exasperation, and stalked out of the room. John chuckled as he went back to his paper. Anne spotted something on the banister. Dust! She gasped, and turned to go find Mrs. Lindell. Instead, she saw her mother coming into the room. Lady Catherine had not been to see Anne since Stacy was born.
"Mother!"
"Anne, you seem surprised to see me," said Lady Catherine. "Indeed, your husband probably told you a tremendous falsehood about me, but now I must tell you something rather shocking that I have just discovered about your husband."
"John has told me nothing about you, Mama, said Anne. "Why are you here?"
"Anne, I must tell you that you must have a son before it is too late!"
"Mother!" said Anne, blushing.
"I have heard that Sir John already has a mistress. What do you say to that?"
"You have heard wrong," said Anne. "Why should John take a mistress?"
"He is a man, Anne. And you must own that you have not fulfilled your duty as a wife yet."
"Mother!"
"I know, it is hard. It happened to me, too. Your father so wanted a son, but I could not give it to him."
"Papa never even implied that he wished I was a boy." Anne's lips trembled.
"Anne, listen to me. Every man wants a son. You gave your husband a daughter. You must try to satisfy him more, or he will leave you, and make you a mockery."
"I never knew you hated me so much," said Anne tearfully. "You wish I had been a son."
"Anne, listen to me. I will not be interrupted. You must go to him tonight."
"Leave me." Anne pointed firmly at the door, but her heart and head were in turmoil.
"I'm warning you, Anne. He has betrayed you. You are no longer the woman of his choice." Anne could not take it anymore. Overcome with rage, she lashed out at her mother.
"You have betrayed me," she said angrily. "Yes, Mother, you. You bring these malicious lies into my house, and blame me for them. They are not true. John would never..."
"You are entertaining guests tonight, are you not? Your cousins?" Anne made no reply. "Observe your husband with Lady Cavendar. See how they get along. Then tell me whether my news is unfounded."
When Anne remained unmoving, except for her clenched fists, Lady Catherine took her leave. As soon as she was gone, Anne ran upstairs, and told Mrs. Lindell to prepare for the party, as she felt indisposed.
Later that night, after dinner, Lady Laura was performing on the harp, with Mrs. Darcy on the pianoforte. Lord and Lady Cavendar, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and John were playing cards. Mr. Darcy and Anne were sitting out - Mr. Darcy because he wanted to observe his wife at the instrument, and Anne because she wanted to observe her husband with Julia.
Julia was sitting between John and her husband, with Richard across from her. More than once, she laughed at something John had said. Of course, the whole table had laughed, for John was in rare form tonight for making verbal blunders.
"How is Anastasia? Can she talk yet?" asked Richard.
"She is only three months old, Colonel," said Julia. "I do not think even you were talking at that age."
"Our mother would maintain that Richard was talking the day he was born," said David.
"For shame, David," said Julia, tapping his arm lightly.
"Do I lie, Richard?" asked David.
"No, I must own that that is what Mother would maintain."
"Come, Sir John, certainly you can play better than that!" said Julia.
"The cards seem to be against me tonight," said John. "All the luck seems to be leaning toward Cavendar."
"I am very lucky, indeed," said David with a grin at Julia. "I'm out." The table groaned, and Richard started counting the scores.
"Do play again, Mrs. Darcy," said the Colonel. "That was delightful."
"I'm afraid my repertoire is not as extensive as other people's," said Elizabeth regretfully. "Perhaps Anne would like to play?"
"Oh, no," said Anne, smiling. "My repertoire is nonexistent."
"We shall have to rectify that situation," said Julia. "I will bring along some more music next week."
"You are really an excellent teacher, Lady Cavendar. Anne entertains me practically non-stop when we are alone," said Sir John.
"I intend for her to entertain us all someday."
"You will not make a spectacle out of me, I hope," said Anne.
"A spectacle of you?" said Mrs. Darcy. "That would be impossible."
"Will you play now, Darcy?" said Richard as Julia took her place at the pianoforte.
"I think I might. Elizabeth?" He guided her to the table, where they both sat down.
"With what are you going to delight us tonight, Lady Cavendar?" asked Sir John.
"I have not yet decided." Julia leafed through a stack of music sheets on top of the instrument.
"Allow me to assist you." He stood up, and they rifled through the stack together, speaking in hushed tones. Anne watched apprehensively, until John handed one to Julia, and came to sit next to his wife. Julia looked at the sheet, puzzled.
"Are you sure?" she said with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile. John nodded, and with a glance at David, Julia began. Anne gasped when she realized what song it was. She had heard it at a concert only a few weeks ago. Although she was unfamiliar with the language, which was French, she knew the subject. It was about a pair of lovers who were barred from being together through outside circumstances.
She noticed John looked rather uncomfortable, and reasoned he should, after such obvious behaviour. She did not want to believe her mother, and she was not sorry for what she had said earlier, but she could not think of another excuse for John's odd behaviour. Her mind was too used to accepting blindly what her mother told her, despite her unwillingness to believe it.
After the song was over, she quickly excused herself, saying she had a headache. Would she never be happy?
Part 31 Posted on Tuesday, 16 November 1999
Anne held a piece of paper in front of Anastasia's eyes.
"A," she said, pointing to the letter on the card. Anastasia giggled. "Say A," she said firmly.
"Don't you think she is a little young to be learning the alphabet?" asked an amused voice from the doorway. Anne looked over her shoulder, and saw her husband. Turning away from him, she lifted Anastasia, and carried her toward the nursery. John followed, confused by his wife's behaviour of the past few days.
"Anne," he said plaintively. "Talk to me. What have I done?"
She stopped in the middle of the hall, and looked down. After a few minutes, she said softly,
"Who is Jason and Jocelyn's father?"
"What?" Had she lost her memory, or something?
"The twins, Lady Cavendar's children. Is David their father?"
"Why are you asking me this? Who else would be their father?"
"You." She let that sink in, then went on. "At least my mother told me. Imagine if I had to hear it from some old society hen..."
"Your mother is a society hen. But Anne, really..."
"And now you are insulting my mother. You said on our wedding night that you married me because you wanted to save me from her. Is this some sort of perverse revenge on your part? Do you hate my mother? Do you hate me? You never loved me; you told me so yourself."
"Anne, listen to me. I never...."
"And you flaunted it right in front of my face. Poor David! He is so in love with Julia, he nearly killed himself when she was having the twins, and now I find they're not even his!"
"Anne, you're jumping to conclusions."
"Am I?" she said. "Am I??" and she spun on her heel, marching with Anastasia to her chambers. She slammed the door in his face.
"Anne, I don't know where your mother came up with this scandalous falsehood," he said to the door, "But I can assure you that none of it is true."
"What about the aria?" she shouted from inside her room. She was barely able to keep the sobs out of her voice. She wanted to believe him, but how could she ignore her mother? It was unthinkable to the woman who had grown up under her mother's thumb.
"It was an accident," he tried to explain. "As I explained to Lord Cavendar after you left. I merely chose the most difficult-looking one, to see if she could manage it. I wasn't even looking at the content..."
He paused as a servant hurried past him into Anne's room, and hurried out a few minutes later with an apologetic look at him. A few minutes later, Anne herself came out, with the baby and a bag. She looked coldly at him, and stalked off, head high. He followed.
"Anne, please," he said when he saw the carriage waiting for her outside. She climbed into it, and they drove off. As they disappeared from view, Sir John Preston stared sadly after his wife and daughter, and whispered the words that would have prevented this, had they been uttered earlier:
"I love you."
Part 32 Sir Percy Blakeney watched his daughter-in-law through hooded eyes, as he pretended to sleep. Had he just seen what he thought he saw? He quickly calculated exactly how long it had been since Christopher had been home. About four months; it was a definite possibility.
Later that night, he pulled Georgiana into his study and said,
"Allow me to be blunt. Are you expecting a little Blakeney any time soon?"
Georgiana flushed, and opened and closed her mouth before looking down and saying,
"Did Josee tell you?"
"Josee? No. So, it's true?"
"Yes."
He nodded contemplatively, and turned around in his chair to stare at the wall. Georgiana felt very uncomfortable. She fidgeted in her seat. He turned to look at her.
"Does my idiot son know?"
Georgiana flushed again.
"Yes."
He nodded again, and said,
"How do you feel about his being gone?"
She stared at him.
"How should I feel?"
"I see," he smiled. "So, when you told him, what happened?"
Georgiana told him the basics of what had happened when Josee and Anne had taken her to London.
"Well, it has obviously been more than a week."
"Yes, sir."
"So, that leaves one conclusion..."
"Sir?"
Percy looked at the ceiling for a few minutes, before smiling at her and saying,
"Never mind. We shall have to rectify this situation immediately. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?"
"Besides Christopher?" she said with a wistful smile, and shook her head. "I'll be fine."
"What name did you say he was using?"
"Matthew Morgan."
"Yes, that was it. Very well. That will be all."
After she left, Percy hurriedly scribbled a few letters, and had them posted immediately. A few hours later, Georgiana was in her room, reading a book, when there was a knock on her door. Answering the knock, she found a strange man waiting for her.
"Who are you?"
The man opened his lips to speak, but she heard her father-in-law's voice.
"Come, we are going to London."
"Sir Percy?" she gasped, looking around the door confusedly.
"The one and only," said the man at the door. "Are you coming?"
"Well," she sputtered, "Is it safe for me to travel?"
"Can you walk up and down the staircase?"
"Well, yes."
"But then again, I believe you are right. It would not do. But, in any case, I am going to London. I will find that fool son of mine, and I will bring him home kicking and screaming if I have to. But I do not think that will be necessary."
"Uh, Sir Percy?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you dressed like that?"
"Like what? Oh, this! Well, I do not have time to explain." He handed her a ring off his finger, and said, "Show this to Lady Blakeney, and she will explain." He took off his hat and bowed melodramatically. "Fare thee well, fair lady! I shall return victorious!"
And he was gone. Georgiana was thoroughly puzzled, but she took Percy's advice and quickly took the ring to Lady Blakeney. Marguerite took it, and looked at it fondly.
"This is Percy's ring. Where did you find it?"
"He gave it to me, and told me to ask you to explain to me why he is going to London."
Marguerite clicked the ring open, to reveal a small flower under the casing. She showed it to Georgiana.
"It is very pretty, but what does it mean?"
"It means," said Marguerite enigmatically, "that the Scarlet Pimpernel has been resurrected."
That same day, Lady Preston arrived at Blakeney Hall. The Blakeney women were all highly surprised, of course.
"Why, Anne!" said Josee. "What do you do here?"
"John and I have had a row," she said wearily. "I did not want to go to Rosings. Would you mind very much if I stayed here?"
Marguerite, Georgiana, and Josee exchanged glances.
"Not at all," said Marguerite graciously. "Josee, show Lady Preston ... and little Miss Preston ... to her room."
Part 33 Posted on Wednesday, 17 November 1999
It was the usual night at the tavern, with Peg serving the various customers, and all of those individuals getting drunker and rowdier by the minute. A big man at the bar with lank, grey hair, with specks of black here and there, observed the other occupants through bleary eyes. Another man came into the bar, and flung himself onto the stool next to the lanky, bleary, middle-aged big man.
"Ho there, Percy," he said by way of greeting.
"You're out of practice, Andrew," said Percy in a low voice, smiling.
"Well, I can't help it. It's been a while since I dressed up like this."
"You can't complain for comfort. Is Anthony with you?"
"He is somewhere."
"Any word?"
"No."
"'Oy!" shouted a drunk behind Andrew. "What you two gents talkin' about so secretly?"
"Would that be curiosity or politeness asking?" asked Percy.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," said Andrew, with a look that told Percy he was out of practice, too. "Buy you a drink?"
The drunk looked gratified, and took the stool between Percy and Andrew.
"Maybe you can help us," said Percy. "We need a detective. Can you recommend anybody?"
"Nope," said the drunk. "Never had nothin' to detect."
"I knows a detective," said a voice behind Percy. Turning, he saw a young, pretty Gypsy girl.
"Is he reliable?"
"Might be; I dunno."
"I heard of a detective once," said Andrew. "My friend hired him once, recommended him highly. Said he was the best detective he could ever hope to see."
"Don't overdo it," said Percy.
"Went by the name of Matthew Morgan," said Andrew, paying no heed to his old friend.
"That's the one," the girl nodded.
"You know him?"
"Sure, saw 'im just last night."
"You did? Where?"
The girl hesitated.
"Can't tell you; they might hear."
"Who?"
"Them. But, if you'll follow me..."
"Just a moment. How do we know you're telling the truth?"
She shrugged.
"You don't. You'll just have to trust me, that's all."
They looked at the Gypsy girl, then back at each other. Finally, Percy said,
"Very well. But what's your name?"
"Anala. What's yours?"
"Just show us where to find him."
She led them to a house about three miles away. It was respectable-looking, and there was a large man sitting outside. He looked at Percy and Andrew distrustfully.
"Who are these, Anala?"
"They're lookin' fer Matt." Anala ducked behind the man without looking at him, and slipped into the house.
"What do you want with him?"
"His wife sent us to find him," Percy told a half-truth.
"Then what's his wife's name?" the man asked, testing them.
"Georgiana," said Percy promptly. "Why do you ask?"
"That would be the one he calls for," said Michael Lancaster. "I suppose it would be all right, then. I had to be sure, though. Too many strange things have happened in the last week, and I have to keep an eye out for anyone who might want to harm him, or any of us. Especially since he..." he trailed off and looked worriedly at the house.
"What's the matter?" asked Percy in what was almost his normal tone of voice. Michael saw how concerned he was, and was now finally convinced that these two men could be trusted.
"Come and see for yourself," he said, and led them inside.
Part 34 Posted on Thursday, 18 November 1999
Nothing Percy could have done would have prepared him for the sight he saw when he entered that house. His son was lying on a bed in the corner, sleeping fitfully. His black hair, which he kept long by choice - and by careful avoidance of his mother's shears - had grown shaggy, and was drenched in sweat. His lean body now looked unhealthily thin. His eyes had black circles under them. Anala was stationed by the bed with a cool washcloth, and also had the task of pushing him down if he tried to bolt.
"What happened?" Percy demanded in his normal tone of voice, which frightened Michael and Anala.
"Well, 'e's been sick," said Anala unhelpfully, with an apologetic tone to her voice.
"We had the doctor here several times, and he gave us some draughts, and for a while he seemed to be getting better, but then he had a relapse somehow..." said Michael.
"It's all right," said Andrew. "He will be fine, once we get him home."
"And what exactly do you want with him?" asked Michael protectively.
"They were lookin' fer a detective," said Anala.
"Does he look like he's fit for work?" Michael demanded.
"I thought a customer would cheer 'im up," she said quietly. "Maybe 'e needed somethin' ta do."
"Hold it there," said Michael when he saw Percy preparing to lift Morgan. Percy looked him stonily in the eyes, which unnerved Michael, for he was used to towering over people. "Why should I let you take him?"
Percy pursed his lips and stood up straighter, prepared to fight if need be. Andrew stepped in and said,
"He is Christopher's father."
Michael stepped back, and looked at Percy, then at Christopher.
"Christopher?"
"That's 'is real name," said Anala. "I forgot ta tell ye. Christopher Blakeney."
"Well, I... uh..." it took Michael a minute to digest this news. He stepped back, conceding his ground, and said, "I do not know if we should move him. He wakes up every now and then, and he's usually in his right mind... Maybe you should talk to him first...."
Percy was not a little alarmed by his reference to delirium.
"I appreciate your concern, Mr..."
"Lancaster."
"But he should be home now, with his family."
"I agree, but it might not be wise to move him in his present condition. At least wait an hour. Please."
"Percy," said Andrew, "He might be right. And I am curious to know how Lancaster here met Christopher in the first place."
The older men looked at Michael expectantly.
"Yes," said Percy. "That might prove to be entertaining."
So Michael told them all that happened from the night he first met Christopher, to the night they escaped from the tea ship, with Anala jumping in now and then to correct him.
"He planned to go home right away, that is, after he had eaten. You understand, it had been ten days. So I accompanied him to Grillon's, and we ate together. When we were just finishing, Anala came and told us that the captain had let her and Mr. Terry loose, and Terry had flown into the boughs when they discovered Mor...Christopher and I were missing." He allowed himself a small smile that would have been a laugh under different circumstances.
"So, he was fine up to this point?" said Percy. Because it was stifling in the house, he decided it would be permissible to undisguise himself, and began pealing various articles off his person, including the wig Marguerite had made him several years before for a masquerade. Michael hid his astonishment admirably, and continued.
"Yes, he was fine, physically, but his manners were somewhat depressed, I think. But anyway, Anala came and confessed all. She said Terry had created a sort of secret society, composed mainly of the Gypsies in the area, and using the Hindi language and some traditions as a disguise. A meeting was to be held that night, where a sacrifice would be made to Terry's imagined deity."
"Sacrifice?" said Andrew curiously.
"Human," said Anala, shivering. "Victoria Bombay was the first. We were all supposed to sacrifice our lovers." She squeezed Michael's hand. "When 'e told me that, that's when I decided I didn't want no part of it anymore."
"Was Sam Higgins somebody's lover?" asked Percy, remembering that Georgiana had mentioned Christopher's friend's murder.
"No, 'e was married, 'ad a boy. Sammy jus' got in the way."
"So what happened after she told you this?" asked Andrew.
"We went to stop the sacrifice. Mor...Christopher sent Anala to the police..."
"I still don't know why; they hate me."
"Nothing happened, did it? Anyway, we watched for a while, gathering information and waiting for the police. Anala had said the sacrifice would be last event of the meeting, which was scheduled to end at midnight, so we weren't wasting any time. However, they either ran out of things to say, or the execution was to be long and torturous, for they started long before midnight. He-" he pointed at Christopher "-interrupted them in the middle of .. whatever it was they were doing-" he shook his head in confusion "-and abandoning the sacrifice, they focused all their attention on him. Well, I could not leave him to fight them all by himself," he smiled, somewhat proud of the fact that he had not cowered in fear, like another time. "So I jumped down from the rafter, where I had been stationed, using my cravat as a rope."
"Handy use for a cravat, I must say. Why did I never think of that? But it must have been tediously short," said Percy.
"It was, but it worked, oddly enough. So, we held our own until the police arrived, when we ducked out of the melee and into the street. We sat down on the ground to catch our breath. I must admit, I was exhilarated. However, he-" he pointed to Christopher again "-had grown somewhat pale, and was complaining of being chilly. I told him to stop whining. Well, he did not like that, and he got up to leave, but before he got out of the alley, he collapsed."
"But why?" asked Percy. Michael shrugged.
"One doctor suggested malaria, but I've never heard of that around here. And I am not sick."
"Neither am I," said Anala. "But I've seen 'em use poisoned darts before."
"Who?" asked Andrew.
"Them. Maybe they stuck 'im when they was fightin'."
"Why didn't you mention this before?" asked Michael roughly.
"You never mentioned the fight before!" Anala protested. "I couldn't think of when they might've stuck 'im, so I didn't think it was worth mentioning."
Christopher stirred, and they all rushed to his bedside.
"I'm cold," he announced. "Blankets?"
"Here they are ... Christopher," said Michael. Christopher blinked his eyes several times, to make them focus, and stared at him.
"You know my name?" he said hoarsely, then looked at Anala next to him. "You told him?"
"I did," said Andrew. Christopher looked at him. At first, he did not recognize him, but when he did, he immediately looked for Percy. He tried to raise himself on his elbows, but could not, and fell back on his pillow. Anala took the opportunity to bundle the blankets around him.
"Father?" he said weakly.
"I am here," said Percy, taking his hand.
"Georgiana?" he forced out hurriedly. The difficulty of the name exhausted him, and he closed his eyes.
"She is waiting for you."
Christopher's eyes flew open, and he bit his lip.
"She...hates me?"
"No, no. She loves you, you stupid little boy."
Christopher smiled, then looked at the desk behind Michael.
"I.." he began, "..the letter."
Michael turned and began rummaging around the desk until he found a short note.
"Is this it?" he asked. Christopher nodded.
"Tell her ... I'm sorry," he said, and closed his eyes again. Percy and Andrew exchanged worried glances. He was close to losing consciousness again.
"Would you like to see her, Christopher?" asked Andrew.
"She's not here?" he asked tremulously.
"She could not come. She is at home. Would you like to go home?"
Christopher nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Yes," he said. "Home sounds good." His hand, which had been grasping Percy's tightly, loosened its hold, and Percy knew he was unconscious.