Velvet

Chapter 14

Jake lay in the nursery, staring at the black square of the window at the end of his bed. The springlike day had given way to a violent, blustery night and the bare branches of the oak tree outside scratched against the panes. He could hear the slapping of the river against the jetty and the scream of a benighted sea gull fleeing inland from the choppy waters of the Solent.

His stomach hurt and felt empty, as if he'd had no supper. But he'd had an egg and toast and Nurse had made him hot chocolate and Primmy had read him a story. Gabby had come to kiss him good night. He could still smell her hair as she'd bent over him. It smelled like the flowers she had in her boudoir.

He wanted to cry, but he felt all dried up. Whenever he thought about being left alone by Primmy and Gabby, he wanted to scream and shout and throw something. He wanted to hurt someone. It was Papa's fault… everything was Papa's fault. He'd brought that horrible man who smelled like sour milk and wore a black gown and flapped around the schoolroom like the gigantic crow that lived in the elm tree behind the orchard. Papa had told Primmy she had to leave, and now he was sending Gabby away. Whycouldn't Papa go away andnever come back… never!

Jake sniffed and stared dry-eyed at thewindow. It was wicked to think somethinglike that, but he couldn't help it, and he didn'tcare if God did strike him dead. It would be better than staying here alone with that nasty man and his swishystick and his Latin verbs.

Why wouldn't Gabby let himgo with her?He'd asked and asked but she'd said no,it wastoofar and Papa wouldn't like it and he hadto goto school…

Well, he wasn't going to school,and he didn't care about Papa. He was going withGabby.

Jake tossed onto his side andcurled up, feeling for the knitted donkey that Nurse hadmade him when he was a baby. It had slipped to thebottom of his bed, and he pulled it up with his feet, wrapping hisbody around it, smelling its familiar woollysmell. His thumb took the forbidden path into his mouthand his eyes closed. He wasn't staying here. He wasgoing to runaway with Gabby.

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For the next two days Jakelistened. He listened to the servants, to Primmy when she talked to Nurse, to Milner in the stables when he went for his riding lessons. The onlyperson he didn't listen to was Mr. Jeffrys, but then, the tutor didn't talk about Gabby and when she was leaving Burley Manor. The swishy stick stung his knuckles when he was inattentive, but Jake didn't care. His whole body seemed centered on his glowing purpose, and he could think of nothing else.

From Milner he discovered that Gabby was driving to Lymington in the chaise on Thursday evening. Gabby told him she was taking a fishing boat to France from Lymington quay. Jake knew that fishing boats had decks with coils of rope and nets, and usually they had a cabin. He would find somewhere to hide, he was sure. The chaise had a narrow ledge at theback and astrap for a spare groom to hang on to, but therewouldn't be a groom on the short journey to Lymington. Thepros pect of clinging up there himself made him feel rather sick, but it didn't dent his purpose in the least.

From Primmy and Nurse, he learned that his father was leaving on the same day and expected to be away for several weeks. If his father was away, Jake couldn't see how he'd discover that Jake had gone until he came back, so there'd be nobody to chase him even when his disappearance was discovered. And that wouldn't be until the morning, when Nurse came to wake him up. And once they reached France, Gabby would look after him. His mind couldn't stretch beyond that immediate goal, and he was untroubled by speculation on the future.

Gabrielle was puzzled by the suppressed excitement she felt in the child. She'd expected him to be unhappy, cross even, blaming her for leaving him. But in stead his eyes were unnaturally bright and he giggled ina most unJakelike fashion,and he seemed hard pressed to put a coherent sentence together.Primmy commented on it too, and Mr. Jeffrys complained at length to his employer about his pupil's general inattentiveness.

Nathaniel heard the complaint in frowning silence, then delivered the acerbic comment that he'd assumed a tutor to whom he paid the princely sum of one hundred pounds a quarter would know how to command the attention of a six-year-old.

A chagrined Mr. Jeffrys left the library, and Gabrielle observed from her secluded fireside corner, "Much as I enjoy his discomfiture, I hope he doesn't take his mortification out on Jake in the interests of gaining his attention."

"Jeffrys knows exactly what I will and will not permit," Nathaniel said shortly.

"And how are you to know if he doesn't keep within those boundaries?" she inquired. "I don't see Jake telling you, do you?"

Nathaniel ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "Idon't know why he wouldn't. Igive him plenty of opportunity to talk to me."

Gabrielle shook her head but said nothing. It was too late now for her opinions. They hadn't been accepted before, and there was no reason to believe that a flash of insight would illuminate the eve of departure and bring forth a change of heart.

Nathaniel had made all the arrangements for her journey and given her the details calmly and efficiently, as if he weren't describing the way she would walk out of his life forever. Gabrielle had responded in the same fashion. They were pleasant and polite to each other; they made love, but the spark was missing. Gabrielle supposed it eased the prospect of parting. One withdrew from addiction by slow steps. But it also felt soulless, almost as if they were determined now to negate the strength of what they'd shared.

They dined early on the Thursday evening and Gabrielle went up to say good-bye to Jake. The little boy was sitting up in bed, unusually pale, but his brown eyes had an almost febrile glitter to them. Gabrielle felt his forehead as she kissed him. He was warm but not feverish. Most unusually, he didn't seem to want her to stay. Instead of prolonging the visit in his customary fashion with questions, requests for another story, or endless narratives with neither beginning nor end, he docilely accepted her good-bye kiss and said good night, snuggling down almost before she'd left the nursery.

It was a relief, of course. She'd been dreading tears and recriminations. But it was still a little hurtful to think how quickly one could be dismissed by both father and son.

"Are you ready?" Nathaniel came into her apartments just before nine o'clock. "The tide's full at eleven o'clock and you have to catch it."

"Yes, I'm ready." She looked up from the jewel casket she was closing and blinked in surprise. Nathaniel was wearing boots and britches, a plain white linen shirt open at the neck with a scarf knotted carelessly at his throat. He had a cloak slung over one arm and leather gauntlets held in one hand.

"That's a very serviceable dress," she commented. "Are you intending to travel all night?"

"It might be necessary," he replied in the tone that she'd learned prohibited further inquiry. "Has Bartram taken your traps to the chaise?"

"Yes, and I've said good-bye to Ellie and Mrs. Bailey."

"Then let's go."

There was a lump in Gabrielle's throat as she followed him downstairs. She couldn't understand why she wasn't excited, triumphant at the success of her plan. She had the spymaster where she wanted him. But she was aware only of a bleak depression and a deep and irrational hurt. She wanted Nathaniel to be as regretful at their parting as she was, and he patently wasn't.

Nathaniel handed her into the chaise waiting at the door and climbed in after her, first checking that the luggage was properly stowed on the roof. He knocked on the panel, the coachman clicked his whip, and the carriage moved down the long drive.

At the bottom of the drive they stopped while the gatekeeper opened the gate for them. A small figure crept out of the bushes and clambered onto the narrow ledge, standing on tiptoe to seize the leather strap, pressing his slight body against the back of the coach as it rattled through the gate and down the lane. The gatekeeper closed the gate after them, muttering to himself as his rheumaticky hands fumbled with the heavy iron bar. He was shortsighted and it was a dark night. If he discerned a darker shadow against the rear panels of the coach as it swayed down the road, he thought nothing of it.

Gabrielle tried to think of some topic of conversation, something to break the silence. But there'd only ever been one acceptable topic of conversation, and it was hardly appropriate at this juncture. Although the last time they'd traveled in the coach, on the way from Vanbrugh Court, it had been more than appropriate…

Nathaniel sat back against the squabs, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes hooded as he watched her face in the shifting shadows of the coach. She wasn't happy about this mission; in fact, if asked, he would have said she was downright depressed. As indeed he would be if he believed they were about to part ways. Not even her treachery, it seemed, could destroy his passion for her. There was some level on which they were totally compatible, and in his more detached moments it struck him as the most damnable twist of fate that they should find themselves on opposite sides in the dirty war they fought. They would have made the most amazing partners if they shared the same goals and the same loyalties.

Instead, they were bitterest enemies, each out to manipulate and betray the other. And in his heart he knew that even if he won, as he intended to, they would still both be losers.

In half an hour the chaise clattered across the cobbles at the Lymington quay. Lamplight poured out from the Black Swan Inn as inebriated fishermen staggered out, yelling, cursing, and singing. Most made their way to the fleet of boats tied up at the quay, leaping on decks with a dexterity that belied the effects of carousing. But time and tide made no concessions when a man's livelihood came from the sea.

Jake slipped to the cobbles and darted behind a coil of tarred rope. In the general melee no one noticed a small boy in nankeen britches and a knitted blue jersey. He watched as the coachman snapped his fingers at one of the inn's ostlers lounging against the timbered wall of the inn with a pipe in his hand. The man shook out the pipe and sauntered across. Money changed hands, and between them the ostler and coachman unloaded the bags from the roof of the chaise. They took them to a relatively large fishing boat at the far end of the quay. A man standing in the stern greeted them with a hail and gestured that they should come aboard.

Jake slipped from his hiding place and darted forward. His father and Gabby were still standing by the coach, talking to each other. No one was looking in his direction. Around him people were running, shouting, leaping from the quay to the boat decks and back again. Ropes were being untied, sheets loosened, and sails unfurled. Lymington estuary was in full flood, the tide flowing strongly toward the Solent at its mouth, and there was a night of fishing and crabbing to be done. Some would trawl their nets in the deep waters off the Brittany coast, on the lookout for hostile French shipping, and one craft at least, like the Curlew, would ferry and offload those who sailed by night about clandestine business.

The three men had their backs turned to the gangway. Jake leaped across it in four steps and dived behind a roll of canvas sailcloth in the bow of the boat. He crouched there, his heart beating fast, but too excited for fear. In a minute Gabby would come aboard and his father would drive off and the boat would sail out of the river. He wouldn't tell anyone he was there until they got to France. How long did it take to sail to France? Perhaps all night?

"Let's get you aboard," Nathaniel said, putting an arm lightly around Gabrielle's shoulders, shepherding her toward the craft riding easily on the swelling tide. "I'll give you your detailed instructions in the cabin."

He went ahead of her across the gangplank, jumped down to the deck, and, turning, held out his hand to her. He was smiling, and there was something raffish about him, Gabrielle realized as he stood there in the torchlit night, the carelessly knotted kerchief at his throat, one booted foot on the gangplank, his other hand resting on his knee, the cloak falling back from his shoulders revealing the slender, tensile frame.

She didn't think she'd ever seen him like this, radiating some secret pleasure… just like Jake, she thought, recognizing one of those flashes of similarity between parent and child.

Nathaniel was obviously relishing the prospect of whatever adventure awaited him once she'd left. Not to be outdone, Gabrielle forced a smile of her own and sprang lightly across the gangplank, disdaining his helping hand with an airy wave.

"There's a cabin of sorts below," Nathaniel said, ushering her toward the hatchway. "Primitive, I'm afraid, but hopefully not too fishy." His voice was bright and his eyes had the wicked gleam in their depths that Gabrielle associated with their most imaginative playtimes.

Obviously the prospect of a dangerous piece of espionage, or whatever he was about to engage upon, gave him as much of a sexual thrill as lovemaking, she decided morosely, following him down the narrow companionway.

There was a strong smell of fish, and the oil lantern hanging from the low ceiling gave off noxious smoky fumes, its flickering light casting grotesque shadows on the planked bulkhead. A skinny bunk was set into the bulkhead with a coarse blanket over a straw pallet. It was airless and yet dank and chill. However, Gabrielle told herself, the journey shouldn't take more than twelve or thirteen hours, and she could always go up on deck.

She turned to her companion. “So, perhaps you’d better give me my instructions."

Nathaniel leaned back against the stained planking of the bolted-down central table, arms folded, his eyes hooded.

"No, I think I'll wait a bit."

"Wait? But for heaven's sake, Nathaniel, the boat's about to sail."

"I know."

"Just what are you getting at?" Gabrielle glared at him in infuriated bewilderment.

Nathaniel remained unmoved. "Simply that you're not going alone."

Gabrielle felt as if she'd lost touch with her own moorings just as the boat lurched beneath her and a voice yelled an instruction accompanying the squeak of a sail running up the masthead. She grabbed the edge of the table as the boat swung slowly away from the quayside and the wind filled the mainsail.

"You're coming to France?" she asked carefully.

"Just so."

"But why?"

"My dear girl, I never send an agent into the field alone on a first mission," he informed her coolly. "They always have a mentor, someone who knows the area and the setup. I'm going to act as your mentor on this mission, and if all goes well, then I daresay future ones you may conduct alone."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.

"I wanted to see how you would behave when faced with the prospect of going alone into danger."

The authoritarian, matter-of-fact statement was the last straw. What the devil did he know about how she faced danger?

"I am sick to death of your damn tests," Gabrielle declared, jabbing at his chest with a forefinger. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Your spymaster," he said, catching the jabbing finger and holding it away from him. "And you will submit to any test I decide to set-unless you wish to abandon this plan?"

Gabrielle drew breath deep into her lungs. He was still holding her finger, and there was a sudden intensity in the eyes resting on her face.

Tell meyou'll give it up. Go on, Gabrielle, say it. It's not too late. The fervency of his unspoken thoughts shocked him. He'd believed he was resigned, accepting of her treachery, but he wasn't. He didn't know if he could forgive, if they could make some new start. But perhaps if Gabrielle pulled back now…

Their eyes held for a minute, then Gabrielle laughed and pulled her finger out of his grip. "Don't be silly. Of course I don't want to."

"No, of course not," he said.

Gabrielle sat down on the narrow bunk, frowning. At least it offered a satisfactory explanation for why Nathaniel hadn't appeared unduly depressed at the prospect of their parting. But she wasn't accustomed to having the ground cut from beneath her feet, and just recently Nathaniel had been doing chat with tiresome regularity.

Yet, despite her annoyance, she couldn't deny the little prickles of pleasure and excitement at the prospect of extending their time together despite the complications that were bound to result.

"So you're traveling to Paris?" she said after a minute.

"Yes, under your protection," he informed her without batting an eyelid. "Your laissez passer I assume will cover a servant."

Gabrielle gazed at him, for a moment speechless. Of all the effrontery! But it was still a brilliant strategy, one she would have come up with herself.

"Nathaniel Praed, you are… you are… oh, there isn't a word strong enough to describe you."

Nathaniel reached for her, hauling her to her feet and pulling her between his knees. Her eyes were on a level with his.

"Would you rather travel alone, Gabrielle?"

She shook her head ruefully. "No. You know I wouldn't. I didn't want us to part."

"I know you didn't. And neither did I. We seem to be intertwined, you and I," he said with a dry smile.

"Yes," Gabrielle agreed quietly. A chill ran down her spine as someone walked over her grave. Intertwined enemies. Deadly enemies. She hated Nathaniel for what he had done to Guillaume and to her, and yet she could barely contemplate being away from him.

She looked into his eyes and saw her own reflection in the dark irises. There was something in the brown depths that she couldn't read, something of a most powerful intensity that sent renewed chills over her skin. It was more than simple passion, it was almost menacing. And then he caught her head between his hands and brought his mouth to hers and reason and unease yielded to the familiar heady rush of desire.

On deck, Jake shivered in his hiding place as the fishing boat ran before the wind up the estuary. Papa had gone into the cabin with Gabby and hadn't come out. He was still on the boat, and now they were going to France.

Voices reached him from the other side of his hiding place, the rough male voices of the skipper and his crew. Jake shivered with terror and the tears tracked soundlessly down his cheeks. He inched closer to the deck rail and the surging cold black water beneath. He couldn't swim. If he jumped, he'd drown. But if he stayed, they'd find him. And Papa would find him… and…

He couldn't imagine what his father would do when he found him. He shrank down as far as he could behind the sailcloth and closed his eyes tightly, trying to believe as he had when he was very little that if he couldn't see people, they couldn't see him.

"Oh, that's better." Gabby's voice penetrated his terrified trance. "It's so stuffy in there."

"It'll be very cold once we round the Needles and reach the open sea," Nathaniel replied. "You'll be glad enough of the shelter then."

"Maybe." Gabrielle held the deck rail and threw back her head, looking up into the overcast sky, where the misty shadow of the moon hung over them. The spray stung her face and she breathed deeply of the salt-tanged air. It felt good deep in her lungs. She looked back to the diminishing lights of Lymington quay. "I hope it stays calm. I'm not the world's best sailor."

"Goodness me," Nathaniel said in tones of feigned amazement. "Don't tell me you have a weakness."

"Unkind," she protested with a soft laugh. "I have many weaknesses." Being herewith you is one of them. But for the moment there was nothing to be gained by fighting that weakness.

"I'm hungry," she said. "It seems ages since dinner. It must be the sea air."

"You've been sailing for only half an hour," Nathaniel pointed out. "However, I had the forethought to bring some provisions. Shall we go below?"

"No, let's have a picnic up here."

The voices were so close to Jake, he could almost imagine touching Gabrielle. He wanted to jump up and run to her, bury his head in her skirt, feel her warmth and her arms around him, her lips brushing his cheek when she kissed him, her hand ruffling his hair. But then his father spoke again, and he huddled wretchedly back into his corner.

"So what did you bring?" Gabriel e turned from the rail as Nathaniel reemerged from the companionway. She smiled and the moon broke through a gap in the clouds, throwing her face into silver relief.

Her smile was candid, inviting, as if she had nothing to hide, and despite everything he knew, he couldn't prevent his own lips curving in response.

"You'll see. We'll use this as a table." He kicked forward an upturned crate and squatted down before it, feeling into the bag he carried with the air of a magician about to produce a litter of rabbits.

"Cognac, for the warmth," he declared, flourishing the bottle as if it were a prize. "Then one of Cook's special veal and ham pies…" This joined the cognac on the makeshift table. "Two chicken drumsticks, a round of cheddar, and some apples. How does that sound?"

"Inspired." Gabrielle sat on the deck, leaning her back against the rail.

"No utensils, I'm afraid. We'll have to drink from the bottle and use my pocket knife for cutting." Nathaniel produced the knife as he handed the cognac to Gabrielle. He cut a V into the golden raised crust of the pie.

Jake listened to the sounds of the picnic. He could smell the food and the nose-tingling aroma of the cognac. He was cold and hungry. His father's voice sounded quite different from normal-gay, lighthearted, full of laughter. Gabby spoke with her mouth full, choked, Papa patted her on the back, and they both laughed. It didn't sound as if they could ever be cross. Jake half rose from his cramped crouch, but his nerve failed him and he shrank back again.

"We're rounding the Needles." Nathaniel stood up and reached a hand down to pull Gabrielle to her feet. "Vicious, aren't they?"

The water boiled around the row of jagged rocks obtruding from the tip of the Isle of Wight. Gabrielle shivered and drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The moon had disappeared again and the beacon in the lighthouse glowed strong in the darkness. The mournful clanging of the warning bell carried across the water.

"I've never made this crossing," she said. "I've always crossed from Dover to Calais and vice versa. It seems alot less wild."

They were leaving the Isle of Wight and the sheltered Solent behind. The wind blew stronger now and the sea had lost its docile quality, stretching ahead and around in a rolling expanse of white-capped surges. The fishing boat seemed to ride the waves with ease, Gabrielle noted with some relief, running a mental check over the state of her stomach, it occurred to her that a greedy supper had perhaps been unwise.

"Let's go below," Nathaniel said. "It's getting chilly and it's late. We should try to snatch a couple of hours sleep."

"That cot's very narrow," Gabrielle demurred, but allowed herself to be urged toward the companionway.

"You can have it, I'll sleep on the floor."

"That'll be horribly uncomfortable."

"I've been more so," he said. "In general, I can sleep anywhere."

Jake listened to their voices fading away as they disappeared below. Despite his fear of discovery, he'd found their proximity comforting. His clothes were damp with the sea spray and he could taste salt on his lips, mingling with the salt of his tears. Unutterable loneliness washed over him between the dark, unfriendly sea and the cloud-thick sky.

In his wretched self-absorption he didn't hear the footsteps until they were upon him. "What the 'ell 'ave we 'ere!"

The violent exclamation brought a cry of terror from the child, who shrank back against the railing. A man towered over him, huge in his britches and sailor's jersey, very like Jake's own. Hands reached down and seized the boy beneath his armpits and hauled him un-gently into the air.

"You know what we do wi' stowaways?" the rough voice demanded. "We make 'em swim fer shore."

For a second Jake was held dangling over the railing and his shrill scream split the night air. "Gabby… Gabby!" He yelled the one name that meant salvation at the top of his lungs.

"What on earth is that racket?" Nathaniel, in the process of helping Gabrielle pull off her boots, dropped her foot abruptly and turned to the companionway. He stuck his head through the hatch. "What's going on?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but we've got ourselves a stowaway." The sailor held up the kicking, screaming child.

"Gabby!" Jake shrieked again. "I want Gabby."

"Dear God in heaven," Nathaniel whispered. "Jake!"

"You know the lad, sir?"

"My son," Nathaniel said quietly. "Give him to me."

"I want Gabby," Jake continued to bellow in pure hysteria, and suddenly she was there, pushing Nathaniel aside as she squeezed through the narrow hatch.

"Jake." She held out her arms and, as the sailor set the boy on his feet, he ran sobbing to her.

"All right," she said, stroking his head. "It's all right. I've got you. It's all right."

Nathaniel stood, watching. It seemed as if this had nothing to do with him, but it was his son. Gabrielle had known the child only a few weeks, and it was as if his father didn't exist.

She was curved over the child, her body in a graceful arc of comfort, her hair escaping from its pins, falling forward, blending with his son's fair curls. And it came to him that even if she had used the child in her scheming, the warmth and closeness between them was genuine. Gabrielle loved his son.

"I'm right sorry, sir," the sailor was saying, pulling on his earlobe. "I don't know 'ow 'e could 'ave got aboard."

"We'll have to turn back," Nathaniel instructed. "Immediately."

"Can't do that, sir. Tide and wind are runnin' agin us. We'll never make it back round the Needles."

Nathaniel produced a string of barnyard oaths that impressed even the two fishermen. Jake's sobs had faded to heaving gulps, but his head remained buried in Gabrielle's skirts.

"Get below," Nathaniel commanded harshly with a brusque gesture to Gabrielle.

"Come along, Jake." She chivvied the child ahead of her to the companionway, climbed down first, and then lifted him down after her.

Nathaniel jumped the short flight, his face taut with anger. "Come here!" He snapped his fingers at his son, who still clung to Gabrielle's leg, his face buried in her skirt.

Jake's wails increased in volume, but he made no move to obey.

Nathaniel's breath hissed through his teeth as he struggled with his anger. "Gabrielle, let him go. I want you to go on deck, please," he said, his voice now flat and without emotion.

Gabrielle looked down at the fair, curly head pressing against her thigh. She looked up at Nathaniel, then, with calm resolution, bent and picked up Jake.

"You have every right to scold him," she said to Nathaniel. "He needs to understand how much trouble he's caused. But hold him while you do it."

She thrust the child at his father, and Nathaniel in reflex action put out his arms. He found himself holding the boy tightly against his chest. They both looked so astonished at this novel position that, despite the dire circumstances, Gabrielle was hard pressed to keep astraight face as she left them alone.