A Gentleman By Any Other Name

CHAPTER FIVE

LOW CLOUDS AND A SLICE of moon allowed Julia to see some of the facade of Becket Hall as she stood in the courtyard looking up at the huge stone building.

They’d driven up a wide, curving gravel path that was happily well-tended, to stop in front of the large central section of the house that seemed to be in the shape of a large U—although it could be an H, as she couldn’t see if the wings also extended toward the Channel she knew to be behind the building.

“The house doesn’t overlook the water,” she said mostly to herself, but Chance heard her.

“There are terraces,” Chance told her as he lifted the sleeping Alice from the coach. “But only a fool would face a house toward the Channel, Miss Carruthers. Then again, only a fool would order so many windows built into that side of the house.”

They had long ago, somewhere between London and Maidstone and the incident on the Marsh, given up the notion that he was her superior, with she his docile servant (or at least she had), so Julia didn’t think twice before asking bluntly as she reached back into the coach to retrieve Alice’s small traveling bag, “Then I am to consider Mr. Becket a fool?”

“That would probably depend on where he decides to put you. If your bedchamber overlooks the water, you may think so once winter comes and storms begin to blow, rattling those same windows. But, no, you’ll be in the nursery with Alice, which I believe to be even worse, as your chamber will be directly on a corner. Shall we? Billy, go pound on that door knocker, will you?”

Julia moved close beside Chance as they climbed up one of the wide stone staircases to a large stone porch, attempting to block Alice from the salty breeze that found them even in the shelter of the immense building.

“What about the boys, Mr. Becket?” she asked, holding the hood of her cloak over her head as the wind whipped at it. “Someone should be sent for the doctor, I believe.”

“First let’s get Alice into the house, Miss Carruthers. Billy well knows what to do.”

“Really? Let us only hope he well knows better than he drives a coach.”

Chance took a moment to smile at this, then disappeared as the large front door opened and light spilled onto the porch. Fifty servants scattered about Becket Hall and its outbuildings, at the least, and Jacko opened the door? Had Chance’s luck gone from bad to even worse? “Jacko,” he said, keeping his tone even if not cordial. “He’s got you butlering now in your declining years?”

Julia squinted, trying to see the man as her eyes became accustomed to the brightness of the light that outlined a tall, wide shape that stood in the doorway. She watched as two thick arms came away from the man’s sides before he jammed his hands onto his hips, the breadth of him now, elbows out, all but filling that doorway. Not loosely, sloppily fat, like Mr. Keen, the Hawkhurst baker, but just big and very, very solid. Stone-wall solid.

And with a voice that sent a chill down Julia’s spine. “Here now, look what the sea dragged up. No, no, never the sea. Can’t get your dainty city feet wet, can you? What’s the matter, boy? Running from creditors, are you? Or did you wink at the wrong woman? Thinking to hide here? Not under my skirts, you won’t.”

Julia could feel Chance tensing beside her. “Skirts? But it’s a man, isn’t it?”

Chance sniffed, shook his head. “It’s Jacko. And if he ever wanted to wear skirts, Miss Carruthers, I can assure you I’d be the last one trying for a peek beneath them. Come on or he’ll just pose there spouting nonsense to amuse himself and have us standing out here all night.”

“Oh, so that was in the way of friendly banter then?” Julia asked, knowing she’d heard nothing friendly in anything Jacko had said, no matter that he was dressed as a gentleman.

“Could it be anything else, Miss Carruthers?” Chance asked through clenched teeth, then shifted his blanket-wrapped daughter in his arms. “I’ve got Miss Alice here, Jacko, as Ainsley obviously didn’t get my letter, so you can either leave off your crowing and let us in or take a bow, then shut the door on our faces and we’ll be on our way.”

The man stepped forward, the light from the dying flambeaux on either side of the door at last revealing his face, showing his age to be somewhere older than Chance Becket and younger than Moses when he’d come tripping back down the mountain with those clay tablets in his arms. More than that, she really couldn’t tell.

Julia didn’t know whether to smile or run screaming for the safety of the coach. For this was a round, happy face. Even a jolly face, with eyebrows raised up high on its forehead, a large nose with a bulb at the end, a carelessly trimmed mustache and small beard surrounded by apple cheeks. His smile was wide and exposed huge white teeth that were all odd-sized and oddly spaced.

The eyes? The eyes showed amusement, even playfully twinkled. The skin around the eyes crinkled when he smiled. Oh, so jolly. Jacko would probably look jolly even as he was carving your beating heart right out of your chest.

“You’ve got the babe with you?” Jacko asked, his head coming forward on his thick neck, as if this part of him, at least, wanted a closer look. “God’s backside, you do! Well, get in here, boy. Don’t leave the child out in the damp. God gave you brains, didn’t he?”

Julia bit her lips between her teeth and waited for Chance to precede her into the large entrance hall, then followed after him, making sure she stood as far from Jacko as was possible without physically crawling beneath the long table pushed against a side wall.

Jacko kicked the door shut and turned to look at Alice, who had awakened at last and was already looking at him. “Hello, princess,” he said, his voice tender now, his delight obvious.

“Hello,” Alice responded sleepily. “I’m not a princess. You’re funny.”

It was true, Alice wasn’t afraid of strangers. But Julia didn’t trust that smile, that laugh. She knew a dangerous man when she saw one. Jacko was like a dog you met on the village street, seeming pleasant enough but just as likely to bite as to wag its tail.

“She’s very tired,” Julia said, stepping in front of Chance, as her concern for Alice outstripped her reluctance to draw this man’s attention to her. “We need to be shown a room where I can get her into bed. Thank you.”

Jacko cocked one eyebrow and looked past Julia, to Chance. “Not the wife. I remember the wife. Didn’t say two words to me, but I remember her. Who’s this?”

Chance held his temper as Alice slipped her thin arms up and around his neck. “Miss Carruthers is Alice’s nurse, Jacko. And my wife is dead these six months, as well you know. I’ve brought Alice to stay here, within the warm, loving bosom of my family. Now I’m taking Alice up to the nursery, as I know the way, and you can tell Ainsley I’m here. Or you can go to hell.”

Julia let out a half cough, half choke, then lifted her skirts to follow after Chance when he headed up the staircase, as being left in the hallway with Jacko wasn’t the most appealing thought she’d ever entertained.

She made it halfway across the hall before a large hand grabbed her at the elbow and pulled her to a quick halt.

“You don’t look like a nanny. Too pretty by half, and you look like one who really sees what’s around her. Why’s he here? Why’s he really here, pretty girl?” Jacko asked quietly, smiling down at her.

“If you have questions for Mr. Becket, you should direct them to him,” Julia said, wondering briefly if she might faint. “Please let go of my arm.”

“Leave off, Jacko. She’s good enough. Knows what she’s about, this one does.”

“Billy?” Julia asked, blinking, as the coachman rolled his wiry body into the hallway. What on earth? Servants didn’t come into the front of the house, most certainly not a coachman wearing all of his travel dirt and with mud still caked on his boots. And most definitely not any servant carrying a half-eaten drumstick.

Billy’s walk was suddenly more assured, the tone of his voice much more forceful, and Julia realized that this was the real Billy she was seeing now and not the awkward, scrambling little man who worked as Chance’s fairly cow-handed coachie—probably playing that role for her benefit, now that she considered the thing.

“Billy boy, there you are, ugly as ever.” Jacko let go of Julia’s arm. “You can go up now, miss. Third floor, then turn to your right and then your left and follow your pretty nose to the end.”

Julia didn’t move other than to rub at her arm where Jacko’s sausage-thick fingers had been. “You’re seamen. Both of you. I should have realized…I should have—”

She shut her mouth, remembered Billy’s description of her: Knows what she’s about, this one does.

And she did, didn’t she? She hadn’t lived in Hawkhurst on the edge of Romney Marsh for all of her life without coming to “know what she’s about.” Knowing what Billy and Jacko were and even what those three unlucky young boys had been “about.” Knowing that asking too many questions in Romney Marsh could mean she’d soon know too much for anyone to be comfortable.

But there was one question she had to ask. “Billy? Will you please tell me what you have done with the boys? Have you sent for the doctor? They’re harmless, Billy, just boys.”

“What’s she running her mouth about? What boys?”

“The lads will be fine, missy,” Billy said, ignoring Jacko’s question as he looked at Julia. “Excepting the dead one, of course. He’ll still be dead. Odette’s with the other one. If she can’t fix him, he’s good as fish bait anyway. No harm will come to them, rest your mind on that. Mr. Chance, he gave orders. You go on upstairs now, missy.”

Julia opened her mouth to ask something else—so many questions already half-formed in her mind!—but Jacko was looking at her again. “Thank you, Billy. Our…the baggage?”

“Already waiting on you, missy.”

“Thank you again,” Julia said as she clutched the small traveling bag to her and neatly sidestepped Jacko. She didn’t break into a run until she reached the third floor, barely remembering anything of her surroundings on the way up, except to think that Mr. Ainsley Becket, whatever and whoever he was, must possess amazingly deep pockets.

She had, however, found time to think up at least a half dozen pointed questions for Mr. Chance Becket!

Julia pushed wide the already opened door that led to the nursery—again, an almost ridiculously well-appointed room, larger than the entire vicarage in Hawkhurst—then followed the sound of voices into an adjoining room to her left. There she found Chance Becket and little Alice, Chance doing his best to pull the blue gown up and over his child’s head.

“Here, sir, I’ll do that,” Julia said, stripping off her pelisse and tossing it onto a nearby rocking chair that, goodness, had carved swans’ heads for arms. She opened Alice’s traveling bag and pulled out a night rail. “I imagine you’ll be wanted downstairs.”

“Do you really,” Chance said, stepping back to let Julia take over the chore of undressing a child so sleepy her arms and legs seemed boneless. “You took your sweet time, Miss Carruthers. I already know you’re a curious sort. Did you allow yourself a tour?”

Julia lowered the night rail over Alice’s head, tucked her arms into the sleeves, then kissed the child’s cheek as she worked to push back the coverlet and slip Alice’s legs between the sheets. “Someone knew we were coming, Mr. Becket,” she said as she stood up again. “Those are fresh sheets on Miss Alice’s bed. There are fires in the grates. And there are newly lit candles. We were expected.”

She watched as Chance ran a hand over his hair. He’d had a long two days, definitely a long evening tonight. He looked almost adorably rumpled, some of his hair having escaped the ribbon, and there was a hint of strain around his eyes. Obviously this was not a happy homecoming.

“True, Miss Carruthers. Jacko knew. He simply preferred to pretend he didn’t. I was expected last night, however, and when I didn’t arrive I may have disappointed someone. Jacko wanted me to be quite sure I understood that.”

Julia shook her head. “Well, I don’t understand. Why would you plan to leave your daughter here? You obviously detest the place and dislike your family, at the very least.”

Chance’s look was cool and level. “If we’re done here, Miss Carruthers?”

He knew what was coming even before he saw her lift that maddeningly expressive chin. How in the name of Hades had he been so stupid as to hire this confounding woman?

Ah, desperation. It had been out of desperation, of course. Once he’d sent the letter off to Ainsley, once he’d made up his mind that he had no logical recourse but to go back to Becket Hall with Alice, he’d had no choice but to stay with his plans, even when Mrs. Jenkins proved unacceptable.

Those were his reasons, along with the way Julia Carruthers had appealed to him physically. A welcome surprise to sweeten the large bite of crow he would swallow once he stood in the same room with Ainsley Becket.

Even now, when he knew Julia was about to say something totally unacceptable and clearly out of line with her duties, all he wanted was to undo that ridiculous bun that was once more half sliding off her head, to learn if her honey-blond hair felt warm and silky under his hand.

“I would speak to you in the nursery, sir,” Julia said, and he nodded, knowing the only way out of this bedchamber was via that nursery and that Julia Carruthers would probably physically tackle him if he attempted to leave without listening to her as she gave her opinion on whatever was sticking in her craw.

Mrs. Jenkins, nipping gin and all, would have made a safer choice. Any woman who had not been raised near the coast in Kent would have been a better choice. Someone oblivious, someone who would keep her nose in the nursery and her opinions to herself.

But he had picked Julia Carruthers. And this woman knew. But did she know enough to watch her tongue?

If he managed to stifle her now, it would be only a temporary victory—and perhaps a very costly one, as well. For Julia was certain to pick at him and pick at him until she’d said what she felt needed to be said—probably at the most inopportune time and in the most dangerous company.

Chance retrieved his greatcoat and hat and followed Julia as if he were a schoolboy summoned to the headmaster’s office. Once they were in the nursery, he stood with his back to a piebald hobby horse he could remember as Cassandra’s favorite and ruled his expression unreadable.

And, fool that he was, he’d hope that Julia had some budget of complaints about something other than what had been made so glaringly and disgustingly obvious to him. “Well?”

Julia’s heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear its every beat. She pointed in the general direction of the center of the house and said, “You know what’s going on here? This Jacko person? And Billy? I never thought that Billy…although I should have…I’ve seen many a man like him walking the streets of Hawkhurst. They’re seamen—at least, they were. And men who have been to sea very often feel a kinship for the smugglers. Georgie and his brothers did a very dangerous and stupid thing that could bring trouble raining down on everyone. What’s really going to happen to Johnnie and Dickie? Are they in danger here?”

Chance clenched his hands into fists. She was going to ruin everything.

He had to shut her up. Now.

“I believe I can see where that vivid imagination of yours is taking you. Yes, Billy and Jacko were once sailors, years ago, and came here to Romney Marsh when we left the islands. But Billy’s far too lazy and Jacko far too fat and happy here for either of them to care about anything but their own comfort. This is Becket Hall, not your childhood home in Hawkhurst. You’re exhausted, Julia, darling, and our adventure on the Marsh and your very natural fatigue have made you fanciful,” Chance said, still with his back to the door and as, with eye shiftings accompanied by jerks of his thumb, he directed her attention to that open door.

Darling? Julia took a step back. What on earth? Someone was out there? Someone was listening?

And then she shut her eyes, realizing the mistake she’d made, before opening them wide again, looking straight into Chance’s face. “That is…oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Those poor boys, come upon by robbers out there on the Marsh. A person who grows up in Hawkhurst hears stories of the old days, you understand, and I was so tired, tending to Alice all day—she’s a sweet child, but her own fatigue made her a little fractious, didn’t it? I’m so sorry…” She took a deep breath, let it out in a rush and pushed on, taking her cue from him. “Dearest Chance. I’m seeing bogeymen, aren’t I? That will teach me to allow my imagination to wander.”

“Yes, it will, won’t it,” Chance said, looking into Julia’s frightened eyes and marking the rather alarming lack of color in her cheeks. She might be pluck to the backbone at times, but she could also topple in a faint at any moment. “But Alice is asleep now and we’re alone. Just let me close this door so no one disturbs us. I haven’t kissed you in hours.”

Well, that brought the color back into her cheeks!

“But…but don’t you think you should seek out your father…that is, Mr. Ainsley Becket? Jacko must have told him you’ve arrived.”

“He can wait. They can all wait. I can’t,” Chance said in a near growl, walking over to the door to the hallway now that he’d given anyone who might have been listening time to hide out of sight. He stepped into the hallway himself, and it was empty, as he’d expected, then backed into the room and closed the door. Locked it.

“Was…was anyone out there?” Julia asked, whispering.

He could say no. But that wouldn’t put the fear of God into her, would it? Besides, he knew Jacko. Jacko may have the size of a bear, but he moved like a cat. He knew the man had been there listening. “Yes, I saw Jacko, the back of him, sneaking into a room down the hall.”

“Oh, good God in Heaven,” Julia said as she clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. “Do you think he heard me?”

Chance stepped closer. “I’m sure he did, but you didn’t say anything too dangerous. You’re concerned for the idiots we brought with us, that’s all. Ease your mind on that head at least, please. The boys and their family will be leaving the Marsh in the morning. I’m having them sent north, to my estate near Coventry, well clear of here. Now say whatever else it is you feel you must say and then we won’t discuss any of this again.”

Julia backed up two paces, because he was standing so close and she was suddenly very aware that he had earlier called her “darling.” She mined her brain for the list of questions she had for him and came up with the first that she recalled. “Why is Billy your coachman? He’s an atrocious coachman.”

Chance smiled. “I knew you’d have questions, but I hadn’t considered that one. But fair enough. Billy is my coachman because I choose that he be my coachman—and probably because he believes his life’s work is to protect me, from only God knows what.”

“He still walks as if he’s on a rolling deck,” Julia said, hoping to ease the tension that seemed to be increasing between them, a tension that had little to do with the questions in her head or the growing fear in her heart.

“He does that, doesn’t he?” Chance said, smiling. “Jacko was also a sailor, as you already guessed. Ainsley was a sailor. Most anyone you encounter here at Becket Hall might have gone to sea at some time. After all, we lived on an island. But that’s all it is, Julia. When we left the islands and came here, everyone gave up the sea. They gave up anything to do with the sea. Do you understand me?”

“You’re telling me that no one at Becket Hall is associated with the smugglers or even knows or cares about them. I understand.” She bit her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked at him, as everything seemed to fall into place for her, the pieces of the puzzle now all fitting together tightly, showing her a picture she’d rather not see. Did he think her a fool? “They know you are a part of the War Office.”

“Yes, they do,” Chance said, his expression going dark, unreadable. “And the war is on the continent, not here in Romney Marsh.”

Why did she keep pushing at him? But she had to know. “True enough. But the Owlers are here, and they trade with the enemy. Did you really bring Alice to Becket Hall because you believe she should be here or are you using your own daughter as an excuse to spy on the smugglers for the king?”

“One does not necessarily make the other true. I had only planned to bring Alice home. And, my dear, as it stands, I don’t have to justify my actions to you.”

“No, you don’t. But please don’t dismiss me as some foolish London society miss who has no notion of what can happen here. Do you know the history of the Hawkhurst Gang? You made mention of my birthplace, but I doubt you know all that I know. The worst of it happened a long time ago, but the stories still are told and retold in Hawkhurst.”

“I only know that some five or six men were hanged in chains for murdering a king’s officer, their bodies strung up along the roadway for all to see. But that was—what?—sixty years ago?”

Julia nodded her agreement. “They butchered one of their own at the same time, a man who was going to give the king’s testimony against the gang. The gang had grown too large, too powerful. Smuggling isn’t only a dangerous but necessary occupation for desperate people wishing to feed their families. Many people became very rich, both here and in London.”

“The government destroyed the Hawkhurst Gang, and many more like them. There are better patrols now, Julia, more troops assigned to capture smugglers. The Crown has the situation under control—or will very soon. The war and the shortages war causes have simply stirred things up for a while, that’s all.”

Julia wasn’t convinced and was far from satisfied with his reasoning. Hadn’t she only a fortnight ago drunk the last of the contraband tea left at the church just days after her father’s funeral? She had to make him understand.

“The Hawkhurst Gang thought nothing of murdering people who got in their way, people who saw too much, said too much. People like Dickie and Johnnie. People like us, who have stumbled over what they’d done. And from what Dickie said, it would seem there are more large gangs out there now who could be very much like the Hawkhurst Gang. This Black Ghost, for one.”

Chance felt a tic beginning in his left cheek. “You never heard that name, Julia. Never. Never so much as think it again. And I won’t keep you here if you’re going to worry yourself to death. I can send you back to London tomorrow morning, if that’s what you want.”