rest until he’d found her again, ma’am, no matter how far he must journey. Sure but he’d come through Seabrook, wouldn’t he? But we’ve not had a word of a sorrowful gentleman searching for his lover here, else I or me mother would’ve heard of it.”
“But perhaps he went north, toward Boston instead,” said Jerusa more wistfully than she knew. “Perhaps he didn’t come south at all.”
“Now I ask you, ma’am, what sort of villain would take a lady to Boston?” scoffed the girl. “Nay, he’d be bringing her south, toward the wickedness to be found in the lower colonies, and that bridegroom should’ve been after him hot as a hound after a hare. False-hearted he’d be otherwise, wouldn’t he?”
Sadly Jerusa wondered why she was the only one who had any faith in Tom Carberry. Like the Faulks before her, this girl echoed Michel’s sentiments regarding Tom, sharing suspicions that, unhappily, Jerusa had been driven to consider herself.
“But what of the poor lady’s family?” she persisted. “Surely you’ve heard news of them? Handbills, or a reward offered for her safekeeping?”
“Nary a word nor a scrap, ma’am,” declared the girl soundly. “Pretty as it may be, Mrs. Geary, I fear I warrant your tale false.”
Heartsick, Jerusa wondered what she’d done to make her family abandon her like this. She thought again of the father who’d loved her so well, and of her brothers, Jon, Nick and Josh. Especially Josh. Sweet Almighty, surely Josh wouldn’t have given up on her like this?
Unless Michel had sent some sort of message to them, full of lies to make them doubt. Maybe he’d told them she was already dead and beyond their help. Could he be planning to avenge his father’s death by taking her life, lulling her into an ill-founded sense of trust and dependence until he decided the perfect moment to kill her? The pistol from the saddlebag that she’d held in her hand might be the very one he meant to use on her.
“If there’s no other way to oblige you, Mrs. Geary, I must be back downstairs to me mother,” said the girl with another stiff little curtsy. “Call for me, now, ma’am, if there’s aught I can fetch for you.”
“Wait!”
The girl turned, her brows raised at Jerusa’s urgency. “Ma’am?”
“Another word, I beg of you, before you leave.” Jerusa worked to control the shaking of her voice. “Did Mr. Geary say anything else of me to you or your mother?”
The girl studied her curiously. “Nay, ma’am, naught beyond what I’ve told you already. That you were to wait to take your supper for him, and that you were to have whatever else you wished brought to you. Like the bath, ma’am.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nay, ma’am, but what would he say to us? Sure the man loves you dear and wishes you happy in all things. You’ve but to see his eyes when he watches you to know that.”
Jerusa bit back her retort. It was hardly the girl’s fault if she’d swallowed Michel’s lies. Hadn’t she been taken in by them herself?
Abruptly she stood. “I believe I shall take a short walk before my husband returns.”
“But, ma’am, you’ve hardly touched your tea!”
“I’ll take it later.” She had no money and no sense of where to go in the little town, but the idea of remaining in the room alone, waiting for Michel, was now intolerable. “If Mr. Geary should return before I do, you may tell him I shall see him at supper.”
Still fearing that the Cartwrights might stop her at Michel’s orders, she hurried past the serving girl and down the stairs, her skirts fluttering around her. The door to the yard was propped open, and as she rushed through it, nearly running, she felt the same wild exhilaration that she had when she’d escaped from Michel that first day, from the barn. But this time would be different, for this time she would succeed.
She walked swiftly down the street, pausing at the corner to get her bearings. Though Seabrook was new to her, the plan of its streets was similar to every other New England town that had grown around a harbor, with every street either parallel or perpendicular to the waterfront. Toward the east she’d seen the tops of masts and furled sails from her window in the inn, and she headed toward them now.
Ships were familiar to her, a welcome reminder of home, and though she briefly considered looking for the town’s constable, she believed she’d be more likely to convince a seaman than some puffed-up townsman that she was a Sparhawk. Seabrook wasn’t that far from Newport. Surely somewhere in this little port she’d find one sailor who knew her father, one man who’d see the family resemblance in her face and believe she was who she claimed.
But just as every street in a seaport led to the waterfront, every waterfront also tended to be the least reputable section of town, and Seabrook was no exception. Though much smaller than Newport, Seabrook had its handful of block-front warehouses and countinghouses, chandleries and outfitters, as well as taverns, rum shops and rooming houses to suit every sailor’s taste and purse.
With the summer afternoon nearly done, workers from the docks and shipyard and a smattering of fishermen were beginning to trudge through the narrow streets to their homes and families. Others stayed behind to meet friends in the rum shops and bring their filled tankards to the well-worn benches outside in the fading sun.
Steadfastly Jerusa walked past them with her head high, ignoring their comments as best she could. Men had always admired her—she couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t—but this kind of crude, leering invitation called after her was new. Her cheeks flaming and her heart beating faster, she wished she had at least a wide-brimmed bonnet to hide within, or, better yet, a cloak that covered her clear to her feet, and longingly she thought of the gun she’d left in Michel’s saddlebag. Perhaps she should have brought it, after all. They wouldn’t have dared shout at her if she’d been carrying that.
At last she reached the water itself, the wide, shining mouth of the Connecticut River, where it emptied into the sea. But unlike Newport, there were only three stubby wharves jutting out into the water instead of a dozen, and only four vessels of any size tied to them. She hesitated, her grand plan disintegrating in the face of reality. How was she to know which of these sloops and schooners might harbor a friendly captain who could help her? Perhaps it wasn’t too late to find the constable, after all.
“Do ye be lost now, lassie?” asked a man behind her, and before Jerusa could reply, he’d seized her arm in his hand. “Lookin’ for a man t’give ye proper guidance?”
“I’m not your lassie, and I’m not looking for any sort of guidance that you could offer.” Jerusa wrenched her arm free, rubbing it where his fingers had dug into her skin, and glared at the man. Dressed in dirty canvas breeches and a striped shirt with a checkered waistcoat, he was young, her age or close to it, with a ruddy face that nearly matched his dark red hair and beard. “And whatever would give you the idea that I’m lost?”
The man grinned suggestively in return. “On account o’ ye wanderin’ about like a lamb without her mama, that’s why. Or whyever.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Oh, I’ve no mind to be ridiculous,” he said, his grin widening. “Ye don’t have no bonnet, nor bucket, nor basket, an’ ye be dressed fine as for th’ Sabbath. Finer, maybe.”
Mentally
