“Yes… I mean, you should address that question to my stepmother.” Olivia gestured to Phoebe, who had turned from her poet at her husband’s appearance.
“Lord Channing, is it?” Phoebe said with her ready smile. She glanced at Olivia and was immediately concerned. Olivia was paler than ever. “We don’t lead a very social life at Chale,” Phoebe said a little hesitantly.
“Oh, I won’t expect entertainment, madam,” Godfrey assured her. “I should be happy just to sit with you.”
Phoebe looked in some surprise at her husband, who offered a half shrug. “Well, of course we should be delighted to welcome you, sir,” she said politely.
“Until later. Lady Olivia, Lady Granville, my lord…” Godfrey bowed to the company in general and strolled off well satisfied with his first steps.
Brian. He reminded her of Brian. The room seemed to spin and Olivia put a hand to her throat.
“Cato, we should leave,” Phoebe said swiftly. “Olivia’s been up too long today.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll summon the carriage.”
“What is it?” Phoebe asked as her husband disappeared. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
It was as if she had, Olivia thought. Brian Morse was dead, killed by Lord Granville’s sword. Phoebe had seen it happen. Godfrey Channing couldn’t help that slight similarity. But anyone with eyes and a mouth like that had an evil in him.
Olivia drew a deep, steadying breath. It was ridiculous, fanciful to think like that. She would not have made such an association before her night with Anthony had released the long-buried nightmare. She must put it back again, otherwise the poison would seep into everything. It had wreaked sufficient damage already.
“The carriage is ready.” Cato reappeared. “Are you feeling any better, Olivia?”
“Yes, much better. It was just a moment of weakness,” Olivia said, taking his free arm.
“Why was Lord Channing so anxious to make our acquaintance?” Phoebe asked from Cato’s other side. “He’s not a suitor for Olivia’s hand, is he?”
“He may have some such plan in mind,” Cato said as they reached the carriage in the courtyard.
“No!” Olivia cried in alarm. “I don’t want any such suitor.” She turned to look up at her father as he handed her into the carriage, her dark eyes intense in the torchlight.
“Then you must simply tell him so,” Cato said calmly. “You’re at the age now, my dear, when suitors are going to come thick and fast. You must decide for yourself how to deal with them.”
“I’ll help you,” Phoebe said, laying a hand on Olivia’s arm. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“No, indeed not,” Cato agreed, mounting his horse to ride beside the carriage. “It’s natural enough that you should have suitors, Olivia.”
Olivia slumped back against the leather squabs. She was being irrational; of course she could dismiss Lord Channing’s suit, if indeed it was what he had in mind. But it certainly added another skein to an already impossibly tangled knot.
Chapter Nine
Brian Morse leaned back against the wall in his customary place in the inglenook of the Anchor’s taproom. He rubbed his thigh and as he moved his arm the thick scar beneath his ribs seemed to stretch and throb. The pain was always with him. The pain and the knowledge of defeat. It was there in the deep lines of his face, in his limp, in the constant dragging pain. No one had expected him to survive after Cato’s sword had brought him down, and he hadn’t wanted to during those months of agony. But somehow he had done so. After many months his body had somehow healed, not straight, not clean, but healed nevertheless.
He raised his tankard to his lips, glancing towards the door. He was expecting Godfrey Channing with a progress report. Channing married to Olivia was a pleasing prospect. A man with a vast ambition and no morality whatsover. Thus a very dangerous man. A man clever enough to conceal his true colors to achieve his purpose. But he would show them eventually. When it was too late for the Granvilles to do anything about it. And then, oh, then, Olivia would pay the price and Cato Granville’s pride and arrogance would turn to dust. It was a wonderfully subtle revenge.
The door opened and Godfrey came in. He’d changed his earlier puce and scarlet finery for riding dress and had the air of a man well satisfied with himself. He spotted Brian immediately through the blue smoke of half a dozen clay pipes and strode across to him through the clotted sawdust on the floor.
Brian indicated the pitcher of ale on the table in front of him, and with a nod of thanks Godfrey raised the jug to his lips and drank deeply.
“The evening went according to plan?” Brian inquired over the rim of his tankard.
“I believe so.” Godfrey set down the pitcher and sat on a stool. “Granville was interested in what I had to say and wants me to spy on the king.”
Brian nodded. “I’ll give you bits and pieces of information about the progress of the Royalist uprisings and the Scots march that you can pass on to the king in some secret fashion. Then you simply tell Granville what the king knows. He’ll think he’s finding you very useful. And if you’re useful to Granville, he’ll welcome you into the bosom of his family with open arms.” His mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. “And what of my little rabbit?”
“Little rabbit?” Godfrey looked puzzled.
“Olivia, my little sister. It was a pet name I had for her when she was a child. Such an endearing little rabbit she was. Particularly when she ran.” The smile flickered again.
“I think she’s rather appealing,” Godfrey said. “I won’t have to keep my eyes closed in bed.” He gave a coarse laugh and drank from the pitcher again.
“I haven’t seen her for several years,” Brian mused. “She must be all grown up now. Does she still stammer?”
“I didn’t notice. She didn’t say very much. But my interest in her mouth has little to do with what might come out of it.” He laughed again.
“You’d better not let her know that. I told you, she has a brain.”
“Oh, she’ll soon learn there are other things more important than books,” Godfrey said carelessly. “I’ll keep her far too busy to bother her head with such nonsense.” He drank from the pitcher again and glanced at the watch in the shape of a skull that hung from his belt. “Well, I’d best be on my way. I’ve an appointment at midnight.”
“Your customer?”
“Aye.” Godfrey looked a little startled. “What d’you know of him?”
Brian shook his head. “Nothing. I merely overheard your conversation about a potential customer for your culling with George here… just before you and I began our association. And an appointment at midnight…” He shrugged.
Godfrey remembered. “Aye, well, you’re right. And once we’ve struck this deal, I’ll be a lot plumper in the pocket.”
“Come to my lodgings in Ventnor in two days’ time. I’ll have some more information for you.” Brian leaned back against the wall again, half closing his eyes.
“I’ll be visiting the lady Olivia tomorrow,” Godfrey said over his shoulder as he turned to the door.
“Ah, yes, my learned little rabbit.” Brian smiled to himself. “You’d better do some scholarly reading first. Just so that you have something to talk about.”
Godfrey grimaced as he left, but he was willing to listen to a man who was so clearly intimate with the habits and predispositions of the Granvilles.
Precisely at midnight, Anthony descended the narrow cliff path to Puckaster Cove for his rendezvous with Godfrey Channing. Gone were the elegant bronze silk, the lace ruffles, the black pearl, the onyx signet ring. He was dressed once more in the fisherman’s garb, a limp mustache framing artistically blackened teeth, his face painted as before. The knit cap was pulled down low over his forehead. The sword at his hip was the pirate’s plain, serviceable blade.