Raven's Shadow (Book 2, the Ravenstone Chronicles) Read online

  “Don’t worry, Peter,” she said. “I will take care of everything that is required.”

  “That is what worries me,” he said and gave the reins a good slap.

  ***

  Morris took his role to heart. He suggested they buy a thirty-five-foot lugger that was made in the village. Its sailing properties would be ideal for their purposes, and would require a four-man crew. With Morris and Neville and two others as yet to be established as the boat crew, they were short on hands to transport the cargo quickly into hiding, and then from there, on to their buyers. Peter had to make another trip to London. It would take him two weeks to ride there, find the new crewmembers and return with them. She gave him money for their transport.

  While he was gone, she had Morris take the rest out on the boat and teach them how to work the sails, how to steer the boat, and where north was to be found. She wanted to make sure that they all knew the basics in case someone was hurt or killed.

  She went out for her usual morning ride, but with her breeches on under her dress. She met the boys at Logan Bay, a small, secluded inlet two miles south of Ravenstone and the village. There, she left Bella to graze the green slopes, and behind some trees, she changed her clothes and left them in a bag tied to the saddle. She ran down the beach, jumped into the waves and swam to the boat that waited off shore. The boys pulled her up. She knew Peter never would have allowed her the day’s indulgence but she was not going to be left behind because she was female.

  During the training, it was revealed that Haskell suffered from terrible seasickness, and Fleming had a mortal superstition that he would die at sea. It so paralyzed him that she finally allowed him to retreat to the beach with Haskell.

  That left Jack and Eye and Harry. Jack learned quickly and seemed completely at ease on the choppy sea waves, while Harry clung to the mast most of the time. Eye seemed less fearful, but was distracted by the ocean and birds and often paused to watch the flight of a sea gull.

  The lugger had a fore-and-aft rigged sail, and did not depend on having the wind from behind to move forward like the bigger sailing ships. Morris explained that the vessel could move into the wind by sailing across and slightly upwind, and then turning and heading in the other direction, and so progressing always slightly upwind. This she knew would be a great advantage, when having dropped its cargo, the boat could simply sail away again without waiting for a change in wind or tide. Now she understood why Morris had chosen the lugger. Well done, she thought.

  The mast was positioned close to the bow and the sail hung from a wooden spar, which was pulled up to the top of the mast with a rope called a halyard. The sail then lay for the most part for or aft of the mast. There was a second lugsail in front of the main mast hoisted on the second and smaller mast and it was both these sails they had to learn how to hoist up and down in a strong breeze.

  First, Morris taught them how to lower the sails, to unhook them from the traveler, and then hook on the burton, which they swung over aft and then forward onto the other side of the mast. Then they had to learn to re-hook the sail and hoist it up again into the weather side, which she learned meant the direction from which the wind came. It was backbreaking work, and Morris was most particular about the set of his sails.

  Toward the end of the day, she insisted on swimming lessons and was surprised that Morris was the worst swimmer of all.

  “Don’t all sailors have to learn how to swim?” she asked, after having saved him for the second time from a dose of fatal panic.

  “No, miss,” he coughed and crawled further up the beach to rest.

  “But what happens if a boat sinks?” she said.

  “They drown, miss.”

  What stupidity, she thought, training good sailors for years to perfect their skills, then allowing them to drown for want of swimming lessons. How the British maintained their supremacy on the high seas, she was not sure.

  Haskell and Fleming had built a fire up on the beach, and the rest of the crew were already warming themselves and drying their clothes. They would leave the boat moored in the bay for the night, and continue tomorrow. She retrieved from her saddle the food and drink she had smuggled out of the kitchen without Cook seeing. She had also brought blankets. Tonight the boys would stay on the beach by the bay. Tomorrow they would try finding caves up in the cliffs where they could stow contraband until they could move it out.

  She followed the flight of a large bird as its shadow crossed her path across the sand. It flew up the cliffs and over an old stone cottage that lay in ruins, its roof caved in from a fire. The bay was just inside the most southern end of Ravenstone property and she wondered if the cottage was too. She would have to consult the property boundaries.

  She left the boys eating their dinner hungrily and changed into her dress again. Then, with Harry riding behind her, she pointed Bella back to Ravenstone.

  ***

  Peter was gone more than two weeks this time and her concern turned to curiosity when Harry assured her he was fine. Harry knew another reason for his continued absence apparently, but would not share it with her. She knew that he had been saving his money, but not why. The boat had cost a hundred and twenty pounds and Peter had given her half of it. She had not asked for the money, but neither had she refused it.

  She wondered now why else he was saving his money. Maybe he was giving it to someone. She had never asked him about the details of his life and he had never volunteered the information. It seemed to be an understanding between them.

  During the weeks of his absence, she continued to learn sailing with the boys. In turn, she made sure they could all swim to shore without assistance. Then one day before she had a chance to ride out, a carriage arrived at Ravenstone with a Miss Grace Claremont, Edward’s cousin.

  “How good it was of you to invite me to stay at Ravenstone,” she said in the drawing room.

  “Not at all,” Georgiana said, thankful she felt immediate warmth toward the woman. “I have need of some adult company and you are most welcome. Please consider Ravenstone your new home.”

  “You are too kind.”

  Georgina smiled and studied her new friend, for she hoped they would be friends. They would spend long hours in each other’s company, she knew, and she was determined to like the woman.

  Grace Claremont was in her forties, Georgiana guessed. She wore a grey dress that was worn at the elbows and she wore no gloves. Her hands looked like that of a servant’s and Georgiana guessed that it had been her role in her previous home.

  Miss Claremont was a plain woman of no real beauty until she smiled which she had only done once and only briefly. She was thin, with no bosom, and was painfully shy, her eyes constantly on the floor. She wore a cap on her head, as was the custom of older women.

  She seemed unaffected and easy of manner as she spoke of her former life in a tone in which all were agreeable. She spoke only of the good in people’s character. She mentioned no follies or unkindnesses committed by others.

  “I shall be no trouble,” she said now, as if concerned that Georgiana might consider her exactly that, and change her mind.

  “I am sure you shall not, and it had not entered my mind,” she said, trying to reassure her. “I do not want you to be concerned that I will change my mind for I shall not.”

  Again, there was a brief smile.

  “I wish to be of use to you. You can put me to work.”

  “What kind of work did you have in mind?”

  “I can clean and cook.”

  “Cook, you say,” Georgiana smiled. “That interests me greatly, for our cook is indeed a disgrace to her profession.”

  “You have not dismissed her?”

  “No and I don’t really intend to, but perhaps you could teach her that food can be appetizing.”

  “I shall endeavor to do just that,” she said, suddenly looking much happier, her pale complexion improving. “I have my recipe books with me.”

  “Cook may not take to the new arrange
ment, but ignore her arguments and be firm.” Georgiana thought suddenly she sounded like her own mother. “If she does not like the situation, she may leave our employ of her own free will.”

  “Is there anything else you can think of that could use my attention?”

  Georgiana thought for a moment, and then said, “I suppose the library needs to be catalogued for I have neglected it for far too long.”

  “I shall begin right away,” Grace said.

  “Thank you,” Georgiana smiled. “It is such a relief to have you here already.”

  ***

  When Peter finally returned from London, he brought with him four more boys from the streets. She studied the group from under her cap, wondering if her strong healthy boys had all looked this dirty and beaten down when they had arrived from the city.

  Perhaps life was getting worse there. The smallest one was so thin he would fall down under the weight of a tub of rum, she was sure. She looked at Peter, wondering if he had brought the four best he could find, or the four that he knew most needed to leave the streets lest they perish. It was something Peter would do, she was starting to realize. He refused to meet her gaze.

  “What’s your name?” she asked the boy.

  “It’d be ’arold.”

  “Harold, you have any skills at sea?”

  He shook his head at her. “I did as pick my share of Oakum.”

  At her puzzled expression Peter said, “It’s a tarred fiber used for calking ships to make them watertight. It’s reused and picking it falls mostly to children from workhouses.”

  “I see,” she said. What she really saw was that Peter was not as hardened as he pretended to be.

  “He will do just fine, once we feed him up,” Peter said, reading her hesitation correctly.

  Harold seemed to like this idea quite well, for his eyes fell immediately to the piece of bread in her hand. She gave it to him, and he devoured it easily.

  After a long day of sailing, the lugger lay in the bay at rest. The crew sat in a circle around the fire on the beach and made room for the new boys. Harold was ten, he said, at least he thought so as best he could figure, never having known his parents. Alfred was a boy of fourteen who refused to look her in the eye. Carter Simmons was in need of a place to hide, having escaped a prison ship, and McNally just wanted some work. Apart from Harold, they all looked to be around fifteen or so. She handed them some bread and watched them eat. She was also aware of a figure that hid further up the beach behind the remains of an old boat.

  “Who is your shadow?” she asked Peter.

  “A girl,” he said, and glanced toward the shadow in question. “She followed us from London. I thought sure we would lose her. Tried hard enough but she sticks like the pox.”

  “You know her?”

  “Knew her once,” he said shrugging. “Her name is Amy. Used to be the girl of a friend of mine who was killed by a copper.”

  “Why is she here?”

  “Cause I told her no.”

  Georgiana gave him a confused look.

  “You tell Amy no, she will want to do the thing you told her no to.”

  “And what did you tell her no to?”

  “Told her she couldn’t come with us.”

  “I see,” Georgiana said. “Why couldn’t she come?”

  Peter gave her a strange look, and then said slowly, “Because she’s a girl.”

  Georgiana sighed in despair, and looked at the other faces in the circle, both new and old and asked, “Why would it be so terrible to work with a girl?”

  “There will be no girl on my boat,” Morris said quickly. “It’s bad luck.”

  Georgiana could feel her anger burning through her veins, and wanted to remind them they were all there because of her, a ‘girl.’ Peter pulled her arm and made her walk out of the light of the fire.

  “No,” he said to her out of earshot from the others.

  “But I’m female,” she said. “They accept me.”

  “They have to,” he said. “You are not their equal.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  He looked at her a moment then said, “You are forbidden them.”

  “Forbidden,” she said confused.

  “Yes, forbidden, damn it,” he said angrily. “You may call us boys and you may see us as just that but we’ve not been boys for a long time, if ever. They are men and you put a woman in with them and there will be trouble. Most of those boys have had knowledge of girls since they were probably ten years old. Amy is no more a girl than they are boys.”

  She stood in the sand trying to not be annoyed. She also tried to see a way past what he was saying, but knew there was not one. She looked toward where Amy huddled in the dark next to the boat. She was so far outside the warmth of the fire.

  “I’ll take her up to the house then,” she said.

  “She’s a thief and a liar and will fight at the smallest insult.”

  Georgiana swallowed hard and raising her chin higher said, “I don’t have a choice. I’m not sending her back to London.”

  “You can’t help everyone,” he said.

  She smiled at that. “You are the one who brought Harold.”

  “That’s different,” he said.

  “Is it?” she said, crossing her arms.

  “I trust him like I trust the others,” he said. “I wouldn’t turn my back on that girl if I was you.”

  He returned to the group, and she let him go. She changed back into her dress, taking her wet clothes from the day’s swim, and stuffed them into her saddlebag. Once she was again the lady of the manor, she mounted Bella and rode sidesaddle into the clearing. She considered Peter’s words and decided that Amy would have to get to know Lady Fairchild first. She knew the boys would not give her up, just as she knew Amy would discover her secret eventually. But for now, until she knew Amy better, she would try to keep her secret.

  She rode back to the house with Amy behind her, clinging to her in fear of both the horse, and falling down. She handed her over to Harriet for washing and feeding, while she retired to her room exhausted, as she had been almost every day for the last week. The staff did not ask her where she went every day. It was not their place to do so, even though she knew they gossiped about the possibility that she had taken a lover.

  On the ride back, she had talked to Amy, telling her that if she told the staff anything about the boys she would be sent back to London immediately. The first test would be either won or lost by the morning, she knew, and it was up to Amy to prove herself.

  After Georgiana had eaten and climbed between the sheets of her bed, Rupert and James arrived and crawled into the bed with her. She had taken to reading to them in her room this last week, too tired to sit in the kitchen with them. Mud turned his usual circles in front of the fire before lowering himself on the rug, and with a sigh settled down for the story. She read without paying much attention to the words, her mind wandering. Luckily, the boys did not much pay attention either and soon fell asleep.

  She did not realize she had fallen asleep herself, until she woke to a low growl. She opened her eyes to see Mud standing in front of the fire, ready to leap on the stranger who crouched in the windowsill. She called to him softly, not waking the boys, and he came to the side of the bed, not entirely happy to give up his ground. Nicholas moved into the room and closed the window behind him, then stood at the foot of the bed.

  “Had I known, madam,” he said softly, “that you were already sharing your bed with not one but two disreputable fellows I would not have shown my face.”

  She put her finger to her mouth then gestured for him to pick up Rupert. With James cradled in her arms, she first looked down the hallway then walked carefully to the boys’ room. She put James down on his bed, and pulled the covers over him, then waited by the door for Nicholas. Mud went to lie down on his blanket in the corner, his eyes still following Nicholas as he left the room. She closed the door, then took Nicholas by the hand and led him
back to where they had come.

  He kissed her as soon as they were in her room, leading her toward the bed. He discarded her nightgown easily, and she helped him pull his shirt over his head, covering his bare chest with kisses as she went. Then they were naked and he pushed into her, and she wanted to call out at the joy of it, but he caught her cry with his mouth. She moved with him, remembering suddenly the hunger she felt for this man, and wondering how she had ever thought she could forget what it felt like to be with him.

  She arched up to meet his every thrust, wanting to give into the frenzy, but also wanting the pleasure to last. She pushed him hard over to the side, and straddled him, taking him by surprise with the sudden move. She pinned his arms above his head. She knew that did he want to he could easily regain the upper hand, but he only kissed her, allowing her to manipulate him.

  She drew back from his kiss and arched up above him, finding her own rhythm, and watching him. He reached up to touch her breasts, filling each hand with her fullness, and she placed her hands over his, wanting his touch firmer. He pinched her nipples and she smiled, lowering her lips to his, and kissed him. It was a deep hungry kiss and taking his lower lip between her teeth, she bit him, drawing blood.

  “Did you miss me, Georgiana,” he whispered.

  “No,” she lied, trailing her lips down his neck before arching up over him again, caressing her own breasts and teasing him.

  The move seemed to enflame him, and he thrust up hard into her, placing his hands on her hips to hold her for himself. She put one hand on his chest to help steady herself as he moved harder into her, until suddenly she felt inside herself the release she had been looking for, and arched back in triumph.

  She let him roll her on to her back, and she wrapped herself around him as he sought his own end. He kissed her hard, his lips searching, then pushed up onto his hands and pushed into her hard, his eyes intent on hers as he came, his face tight with pleasure.

  Later he lay still, his eyes on the ceiling as she lay next to him, her head cradled in her hand as she traced a finger over his naked chest. He was a beautiful man clothed, but undressed, his body was sculpted in a firm beauty, skin over muscle. How different their bodies were in line and texture. She lay her head on his chest, listening to the beats of his heart slowing, and wondered if her heart beat at the same rate as his. He put a hand on her head, and she looked up at him, and he pulled her closer, kissing her. He moved the loose wet strands of hair back from her face with his hand, studying her, and she wondered what he was thinking.