A Gentleman By Any Other Name

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“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.”

Julia shook her head, feeling suddenly stubborn. “Not unless Alice travels with me.”

Chance cursed under his breath as he stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Do you honestly think I would let Alice come to any harm? This is my family, Julia. It may not seem so to you so far, but they would kill for me, and I would kill for them. Any one of them. And I would never harm them. Never. Jacko and Billy? I consider them family, as well. Everyone at Becket Hall is family. No matter how stupidly they—”

Julia watched as Chance brought himself back under control. She longed to ask the real question: did he think members of his own family had joined the smugglers? Because she’d certainly gotten that impression through his few terse comments to her in the coach after they’d found the boys.

And yet, was that so terrible? Her own father allowed contraband to be stored in his church before the smugglers could move it inland. Everyone in Romney Marsh and other coastal areas, in some way, large or small, was involved with the smugglers, knew some of the smugglers, benefited from the goods that were left as payment for the use of an outbuilding or the loan of a horse. Her best gown, the yellow silk, had been fashioned from a bolt of cloth left for her at the vicarage one night.