Page 27 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Chapter 10

Lost Treasure.

The Crow’s Nest, Little Valentine, 24th January 1816

Angelica looked down at her grandfather as he slept. He was so much frailer than he had been, and the knowledge that she would soon lose him tore at her heart.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft ticking of an ugly ormolu clock that he had liberated from some Spanish ship back in his heyday.

When she had been away at finishing school, her memory of him had reverted to the image she had carried from childhood. An old man, yes, but one that was still vibrant and strong, who could swing her up onto his shoulders and make her giggle and squeal until her stomach hurt. His wicked dark eyes, the image of her own, would flash with laughter, delighting in her when she told him of some scrape she’d got herself into, or of the dreadful thing she’d said, forgetting she was supposed to be a lady like her mama.

Pirate blood, that’s what he said. His blood ran in her veins, unlike her milk-and-water mother who had no backbone whatsoever. Certainly, she was not like her feckless father, who was not half so clever as he thought he was. Not that she didn’t love her parents. Her mama was sweet and kind to her, and her father was disinterested enough not to trouble her. But her pops understood her. He understood how difficult she found it to fit in with girls who appeared to be just like her and yet seemed to speak an entirely different language. No matter how well she learned their words, she never seemed to comprehend their meaning.

She wondered what they would say if they knew her grandfather was the infamous Black Jack Baxter? That, at least, made her smile.

Getting to her feet, Angel straightened the blankets on the bed, tucking them in carefully.

“Angel?”

His voice was quiet and scratchy, and she returned to her seat beside the bed, taking his hand.

“It’s all right, Pops. You sleep.”

He made a gruff sound. “I sleep too much. I want to talk to you.”

“I’ll come back in the morning. It’s late.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly, but he got that stubborn set to his jaw that she recognised far too well. Angel sighed and gave a soft laugh. “Go on, then. If you’re going to get all tetchy and sulk.”

“I never sulk, I get even,” he said, and for a moment she saw the man he had always been glinting in his eyes.

She snorted. “All right, you dreadful creature. What is it?”

He struggled to sit up, and she helped him, her heart breaking a little as she discovered how much thinner he was. She took a long while plumping his pillows and setting all to rights so he would not see the misery in her expression. Any show of sorrow or pity would infuriate him.

Finally, she gathered her courage enough to sit down again. He gazed at her for a long moment. “I was dreaming.”

Angel’s eyebrows lifted. “Should I be hearing this? If it’s about your sweetheart, it might be too rich for my blood. Jenny Preston, wasn’t it?”

He grinned then, swift and devilish, tombstone teeth on display. “Aye, my beautiful Jenny. That’s right.”

“With the sparkling blue eyes,” Angel finished, having heard of his one true love many times before.

“Eye.”

Angel frowned. “Pardon me?”

“Eye, not eyes. Only one eye.”

Angel regarded him sceptically. She had heard many stories about the beautiful ladies who had thronged her grandfather’s life. Not that he ever went into details, but she knew enough to believe he’d cut a swathe through the female population in his day. “Your one true love had only one eye?”

He nodded, a sudden burst of energy brightening his gaze.

“If I tell you a secret, you’ll swear upon your honour to keep it and tell no one, certainly not your parents?”

Angel studied him, suddenly concerned he was getting himself riled up. It couldn’t be good for him. “Of course, Pops, you know I will, but perhaps we should talk tomorrow when—”

“No! Now, damn you.” He brought his fist down on the mattress with surprising vigour. “Don’t try to manage me like your spineless mother does! Not you. I won’t have it. You’ll swear, and you’ll do it properly or I’ll take the secret to hell and tell it to the devil. I’ll be seeing him soon enough.”

Angel swallowed hard, wanting to rage that he should not speak so, because he wouldn’t die, not for years and years. But it was a frightened child’s response, one that refused to see what was right before her. So, she steeled her spine when she wanted to weep, knowing her tears would only anger him further. Instead, she got to her feet and walked to the chest at the foot of his bed. He kept his treasures here, though not the valuable ones. Apart from a few mementos, like the hideous clock, he’d sold all else years ago to give his daughter the chance of respectability. He’d hidden himself and paid for her to have every advantage money could buy, except the good sense to choose a decent husband. But in the chest were the things that were most precious to him, including a small but exquisitely crafted dagger. The blade was still razor sharp, and Angel handled it reverently.