Page 28 of A Taste of Miss Honey

It was not the first time they had performed this ritual, one that was more binding to Jack than any notion of honour or legal document.

Sitting back beside him, Angel stared at the blade. Holding it always gave her an odd sensation, as if it remembered the things it had done, as if the memories lingered, vibrating against her fingers. It was neither fancy nor ornate, which somehow increased the sense of menace it gave her whenever she saw it. Light danced along the narrow blade, its surface marked by faint scars no amount of polishing could erase. The hilt was horn, worn smooth with wear, a laughing silver skull the only embellishment. Her pulse quickened as she pressed the blade against the soft skin of her thumb, drawing blood. She made no sound, for Jack did not approve of whimpering and whining. He lifted his hand to her, and Angel took it, holding it steady now he had not the strength to do so. He did not so much as blink as she cut his thumb too and pressed her own against it.

She met his eyes, her voice solemn. “I swear upon our blood that I shall keep your secret, that I will never tell my parents.”

“And you’ll never share with them what I give you either,” he told her, his expression intent. “Your worthless pa has pissed my fortune up the wall. But this… this is for you alone, Angel. Child of my heart. I see myself in your eyes. I know my blood runs in your veins. You’re the only one worthy of it, lass, and what is left of my treasure. It is my gift to you, and you alone.”

Angel stared at him, wondering what on earth this had to do with Jenny Preston. Amusement lit his eyes as she let go of his hand and he settled it on the bed.

“You’ve always wanted an adventure, have you not?”

She smiled at the knowing look he gave her. “Well, I wasn’t planning on taking to the high seas and pillaging my way around the world, but yes. I suppose I have.”

Satisfied, he gave a taut nod. “Then I’ll give you what you seek. Find Jenny Preston, Angel, and you’ll find the last of my fortune. I always meant for it to be yours, but now I see I can’t trust your parents to give it to you and my strength is gone. I’m too old to fetch it for you, or I would, but you’ll do the job, my girl.”

The lamp flickered on the nightstand, casting his gaunt features with a harsh light that made him look like something risen from the dead, ready to take her with him to the underworld. On the mantelpiece, the hideous clock chimed the hour, a flurry of tinkling sounds, pretty and silly and totally incongruous.

“You left your fortune with Jenny?” Angel’s voice was incredulous. Her cynical Pops, who trusted no one, had left something of such value with a woman? “But I thought she was dead? Pops, I’m sorry, but the chances of her still having it—”

“Think me a fool, do you, pet?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.

Angel swallowed. No, she would never believe that. “Forgive me.”

He snorted, sitting back against the pillows. “As if you think I wouldn’t. Now, listen. My Jenny was hanged in 1781.”

Angel started, gazing at him in astonishment. Reluctantly her hand crept to her throat. “What for?”

Jack grinned. “Highway robbery. She was on the high toby, my lass, and a fine sight she was with a pistol in her hand. It’s how we met, for she tried to relieve me of my baubles, and I was a bit more than she bargained for.”

Angel laughed softly, not finding it hard to imagine the scene.

“Well, now I’ve got your attention.” He regarded her with satisfaction, his gnarled fingers plucking restlessly at the bedcovers. “Well, you listen good, my pretty little bird. When I’m gone, you’ll fly away from home, and you’ll find where Jenny lies, and there you’ll find my treasure.”

“But how?” Angel protested.

Jack sighed, apparently content now as he closed his eyes. “You’ll figure it out. She came from Edenbridge, though. I’d start there.”

Angel gazed at him in consternation. “That’s it?”

“What do you want, a map with an X on?” he said, his lip curling.

“Well, yes, that would be nice.” Angel glared at him, which was most unsatisfying when he had his eyes shut.

“Stop bleating. You’ll have a ball, and it’s not like I haven’t given you clues enough. You’ll find my lovely Jenny and my treasure too. Be sure to take her flowers. She always liked roses.” He gave a heavy sigh, seeming to diminish before her eyes. “I was sorry when I found she was dead. She’d been gone near a year before I came back to dry land and discovered it. Still, reckon I’ll be seeing her soon. Ah, what revels we’ll have then. Me, Jenny, and Old Nick himself.”

He chuckled softly, his breathing becoming slower and deeper as he sank into sleep.

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, 25th January 1816

Izzy roused herself from bed with difficulty. Not that she’d been asleep. Her room was icy, for Polly had been busy last night and she had meant to make up the fire herself, but had forgotten. Throwing herself down on the bed and weeping had been the only thing on her mind, and now, as she shivered in the freezing dark, she cursed Boreas for that too. Her mind had been tangled up with everything he had made her feel. For a short while she had felt safe in his arms, making her feel as if he had found something of great value. He had treated her with such tenderness, though she had been aware of the force of his desire, of how hard he held himself in check. And then it had all changed. In the space of a few moments, he had become hard and cruel and had destroyed her foolish imaginings.

She put her glasses on and then padded over to the fire, trying to coax it back to life as she berated herself for the hundredth time. Well, what had she expected? He might look a romantic figure, with that sinfully handsome face and pale gold hair. Yet he was a smuggler, a man who lived outside the law, trusting no one. The notion that he had been an honourable man was just that, an idea, an image that she had plucked from thin air based on nothing more than a few pretty words. She might not believe Lord Alveston’s words on the subject, but Boreas was no gentleman, no matter that was what folk called the smugglers.

“He’ll be gone soon.” Izzy said the words out loud, meaning for them to give her courage, but her throat tightened, and she forced herself to remember all the horrid things he’d said to her. Anger stiffened her spine, and she let out a breath. She was glad. Once he was gone, she would be her old self again. It wasn’t like her life was dull. It would be easy enough to forget him.

With hands unsteady from fatigue and anxiety, she lit a candle and dressed with haste, knowing there was not long before one of the children woke and Mrs Mabbs would be up and about. Polly would arrive next to make up the fires, with Mrs Adie not far behind her. Though he was out of danger, she suspected Boreas was not half so mended as he seemed to think. Getting him down two sets of stairs and out of the house with no one the wiser would not be easy.

With mingled reluctance and pleasure, she slid the ring he had given her onto her finger. She would need to take it with her to visit the blacksmith and she did not want to risk losing it by putting it in a pocket. It was a lovely thing, not half so big and gaudy as the others he wore, and just fit her largest finger. She turned it this way and that, letting the jewel catch the light. With regret, she knew it would always remind her of the way his eyes sparkled with wickedness.