Page 13 of The Captain of Betrayal
The anger, humiliation and raw hatred in Polly Jenkin's gaze as she had slammed the door of the boarding house shut on him, made it more than evident that time had not mellowed the hurt of his betrayal. For years, he had lived with one eye open for her; at every port he docked, or when he had leave to wander London or Newcastle, he had searched for her. In his mind, he imagined that when they were reunited, he would beg her forgiveness--on his knees if needs be--and that she would reluctantly grant it. He would have to work to make her trust him again, he had reasoned, but the strength of his love for her would soon cast aside any of her doubts.
Except his imagination was no match for the living, breathing Polly Jenkins, whose beauty had rendered him mute and whose anger had left him standing outside in the cold dark night.
The curtains in the bay window to the right of the doorway where he stood, twitched slightly, and James observed several females peeking through the gap they had created. Their eyes watched him curiously, obviously waiting for him to do something interesting or scandalous. James swallowed a curse, for it had been on his mind to bang on the door and shout until Polly relented and received him.
It wouldn't do, he thought sensibly, to cause a scene. He was a sailor, a captain, a man of the sea--he knew that battles were not won quickly, they were won with persistence, determination and, most of all, patience. Twelve years at sea had afforded him many skills, among them the ability to retreat and regroup.
James doffed his hat to the ladies in the window, who disappeared the instant that they realised they had been spotted, their shrieks and giggles audible even through the glass window pane. He turned on his heel and strode down the cobbled path, which led from the boarding house down to the quaint, fishing village of St Jarvis.
James had left his horse in the stables behind the tavern, thinking to leave him there for the night, but instead, to the surprise of the young lad inside, he returned and requested the beast to be saddled again.
"I thought you was stayin'?" the lad remarked curiously, as he busied himself attending to the stallion.
"There was no room at the inn," James responded mysteriously.
"What, in old Mrs Barker's place?" the young fellow looked confused, "There's at least a dozen rooms in it and only half a dozen ladies."
"Do you know the woman who currently runs the place?" James asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to know everything that he could about Polly--even if it was only second hand for the moment.
"Everyone knows Poll," the lad beamed brightly, his eyes a little glazed. "She's magnificent--did you see her? Half the men folk around here are mad to get a ring on her finger, but she won't look twice at 'em."
"Why is that I wonder?"
"Ain't no one in St Jarvis good enough for Polly, that's why," the boy replied seriously. James could tell, from the fierce look in his eyes, that if the young lad were ten years older, he'd be making every attempt to convince Polly thathewas good enough for her. He had to admire the lad, though a strange stab of envy pierced him, for the lad, who had no history with Polly, quite possibly stood a better chance than James did.
Once his horse was readied, James travelled the short distance along the cliff path to Pemberton, the house from which he had departed but a few hours before. His employer, the Duke of Everleigh, had bade him visit St Jarvis to speak with an acquaintance who needed information on a pirate by the name of David Stockbow, with whom James had crossed swords with on numerous occasions. As he had left, the Duke had off-handedly suggested that if James was to struggle to find accommodation for the night, that he should return to Pemberton. That the Duke had actually not thought that James would be unable to find a bed was evident by the shock on his face when James was shown into Everleigh's library by the butler.
"Good God man, you're drenched."
"It was just a bit of drizzle," James commented stoically, just as a burst of thunder sounded outside. In truth, he was soaked to the skin, and welcomed the warmth of the Duke's masculine library, where a large fire roared in the fireplace. He took a seat on the leather Chesterfield and gratefully accepted the tumbler of whiskey Everleigh offered, allowing himself a moment to appreciate how the fiery drink warmed his bones.
"Was Polly unable to find you space?" the Duke asked after a few minutes of silence; Ruan Ashford was many things, but he was not stupid. He must have known that the inn was but half full, and that as James was known to the Duke, it would have been expected that Polly would have accommodated him.
"Polly was unwilling to offer me a bed for the night," James replied truthfully, for part of the plan he had devised on his journey to Pemberton involved seeking the blessing of the Duke.
Everleigh, a man of few words, merely raised a curious eyebrow as a sign that he wished James to continue.
"I spent the first thirteen years of my life in Newcastle," James began, taking another sip of his whiskey to bolster his courage. "Polly and I grew up together, we were—"
James paused, what exactly had he and Polly been to each other? Not brother and sister, or even family, but something more--soul mates.
"We were close," he finished lamely, the look of abject despair on his face perhaps conveying how he truly felt.
"And now you are not?" Everleigh stood and topped up James' glass with a larger measure than the first, then sat back down and watched him expectantly.
"After my mother died, I discovered that I was the bastard of a dead Earl," James said with a sigh, throwing back his drink in one gulp.
"Whose bastard?"
Even the Duke of Everleigh was not immune to wishing to know the gossip about his fellow members of the ton, James noted wryly.
"It does not matter," he gave a shrug, for truly he never thought of the Livingstone side of his family, and judging on how no one had come searching for him in the decade he had been gone, nor did they think of him. "What matters is that I was taken away from Newcastle and sent to live amongst theton. I drifted so far away from all that had made me as a boy, that when Polly came looking for me some years later, I..."
James trailed off; even all these years later, the burning shame that he felt at what he had done still tortured him. There was no emotion that could eat at the soul quite like shame could--the regret that he felt for that split-second decision still tore at his guts like a fresh, new wound.
"I disowned her before my new friends, because I was ashamed of being associated with the poverty she represented."
All this was said in one exhalation, as though the quicker he said it, the less that Everleigh might judge him. To the man's credit, the Duke did not wince or tut in disapproval, merely stared at James thoughtfully.
