Page 94 of Marry in Secret
A small distressed sound from the doorway alerted him to the fact that they were not alone. He swore under his breath. Rose was standing in the doorway, her face pale and set. She’d overheard what he’d said. And had immediately understood the implications.
“You mean because you might not come back, don’t you? See, Iknewit was dangerous, and finally you’ve admitted as much. Thomas, youcan’tgo. Please, I beg of you!”
“I made a promise, Rose.”
“And what of your promise to me—to love me, and cherish me, and keep me?”
“I’ll keep that promise too.”
“As long as we both shall live, yes—but what if you’re dead, Thomas? What if you’re shipwrecked or taken by pirates again? How can you keep your promise then?”
He offered her a smile. “At least this time if I’m captured I’ll know who to write to.”
“Don’t! Don’t youdarejoke about it, Thomas! I won’t have it.” She dashed angry tears from her eyes. “You’redetermined to risk your life—and my happiness—our happiness—unnecessarily, and now you try to make light of it?” She glared at him, her eyes swimming with tears, and then whirled and ran from the room.
There was a short silence, then Ashendon cleared his throat. “Got a lock on that cellar door of yours, I presume.”
Thomas nodded. “Looks like I’m going to need it.”
“What time does your ship leave tomorrow?”
“I need to be on board an hour or so before high tide, to take advantage of the current. High tide is just before two.”
“Right then. I’ll drop by Bird Street some time after four to let her out.”
Chapter Twelve
Defer not till to-morrow to be wise,
To-morrow’s Sun to thee may never rise;
Or should to-morrow chance to cheer thy sight
With her enlivening and unlook’d for light,
How grateful will appear her dawning rays!
As favours unexpected doubly please.
—WILLIAM CONGREVE, LETTER TO COBHAM (L. 61)
Thomas and Rose returned to Bird Street. “What will you do when I leave tomorrow?” he asked her. “Will you return to Ashendon House, or will you get Lady George or someone to stay with you?”
“I’m going with you,” she said. And went upstairs to pack.
Stalemate again.
Remembering his plan, he went down to the cellar to inspect it. As a storage place for wine and spirits it was quite suitable; as a prison, albeit a temporary one for Rose, it left a great deal to be desired.
He found Briggs, their manservant, and instructed him to sweep the cellars thoroughly, paying particular attention to removing every last spider and cobweb. Rose was not fond of spiders. While Briggs was doing that, Thomas carried down the most comfortable chair in the house and a small side table and arranged them in a hidden corner of the cellar.
He caught Briggs looking at him oddly and said, “I sometimes like to sit and ponder my wines.”
“Very good, sir, m’lord, sir.” All the servants were thrilled by his elevation and were “m’lording” him at every opportunity. Apparently it reflected well on them.
He fetched half a dozen candles, a tinderbox, a jug of water, a cup, a small wrapped loaf of bread, a knife to cut it with, and a book. He surveyed his preparations and wrinkled his nose. Bread and water was just too prison-ish.
He went back to the kitchen and asked his new cook if there was anything nice to snack on. She filled a tin with ginger biscuits and macaroons, then added a large slice of cake wrapped in waxed paper, and some jam tarts, saying, “There you are, sir, that’ll keep you going until dinnertime.”
