‘Miss Clemence?’ Eliza folded her silk shawl away in tissue and turned, biting her lower lip.
‘Yes?’ It wasn’t like Eliza to be so hesitant.
‘We were wondering—Fred and me—if we could have a talk with you.’
‘Now? At this hour?’ The house party had lingered long into the evening on the lawn, the servants lighting citronella candles to keep the insects at bay, and now she was tired.
‘Her Grace had a word.’ Eliza shifted her feet. ‘Its made him a bit edgy, if you see what I mean.’
‘Not really, but I suppose I can talk to him now. Is he waiting in the sitting room?’
The single ladies had a room close to their chambers. Sighing for the peace and solitude of her bed, Clemence followed the maid along the corridor. Street was standing in the middle of the boudoir, eyeing the spindly chairs nervously. One-Eye, who knew perfectly well he was not allowed upstairs, was attempting to hide behind a footstool.
‘Bad dog,’ Clemence said automatically and he wriggled over on his belly, tongue lolling. ‘Well, Street?’
‘Her Grace said I ought to be making an honest woman of Eliza and I suppose I ought,’ he admitted, shuffling his feet.
‘What does Eliza think about it?’
‘I’ll take him,’ the maid said grudgingly. Clemence looked from one to the other. The expressions on their faces said it all—the reluctant words meant nothing.
‘That’s all very well,’ she said briskly, sitting down. ‘But how are you going to support her?’
‘I mean to open an inn,’ the big man said. ‘A proper country one on a post road with food they?
??ll remember and good ale.’
‘That sounds a good plan,’ Clemence agreed. But Street was off in a world of his own. ‘I’m sure you and Eliza will be very happy.’
‘I used to dream about that, you know,’ he confided. ‘I’d stand there in my galley, stirring the pots and I’d think, What you wants, Fred Street, is a cosy inn with a big fire in the winter. Seems a miracle that you were in that very same galley, Miss Clemence. And I thought you was just a scruffy lad! Do you remember that galley?’
‘Yes, of course—’
‘Wasn’t much, but it was mine. In good order, I kept it, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, well, I’ll—’
‘All gone now, down to Davy Jones’s locker.’ He sighed gustily. ‘I’ll never forget it, that last day. I’ll wager you won’t, either, Miss Clemence.’
‘No, and—’
‘I told Eliza, I did, how you almost got killed. He was a mean-looking devil, that sailor with the pistol. I thought you was a goner, Miss Clemence, I did really. He was pointing that thing at you, and I couldn’t get to my gun in time.’
Under her hand, One-Eye gave a startled yip and Clemence forced her fingers open.
‘Miracle he missed you, miracle. And then I shot him. Nasty mess that, extraordinary what a bullet in the head—’
‘Fred! That’s enough.’
Clemence blinked; Eliza was shaking her elbow. ‘Are you all right, Miss Clemence? Fred shouldn’t have talked about that, how you almost got killed. It’ll bring it all back, that will.’
‘We will discuss this in the morning. But I wish you both to be very happy.’ Swallowing, Clemence made her way back to her room. The floor seemed to be pitching like the deck of the ship under her feet. Behind her she heard Eliza berating One-Eye.
‘Leave him, he can stay with me.’ The thought of company felt good. She did not want to ask Eliza to sleep in her room; she strongly suspected she wanted to creep off and join Street in whichever attic fastness he had been allocated. Now all she had to do was to manage to forget the images Street had conjured up, not think about Nathan at all and she might have a good night’s sleep. Pigs, Clemence concluded with resignation, might fly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The urgent knocking on his door had Nathan out of bed and reaching for his sword before he opened his eyes. Then he realised where he was, dragged on the silk dressing gown that was thrown over the foot of the bed and opened the door.