Aleksey's Kingdom (A Royal Affair #2)(20)

“What?” Aleksey had caught at my arm. “What is wrong?”

I debated keeping this new knowledge to myself, but then reflected I had too many lies with Aleksey just then—in my experience it was easier to only have a few, and thus I could keep them straight in my mind and more believable. Besides, this was not my secret but hers, and I didn’t like her and saw no reason to keep it for her.

I told him what I had seen. He seemed surprised, as well he might, and began to say what I had first thought—that it indicated she was not the good woman she pretended to be. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. “Perhaps she was not a widow but a maid without virtue. Oh”—he actually crossed himself—“perhaps she lay with the devil and the child is a demon!”

I shook my head in amazed wonder at the ridiculousness of his brain. “Come, I am hungry. I like the food we are having on this expedition, and I am very pleased with you for inviting me along. When we are seated, you can tell me more about the princesses and queens you have bedded.” He knew by my tone not to speculate more. But unwittingly I had now given that young man something else to play with in his mind, to tease at and chew over. I only hoped his theory on all this was more to my liking than his cannibal one. As we walked together back to the table, I murmured, “By the way, I would leave off crossing yourself, Your Highness. You are in enemy territory now, remember? If they do not burn you for being a sodomite, they might for being a papist. There is only one way to worship, apparently, and I am fairly sure the Reverend Wright had his way handed to him directly from God.”




THE EVENING meal was very good indeed, but I did not get to enjoy it much. We began with discussing the food supplies, which well we might, given the great quantities we were eating with every meal. I was informed that our current supplies would run out in another two days or so, and then we would rely on hunting. The conversation turned to the musketry the trappers had brought with them, and with a rueful smile Aleksey showed everyone the bruise upon his shoulder where the recoil had taken him unawares. I had been wondering over something since we had sat at the table and since I had been observing the lowered head and eyes of the young wife. Casually, therefore, I asked her if her crossing to the New World had been easy. I say casually, but of course, all conversation stopped when I spoke, for a man does not address another’s wife so. She could hardly refuse to reply, despite what had occurred between us earlier, and said that, yes, it had been quite acceptable.

“You left from Southampton, I believe?”

She nodded and took a modest nibble of her bread.

“How did you like it?” I could feel Aleksey’s eyes boring into me. He alone around the table knew how uncharacteristic was this speaking of mine.

“I liked it well enough, sir.”

“I remember wondering at Rudyard’s lighthouse. Was it not an impressive sight?”

She inclined her head again. “Yes, sir, my poor dear husband wondered at it greatly.”

“Did you stop and pay your toll?”

Once more she indicated assent, and I let it drop.

I was aware the reverend’s eyes were upon me, and naturally I assumed his wife had told him her version of the story by the river, although she was on very unstable ground if she had, for I had a witness—an unimpeachable one at that. But apparently this was not the train of his thoughts, for he suddenly asked, “Hartmann, is that correct, sir?”

I replied that it was.

“I knew a family called Hartmann. We traveled from England together on The James. Three months. Terrible journey. Isaiah Hartmann and his good wife, Grace. They had a little boy about my son’s age. I do not remember his name. Always running here and there and making a noise.”

I could feel all eyes upon me. I tried a nonchalant shrug. “It is a common name, sir.” This did not help my cause, for the old man persisted.

“Indeed, sir. It is. But this man, Isaiah, had your look about him. Very tall, I remember, and his hair just the gold of yours. I remember him well, for he was a man of God, and spoke most passionately about reform.”

“Many men of God come to this land, sir. I suspect most are very sure what God—” I sensed more than saw Aleksey’s frown of warning and moderated my response, mumbling once again, “Common name.”

“Perhaps distant relations? What was your father’s name? Mayhap I knew him as well.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and then replied, “It is a long time ago, sir. But you are right. Now that I think on it, we were on The James.”

I could feel Aleksey’s eyes on me particularly now, for I had told him that I did not remember my parents or my time in the colony. Well this had been only a partial lie, for I only recollected little things. Now, however, thanks to the good reverend, I began to recall more. The reverend’s pleased response to my words faded to a dull drone, for it occurred to me why I had forgotten—the memories were not good ones. Clearly they had been suppressed, and not lost at all. I could recapture some of our time upon the ship, for I had loved the ocean then and had found particular favor with the sailors, being only four and energetic and interested in anything that was not to do with religion and observance and discipline and other such boring things. Reflecting on that journey now at the table, it occurred to me for the first time why I had fallen so quickly and so irrevocably in love with James Harcourt. I think I must have seen in him and his life aboard the whaling ship a return to the last time in which I had been truly happy and free. I had associated him with love and freedom. No wonder I had found the truth of what he was and what he wanted from me so dreadful.