The Ugly Duchess
Page 37
“The West Indies,” Mr. Badger continued, “is not civilized by our standards, and I’m afraid that I employed a great deal of bribery in order to obtain the information I sought.”
“Have you found my husband?” Theo interrupted. She could wait no longer.
“No, I have not,” Mr. Badger replied.
She swallowed. “But you found news of him.”
“I am of the opinion that he was not dead as of 1810,” Mr. Badger said, returning to the sheet of foolscap he had balanced on his knee. “He was . . . well . . .” A look of distinct disapproval crossed his face.
“He was living with another woman,” Theo said flatly.
“He was a pirate.”
Cecil gasped, and Theo gave a cry—whether of horror or surprise, she couldn’t say.
“That’s impossible,” she managed a second later.
Mr. Badger licked his finger and turned to another sheet of foolscap. “He was called the Earl by various members of the criminal establishment. I might remind you that at this point James Ryburn was possessed of the courtesy title Earl of Islay. He worked in concert with another pirate known as Griffin Barry.”
“That name does sound familiar,” Cecil said.
“Barry is actually a member of the peerage”—Mr. Badger gave them a lowering glance, as if they were personally responsible for this reprobate member of their class—“and it is my considered opinion that the said Sir Griffin led Lord Islay into impudent and ill-conceived, not to mention criminal, ways.”
“Criminal!” Cecil gasped again. “My cousin James would never do anything criminal! I’d stake my life on it.”
“I would not advise you to do that if I were you, sir,” Mr. Badger stated. “There was some confusion about the actual activities of the Earl and Barry; there were those who maintained that Barry attacked only the ships of other pirates, at least, after he joined forces with the Earl. There is ample evidence for Barry’s piracy before 1808, but after that date, he specialized, if one can use that term, in attacking his fellow reprobates, which makes him a ‘privateer,’ rather than a pirate.” He paused. “To law-abiding men, there is only a slight distinction.”
“Impossible!” Theo said, feeling glad for the first time that her mother was no longer alive.
“If this ‘Earl’ is any connection to my cousin,” Cecil said, “then I am quite certain that he would indeed attack only pirate ships. His Grace is a man of honor and would no more think of harming innocent lives than he would of . . . of cheating in a game of cards!”
Theo put her hand in his and squeezed. If only James were here to listen to Cecil’s fervent defense of him. “What happened to the Earl?” she asked. “Was he killed?”
“There’s quite a legend built up around the man’s vessel, the Poppy Two, but no one could tell me of its fate,” Mr. Badger said, “though, of course, I left men there with instructions to find out. They are sailing from island to island making extensive inquiries at each place, while I returned here with all speed. All we had determined by the date I returned to England was that the said Griffin Barry once had a partner known as the Earl. But not very long thereafter the Earl was replaced by a fearsome character known as Jack Hawk.”
“Jack!” Theo cried. “Jack is not so far from James.” At the same time she wanted any shred of evidence that he might still be alive, she wasn’t sure that she liked the idea. It would mean that her James was a pirate, a bloodthirsty criminal who walked innocent people down the plank. “Though I still don’t believe it,” she added.
“I agree there is a similarity in names,” Mr. Badger said. “But the resemblance stops there. I had two people draw pictures of this Jack Hawk, as he’s well known in those parts. He has a passel of women fond of him, if you’ll excuse the indelicacy, Your Grace. There’s not a chance that the Earl and Jack Hawk are one and the same: from descriptions of him, Hawk is a monstrously big fellow, with a shaved head and a tattoo under his right eye.”
“A tattoo?” Cecil repeated.
“What on earth is a tattoo?” Theo asked.
“Decoration pricked into the skin with the use of pigment and a needle,” Mr. Badger said. “I find it most unlikely that an Englishman, let alone a nobleman, would submit to such a barbaric procedure, which is both painful and indelible. I saw some examples while I was on the islands, and they were distinctly savage.”
“I agree with you that we can discount the possibility that this pirate and Lord Islay are the same,” Theo said. “In fact, I find your former supposition unlikely as well, Mr. Badger. The fact that Griffin Barry is a member of the peerage is insufficient evidence to presume that a criminal named Earl might have any connection to my husband.”
“I’m afraid that we cannot offer even a partial reward for this information,” Cecil agreed, chiming in. “Lord Islay was never a pirate; I find the supposition unlikely, not to mention insulting to his memory.”
Theo let the reference to “memory” go by; Cecil found it increasingly difficult to speak of his cousin in the present tense. She could understand; after all, James had been gone for nearly seven years.
“I was interrupted before I could present you with a piece of evidence,” Mr. Badger said, looking as satisfied as a cat with nothing left but a mousy tail. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small flannel pouch, which he proceeded to open.
It held a locket.
And inside the locket . . . a curl of hair whose color ranged from bronze to brandy.
“I fail to see the significance of that object you hold,” Cecil said, leaning back with a wave of his hand. “A tarnished locket with a piece of hair—” He looked sideways at Theo and broke off.
“It is my hair,” Theo said, her lips moving with difficulty. “James cut it on our wedding night. Actually, the following morning.” She reached out her hand. “May I have it, please?”
Mr. Badger handed it over. The locket was, as Cecil said, a tarnished and not particularly valuable one. Yet there was no mistaking her own hair. She’d spent too many years deploring its odd streaks to mistake it.
“That need not be your hair,” Cecil said, peering down at her hand. “I agree that there is some similarity, but your color is much lighter than that, my dear.”
“James cut it from underneath so that no one could see. The hair is darker, but you see it has all the oddness of my hair. Like a yellow zebra, James always said.” To her distress, she heard her voice quaver.
“Where on earth did you find this?” Cecil said to Mr. Badger, simultaneously giving Theo’s arm a little squeeze. “Not that I consider the hair necessarily to be Lady Islay’s.”
“Apparently, it was stolen from the man called the Earl. I had made it clear that I would pay a hundred pounds, a small fortune in those parts, for any evidence of the duke’s existence. In the course of my inquiries, I extended the offer to include any details about the pirate named the Earl. This was brought to me in response.”
“And yet no one knew what happened to the man?” Theo whispered. Her fingers shaking, she clicked the locket closed again. Even looking at that hair brought back the extreme joy of that day. She had never felt anything like it again.
“Have you found my husband?” Theo interrupted. She could wait no longer.
“No, I have not,” Mr. Badger replied.
She swallowed. “But you found news of him.”
“I am of the opinion that he was not dead as of 1810,” Mr. Badger said, returning to the sheet of foolscap he had balanced on his knee. “He was . . . well . . .” A look of distinct disapproval crossed his face.
“He was living with another woman,” Theo said flatly.
“He was a pirate.”
Cecil gasped, and Theo gave a cry—whether of horror or surprise, she couldn’t say.
“That’s impossible,” she managed a second later.
Mr. Badger licked his finger and turned to another sheet of foolscap. “He was called the Earl by various members of the criminal establishment. I might remind you that at this point James Ryburn was possessed of the courtesy title Earl of Islay. He worked in concert with another pirate known as Griffin Barry.”
“That name does sound familiar,” Cecil said.
“Barry is actually a member of the peerage”—Mr. Badger gave them a lowering glance, as if they were personally responsible for this reprobate member of their class—“and it is my considered opinion that the said Sir Griffin led Lord Islay into impudent and ill-conceived, not to mention criminal, ways.”
“Criminal!” Cecil gasped again. “My cousin James would never do anything criminal! I’d stake my life on it.”
“I would not advise you to do that if I were you, sir,” Mr. Badger stated. “There was some confusion about the actual activities of the Earl and Barry; there were those who maintained that Barry attacked only the ships of other pirates, at least, after he joined forces with the Earl. There is ample evidence for Barry’s piracy before 1808, but after that date, he specialized, if one can use that term, in attacking his fellow reprobates, which makes him a ‘privateer,’ rather than a pirate.” He paused. “To law-abiding men, there is only a slight distinction.”
“Impossible!” Theo said, feeling glad for the first time that her mother was no longer alive.
“If this ‘Earl’ is any connection to my cousin,” Cecil said, “then I am quite certain that he would indeed attack only pirate ships. His Grace is a man of honor and would no more think of harming innocent lives than he would of . . . of cheating in a game of cards!”
Theo put her hand in his and squeezed. If only James were here to listen to Cecil’s fervent defense of him. “What happened to the Earl?” she asked. “Was he killed?”
“There’s quite a legend built up around the man’s vessel, the Poppy Two, but no one could tell me of its fate,” Mr. Badger said, “though, of course, I left men there with instructions to find out. They are sailing from island to island making extensive inquiries at each place, while I returned here with all speed. All we had determined by the date I returned to England was that the said Griffin Barry once had a partner known as the Earl. But not very long thereafter the Earl was replaced by a fearsome character known as Jack Hawk.”
“Jack!” Theo cried. “Jack is not so far from James.” At the same time she wanted any shred of evidence that he might still be alive, she wasn’t sure that she liked the idea. It would mean that her James was a pirate, a bloodthirsty criminal who walked innocent people down the plank. “Though I still don’t believe it,” she added.
“I agree there is a similarity in names,” Mr. Badger said. “But the resemblance stops there. I had two people draw pictures of this Jack Hawk, as he’s well known in those parts. He has a passel of women fond of him, if you’ll excuse the indelicacy, Your Grace. There’s not a chance that the Earl and Jack Hawk are one and the same: from descriptions of him, Hawk is a monstrously big fellow, with a shaved head and a tattoo under his right eye.”
“A tattoo?” Cecil repeated.
“What on earth is a tattoo?” Theo asked.
“Decoration pricked into the skin with the use of pigment and a needle,” Mr. Badger said. “I find it most unlikely that an Englishman, let alone a nobleman, would submit to such a barbaric procedure, which is both painful and indelible. I saw some examples while I was on the islands, and they were distinctly savage.”
“I agree with you that we can discount the possibility that this pirate and Lord Islay are the same,” Theo said. “In fact, I find your former supposition unlikely as well, Mr. Badger. The fact that Griffin Barry is a member of the peerage is insufficient evidence to presume that a criminal named Earl might have any connection to my husband.”
“I’m afraid that we cannot offer even a partial reward for this information,” Cecil agreed, chiming in. “Lord Islay was never a pirate; I find the supposition unlikely, not to mention insulting to his memory.”
Theo let the reference to “memory” go by; Cecil found it increasingly difficult to speak of his cousin in the present tense. She could understand; after all, James had been gone for nearly seven years.
“I was interrupted before I could present you with a piece of evidence,” Mr. Badger said, looking as satisfied as a cat with nothing left but a mousy tail. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small flannel pouch, which he proceeded to open.
It held a locket.
And inside the locket . . . a curl of hair whose color ranged from bronze to brandy.
“I fail to see the significance of that object you hold,” Cecil said, leaning back with a wave of his hand. “A tarnished locket with a piece of hair—” He looked sideways at Theo and broke off.
“It is my hair,” Theo said, her lips moving with difficulty. “James cut it on our wedding night. Actually, the following morning.” She reached out her hand. “May I have it, please?”
Mr. Badger handed it over. The locket was, as Cecil said, a tarnished and not particularly valuable one. Yet there was no mistaking her own hair. She’d spent too many years deploring its odd streaks to mistake it.
“That need not be your hair,” Cecil said, peering down at her hand. “I agree that there is some similarity, but your color is much lighter than that, my dear.”
“James cut it from underneath so that no one could see. The hair is darker, but you see it has all the oddness of my hair. Like a yellow zebra, James always said.” To her distress, she heard her voice quaver.
“Where on earth did you find this?” Cecil said to Mr. Badger, simultaneously giving Theo’s arm a little squeeze. “Not that I consider the hair necessarily to be Lady Islay’s.”
“Apparently, it was stolen from the man called the Earl. I had made it clear that I would pay a hundred pounds, a small fortune in those parts, for any evidence of the duke’s existence. In the course of my inquiries, I extended the offer to include any details about the pirate named the Earl. This was brought to me in response.”
“And yet no one knew what happened to the man?” Theo whispered. Her fingers shaking, she clicked the locket closed again. Even looking at that hair brought back the extreme joy of that day. She had never felt anything like it again.
