Murder by Misrule

CHAPTER 43

  Tom oversaw the packing of his gifts and escorted her home. She clung to him as they exited the prison, her steps faltering as if she had spent seven dark years strung up in a dungeon instead of a scant six days in a relatively clean and well-upholstered cell. He had lived in far worse conditions on his father's ship, and he was the captain's son. He felt somewhat abused by her lack of gratitude. His discontent would grow until his eyes fell upon her face. Those sapphire eyes! Those velvet lips! How could any man resist them?

  He all but carried her up to her room, where, at long last, she produced a sketch of such graphic power that Tom was shocked anew by the raw horror of the act of murder.

  He thanked Clara with a heartfelt kiss. He would have thanked her more thoroughly, but she wanted to be alone. He wasn't altogether unhappy to be sent on his way. Rescuing damsels was less satisfactory in reality than in song.

  He rolled the drawing up and tucked it securely into his sleeve. His duty now was to go forthwith to Mr. Bacon's chambers and deliver this crucial and most damning piece of evidence. On the other hand, Bacon had treated him most unfairly in the past week, nagging at him with those irritating little nautical quips. He'd taken Ben away from him too, just when he needed support and guidance the most.

  Tom smiled wickedly to himself. Why spoil the effect of the master's masque?