The day was beautiful, but experience had taught them that things could change in the blink of an eye. Marguerite and Veronica walked in silence toward the Zanga village, Veronica all the while trying to figure out a way to broach the subject of Reverend Jones. Finally she gave up trying to think of a gentle way, and dove right in. She was never good at beating around the bush anyway. That was Marguerite's style.

"Who is he, Marguerite?" she asked bluntly.

"Who is who?" Marguerite feigned ignorance. This was definitely not a subject she wanted to discuss.

"You know what I'm talking about. James Jones, how do you know him?" Veronica clarified.

Marguerite looked straight ahead along the path, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'd never seen him until before last night."

Veronica rolled her eyes. This was going to be like pulling teeth. "Then why did he slap you across the face, you couldn't have offended him that bad in one conversation."

"He didn't, I told you I tripped," Marguerite stated defensively.

"No, you didn't, he did," Veronica pointed out. "And how about that cut on your throat you came home with yesterday?"

Marguerite self-consciously covered her neck with her hand before she responded; "I tripped by the pond yesterday and scratched it on a twig."

"You've gotten awful clumsy recently, but if you ask me, it looks a lot like a knife cut." Veronica had picked up a stick and gently poked her companion in the side, trying to emphasize her point. She was surprised when Marguerite hissed in pain and jumped away.

Before she could be stopped, Veronica pulled her blouse up to see a dark purple bruise, with distinct finger marks on her waist. "That didn't happen when you tripped," she stated matter-of-factly. "Tell me, or I'm going straight to Roxton."

Marguerite sighed in resignation. There is know way out now, but I don't have to tell her everything. "Fine, I'll tell you."

"Who is he?" she repeated her original question.

"His name is Frances Beaumont. He owns a company that ships goods between Southeast Asia and Europe, and he is trouble of the worst kind."

"How do you know him?" It was common knowledge that Marguerite was acquainted with many unscrupulous people, but to let this man beat on her without so much as a fight, there was something else going on.

"He raised me."

"Raised you? We all thought you were raised by wolves," Veronica tried to tease.

"You wouldn't be far from the truth. When my parents were killed in the South Seas on a trip to India I was sent to live with him. Apparently my mother's family didn't want me, and he was generous enough to take me in. He employed the most viscous governess' to care for me until I went to convent, then I spent summers and holidays with him, when he bothered to send for me."

"And," Veronica prompted, knowing there was more.

"When is was fifteen he started taking me to dinner parties and galas, teaching me how to woo my way into people's affections. He taught me the value of power, how to gain it, and how to use it to get what you want. As I grew older and men started to notice me, he had 'working women' teach me how to seduce a men, then he would blackmail my victims. It was all very simple."

"There is a 'but' in there somewhere, isn't there?"

"One night, when we were at a Monaco dinner party, I met the most handsome young man I had ever seen. Darien Michaelson, a dashing, exciting man who matched me whit for whit. He pursued me relentlessly, and I loved it. When we met he called me his 'beautiful peasant girl, waiting for her Knight in Shining Armour.' I thought he was right, too, and when he asked me to come with him to Shanghais, I agreed, and followed blindly, like a love sick little girl. We almost got married," Marguerite smiled at the memory.

"What happened?" To say Veronica was intrigued would have been a vast understatement.

"Two days before the 'wedding' I found him asleep with another woman. I screamed at him, but he didn't say anything, didn't even look at me when I caught him. He just lay with his back to me. In a rage I picked up the first thing a saw, and hurled a Ming dynasty vase at his head. He didn't move, and I knew he was dead. The Chinese woman started screaming murder, so I ran like the coward you all know and love. Frances found me wondering the streets trying to evade the authorities. He was in town on a business trip or something, I don't remember exactly. He placed me on one of his ships, sending me to Paris. It took about two years to get back to Europe, and when I did, Frances introduced me to the first of my husbands. You can fill in the rest."

Veronica didn't ask what happened during those two years, but she made a mental note to do so later. "So what is he doing here, now?"

"He came to get me."

"Why? It seems like too much trouble."

"He spent years molding me into his own image. Now I'm both an asset and a liability. No doubt he has found a new prospect for me to suck dry," she answered bitterly.

"You don't sound to thrilled about it," Veronica commented. Marguerite was always ready to make a quick buck, no matter who got hurt.

"It's not fun being bought and sold like chattel. You can attest to that, I did it to you. I just don't have anyone to save me from my fate like you did."

"What about Roxton? He wouldn't let Jones, I mean Beaumont, sell you to the highest bidder."

"Veronica, I've done things that I'm not proud of, and Frances would be more than glad to divulge the details to John if I ever betrayed him. I would rather leave John thinking the worst of me than him abandoning me because he knows it."

"So you want it on your own terms then, is that it?" Veronica asked, somewhat disgusted.

"A year ago that would have been true, but now I couldn't look into his eyes if Roxton knew the truth."

"Well, at least you are ashamed of the things you've done, which is more than we can say for your friend. Maybe there is a way to get rid of him."

"Well, we can try, just don't let on that you know anything, or he may very well kill you." Marguerite looked away with sadness in her eyes.

"Marguerite, there's something else, isn't there?" Veronica walked around to look her in the eye. Something that she had never seen before surfaced in the older woman's face that reminded her of a scarred, lost little girl.

Marguerite wiped away a tear, ashamed of her weakness. "It's nothing, really."

"Marguerite, I'm your friend, you can trust me."

She looked into the younger woman's eyes, and felt that maybe it was time to tell what had happened all those years ago. "Do you swear never to breath a word of what I'm about to tell you to anyone?"

The distress in her silvery eyes alarmed Veronica. "I pinky swear."