Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  Old feelings of fear and uncertainties churned, numbing her mind.

  She was about to tell the lieutenant that Tisdale was guilty of thievery when he turned to face her.

  “My dear, William is waiting to see you.”

  Defeated, her shoulders slumped. “Yes…” she shook her head,”… of course.” She should have known Tisdale was behind this whole scheme.

  He grinned, then nodded. “Good day, lieutenant.”

  The lieutenant tipped his hat.

  Tisdale’s fingers pinched her arm as he led her away. “Wise move not to make a scene,” he whispered in her ear then lightly kissed her neck.

  He glanced over his shoulder and waved to the Lieutenant as if to prove a point.

  Elizabeth stopped in mid-stride and yanked her arm free.”Where’s William?”

  “Down.” He pointed to the steps that led to the lower section of the ship.

  “What proof do you give that the child is even on broad?”

  “When we get downstairs, I will show you,” he said between clenched teeth. “Now move.” He gave her a little shove.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Lieutenant watched them and began to step in their direction.

  “Smile at the nice man,” Tisdale ordered. “Or I won’t tell you where the little brat is hidden.”

  She forced a smile.

  The lieutenant halted then turned away.

  She picked up the hem of her skirt and proceeded down the steep stairs. Dark and narrow the hall allowed for not more than one to pass through at a time.

  Tisdale pointed to a door on the right.

  Her fingers shook as she reached for the handle.

  Before she could peek inside, he pushed her through the portal.

  She tripped over the hem of her gown, stumbled and grabbed a table for support.

  He slammed the door behind him.

  She whirled around, facing him. “Where is he?”

  The lock bolted with a clink. “All in good time, my love. All in good time.”

  He strolled over to a table where tea and small cakes were neatly arranged on delicate china dishes.

  “Tea?” He poured himself a cup.

  Seething by his cool, aloof manner, she marched over to him keeping her distance. “Proof. Where is it?”

  “Ah yes, the little brat’s toy.”

  “You call your own child a brat?”

  For a moment, he looked surprised. “You know about that, do you?” Then, as if he couldn’t care less, he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Sit.” He ordered harshly. “You are curious, are you not?”

  He reached into a trunk and pulled out Philip’s toy horse.

  Defeated, she sat.

  William was never without his father’s gift clutched between his fingers. A nauseating sinking feeling convulsed in her stomach.

  “How did you find out?” He sat and again offered her a cup of tea. “About the boy?” He took a bite of cake, then wiped his mouth daintily with a napkin.

  “Do you think me so naive that I would drink anything from you, knowing ‘twas you who drugged your patients.” She pushed the cup away. “How did you know where to find me?”

  He grinned. “Why, a mutual friend, of course; a Madam Wellsworth; and the tea is not drugged.”

  Katherine! Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

  “Yes. I see you know of her.” He offered her a cake.

  She refused.

  “It appears as though she wished you gone,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Had plans to marry the chap who was so kind to offer his home to you.” He squeezed the teacup, his knuckles turning white with his words.

  “If she hurts William…” She pushed her chair from the table.

  Tisdale slammed the cup on the table and grabbed her wrist refraining her. “Sit and eat.” His eyes bulged with anger. “Or you will never see the boy alive.”

  She yanked her hand away, settled back into her chair, and hesitantly took a bite of cake. The lump dry, she choked. Despairingly, she eyed her cup.

  “Oh, for heaven's sake.” He took a sip of tea, then shoved a cup before her.

  She grabbed the tea and took a gulp. “How,” she cleared her throat, “… did you meet Rebecca?”

  “In London, two years, before I met your mother.”

  A wave of dizziness jumbled her thoughts. She shook her head. Nay. Couldn’t be. She had seen him pour the tea from the same pot; he himself had drunk from the very cup she held.

  She swallowed. A funny, bitter taste rose in her throat, but she pushed away the thought that she’d fallen into his trap.

  “How did you find out about the boy?”

  “I found Rebecca’s letter.” Her words slurred.

  “Ah, you found my letter.” He sighed.

  “Sentimental woman that Rebecca.”

  A violent wave of dizziness clouded Elizabeth’s vision.

  Horrified, she stared down at the tea, realizing she’d been right all along. But when…, blinking, she shook her head. He’d drank from that same pot. When had he drugged the tea?

  She bolted from her seat, knocking the chair to the floor with a responding crash. “Did you ever love my mother?”

  Tisdale rose, and in what appeared to be in slow motion, came toward her. “Your mother? Nay.” He shook his head. “But by then I had learned of her musical talent. I needed her to play for my new practice.”

  Elizabeth back away, her mind languid, befuddled.

  Tisdale came closer.

  “What do you want?” She swallowed the raspy dryness in her throat.

  He grabbed her upper arms and shoved her up against the wall.

  Her mind screamed with a need to slap him—to kick— to bolt from his touch. She tried to move her foot, but her body felt heavy, like overcooked mush.

  “I want you, of course, and your sweet music,” he whispered in her ear.

  “You are insane. I want nothing to do with you.”

  He pressed forward, jerked his knee between her legs to hold her up and she gasped, realizing a shiver of panic.

  “I am your legal guardian until you are either twenty, or married.” He ran one finger seductively against her cheek.

  Disgusted, unable to look him in the eyes, she twisted her head sideways. A numbness over took her body, making her legs weak and her stomach cramp, complements of the drug.

  “And if you think I’ll let you leave, when you come of age, you are wrong.” Violently he pinched her chin, forcing her to look back at him. “By then, you’ll be my wife.”

  “I’ll never marry you.” The room began to spin before her.

  “Oh yes…” He lowered his head, inches from her face. “You will. But first I’m going to finish what I started, before we were so rudely interrupted.”

  Old memories of a time not so long ago, came back to haunt her. She could still hear the ear-splitting shouts of the crowd outside her window demanding to speak with her guardian. A vision of Tisdale’s manhood, hanging pale and limp from his breeches, flashed across her clouding mind and icy fear twisted around her heart.

  He ground his body against her, swaying seductively. His eyes lit with lust. “I’m gonna ride you so hard, your cooch is gonna burn.”

  He yanked her gown from her shoulder, his fingers scratching her flesh.

  Tears of hate, anger and horror clouded her vision.

  She tried to lift up her arms in an effort to push him away, but they felt numb and weak-pinned against her body.

  He kissed her, crushing his lips against hers.

  Her stomach lurched.

  He forced his tongue into her mouth. Revoltingly wet, his invasion sickened her. Vomit welled. She swallowed, then bit down on his tongue.

  He yanked his mouth from hers. “Bitch.” He swiped his mouth and roughly swung her around, pressing her cheek against the wall. He grabbed her wrists, jerking them up against the swell of her lower back.

  Where was the crowd to save her now
?

  He kissed the nape of her neck. His hand cupped her backside and squeezed.

  She forced back her tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the havoc he caused on her emotions.

  Her knees buckled.

  He caught her and spun her around.

  Empty. That’s how she felt. Like the unwritten pages of her mother’s diary. No feelings, no emotions were being written on the pages of her numb mind; ‘twas a separation from reality; a detachment of mind from body.

  “The tea?” She asked, her voice weak, void of life.

  She tried to focus on his face, though the room circled before her. Her lids fell shut and she felt herself slipping away.

  “Nay,” he snapped in annoyance as he hauled her over his shoulder. “The cake.”

  ***

  Philip rode his horse hard, galloping toward the harbor. Clumps of dirt shot up in all directions.

  His heart slammed against his chest as ferociously as his buttocks slammed against the hard saddle.

  He kicked his horse’s flanks, urging him faster, knowing the poor beast ran at the best of his ability, wishing he could fly.

  Elizabeth. Pray God, she lived and he wasn’t too late.

  Trees rushed past him in a blur, yet the ground beneath him seemed to pass too slowly. Time fled as furiously as the startled flock of birds that rushed from the trees.

  God's blood, he loved her. He loved the way she found the courage to fight him on William’s behalf, despite the fear he’d seen in her eyes.

  People stared, jumped out of his way and he barely saw them.

  All he could think about was Elizabeth; his beautiful rose. The way the sun shone on her hair; the sound of her voice as she read to his son.

  Rage and anger seethed within him. He clenched the reins in his hand and rocked his wrist back and forth, flicking the leather against the horse’s flesh.

  He loved the smell of her hair, the way she toyed with those silken tresses when she was nervous or upset.

  I swear I’ll kill Tisdale, strangle him with my bare hands.

  He came to a grinding stop before the pier and jumped from his horse before the poor animal had time to settle down.

  His footsteps thundered down the wooden pier.

  His gaze darted about the harbor, searching for a ship, a ship whose name he had no knowledge of, a ship that held his beloved prisoner.

  Four vessels waited in the harbor. One was his. At one end of the pier, he noticed a “press gang,” a group of naval seaman, who were busy pressuring a man to join as a recruit.

  On his left, sailors shouted orders to each other as they hauled heavy boxes of supplies up to the main desk using ropes and pulleys, while others pulled and tugged a barrel up the ship’s side by looped ropes.

  Rigging clinked.

  A woman’s laughter pierced the air.

  He hurried toward his schooner. “Stephen!” he shouted to the big burly redhead who served as his captain.

  Stephen turned from the purser and waved down at him.

  Philip shielded his eyes from the blaring sun. “What ship is bound for the Orient?”

  He pointed to a three masted, man-of-war that waited at the end of the pier. Philip swiveled on his heel and bound down the jetty.

  He pushed his way past the group of navy men and rushed up the gangplank.

  How had Tisdale managed to worm his way onto a naval ship?

  The men of the regiment scurried around him, hardly noticing him. He grabbed the arm of a short balding man, with a grizzled sun beaten face.

  “Hey, blackguard,” the sailor spat, his mouth dropping open. His long, scraggy gray beard looked as though a bird had made a nest in its bristly tangles. “Better lay yer hand off me, ‘less yer itching for a tiff.” He yanked his tattooed arm from under Philip’s grip.

  From where he stood, Philip could smell the whiskey emanating from his breath. “Where is she?”

  The chap waved his hand dismissively. “If yer look’n for a woman, plenty below to be found. I’s got me a job to do.” He staggered away.

  Turning blindly, Philip’s gaze darted about him.

  He didn’t even know Tisdale’s face. But damn the bastard, if he had to tear apart this boat, plank by plank, in search for Elizabeth, he would.

  “You. Tisdale.”

  Philip spun around in the direction of the voice.

  A tall man naval officer with blond hair, called down to the docks. “The captain wants to see you.”

  Philip ran to the side of the ship, where the officer was looking.

  A tall, slim man, rather slick in appearance, picked his way around a group of chattering women. With a smile, Tisdale tipped his hat.

  Philip pushed his hands off the rail and bound down the plank.

  Before Tisdale had a chance to make it up the gangplank he grabbed a hold of his collar.

  Surprise siphoned the blood from Tisdale’s face. “What the hell? Unhand me,” he twisted his body.

  “Where is she?” Rage boiled under his skin. “And don’t--” he jerked Tisdale closer, “pretend you don’t know of whom I speak; or so help me I’ll kill you right here.”

  Tisdale met his gaze. “If you do that, you’ll never see her.”

  Philip glanced on board.

  “You think me so stupid?” He grinned. “She’s not there.”

  Philip’s temper rose, sizzling like water in a hot oiled skillet. The veins in his neck throbbed. His nostrils flared, his grip tightened on Tisdale’s collar.

  Tisdale glanced down to his shirt.

  With a quick tug, Philip released his hold and took a step back. “If ‘tis money you want.”

  “You must be Ablington.” As though preoccupied with something over his shoulder, Tisdale sidestepped him.

  Water lapped the sides of the pier. Masts flapped in the wind.

  Seething, Philip turned with a start, then trekked after him. He placed a heavy hand on JT’s shoulder, halting him. “Don’t play games with me. Tell me what you want.”

  Tisdale picked his hand off his shoulder and turned to face him. “Money is always an option, but not in this case.” He moved closer to the side of the ship.

  Men from up above shouted orders, making ready to sail.

  “If not money, then what,” Philip clenched his hand into a fist at his side, in restraint.

  Ropes creaked and moaned.

  “You know…” Tisdale began to slip off his white kid glove. “… It appears as though I’ve poked both your women.”

  “Why you bastard.” Philip drove his fist into his face.

  Tisdale stumbled backward, but caught himself at the edge of the pier. He rubbed his jaw and glanced down behind him. “Tisk, tisk, one more step and I would have been over the pier and where will that get you?” He took a quick step forward.

  “If you don’t tell me where Elizabeth is…,” Philip confronted him, face to face. “… I will hang you over the pier and feed you to the fish till your skin is picked clean and you beg for my mercy.”

  Tisdale stared in silence, then shrugged. “No need for violence.” Quickly he stepped sideways. “She is my legal guardian. The law is on my side.”

  “The law will soon arrest you.” Philip clenched his teeth, his jaw quivered with rage. “She is to be my wife.”

  “Oh, I think not.” He indicated toward the ship. “Ask the captain. Elizabeth already has a husband.”

  Philip’s gut seized. Married? Had he been too late?

  Boisterous voices resounded through the air.

  “Nay!” With the back of his hand, he slapped Tisdale’s cheek.

  His deep-set eyes widened in shock. “A duel? How very gallant.”

  More shouts from above, grating peals of laughter, stole Philip’s attention.

  “But alas, my vessel leaves shortly.” Tisdale took a wide step to the side. “Perhaps another time.”

  Overhead, on the upper deck, three men hauled heavy barrels up the side of the shi
p. Wood scrapped wood. Ropes groaned from the weight.

  “You know the boy, the brat’s not yours.”

  Tisdale’s words hit him like a blow to the ribs.

  Philip’s face paled, his mind numbed, though he refused to believe Tisdale’s words to be true.

  “Watch out below.”

  Dazed, Philip barely heard the order from above. He glanced up.

  It took not more than a second, for his mind to register that within a heart’s beat, death, in the form of a barrel, spiraled toward him. He darted out of the way, throwing himself to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tisdale standing frozen, his face toward the sky.

  “Move,” Philip shouted as he scrambled to his feet. But his words came too late.

  The barrel slammed into Tisdale, splintering over his head.

  Chapter Thirty

  Though the hazy mind of awakening Elizabeth stirred. She became aware of a blanket upon her, the softness of a pillow against her cheek and a presence beside her on the bed.

  Her eyes flit open.

  “Philip?” Perplexed, her brows burrowed.

  Where? How?

  Her gaze darted around her.

  She was back in her chambers and Mary and Tyler and Marlinda… “William!” She bolted to a sitting position. “I don’t see--”

  “He is safe with us.” Philip placed his hand on her arm. His brilliant blue eyes beheld her. “All is well,” he assured her, his voice languid, soothing her concerns. “Lie back,” gently, he eased her against the pillows, “and rest.”

  “I don’t understand? How did you find me and William?”

  The door opened, as if on cue, and William bound into the room. He ran to her side, stopped and studied her with his serious brown eyes. With nervous energy, his foot tapped the hardwood floor. Then, he smiled, reached out and pat her hand.

  Philip got down on his knee beside his son. “William, son, look at me.”

  William ignored his father and her heart lurched in pain for him.

  “I know you can hear me. I know you can.”

  Those were her exact words. She smiled. So he had been looking in on them that day in the music room.

  His hand rested over William’s. “Son, our little surprise for Mistress Elizabeth, remember? I know you can do this, I know you can.”