The Slide Into Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

  Desperation made his heart race but he had to take a moment to think. Wickham couldn’t marry Eliza himself, he was her guardian and it would take time to prove their match one of love before anyone would let him marry her. They had the ship so they could sail out to international waters and the ship’s captain could marry her to… To whom? Then it became blindingly obvious and his stomach roiled. Sir Percival or Mr Smith. It had to be one or the other. God. A corrupt ex-magistrate or an underhanded, underworld murderer of the ton’s indebted sons. He couldn’t let either of them touch Eliza. She was his and only his.

  Eliza was right when she’d complained about the men of England. They did take whatever they wanted, innocents be damned.

  If this Mr Smith character did indeed have the Persephone under his control, Darius wouldn’t bother trying to take it back; he didn’t have the manpower or the time. He would burn her to the waterline with Mr Smith, Wickham and Percival on board. They could all go to the devil as far as Darius was concerned. He’d have no issues sending them there himself.

  Chapter Thirty

  If the truth were to be admitted, Darius had no idea where to start. By the time they made London’s outskirts, all in the party were weary, filthy and hungry. They’d barely stopped for more than a few minutes since they’d left. Their horses were going to drop dead at any minute with their riders still in the saddles.

  Wes spoke up. “Are we headed for the Persecutor?” he asked.

  There they would have a chance to scheme, to plan, but Darius had a feeling anything they did wasn’t going to be enough. They would be outnumbered. The rest of the men wouldn’t make London until the next day with Sarah and the carriage. They would probably be outsmarted as well since none of his men were familiar with London or her docks or her stinking waterways.

  They had to rest and think but their large party was going to attract all the wrong sorts of attentions from the ton. As they passed what would likely be the last posting house before traffic and houses thickened, leaving farms long behind, Darius called the order to pull in and dismount.

  “We can’t ride through the streets on horseback. We’ll have to stop and find a carriage.”

  “What’s the plan?” Wes asked.

  “I don’t know yet. I need more information. We need to take care of Harold’s wounds and wake him so he can tell us more.” Darius nodded towards Baggens. “Is he still alive?”

  “I would have tossed him off if he were dead, Cap’n.”

  They needed an ally. They needed to regroup and hatch the perfect plan. Unless they stole onto the ship in the dead of night they were also going to be in need of more manpower. It would be out-and-out murder that way but it would be done. Quickly. And then it would be over. The nightmares his father presented again and again would be over. He could hardly believe it might happen. He would end the day free from the part of his past that haunted him the most.

  Darius used the last of his coin to hire a carriage and a driver, paying extra to be neither seen nor reported. Twelve men climbed in. If anyone looked closely, they would see the carriage weighed down so it almost scraped the cobbles but it was growing dark, evening encroaching, a storm building over the city. No one would pay attention to them.

  He gave the driver the only address he knew in London and instructed him to enter via the mews, drive right in rather than letting them alight on the street. The tiny wiry man nodded and pocketed another coin. The very last Darius had. If Anthony Germaine wasn’t in, they were done for. If he turned them away, they were done for. Harold needed a doctor, though if Darius didn’t need his information, he would have left him back in the village to die.

  The ride was a short one for him but for the four of his men who had to stand, stooped over and holding on to worn leather straps to stop from tumbling onto the other men who were seated, it probably felt like hours. Harold sat wedged in a corner and groaned with every turn and bump. He was more conscious now than he had been on horseback.

  A series of holes and a misstep from the team had them all jostled in the confined space. When eventually they stopped at the rear of Anthony Germaine’s home he let out the breath he’d been attempting not to hold in. Their presence was noticed immediately, the butler of the home exiting via the kitchen entrance, all flustered and obviously wary. “Good day to you, milord.”

  “Is Germaine in?” Darius responded without preamble or niceties. If they lingered in the yard, there would be talk. Already he could feel the eyes of gossiping ducks on him.

  “I will have to check for you, milord.” Darius couldn’t remember the butler’s name from his last visit but the most proper servant certainly remembered him. Censure built behind the man’s expression before he whirled in his shiny black shoes to re-enter the house.

  Darius wasn’t going to wait for Germaine to bar the door so he followed and gestured for his sailors to do the same.

  There were shrieks from the cook and three maids as they barged into the kitchens but Darius didn’t stop there either, though the smells of supper made his mouth water. He would have eaten straight from the spoon and pot if they’d had the time.

  When the butler discovered he was followed, he didn’t lift an accusing finger, he only hurried on farther into the house.

  Darius recognised the way now. He slowed and turned to Wes. “Why don’t you men wait here while I apprise our host of the situation?”

  Wes chuckled as he halted, the rest of the men doing the same. Three footmen came at a run, skidding on the tiled floor, sputtering and gaping. “It’s all right, lads,” Wes said, addressing them when they looked as though they would turn tail and run. “We’ve not come for trouble.”

  Darius didn’t wait. He barged into Germaine’s study where the butler looked on the verge of an apoplexy as he rushed to tell him who his caller was.

  Germaine reclined on a settee, one leg raised on an ottoman and a book on his blanketed lap. He didn’t appear anywhere near as surprised as the butler did. He was angry though. He had the same eyes as his pirate father and right now they flashed with something akin to murder.

  “Darius,” he acknowledged with a nod as he closed his book and placed it on the table at his elbow. He paled slightly as he rose to his feet, one leg held lightly off the ground. Darius remembered the last time he’d been there, Germaine had suffered a broken limb and a leg shacklement all in one day. He’d been trying to get drunk over it when Darius had discussed his sister, Daniella, with him. God, it seemed like years ago rather than mere months.

  There was no time for pleasantries. “I have a pressing problem that I need your help with.”

  “I have already repaid my favour to you, well, rather your man, Marcus. I have given him all the information he required on your Mr Smith. Our debt is settled.”

  “Then I come begging for another favour.” His next request was cut off when a groaning, bleeding Harold was carried in through the door.

  Baggens followed. “Sorry, Cap’n, he wouldn’t stand any longer and we can’t hold him up, what with all the wrigglin’ and cryin’.”

  This caused Germaine to move. “Meddington? Is that you?”

  Darius moved and let the man cross the room. “You two know each other?”

  “Of course, we do. We studied at school together. We’ve known each other since we were lads. What happened to him?”

  “Our father beat him and left him for dead, tied to a chair behind a locked door.”

  “Our father?” Germaine said, his eyes finally wide and betraying an emotion other than annoyance.

  “Wickham spawned us both, yes. Harold here is legitimate; I am not, yada, yada, yada. We don’t have time for the histories.”

  “What has any of this to do with me?” Germaine asked as he indicated for Darius’s men to lay Harold on a long sofa beneath a portrait depicting a gruesome pig hunt.

  Darius gave a nod in the direction of the groaning. “First, he needs a doctor. Wickham has taken my wife and the Duke of Penfold’s oth
er children and is holding them captive. Harold here knows where he is taking them and you’re going to help us get them back.”

  “Your wife?” Germaine’s confusion was obvious and Darius wished he would catch up quicker. “Are you talking about the Duke of Penfold? I’d heard he was deathly ill.”

  Frustration made his story a short one. Only the pertinent parts were filled in and it all came out in rush but once he had relayed all to Germaine, Darius waited in tense silence. “Will you help me?” he asked when no reaction came forth.

  Stunned silence made way to, “You ask a lot of me.”

  “They mean a lot to me. I have to get them back.” He let his anguish show, something no pirate did. Even a ship’s captain, a man, didn’t leave his weaknesses out for display, but Darius was beyond behaving like a pirate, a ship’s captain, London’s meaning of a man.

  Each gallop of his horse that day and each hour that had passed since she’d been taken from him, Darius had realised more and more just how much he needed Eliza in his life. How much he needed to get something right for once. Now he was back to being just Darius. And he wanted his wife back.

  *

  The stench assaulted her senses first. Eliza had never smelled anything like it. Had something died? Perhaps she had and this was the corner of hell reserved just for her.

  A groan in the darkness caught her attention and something moved next to her. She would have flinched away but she was wedged in place. Unfamiliar weight pinned her legs but it was so dark, she couldn’t make anything out. Her mouth was dry as though she hadn’t had water in years and her head thumped abominably. The groan came again. Was it her? Her body hurt in so many places, the pain kind of blurred it all together so it all thumped in time with the beat of her heart.

  Eliza struggled to lift herself, to discover what it was that made it almost impossible to move, but her eyelids wouldn’t open. The painful thump of her head brought with it a squeezing sensation and she slowly came to realise there was something tied around her face.

  Trying to stifle her next groan, she slid the fabric away and over her brow. Pushing up to a sitting position, the darkness now not quite so dense, she stifled a scream with a hand over her mouth.

  “Ethan?” She rolled her brother’s body from her legs, the weight that had held her down. He was blindfolded as well and as she came to her knees, sliding the fabric off his little face, she breathed her relief at the sight of the rise and fall of his chest. What had happened to them? The last memory floating about in her aching head had been Wickham’s sneering leer and Sir Percy’s hands on her breasts. She’d bitten and kicked and… Oh God. Had they raped her? It was all so hazy.

  Frantic but knowing silence was her friend right then. She peered into the corners around her. Crude timber steps bit into her hip as she attempted to rise only to fall on weak legs that wobbled, a sob wrenched from her throat. Two steps away Grace and Nathanial lay, Gabriella in a heap next to them. She rushed to check their breathing. Sleeping as well. She shook Nathanial but he only pushed her away with a mumble.

  Taking each step like a baby deer learning to walk, Eliza climbed as high as she could and pushed at the door at the top. It wouldn’t budge. She slipped back down and onto the floor. It rocked beneath her feet and she wondered just what kind of drug they had been given. She didn’t remember regaining consciousness since she had been hit… Who had hit her?

  The poor light shining into the room came from a tiny portal on the wall opposite but before she could approach it and see where they were, something else caught her eye. A man. Naked but for the tattered smalls about his waist, chained and slumped against his bonds.

  Eliza jumped back with a frightened squeak. Irrational since he was chained and she was not. Perhaps it was the sight of so much blood? It caked his hands and had left brown trails down his arms and across his chest. She wanted to turn away, to close her eyes against the horror, but he watched her. She hadn’t noticed at first but when he blinked, she knew his eyes had followed her about the room.

  She should say something. Anything. But what? She decided on, “Who are you?”

  “That all depends,” his croaked reply came.

  “Depends on what?” she asked.

  “On why you’re here.”

  “I don’t know why we’re here. I don’t even know where here is.”

  “You are in the lowest hold of the Persephone.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked. She couldn’t not ask. Why had Wickham drugged them? Just so he could lock them up? Was it because she had fought back?

  “I was the captain of this ship once upon a time.”

  Eliza had overheard Darius talking to his men about a missing ship. The ship that had brought about her father’s final shame and downfall. Thinking of Darius and the hurt in his eyes as she’d chosen the wrong fork in the road made her feel even more wretched. Why did she have to remember that part of the day? Why hadn’t she chosen to stand and fight alongside him rather than only trusting in herself to save the day? Look how badly it had worked out for her so far. “Did my father put you here?”

  The other prisoner hadn’t moved at all apart from the narrowing of his eyes but at the mention of her father, he unfurled from his slumped position and stood. “Who is your father?”

  She retreated as far as the small space would let her. He was huge. Tall, yes, but so slim she could make out each of the protruding ribs holding his wide shoulders up. He was only skin and bone but he terrified her all the same.

  “The Duke of Penfold was my father.”

  The man slumped again as though the act of simply standing took all the strength he’d had. His chains rattled and as he resettled on the floor, Eliza witnessed the grimace that stole his breath away. “Smith put me here to gain the compliance of my crew.”

  “How long have you been here?” Her question was more a whisper. She didn’t really think she wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure. Months though. I don’t know how many.”

  Finally reaching for the courage to turn her back, Eliza sank to the floor between Ethan and Grace, her face in her hands as tears fell down her cheeks. She hurt everywhere. The pressures from her body, the stinging pain as she sat, told her the worst must have happened after she’d lost consciousness. Had Wickham’s men had their way with her? Had she been used and then thrown down a hole to await her next fate?

  At her left, Nathanial finally pushed himself up on his elbows. He retched and vomited on the filthy boards, the noise cutting through the tension of the room. His shirt had been ripped up to his shoulder, the mark of bonds cut into both wrists clearly visible before the light coming through the porthole waned.

  Eliza suddenly couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t hear anything else over the roaring of blood in her ears and the race of her pulse. Struggling to take in air, she gulped, tried to inhale.

  Hopelessness like she’d never felt, not even after she’d found her sister standing over their father’s cooling body, invaded every part of her aching form. Strong arms wrapped about her and held her tight. Nathanial was probably waiting for wails of despair. Despite how her broken and battered body shook, she didn’t cry or scream. Numbness soon rushed in to replace despair.

  She almost wished for death in those moments. She’d rather they all be dead than at any madman’s mercy like this. She had fought so hard against her father and the mess he’d left them to, so her younger sisters would never be sold to men like Wickham.

  But they’d taken what they’d wanted anyway. Perhaps they’d never stood a chance.

  *

  Darius sat in the chair Germaine indicated but shook his head when offered a glass filled with dark liquid. He clenched his fingers around the tops of his thighs and resisted the urge to jump up and pace. “Will you help me or not?” he asked, attempting to gentle his tone but failing.

  “I still don’t understand why the daughter of a duke would think you were her only choice. No offense intended of course.”
>
  Darius inclined his head but then muttered an obscenity beneath his breath.

  Germaine went on. “Did the chit have no other relations? I don’t know the family at all.”

  “Only an aunt and uncle but she says they are worse than Wickham.”

  “How did you get involved with the Penfolds to start with? You didn’t say.”

  He’d left that part out, hoping it wouldn’t come up. “Three gentlemen—Wickham, Derbing and Penfold—stole a ship from my employer, Deklin Montrose.”

  Germaine raised his hand for a pause. “I thought you were a pirate?”

  He was going to throttle him. “Not anymore. But that doesn’t matter. The fabrics and the ship all disappeared so I was sent to retrieve the debts owed. Derbing had won an unentailed property from Wickham in a card game and gave it to me to settle his debts.”

  “And now has fled England for the coast of Italy,” Germaine, said filling in a blank.

  “He can go to hell for all I care. The man paid. My business with him was over. Wickham couldn’t be found so my men and I shored up at the house. The Duke of Penfold’s estate borders mine. I was going to go to him and demand what I was owed but he was dead already.”

  “Committed suicide you say?” Germaine narrowed his eyes.

  “I arrived in time to save Wickham from accosting Eliza Penfold.”

  “And she was so grateful she just fell into your arms? An illegitimate pirate?”

  Darius ground his teeth and squeezed harder with his fingers. The silly smile on Germaine’s lips wouldn’t look so good after he pummelled the man. “There was a good deal more to it than that. I was handed what I thought was the duke’s last written words giving Eliza to me for his portion of the debt. I was to have her and her dowry.”

  “Did the duke write it or not?”

  “He did not. Eliza forged it to save her sister from—What the bloody hell does any of this matter? They are all in grave danger. Harold is going to tell me where the Persephone is docked and my men and I are going to rain hellfire down upon it.”