"In orange sauce. Want to stay for dinner?"
"I was hoping you'd ask. Meals've been so boring at Fortune's Find since Mother and Father left for France."
"All right, Micah," Keely conceded as she pushed through the back door toward the summer kitchen. "You can stay for dinner, but then you have to go. I have work to do."
"One hot meal, a little dinner conversation with my favorite Tory, and I swear I'll be gone!"
Keely retied the bow of her emerald silk calash a third time. Realizing she'd go mad if she stayed in the house another day, she had decided to go visit Jenna's mother and see how Max was making out.
She didn't care that Brock had ordered she keep Laura in the house. The Tempest had set sail six days ago. How would he know where she had or hadn't gone? There in the garden they had met in a cold stalemate. He wanted her to return to England but said Laura must stay. What kind of monster did he think she was that she would leave her daughter behind? As much as she longed for the comfort of Aunt Gwen, she'd follow Brock Bartholomew to the gates of hell to keep her daughter.
Thought of that conversation brought tears to Keely's eyes and she dabbed them with a damp handkerchief. Even after all the cruel things he'd said, a part of her still wanted him desperately. "Stinking colonial," she muttered beneath her breath. "Fool!" Micah was right—what had she done to make Brock distrust her so? Couldn't he see that she was falling. . .
Keely leaned forward to scoop a basket of freshly baked gooseberry tarts off the floor of the entryway. It was too difficult to think about all of this. Too painful. So she wouldn't.
"I'm leaving, Ruth," Keely called aloud. "Bring her here. I'm ready."
A minute later the rotund cook came hustling down the hall with Laura settled happily on her hip. "You certain you wouldn't just want to leave her here with me, Miss Keely? She'd be just fine."
Keely shook her head, reaching for her baby. "I know she would, but the summer air will do her good and I've been promising Mistress Lewes that I'd bring her by."
"All right, child. You go on and enjoy yourself, You been lookin' like you could use a friend these last few days."
Keely smoothed the light blanket Laura was wrapped in, jingling her bell and coral. "Yes, you like that, don't you, sweetie," Keely crooned to the baby.
Laura was a picture of health with her rosy cheeks and her auburn hair peeking from beneath the white lace bonnet. She had her father's eyes, dark and piercing, and her skin was slightly red in hue. To Keely, she was beautiful.
"I'm going now." Keely looked up at Ruth. "But we'll be home for supper. Something light."
Ruth threw up a huge black hand. "Go on with you. I tole that worthless stable hand of yours to get the buggy hitched. It ought to be ready to go."
Keely smiled, reaching out to take Ruth's hand. "Thank you."
"Thank me for what?" The old woman arched her heavyset eyebrows.
"For being nice to me."
"Pshaw! Get on with you, miss. I think this heat is making you dizzy."
Keely laughed, going out the front door. "Good-bye."
"Bye," came Ruth's voice as Keely stepped out onto the front stoop and took a deep breath.
The summer air was heavy with the heat of the morning sun and fragrant with the scent of blooming peach blossoms. A light breeze came from the east off the bay, making the oak and maple trees that surrounded the house sway rhythmically.
Taking another deep breath, Keely shifted Laura to the opposite hip and, clutching the basket of tarts, set off down the brick-paved walk around the back of the house to the stables.
The two-seated open carriage had been hitched to the chestnut gelding and stood waiting in the middle of the brick-paved yard. The stable boy, Samuel, was nowhere to be seen.
Keely grimaced. These servants of Uncle Lloyd's were never where they were supposed to be. Samuel had probably hitched the horse and then run off to go fishing.
Lucy had left early that morning to purchase needles and some sugar and had not returned. Keely hadn't seen the servant's British lover again, but she assumed Lucy was still seeing him. If Keely could discover nothing more this week, other than that his name was Georgie, she knew she would have to tell Brock of the maid's indiscretion and possible betrayal when he returned. Then Brock would have to deal with it. Maybe he could find out what she couldn't. Maybe it was just more of Lucy's innocent games . . . but maybe it wasn't.
Setting Laura carefully in a small laundry basket on the floor of the open carriage, Keely pushed the tart basket up on the seat and swung into the vehicle. Just as she lifted the reins, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. "Samuel, how many times—" Her voice stuck in her throat in terror. There standing only a few feet from her was an ill-clothed man aiming a cocked pistol squarely on her.
"What do you want?" Keely said with hard, clear precision. Her hand tightened around the reins as she poised to flee.
The dark-haired man laughed, tugging on the red wool cap that perched on his head. "Not much, little lady, not much a'tall."
Keely leaned forward, slapping the horse's reins, but another man came at her, catching the harness with his hand. The man's blond hair fell in long, greasy strings down his back.
"Now where you tryin' to go?" the man in the red cap questioned. He leaned over against the carriage's wheel, gesturing with his flintlock. "Don't get any ideas about screamin' or we'd have to take that there beautiful little babe of yours'en."
Keely's hand flew instinctively to Laura, but the blonde was too fast. He snatched the baby's basket from the floor of the carriage and held it high above his head, cackling with glee.
Keely stifled the fear that rose in her throat. Keeping her eyes fixed on Laura's basket, she spoke quietly. "Tell me what you want. Money? Food? Give me my baby and I'll give you what you want." She gripped the reins tightly, her knuckles turning ghostly white.
"Oh, yea. We want money." In one swift motion the leader swung up into the carriage beside her. "But we want lots of it."
His breath reeked of garlic and Keely leaned back in disgust. "So you'll have. Just give me my baby."
By now the blonde had lowered the basket and was poking Laura gently with one dirty finger.
The man in the red cap shook his head. "Sorry. Can't be doin' that, Miss Fancy Bonnet. Our orders was to bring you in. We don't do the dealin', just the stealin'."
The blonde cackled. "That's good there, Dickie. I like the sound of that."
"Shut up, Mort, before I shut you up," Dickie barked.
Keely looked the man called Dickie in the eye. "If you're taking me, leave the child. She's of no use to you." Her hands trembled, but her voice rang clear.
Dickie shook his head. "I think not. 'Cause if I didn't take the babe, I'd have no guarantees you'd behave yourself, now would I?"
"I swear I will, I'll do what you say," she begged. "Just leave Laura behind."
Dickie snatched the reins from her hands. "I know you will, 'cause the brat's goin' with us." He nodded to his accomplice. "You best be jumpin' on the back before I leave your ass, Mort."
The blonde nodded his head, racing around to the rear of the carriage. He landed shakily just as the vehicle leaped forward.
It was all Keely could do to keep from crying out as Laura was jostled roughly in the basket. Thank God she isn't crying, Keely thought. She tried to reach behind to soothe the child with her hand but Mort jerked the basket from her reach.
Keely turned to Dickie, who had urged the horse and carriage out the back lane and through a line of trees. "Tell me where you're taking me."
"Nice of you to have the buggy hitched and ready to go. Just makes things easier fer us." He laid the pistol beside him on the leather seat. "I hate walkin'."
"I said where are you taking me?" she demanded loudly.
"Shut up, woman." He yanked the bodice of her gown, drawing her closer. "Because you cause a fuss and that little 'en is dead." His blue-green eyes were malignant. "You got it?"
<
br /> Keely laid her hand on his, sinking her nails into his flesh. "You hurt either of us and you'll not get a pence. You understand?"
Dickie released the bodice of her gown. "Bitch," he murmured.
"My husband's gone. I don't know when he'll be back. I don't know when you'll get your money."
"That red bastard'll be dockin' directly if our information is right."
Keely kept her eyes open for the sight of another human being, anyone she could cry out to for help. But luck was against her. Her captors had chosen the back way out of Dover, down deserted alleys. The carriage was moving west, and they had already reached the outskirts of the town. "Information? Who gave you the information?" An image of Lucy and her convenient absence flashed through Keely's mind.
"Hee! Hee! Hee!" Mort chortled from the rear of the carriage. "Got some'en good we have, ain't we, Dickie? Some'en real close to home ye might say."
Dickie spun around angrily. "This is your last warnin', Mort. If ye don't stop flappin' your tongue, I'll cut it out."
The man holding the baby basket gulped. "Yes, sir," he mumbled compliantly.
"And you shut up, too, woman!" Dickie sunk his elbow into Keely's side. "Stop askin' your questions. The only thing you got to worry about is keepin' you and that red man's baby alive!"
Keely winced, massaging her injured waist. Peering over her shoulder, she caught a glance of Laura, her basket balanced on Mort's knees. The sight of her child made her keep quiet and think. It was obvious these men meant business. But if she kept her wits about her and did what they said, Brock would come home and pay the ransom and then they would be free. With that thought, she turned and stared straight ahead, her jaw set in determination.
Sometime later Dickie stopped the carriage, but only long enough to exchange vehicles. This time they set out in an ancient rickety wagon pulled by two mismatched mares. Dickie had forced Keely to strip down to her shift and pull on a dirty blue-tick skirt and a bodice of scratchy low-grade linen. Her head was covered with an old green kerchief tied beneath her chin. Over Laura's clean blanket, Dickie threw a soiled feedsack.
"There, that's better," he told Keely. "Now you don't look so uppity. Look like you ought to." He brushed her cheek with his hand and she winced. "Look like you're mine . . ." he murmured.
So, they had set out with Keely and Dickie riding on the wagon seat and Mort on the back, his feet dangling over the side. Mort cradled a loaded flintlock rifle. Laura was still in her basket beside him, but by now she was beginning to fuss.
"Shut it up," Dickie ordered. "Shut the little bastard up, Mort!"
"Please," Keely said with all of the humility she could muster. "She's hungry."
At the sound of her mother's voice, Laura cried louder.
"So feed her! But then you give 'er back to Mort," Dickie ordered. "You got it?"
Keely nodded numbly, standing up to step into the wagon.
"Oh, no. You ain't goin' nowhere," Dickie chided. "Just sit yourself down. Mort, he's too softhearted. He's liable to let you run. He wouldn't shoot you like I would. Pass the brat up here," he called over his shoulder.
Keely sat back down, accepting Laura gratefully. Yanking the kerchief off her own head, she flung it over her shoulder, attempting to block Dickie's view. The moment she put the babe to her breast, Laura quieted and sucked hungrily.
Dickie chuckled deep in his throat, spitting a golden stream of tobacco over the side of the wagon. "Wouldn't mind havin' a little taste of that myself," he declared. "How 'bout you, Mort? wanna try?"
Mort made no reply and Keely hugged Laura tighter against her. All too soon the child had finished nursing and fallen fast asleep.
"I think you've had that brat long enough," Dickie ordered. He yanked down the kerchief, catching a glance of one firm breast before Keely could pull down her bodice. "Stinkin' colonial," she muttered beneath her breath.
"Take it," Dickie told Mort. He turned back to Keely as his partner lifted the babe from her arms. "I ain't no colonial. Not like most of 'em round here. Loyal English subject I am. You're the stinkin' colonial," he sneered. "You and that red man of a husband."
"Why me?" Keely asked. She retied the kerchief over her head to keep the beating sun off her face. Already the bare skin of her arms was turning pink. "What made you choose me?"
"It were Elijah that did it," Mort piped up. "We just work for 'im. He's a smart'en."
"Shut up, Mort." Dickie glanced at Keely. "We've had some contact with your husband now and then. Knew he was a big fish."
"Contact? How? Brock would never deal with the likes of you."
Dickie grinned. "didn't say it was voluntary, now did I?"
She watched the passing landscape, longing to leap from the wagon and run. If only she still had Laura in her arms. But her captors both had guns. If she ran, Dickie would surely kill her and then what would become of Laura? "I don't know what you mean," she stated flatly.
"We's the ones that been interceptin' those shipments from the Chesapeake, bound for your army," Mort declared. "Sell'um for a tidy profit to the English army, we do."
"You?" Keely stared at Dickie suspiciously." Is that where you're taking me?"
"Don't matter where we're goin'. But yea, us and others." He shot an evil glare at Mort. "Elijah said to keep your mouth shut, Mort. She knows too much . . . then we gotta kill 'er when it's done. You want her dead, Mort?"
The blonde shook his head emphatically. "Sorry, Dickie," he answered, childlike.
"But how do you know where the supplies are?" Keely asked. "Sometimes the people who are moving them don't even know where they're bound."
Dickie lifted his eyebrow, spitting tobacco over the side again. "There's some that knows, I can guarantee you that."
The sun rose directly overhead then began to fall and still the wagon moved west. Twice they stopped to drink water from a stream, but Keely had time only to drink and splash water on her face and then they were moving again. Rarely did they see anyone on the road, and when they did, Dickie pressed his pistol to her side, assuring silent passage.
As the sun began to set, Keely fed Laura again and again Mort took her away. As night fell, once more Keely asked where they were headed. They were still moving due west. They had to be bound for the Chesapeake Bay.
"I told you, it ain't none of your concern," Dickie said angrily. "And I'm getting sick of your questions."
"But how will my husband know where we are?" An image of Brock flashed through her head. Despite their insurmountable differences, she longed tor him. Only Brock could save her and Laura—only Brock could ever make her feel safe again, wrapped tightly in his massive arms.
"There's gonna be a note delivered," came Mort's voice from the rear.
"When?" she asked Mort.
"Soon," Dickie replied. "Now both of you shut up!"
The sun set and still they moved on. Against her will, Keely grew sleepy and dozed off. The sway of the wagon and the clip-clopping of the horses' hooves lulled her to sleep and for a short time she escaped the terror of the day's happenings. Sometime in the middle of the night she jerked herself awake. Their surroundings had changed. Trees hanging heavily over their heads had been replaced by marshland. The air was filled with the tangy scent of salt water and the sound of night birds screeching in the distance.
"Where are we?" Keely demanded. Through the darkness she spotted Laura's sleeping form, still nestled in the laundry basket.
"Almost there," Dickie grunted.
She could hear lapping water very nearby. Had they reached their destination? Just ahead Keely could make out the outline of a makeshift dock.
"Mort!" Dickie barked. "Wake up, you worthless bastard!"
"What? What is it?" Mort murmured sleepily.
"We're here. Get your ass down and find the boat. Mister Elijah'll be waitin'." He pulled the horses to a halt and both men leaped down. Dickie held out his hand regally. "My lady."
Keely jumped out of the wagon, ignoring him. T
aking Laura's basket out of the back, she clutched it tightly to her chest.
"I found it, Dickie," came Mort's voice out of the darkness. "Tied right where it was supposed to be."
Dickie laid his hand on Keely's shoulder, giving her a push. "Get in."
"What?" She blinked. "Where are you taking us?"
"Get in the bloody boat!" He pushed her again impatiently.
"Just tell me where we're going. I told you I'd do what you say." She hurried down to the water, hoping that if she did what they told her, they wouldn't take Laura away from her again.
Mort assisted her into the rocking boat. "There." He nodded toward the water. "The Fanny. You see her?"
Keely strained her eyes until she spotted the hull of a ship looming high in water a few hundred yards out. They seemed to be in some hidden cove. There was nothing else in sight —not a house, or another boat, or a human being.
Dickie and Mort leaped in the small boat and Mort picked up the oars and began to row toward the shadow ship farther out in the channel. Keely sat in the bow, clutching Laura's basket tightly. The salt air was cool on the bay, and her arms bristled with goose flesh. Carefully, she tucked the feed sack closer around her sleeping daughter.
Suddenly there was a shout of warning from the ship and the clatter of men's feet.
"It's Dickie," her captor shouted through cupped hands. "Permission to board."
There was a pause and then an answer. "Permission granted. Cap'n says you're late. Get your ass up here," the male voice replied.
Mort guided the boat closer to the ship, easing it gently against the hull. A rope ladder tell from above and Dickie stood up. "You first, Mort. Take the brat."
Keely jumped up. "No!"
"I said, take her," Dickie repeated gruffly.
Mort dropped the oars and stood, slipping Laura gingerly from her warm haven. The little girl struggled, crying out, her tiny arms waving in the air as the man began to make his ascent.
Keely stood up in disbelief, still clutching the empty basket. It was all she could do to remain silent and still as Mort climbed the long ladder with Laura tucked precariously under his arm.
When Dickie finally gave her the signal to proceed, she scrambled up the rope ladder without hesitation. All she could think of was Laura as she climbed higher and higher above the small boat. She gave no thought to the difficulty of the climb or the water below. All she wanted was to hold Laura in her arms again.
The Ruffian and the Rose Page 19