01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  “Indeed, sir. My apologies.” Without another word, the officer bowed and disappeared inside.

  With a practiced air of leisure, Pierce casually made his way down the stairs and along the brick pathways through a small orchard. Although the guests were eagerly showing off their wit and clothes to their peers and their betters, there was no saying that some of them would not venture out onto the terrace. He did not want anyone to see him leaving.

  Beyond a cherry tree, the path led toward the stable yards. He paused to cast a final glance toward the house. No one was on the terrace. All was calm.

  Then, as he turned to go, a scream cut through the night.

  *****

  This was clearly not the time to explain anything. At the sound of her mother’s response, Portia nearly lost her grip on the railing.

  When Helena staggered back from the window, Portia tried to regain her footing on the trellis. As quickly as she dared, she began her descent. All around her, it sounded as if the household had come alive. The barking of dogs in the kennels followed Helena’s scream, and shouts of running servants could be heard through the open window.

  Halfway down, Portia’s dress caught on some thorns. Trying to disengage it, she felt the trellis begin to come away from the house. She had no choice. Tearing the dress free, she jumped, grabbing at a branch of the pear tree as she fell.

  As she dropped onto the soft ground, she was aware of her dress tearing and the laces of the corset snapped. Leaves and branches showered down on her, but she couldn’t stop to worry about any of it. Quickly, she struggled to her feet and started running from the window and the commotion taking place in the chamber above. Crossing the rose garden, she spied an arched opening leading out and turned her steps toward it. Then, as Portia looked back at the house one last time, she collided with a tall and very solid body suddenly blocking the archway. Stunned, she fell back, but a pair of strong hands grasped her shoulders.

  Portia looked up in panic, expecting one of Admiral’s servants. Instead, she was relieved to find her captor was the Scotsman she had sent Captain Turner after. Shouts of “Thief!” and “Housebreaker!” rang out in the darkness.

  “’Tis not what you think!” she exclaimed, already knowing that she could not reveal the truth if she ever wanted to come back here to carry her plans through.

  “And what do I think?”

  “I am no thief.” She tried to move away, but the man’s hand wrapped tightly around her wrist. She could hear the loud voices of servants coming across the rose garden. “They are mistaken. I was only walking in the gardens. I…I must have frightened a lady looking out her window.”

  “It must have been an arduous walk.”

  Portia winced when his free hand touched her cheek. She had scratched herself in the fall. He pulled a twig with leaves still attached to it from her hair.

  The pursuers were almost upon them. She tugged on his arm and tried to hide in the shadows of the garden wall. Being caught would prove disastrous, she was sure. Admiral Middleton was vicious enough to lock his own daughter away, and Portia did not want to think of what he would do to her if he guessed the relationship between them.

  “I came here as a guest. ’Twas too warm in the ballroom. I needed to come outside for a walk. ” Panic seized her. If he held her for another instant, she would be lost. “Please, you must help me. It will be impossible to try to explain this to them.”

  “I agree. You are having difficulty explaining it to me.”

  “Mr. Pennington,” she pleaded. “I beg you to believe me. I am no thief. Where I was and what I was trying to do is perfectly justifiable and explainable to a rational person…but not to a pursuing mob. If you would help me get out of here…”

  “There!” The shout was nearby. “Someone is there!”

  Portia glanced over her shoulder and saw men approaching. Several had torches. She shrank against him.

  “Please,” she whispered against his chest.

  He pulled her wrist sharply, forcing her to his side as he called out. “Over here.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The servants’ shouts rang out in the adjoining room and then beneath her in the gardens. Helena shrank back against the heavy curtains at the sound of the latch lifting on her door. She looked toward the balcony. The single candle on the windowsill was just a flickering glow, a dying point of light in the sea of darkness that each day claimed a little more of her vision.

  She was losing her mind. The dream world was now taking over her waking hours.

  The doctors had warned her. They had lectured her about the delusions that she would experience. No matter that they seemed so material, so real, they were only creations of her disturbed mind. They had told her that the medicines would help her sleep, but she must be steadfast in taking them. Religious.

  She didn’t trust them. She questioned their motives as well as their quackery. She felt more ill with every dose of their poisonous concoctions. But against her better judgment, and out of desperation, she occasionally submitted to their combined will.

  Now, however, Helena did not know if the young woman tonight had been real or if it had simply been her mind playing tricks on her.

  Mother, the young voice had said. Mother.

  But she was not a mother. No living creature had ever called her by the name. Her own poor baby had not lived long enough. Helena touched her arm where she had felt the woman’s fingers. This all had been a deception, an illusion created in her mind.

  The door opened. The sound of footsteps came across the room. Blurred shapes carrying les surrounded her.

  “Miss Helena?”

  She accepted the wrap a young servant placed around her shoulders. She shivered involuntarily, though, when she heard Mrs. Green’s heavy steps in the bedchamber.

  “Was someone in here?”

  “No,” Helena whispered.

  “Did someone try to break into your room?”

  “No one.”

  “Then why did you scream?”

  “I…I had a bad dream.” She inched toward the window. The balmy night air was soothing against her skin, like the soft touch of the young woman. Mother, she had said.

  “Practically everyone in the mansion heard your call, ma’am. You have disrupted the party. The guests are upset and the Admiral is quite displeased. You didn’t take the medicine tonight, did you, Miss Helena?”

  She turned her back on Mrs. Green’s implied reprimand and her question. She certainly did drink the bitter potion. She was sleeping when she heard the knock on the window. If her eyes would only allow her to see! A face to go with the voice.

  Servants moved about the room. Someone leaned over the balcony and called to the ones below. Mrs. Green continued to upbraid her, though Helena ignored her. She reached along the windowsill until her fingers grasped the candleholder.

  “I do not know why you insist on keeping a candle lit at night,” the housekeeper said bitterly, taking the light from her and moving toward the mantle. “Just a waste of the Admiral’s money.”

  A young servant pushed something into Helena’s hands. “Did you drop this, milady?”

  She felt the texture of the item—velvet, feathers, the outline of the eyes and nose. Her fingers told her it was a woman’s mask, but Helena didn’t dare bring it to her face where she could have a better look.

  “Yes, I did,” she said softly, hearing Mrs. Green coming back. Without another word, Helena tucked the mask beneath the wrap.

  *****

  The kick to his shin was vicious and unexpected. Pierce uttered a curse as his grip loosened enough for the minx to slip his hold. In the next second she’d disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

  He didn’t bother to watch where she was going. He simply wasn’t interested in the little she-devil. He certainly couldn’t care less why she was running, what she’d been caught doing, or how it was that she knew his name. A vague connection formed in his mind about the young woman that Captain Turner had b
een looking for earlier. If this were the one, she’d do well to run.

  Although Pierce had called to the mob, he had intended to say a few words in her defense, perhaps even serve as her alibi. Time was running short now, though, and he had far more important business at the waterfront.

  When a number of servants rhed him, Pierce pointed in a different direction than the way the woman had gone. As the group rushed off, he worked his way though the gardens toward the stable yards.

  News of a possible burglary was already circulating among the grooms. They huddled in groups among the carriages in the crowded yard. Torches illuminated the faces of the bewigged men in livery as they turned to glance at him. Two carriages that had just dropped late-arriving guests at the front door came down the gravel drive, blocking in the rest. Down the path a bit, Pierce spied his own chaise where he had instructed that it be kept waiting. As he started toward it, he saw his man Jack leave some of the other grooms and break into a trot to catch up with him.

  “Ye did a fine job, sir, starting such a commotion in there,” Jack muttered as he came up.

  “I take no credit for it.”

  Pierce steered the groom into the shadows of some trees as four army officers riding up the drive toward the front door of the mansion stopped by a line of apple trees. The men were loud and obviously drunk.

  Pierce spoke quietly. “Did you learn anything worthwhile…before all the ruckus began?”

  “Aye, sir. The talk here was mostly about the regiments mustering upon the Common this morn. They’ve taken note that there weren’t too many of the local folk coming out to watch. Even the exercise and fire on King Street near Colonel Marshal’s place was hardly attended at all, they say.”

  “Their disappointment has hardly stopped the ale from running freely, from the looks of things. Any talk of regimental activity?”

  As the officers traded lewd barbs, two of them finished relieving themselves against one of the fruit trees. Laughing loudly, they mounted their horses again and rode up toward the front door of the mansion.

  “Nay.” Jack lowered his voice further. “But I hear ‘tis all quiet on the waterfront.”

  “Good news.” Pierce gave a final glance at the disappearing group before starting toward his chaise. “But we’re running late.”

  “We’ll get ye there on time, sir.”

  She shot out of line of trees like a flying apparition, and Pierce stared incredulously as she darted a look at him before scrambling into his open chaise.

  “Not if we are traveling on foot,” he growled in disbelief. The white evening gown, dark curls flying around a pixy’s face—it was the same woman who had permanently dented his shin only minutes before.

  “By the devil…wait!” he shouted just as she snapped the reigns. The horses took off like a shot down the drive.

  With Jack muttering surprised curses, Pierce ran for the carriage as fast as his legs would take him.

  *****

  Portia heard the man’s angry shouts. It was just her luck that of all the carriages in the courtyard, his would be the one that she came upon first. She glanced over her shoulder. The man was still chasing her on foot, and she pushed the horses to go faster. iv heigh

  As she looked ahead down the torch-lined drive, she saw another carriage coming full-tilt toward her. She stared at the narrow bridge over a gully separating them. They would both reach it about the same time.

  “Rein in, woman. Halt, there!”

  She ignored the shouts from behind her. The Scotsman had been deaf to her explanations and was ready to hand her over to the Admiral’s servants. And that was when she’d merely been suspected of some wrongdoing. She was certain that he would kill her now with his bare hands for stealing his chaise.

  She was almost to the bridge and so was the oncoming carriage. Urging the horses on, Portia focused on the open gates of the mansion and at the burning torches in the distance.

  The oncoming driver appeared to be in as much of a rush to arrive as she was to leave. He also appeared to be of no mind to give way to her. Unfortunately, the other carriage managed to make it to the bridge first.

  Portia could hear Pennington’s shouts behind her, but she had no choice. Yanking the heads of the horses to the right at the last minute, she tried to go down the grassy embankment and pass through the gully. The spirited animals, however, balked at her sudden change of plans and reared up at the edge of the gravel drive.

  Portia barely kept her seat as the chaise skidded to an abrupt stop on the edge of the grass. The driver and the groom of the other carriage shouted in triumph as they barreled past. She pulled at the reins, clucking at the horses to move back onto the drive.

  She had to come back here. The little disaster tonight had not deterred her at all. She had to get herself clear of the grounds, but then she would try again—and again. She had to.

  Before she could get the carriage onto the bridge, though, an angry and breathless rogue pounced on her, snatching the reins from her hands as he clambered into the chaise.

  ****

  Pierce was angry enough to kill her, and he made sure his glare showed it. Instead of running for her life, though, the daft woman simply moved to the farthest end of the seat and sat with her hands entwined in her lap, looking like she were ready to be driven to Sunday services.

  As Pierce searched for the words to lambaste her, however, Jack caught up to them and moved to the front of the chaise to calm the agitated horses.

  “I do not care what reason you might have for behaving like a bloody lunatic, ” Pierce finally spit out. “But you will step out of my carriage this minute, madam.”

  “I am afraid I cannot,” she said calmly before sliding across the seat toward him.

  Pierce held his tongue when he realized the reason for her action. A redcoated member of the Admiral’s staff and several of his grooms—one holding a lantern—ran up to the chaise.

  “Anyone hurt, sir?” the man asked, peering at them. “That was a near miss on the bridge.”

  The woman shrank into Pierce’s shadow and with both hands clutched desperately to his arm.

  Well aware of the noose that would fit snugly round her pretty neck, Pierce was still sorely tempted to hand her over to Middleton’s men. The minx was damned lucky, though, that he was not one easily swayed by temptation.

  “No. No one is hurt,” he growled.

  “I saw ye running after the chaise. Were the horses spooked, sir?”

  Pierce refrained from telling him to mind his own bloody business. “’Twas my companion, if you really must know. The lady was offended that I left her alone in the ballroom for a minute too long. She decided to leave without me.”

  The young officer chuckled and tried to get a better look at her. Pierce felt the woman move more tightly against him as she attempted to hide her disordered appearance. The darkness worked to her advantage.

  “Well, with Governor Hutchinson having just arrived, the night is only starting,” the man grinned meaningfully. “Plenty of time to win back her affection.”

  Pierce placed a hand on the woman’s knee and, feeling her entire body tense, he smiled with satisfaction.

  “I think not.” He pressed his leg against hers intimately. “From experience I know that there is only one way to retain this lady’s affection, soldier, and privacy is called for, if you get my meaning. So if you’ll forgive us, we’ll be off.”

  The man’s laughter filled the air as he stepped away from the chaise. Without another word, Pierce started the horses down the drive as Jack swung up into his place behind them.

  Pierce thought about the rendezvous that lay ahead of him tonight. The meeting was dependent on the tide. The span of time that his client could wait at the waterfront for him was narrow. Already, this woman may have detained him too long.

  She slid to the farthest edge of the seat as soon as they passed through the gate. “That was quite ungentlemanly of you, sir, to suggest an improper liaison between us.”


  “On the contrary, madam. I thought it was quite generous and gentlemanly of me not to hand you over to them directly.”

  “And why didn’t you?”

  He gave her a narrow stare. Leaves and twigs were tangled in the contraption of combs and pearls that were barely holding up her dark curls. Large intelligent eyes returned his gaze. Pierce looked openly at the dirt-stained and torn white gown, letting his gaze linger on the exposed tops of her breasts. A silver locket nestled in the generous cleavage.

  “The punishment for your crimes tonight would not have fallen short of hanging. But looking the way you do, madam, and thinking of the jailors who would be more than happy to make your acquaintance, I can only imagine that your day on the gallows would not come soon enough for your liking.”

  “You’re assuming that I have committed some crime,” she replied. “If you were more considerate and gallant, you would have heard my explanation earlier in the garden. Then, sir, you would know that other than falling victim to a series of unfortunate accidents, I am…well, almost entirely innocent of everything that took place at that mansion.”

  “Almost entirely innocent. What curious phrasing! But do you call kicking me hard enough to hobble me permanently an accident?” he challenged. “And does an innocent woman run about in the gardens like some she-devil, ealing carriages?”

  “You deserved the first attack because I was forced to protect myself. As for taking your carriage, survival dictated my actions.”

  Pierce stared incredulously at the stubborn woman. No fear, no remorse, no farther explanations. They were passing North Church, and she leaned back against the seat and looked up at the towering steeple.

  “There’s still time for me to turn around and take you back.”

  She directed him a look of disbelief. “We both know that you will do no such thing.”