"Did she say where she was going?" Graham demanded. Mrs. Davis's chin came up. "You're supposed to be resting, Mr. Denison. Mrs. Thorne was specific about that."
"I'm sure she was. She doesn't want me in her way any more than I want her in mine." Graham was wearing clothes that belonged to Decker. The fit was better than what he could find in the late John Remington's armoire. "Did she say where—"
"Only out. It's not my place to question her. And it's not yours either."
"It is when she's walking into a viper's nest." Some of the starch went out of the housekeeper's spine. "What?"
He ignored her as he buttoned his charcoal gray jacket. "Are there any pistols to be had, Mrs. Davis?"
"Certainly not. Mr. Remington didn't hold with—"
"Can you at least direct me to Mr. Sheridan's home from here?"
"But Mrs. Thorne said—"
"The directions," he snapped. "I can find Faneuil Hall myself, but I doubt that's where this will end."
Mrs. Davis's fingers curled spasmodically at her sides. "Very well," she said, heaving a short sigh. "I have no liking for vipers' nests."
"Neither do I, Mrs. Davis." Graham smiled thinly. "Neither do I."
She gave him the directions and the easiest route to the harbor as well. "I could send someone for a hack for you. Jonna's already taken the carriage."
"No, just a mount." Graham didn't know how well he could ride, but walking any great distance was out of the question. "Will you see to that?"
"Of course." She bowed her head slightly. "This way."
* * *
Decker found the going slow. The bonds were tight and poor circulation eventually made his fingers clumsy. He ached to stretch out, but there was nowhere to go. He wondered how Rachael had fared. Was she trapped in a separate trunk or had Sheridan simply killed her and left her behind? She'd been halfway dead when Decker had come upon her.
As Decker suspected there had been no meeting at Faneuil Hall that morning. Nor was any scheduled for later in the day. It had simply been a convenient ruse to take Rachael from Jonna's home. The why of it still eluded Decker. He had his suspicions that Grant Sheridan was somehow behind the betrayals all along the Underground Railroad and that Rachael was one of his informants, but until he was able to get out of the trunk, suspicions were all he had.
After leaving Faneuil Hall, Decker had gone to the harbor. When he couldn't find Grant there, he went to his home. He was shown to the drawing room and expected to wait there until his presence could be announced. That was not Decker's way. Soon after the butler left Decker began his own exploration. He came upon Rachael in one of the bedrooms. She was lying on the marble apron of the fireplace, moaning softly. There was swelling around one of her eyes, and purplish bruises darkened her cheek and jaw. Her lower lip was split, and a trickle of blood was beginning to dry under her nose.
Sheridan was not in the room. Decker made sure of that before he knelt beside the injured girl. It was only after he held Rachael in his arms that anger made him lose his edge. He gave the young woman full marks for trying to warn him, but he had only seen fear in her eyes. He hadn't understood that her fear had been for him.
The blow to his head had knocked him out immediately. One moment he had been staring at Rachael's battered face, holding her fragile frame in his arms, and the next he had seen nothing but a blaze of white light. Sheridan's strike was enough to blind him with the hot, soaring flare of a thousand imaginary stars.
He had known nothing then. He didn't remember being bound and packed and moved, yet all those things had happened. Decker had realized shortly upon waking that he was no longer in Sheridan's home. He was familiar enough with the rise and fall of the sea to know he was aboard a ship now. Whatever vessel it was, she had not left the harbor.
Decker heard voices occasionally but none that he recognized. He wondered if Sheridan was somewhere around, perhaps even sitting on top of the trunk. With a single blow, Sheridan had removed a rival and captured Falconer. What was less clear to Decker was whether Sheridan knew the extent of his success.
He continued to twist his wrists in the ropes, considering what truths Grant had forced from Rachael with blows of his fists.
* * *
Graham took hope from the carriage he saw standing in front of Sheridan's home. He dismounted, secured the mare, and then spoke to the carriage's driver. "Are you with Mrs. Thorne?"
"That's right."
"She's inside?"
The man nodded. He pointed to Graham's mount. "That's one of her mares. You must be the fellow that showed up last night." He tipped his hat and scratched his head, clearly bewildered. "Thought you were injured. Gut wound, they said."
"Flesh wound," Graham said. "They were wrong."
The driver grinned. "Apparently so." His eyes drifted up the walk. "Here comes Mrs. Thorne now."
Jonna's stride covered the ground quickly. She met Graham's flinty stare fearlessly. "What are you doing here?"
"I suspect the same thing you are."
"Well, it's all been for nothing. No one's here."
"But you came out of the house. You must have talked to someone."
Jonna sighed. It seemed there was no deterring him. He had no sense of his own condition. Decker would certainly be unhappy with her for leaving Graham. "I spoke to the butler. He says that Decker came earlier, but left without waiting for Grant. He doesn't know Rachael."
"And Sheridan?"
"Apparently he's leaving Boston. His trunks and bags have already been taken to the harbor."
"Which ship?"
"Water Sprite. She's a sloop, not one of his merchants. Grant uses it on occasion for short trips to Philadelphia and Baltimore."
"Do you think Decker's gone there?"
"I have no idea. But it's where I'm going." Jonna opened the door to the carriage. "You may as well come with me," she told Graham. "It will do you less harm than riding."
"I'd rather follow," he said. "I'm not convinced that showing up together is a sound idea."
"Which is precisely why I left you behind." She gave instructions to her driver, climbed into the carriage, and snapped the door shut.
Shaking his head, his eyes appreciative, Graham watched her go. She was a piece of work, he thought. Lucky, lucky Decker.
* * *
There was more activity on the ship. Decker felt the vibration of the crew's movements as they went about the business of making ready to sail. He knew he was topside now, not in the cargo hold, and he didn't know what to make of that situation. If he freed himself from his bonds and called attention to his imprisonment in the trunk, did it follow that he would be rescued? There was the distinct possibility the crew knew very well what Sheridan was about. The trunk may have been left in the open to assure there could be no escape.
Decker eased the scrimshaw knife out of his boot. Holding it in his bound hands was awkward. It took several attempts to manage a fairly secure grip that would give him the leverage to saw at the ropes.
* * *
Jonna's bonnet was flattened by the wind as she strode up the short gangway. Water Sprite's sails were still furled, but the small crew was working with purpose and vigor. "Is Mr. Sheridan here?" she asked of the first man who paused in his task.
"Below, Miss Remington. Shall I escort you?"
She did not bother to correct him about her name. "I'll find him myself." Jonna crossed the deck swiftly. Her wide skirts were compressed by the narrow passage that led below. The ship's rolling motion became more pronounced as soon as she was without points of reference. Her stomach lurched almost immediately.
Grant was sipping a brandy in his cabin when she walked in unannounced. Jonna was keenly aware that he was in no way startled by her presence. It was as if he had been expecting her. In the next moment, he confirmed it.
"You've taken rather longer than I would have thought," he said calmly. "Please, won't you sit down?"
He stood himself and offered up the large leathe
r chair that was behind his desk. "How long ago did you receive my message?"
Jonna waved aside his courteous gesture. "What message? I haven't received anything from you."
Grant's sandy-colored brows were drawn together momentarily. "I sent someone to your office with it."
"I've been at home all morning."
"That explains it then. He must have missed you." Grant shrugged. "It's unimportant now. You're here."
"Don't you want to know why?"
"I can't think that it matters one way or the other."
Jonna unfastened the ribbons of her bonnet and took it off. She did it deliberately, calculating that Grant would believe she had lowered her guard. Apparently he had planned to draw her here. That knowledge heightened her awareness of the danger she was in. "Where is Rachael?" she asked.
Grant took a sip of his brandy. "Would you like a drink? No? I suppose you think it's too early. That's a shame really. It would relax you. You're rather tense, I've noticed. Why is that, Jonna?"
Jonna had come to notice a few things herself. Grant was not quite as steady on his feet as he might have wished to appear. Although he certainly wasn't inebriated, he was well into his cups. His dark brown eyes were slightly unfocused as they gazed past her. His normally rigid, at-attention posture was unnaturally loose. "Please, Grant. I want to find Rachael. You had no right to take her from my home this morning. You know how I feel about putting her on display with your friends."
"Then you'll be happy to know it didn't happen. There was no meeting this morning. I had the wrong day. I made my apologies to Rachael and offered to take her back. She led me to believe she wanted to walk. I realized she's never had much opportunity to explore the city so I let her. Perhaps I should have done otherwise, but there you have it. I was in rather a hurry myself, what with needing to get here."
Jonna thought there was little about his story that she could believe, but she was fascinated by his facility for spinning lies. "I know there was no meeting, Grant. I went to Faneuil Hall myself."
Grant finished his drink and poured another. "I regret I've caused so much inconvenience," he said deeply. "I assure you it wasn't my intention."
"Where is my husband?" Jonna asked.
"I'm sure I don't know. Have you misplaced him?"
Jonna reached for the desk to steady herself as the ship lurched. Her eyes widened as she realized Water Sprite was making sail. Dropping her bonnet, she sprinted for the door. She was unceremoniously hauled back by Grant. His powerful arm snaked around her middle, and he balanced her easily against his hip.
"Are you certain you won't have that drink now?" he asked softly.
* * *
Graham found Jack Quincy aboard Huntress. Jack stopped his conversation with several of the crew when Graham motioned to join him at the taffrail.
"Can't say that I expected to see you today." Squinting, Jack eyed Graham's pale face. "And now that I get a good look at you, damn if I think it's a good idea for you to be here. Does Jonna know?"
"She knows," Graham said. "She's the reason I've come."
"Oh?"
"I'll explain it all to you once we're underway."
"Underway? Huntress isn't going anywhere."
Graham leaned against the taffrail for support. He needed his strength to stand upright, not argue. "Are you familiar with Water Sprite?"
"Aye. Grant Sheridan's sloop."
"Fifteen minutes ago it left this harbor with Jonna on board."
"Decker?"
"I don't know where he is." Or if he's even alive. Graham kept this last to himself. "You have no reason to trust me," Graham said. "You don't even know me. But you saw last night that Decker has me in his confidence. I hope that counts for something with you. He charged me with keeping his wife safe and unless you help me now, I will fail him." He paused. "And I will fail her."
Jack Quincy did not need to hear any more. "Look lively, lads," he bellowed. "We're going to chase down a water sprite."
* * *
"What can you possibly hope to gain?" Jonna asked. Grant had let her go once she'd acknowledged there was no escape, but she continued to hover near the door with him only a few steps away. The rise and fall of the sloop was making her stomach roil. She wondered how long he would insist she remain in the cabin if she was sick at his feet.
"Gain?" he asked. "What have I ever wanted but for you to be my wife?"
"That's out of the question. I'm married, Grant. And if I weren't it would still be out of the question. I don't love you. More to the point, you don't love me. You never have." Jonna wondered about Graham Denison. Had he seen her board the sloop? Was he on deck even now? Jonna was conscious of her eyes straying toward the door. She forced herself to redirect her gaze. She would have no advantage if Grant believed she expected to be rescued at any moment. "It's always been about Remington Shipping," she went on. "Though I fail to see why. You've taken great pains to assure me that your own line is doing well."
"Oh, and it is," he said. "Within certain limits. But I have no particular liking for those limits. They would not be so confining if you would design ships for me, Jonna. With a few more clippers like Huntress there would be no competition."
"That's not going to happen."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Quite certain."
"So it doesn't matter to you that I know you've been operating a station on the Underground?"
Jonna's mouth flattened. "No, Grant, it doesn't."
His glance narrowed as he regarded her over the rim of his glass. "You don't seem surprised."
"I'm only surprised that you took so long to threaten me with it." Jonna's stomach lurched again. She shifted her weight as the deck beneath her shifted. Water Sprite is misnamed, she thought. The sloop did not glide over the waves or cut through them cleanly. "May we go topside?" Jonna asked. "I'm going to be sick."
Grant regarded her a moment longer, trying to make out the truth of her words. In the end he handed her a basin.
Jonna clutched it to her middle and bent her head. When she was certain she had Grant's full attention, she flung it at him. It caught him on his cheekbone, just below his left eye. His head snapped back and he staggered a step sideways. Jonna ducked the arm that reached out to grab her and ran out of the cabin. She gathered her skirts protectively close to her as she mounted the stairs. Behind her, Grant's feet pounded the deck and echoed in the passage.
Jonna fairly exploded topside. She looked around frantically for something else she might use as a weapon, all too aware that the six-man crew had stopped their activities and that Graham Denison was nowhere around.
Grant stepped on deck without Jonna's same sense of urgency. He rubbed his cheek with his forefinger. When he dropped his hand the red mark where Jonna had struck him remained.
Jonna quickly retreated until the backs of her thighs were pressed against a solid wooden object. Set off balance, she sat down suddenly. She looked down cautiously, afraid she was actually sitting on the ship's rail. It was a relief to discover that one of Grant's trunks was serving as a seat. She had no hope of survival if she landed overboard.
Grant motioned the crew back to work. The very ease with which they returned to it warned Jonna that she could expect no assistance from them. She wondered what price the men had set for their part in her abduction.
Jonna fixed her eyes on a point on the horizon and stared stonily.
"Did you expect there might be some help for you here?" asked Grant. "Your husband perhaps? My crew?"
She said nothing.
"Decker stole from me, Jonna. Did you know that? He came to my office and took things that belonged to me. I don't know why I was surprised when he finally showed his true nature. I warned you about him from the beginning."
"Where is he?"
Grant's gaze didn't waver. He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I thought we would be married in Charleston," he said. "Does that suit you?"
Jonna decided she had had enough
. "You've had far more to drink than I suspected. Don't force your hand with me, Grant, and I'll be charitable about forcing my hand with you. I know about your slaving business. I know your position on abolition is not nearly the same as your practice. I would say we're even, you and I. You can hurt my business in the South by revealing my connection to the Underground. But I can destroy your reputation in the North by revealing your duplicity. Who do you think will be damaged the most?"
"Come here, Jonna. I want to show you something."
It was not the brisk air, but the silky tone of Grant's voice that made Jonna shiver. She stayed her ground.
"Very well," he said. Grant crossed the space separating them in three long strides and hauled Jonna to her feet by her elbow. He gestured to several crewmen who had been watching the exchange. They moved quickly from their appointed tasks to this new one. Without further orders from Grant they picked up the trunk Jonna had been sitting on as well as the one behind it.
Jonna tried to pull her elbow away from Grant's grasp. His fingers merely tightened. "What is it I'm supposed to see?" she asked. Rising panic made her voice sharp. She watched the men, two with each trunk, grunt with the effort to lift them. They set them down on the sloop's narrow rail. The balance of each was precarious at best. With the constant pitch of the sloop, Jonna didn't know that either could possibly remain there long.
She raised her face to Grant. "Is this it? You want me to watch your trunks fall overboard?"
"Those trunks hold some valuable cargo," Grant said. "Precious, you might say. One of them contains a young woman I found in a Charleston brothel and set up for a time in my home in Boston. I see I've shocked you. You're wondering how it's possible that you never saw Rachael there. Keep in mind, Jonna, you were never as interested in my household staff as I was in the odd comings and goings of yours."
"You're a thorough bastard, Grant. Rachael's hardly more than a girl."
"In age only," he said. "She always knew what she was about. When the time came for me to require her services in another manner entirely, she was willing enough."
A wave of nausea washed over Jonna, but it was not from the motion of the sloop this time. It was Grant's nearness that provoked the sensation. She breathed deeply, forcing calm.
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