by Ruby Duvall
Ryder didn’t answer.
Chapter Five
Sam woke early, nearly an hour before sunrise. Only for a second did she think she was in her apartment. The bed was too uneven and smelled unfamiliar. The window was in the wrong place and the room was way too small. When she shifted to her side, she felt a twinge between her legs and a flash of memory made her chest ache. What would become of her now?
She stayed abed for a short while as she didn’t know how to light a candle. Were there even matches? Or would she need pieces of flint? Wasn’t that dangerous? She considered using the bell pull to get Mary, but fell asleep before she could decide.
The sky had brightened when she opened her eyes again. Sitting up slowly, she kept the blanket close about her and looked through the open curtains. The building across the street was too tall to see beyond, but the sky above it was smoky from the belching of hundreds of chimneys throughout the city. It was like trying to look through a dirty screen door.
Using the chamber pot was uncomfortable to say the least—and unsanitary—but she did her best with a hand towel and a basin of stagnant water. After removing the chair from under the door, she then played the waiting game and passed the time by watching the activity on the street below, which was a replay of the previous morning with its menagerie of city-goers.
Thankfully, she only waited half an hour before a quiet knock sounded on the door. It could be only one person.
“Come in.” The door unlocked and opened. Mary poked her head in. Her dark hair was still messy under her cap.
“I knew you’d be awake.” The door swung open and she entered, bearing a tray with a plate of food. A robe hung over her arm. She set the tray on the vanity and hung the robe over the back of the chair.
“I don’t have much time. Eat and I’ll make up the bed.”
“Sure,” Sam said. She sat on the stool and took a second to inspect her food—a thick slice of soft bread drizzled with honey, two hard-boiled eggs and a steaming cup of tea. Thankfully, the bread seemed fresh. She wasn’t so sure about the eggs.
“Thanks for this,” she said as she brought the bread to her mouth. She watched in the mirror as Mary pushed the bedclothes aside and smoothed the sheet over the mattress. The maid looked upset. Her face was tight and her head shook as though she were disagreeing with herself. She made a trip to the other side of the bed and tugged the blankets into place. Sam could hear her muttering.
“What’s wrong?”
Mary looked at Sam’s reflection. “I…I shouldn’t say. Mrs. Hayes hates it when I do.” She smoothed the blankets. “I’m not clean like you, miss. Don’t listen to me.”
“I’m not like Mrs. Hayes and you’re not unclean. You can tell me.”
Wringing her hands, the maid returned to the other side of the bed. In a couple of tugs, the bed was made but she continued to smooth the blankets.
“It’s probably nothing, miss. I just hear this…spirit and it tells me things. Most of it makes no sense.”
Sam felt as if she were stuck in that damn corset again. “What does it say?”
Mary gave up on her task and sat on the bed. “It talks about animals and always in rhyme. Does a dove mean anything to you?” The invisible corset tightened. Sam turned around on the stool.
“I’m the dove, I think.” Mary let out a breath of relief, her eyes blinking rapidly.
“I thought you might be. It told me that the dove would escape its cage tonight, only to be caught in another. It talks to me enough that I know who the mistress is, and…and the master.” Sam didn’t like the fear in Mary’s face. “He’ll hurt me. He’ll hurt both of us.”
Sam rounded the corner of the bed and sat next to Mary. “What else did it say?”
“It told me to help when I could, that this was the last night I’d spend in the cage.”
She grasped Mary’s hands. “Did it say why the dove was here?”
“Here? In the house?”
In 1783, but she couldn’t say that. Mary wouldn’t understand. Sam sure as hell didn’t. “In London.”
“I don’t remember the words exactly,” she said. “It was something about a reunion and lost love.”
Confused, Sam stared at her hands tight around Mary’s and tried to pick out the meaning she needed. “Did it say who I’m supposed to reunite with?”
Mary shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I never really know what it means. I’ve tried asking, but it doesn’t answer.”
Sam’s shoulders sagged, though she had more hope now than any time since waking up in that attic. She knew she was brought here for a reason, to do something important.
“Does it talk to you too?” Mary asked. Sam looked at the maid’s quivering lip, heard the desperation in her voice. Mary needed to know she wasn’t crazy. Well, Sam wasn’t sure if the both of them weren’t, but Mary didn’t have to hear that.
“Yes, but not in the same way.” She touched her locket, which Mary seemed to notice for the first time. Mary pointed at it with an open mouth.
“That,” she whispered. “I understand better. That is your life. I—I don’t know how, but that necklace is your life. Don’t ever take it off, miss. It binds you here.”
Sam nodded soberly. “When did you start hearing this voice?”
The maid’s voice was small. “Ever since the baby.”
“Peter?”
Mary nodded wordlessly. Who was the father, Sam wondered. She hugged Mary, more for the maid than herself.
“We’ll get through this. It told you so.”
“I’ve stayed too long.” Mary pulled back and stood. She reached for the robe on the nearby chair and handed it to Sam. “This is for you as well. Best eat up while I take care of the chamber pot.”
“Where are my regular clothes?”
“I really have very little time, Miss Samantha.” Not wanting to get her in trouble, Sam returned to the tray of food while Mary tidied up the room.
The eggs tasted fresh enough and as Sam gulped down the last of the tea, Mary peeked out the door to see if the coast was clear. She then turned back to Sam.
“You can be about the house now, but Mr. Hull is keeping his eyes on you. Stay in here and be quiet.” She fetched the tray from the vanity.
“What do you mean?”
“He’d make up any excuse, Miss Samantha. He’d lie to Mrs. Hayes and she’d believe him. She always does. Just keep out of sight and stay quiet.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Sure.”
Mary pressed her lips together in concern and then opened the door. “I’ll be back later.” She then left, shutting the door behind her.
The day went by excruciatingly slow even though her thoughts did much to distract her. People-watching became boring after an hour. Only once did anyone on the street even notice her sitting at the window. A man on a horse happened to look up and he tipped his hat at her before his horse trotted on.
Her brief conversation with Mary replayed endlessly in her mind, but she came no closer to understanding her purpose in 1783. Rather, she clutched her locket protectively and wondered with dread what would happen if Mrs. Hayes ever tried to confiscate it.
She didn’t have the guts to take off her necklace and find out.
It seemed forever until Mary returned with lunch. Again, she only stayed a few minutes. Sam asked after her clothing, but Mary hadn’t found time to look for them.
An hour after Mary left, Sam sat at the vanity and stared at the unchanged inscription on the back of the locket when heavy footfalls came up the stairs. Her heart shrank. She looked to her bedroom door where the chair was braced beneath the handle.
That it was Mr. Hull was unmistakable. She was absolutely still as he approached her room. She didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. Mr. Hull stopped at her door and she prayed he wouldn’t try the handle. For a terrifying moment, he just stood there outside her room. Was he listening? Fantasizing?
The door of the next room opened. Sam hadn’t met her n
eighbor, but she had heard the woman coughing occasionally last night. The woman yelped when she saw Mr. Hull in the hallway. “Mr. Hull,” she said. “I-I’m not well today.” Sam heard him walk away from her door.
“I’m not well,” the woman repeated plaintively. She and Mr. Hull entered the woman’s room. It wasn’t long before the sounds of sex penetrated the wall separating the rooms. Sam covered her ears, tears swimming in her eyes.
When Mr. Hull left, those heavy feet thumping back downstairs, Sam listened to the utter silence in the next room, and she knew that it wouldn’t be long before Mr. Hull got her alone.
She needed to get out of this house.
* * * * *
“Here’s to you, lieutenant.” Kelter clunked his glass against Ryder’s. The man smiled gleefully, likely envisioning all the king’s pictures he would pocket. Kelter then downed the entire glass and dribbled onto his shirt. Not to be outdone, Ryder put back his glass. Kelter slapped Ryder’s shoulder. “Haha! That’s the spirit.”
When Ryder could focus his eyes again, he leaned toward his acquaintance and lowered his voice. “When can I expect to hear from you, my good man?”
“At least a week, sir, if not two. Can take awhile to rally up that many men.”
“Two weeks is excellent. I knew I could count on you and—” Ryder looked beyond Kelter at the empty seat where MacKenzie had been sitting. “Where’s he gone?”
Kelter’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively. “Off to occupy the lovely Danielle, but I’ll pass along your regards, sir.”
“I shall soon enjoy a similar diversion,” Ryder said smugly. “A ginger-pated American named Samantha.” The mere thought of her in that diaphanous chemise and those red stockings had him adjusting his seat. He motioned to the barmaid to refill his friend’s drink.
His former crewmate sniggered. “You don’t look like a man who’d lay with a buttered bun. You keeping a mistress?”
“I’ve more discerning taste, yes. I’ll not settle for any old cat, especially Danielle now that I am aware of the sort of men with whom she lies.”
Kelter’s laugh was a long, shuddering wheeze. The barmaid leaned down with fresh beer and Kelter sat back with a smile. “You’re a good woman, Eliza.” The barmaid giggled and lightly slapped his hand when he placed it upon her generous posterior.
Once she had left the table, Kelter took a large swig from his glass. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sir. That man Webb isn’t after a bit of grease in the palm. He wants to hang your brother, though I’d wager he’d take you instead.”
“Then I am very grateful to have you as a friend, Kelter, and I will heed your warning.” Ryder stood and dropped a coin on the table for Kelter’s drinks. “With that, I am off for fairer company.”
“Thank you kindly, lieutenant.” His friend saluted him with his half-empty glass and Ryder made his way to the door. “Let’s hope your American mort is not Frenchified, for neither country does well with England.”
Ryder quit the public house knowing very well that Samantha did not suffer the Covent Garden ague. He had never chosen his lovers impulsively and that included her. More importantly, he had been her first lover.
The unbidden thought of another man ever lying with her, burying his face in her fragrant hair or grasping the mounds of her breasts as he ploughed between her thighs…it made his hands clench until they ached. Why did she affect him so? Samantha’s circumstances were not rare—a destitute maiden in London had little other choice unless she had friends or relations upon which to impose, yet for the tenth time that day, he regretted the manner in which he had left her.
With a frown, he nodded at Oliver and climbed into the coach.
A night with her was all the time he could spare. Tracking down the bookkeeper was essential, for none amongst his associates were learned enough to make sense of the man’s shorthand. He also had to forge new alliances with London merchants willing to fence the contraband and do so carefully if Webb watched him as closely as Kelter believed. More than a single smuggling run would be required to pay off Phillip’s debts, and Ryder still intended to pursue his own investigation in Lydd regarding Carter’s death.
Even so, those steady eyes that saw through him. Those full lips that curled secretively. He had no doubt that he would take her again, no matter what intentions or regrets he harbored, but afterward…
“Sir?”
Ryder snapped to attention. He looked out the window and realized they had arrived at Mrs. Hayes’ nunnery. Oliver had pulled out the steps and opened the coach door.
“I must have been lost in thought.” He stepped down to the street.
“Sir,” his coachman said noncommittally. Ryder fit his hat upon his head while Oliver folded the steps and closed the coach door.
“I give you leave to refresh yourself wherever you like, Oliver. Return for me in two hours’ time.”
“Ha!” With high eyebrows, Ryder turned to find a scowl on his driver’s face. “Two hours?” he asked. “I’ll be at the Shakespeare’s Head if you need me.” Oliver climbed up to his perch. “Only a very tempting piece would have you visiting a place such as this.” He gestured dismissively at the house as he picked up the reins. “If the lady is so tempting, two hours is not enough.”
Oliver slapped the reins and was off.
“Never seen a servant set down his master before,” a deep voice said. Ryder turned to see Mr. Hull at his usual post beside the front door. He pulled a cigar from his vest pocket.
“I am as shocked as you,” Ryder said with a chuckle.
“And I suppose you’re here to see the new whore?” Mr. Hull wedged the unlit cigar between his teeth. Ryder’s smile fell. “Mrs. Hayes wants to speak to you first.”
“Of course she does.”
Mr. Hull opened the door and went in first. “Wait here.” He disappeared into a salon on the left, where other patrons and at least half a dozen harlots enjoyed various diversions. A mademoiselle and her client were locked in an amorous embrace on a settee in the rear of the room.
“We’ve been expecting you, lieutenant.” Mrs. Hayes joined him in the hall. “Won’t you please come this way?” She swept her hand toward the stairs to herd him to her newest mademoiselle.
“I trust she remains unmolested as of my departure last night.” He didn’t trust the bawd’s answer but needed to ask.
“She does, but it has come to my attention,” she said quietly, “that before last night, Miss Reed was untouched.”
“You have it right, Mrs. Hayes.” Indeed, Ryder remembered well the moment when he took her virginity, the tight grip of her hands on his shoulders, her small whimper, and then Webb’s even more abrupt intrusion.
They reached the first floor. Staccato groans echoed from one of the bedrooms. “I mistakenly believed she had more carnal experience, but owing to her former state, I must acquire for Miss Reed a larger sum for the price of her first coupling.”
“I see,” he said guardedly, “and what is the price of a maiden’s honor, madam?”
They reached the topmost floor. “Oh, at least fifty pounds, sir.” Ryder was unsurprised that she had chosen a price likely within his ability to afford. “I’m sure you understand that it’s a rare commodity in our trade. In addition, this being the second visit, I must ask for another five pounds.” They arrived at Samantha’s door.
“You wish me to pay a total of fifty-five pounds?”
“I abided by your request and refrained from lending her to other clients. A fresh girl like her, especially a foreigner, is always for a time en vogue. She could have made at least twenty pounds already today.”
He narrowed his eyes at the bawd. “Let us be clear with each other, madam,” he began. “Having discovered that the young woman you deceived was more valuable than you had estimated, you wish retroactively to increase the fee I paid and in addition, you would charge me another fee for tonight despite the incentive I gave—and which you accepted—to reserve her time for my personal use
.”
Mrs. Hayes only stuttered. He stepped closer to take full advantage of his significant height.
“Your ignorance of the state of her maidenhead is no concern of mine, and the period of time I purchased last night was cut short, leading any person with common sense to the conclusion that tonight’s visit will compensate. Are you a woman of common sense, Mrs. Hayes?”
The bawd’s expression was, in a word, tight. “Very well, sir,” she said. “I shall restrain you no further from enjoying the mademoiselle’s company. Should you need any additional services, Mary will oblige upon hearing the ring of the bell pull.” Mrs. Hayes left in a huff, agitatedly grabbing at her skirt and stomping. Once the bawd had disappeared down the stairs, Ryder went to the bedroom door and knocked.
He heard a few soft footsteps before the door cracked open and Samantha peeked out. She wore a plain robe over a chemise and the same red stockings as the previous evening.
“I didn’t realize you could go BOGO on sexual services,” she said.
Ryder laughed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “I am not under the illusion that any coin given to that woman,” he said as he jabbed his thumb behind him, “would see your lovely hands. May I come in?”
“You may.” A smile jumped to his face. “But only to hear a proposal.”
“More negotiations?” He followed her inside where a single candle sat on the vanity. Her robe was unfortunately opaque. “I would think the exchange of time and money a simpler transaction than you or Mrs. Hayes makes it out to be. Wait…” He closed the door and propped the chair beneath the door handle. “Just in case.”
He wasted no time in tossing his coat and hat onto the floor. Already he was eager for her. His fingers went to the buttons of his vest.
“Whoa there, cowboy,” she said, hands out. Cowboy? “I just want to talk about you and your brother.”
Ryder purposefully misunderstood. “My brother won’t please you nearly as much as I can, nor would I consent to involving him in our amorous congress.”