by Ruby Duvall
She attempted to sit up. “No one can know about this, Mary.” And what would they say to anyone about it? That Sam had a secret gut wound that disappeared if she put on a necklace? It sounded as if Mary didn’t find the entry wound, which means it closed up fast, and though Mary was the only person who had any idea how important the locket was, even she wouldn’t believe the true source of the blood or that Sam was a time-traveler.
“Wh-what? Why?” Sam kept the blanket against her and swung her feet off the bed. Damn, she felt good as new.
“Not even Ryder. Promise me, Mary.”
“But I don’t understand why he shouldn’t know that—”
Sam reached out and grasped the maid’s wringing hands. Mary pressed her lips together. Her face was a mix of confusion and a desire to help.
“Please, Mary. Don’t tell anyone.”
She nodded.
* * * * *
“We’re close,” MacKenzie reported. Ryder peered into the distance, barely able to make out the shore. It was not yet dawn and persistent clouds veiled the sliver of moon.
“How can you tell?”
“I know this bit of coast very well, sir. I could find my way to shore in the darkest of nights if I had to.”
Ryder smiled. “And this isn’t one of those nights?”
“Well, it isn’t storming, sir.”
“Ah.” He chuckled and shouted down to Phillip that they would be unloading soon. Now that Le Havre was far behind them and several hours gained on the tenacious Mr. Webb, Ryder breathed easier. Of course, the local riding officers could spot their ship anchoring offshore in the dead of night but he would celebrate what victories he could.
“There.” MacKenzie pointed at the flash of a spout lantern. Kelter was signaling that the coast was clear.
Ryder braced his hands on the rail of the ship. “Let’s bring her in.”
MacKenzie called orders to the crew and the ship eased close to the beach. They would load what they could onto the ship’s two tub-boats and row the cargo to the shore. If Kelter had done his part, local men would arrive with carts, the wheels wrapped with rags to muffle their passage and drawn by horses with wrapped hooves. Once a cart was loaded, the cargo would be whisked away into the night. The only question was how many men and carts had appeared for the task.
He assisted Phillip and the crew with loading the first of the tub-boats and then more cargo was brought above deck while they waited for the boats to return. Though it was difficult to discern much of the activity on the beach, Ryder could see many men and carts. The tub-boats returned and they worked quickly to load them again.
Perhaps an hour passed before the hold was near empty. Ryder prepared to go ashore with the last tub-boat.
Phillip gripped his shoulder. “Good luck to you, Ryder.” They shook hands. His brother and MacKenzie would take the ship farther on to Poole, where they would pay the proper tariffs on the remaining goods in their hold and sell them legitimately. It was only a tenth of what they had purchased in Le Havre.
After a quick word with MacKenzie and another handshake, Ryder was on the last tub-boat and took an oar to help the crewman bring it ashore. When they hit sand he jumped from the boat to pull it higher on the beach. Two local men assisted.
“Lieutenant,” a familiar voice said in the darkness. Ryder smiled and shook hands with Kelter. The man was grinning with glee.
“So joyous an occasion, Kelter?”
“Indeed, sir. I brought sixty strong backs, all familiar with the old Roman roads, and none are afraid to wield a club.”
Ryder’s eyebrows shot up and he looked about at how quickly the cargo was carried off. “Sixty? Well done, Kelter. I had wondered if it would be necessary to weight some of the cargo and return another time to retrieve it, but you are as reliable as ever, good man.” He patted his old shipmate’s shoulder.
The man preened at the compliment.
“You had no trouble with the revenue station?”
Kelter laughed. “We lit signal fires among the heath in Bourne to draw the riding officers away from Highcliff. They lit off like it was Christmas. I only wish I could see them when they don’t find a ship trying to land.”
The last tub-boat was unloaded with efficiency. It would be another several days to London, but they would travel the green paths and old roads rather than England’s highways. Ryder fit his hat upon his head and settled into the last cart to accompany it inland.
“We still meeting near Hounslow Heath, sir?” Kelter asked. The last tub-boat pushed off to return to the ship.
Ryder tipped his hat. “In three days’ time.” The farmer driving the cart set his horses in motion.
* * * * *
Sam watched the passing countryside with contentment. It was her first trip outside of London and though it was bumpy as hell, the view was spectacular. Oliver had picked her up early in the morning and it was several hours to Hounslow Heath where a sort of open market took place every day. She pretended to be making the trip to buy whole cloth for a new wardrobe, as though the ten dresses Ryder had purchased for her weren’t enough, but as with every errand she made lately, she had an ulterior motive.
The last of their unmarked contraband had been sold at the market and she had recorded the transactions. The rest of the illicit cargo had likely arrived at the warehouse in London by now, where Ryder was overseeing some of the distribution. She couldn’t wait to see him that evening because she had both managed an excellent profit margin he would find impressive and also worked up a fierce need to put her hands all over him. It’d be an excellent stress reliever now that the riskiest legs of his journey were over.
At least until the next one.
Over the sounds of the coach’s wheels on the muddy lane and the clip-clop of a pair of horses, she heard a shout in the distance. Not all that unusual. The lane wasn’t that wide and they had pulled over a couple of times during their trip to allow a cart or another carriage to pass. She braced herself for the inevitable jostle but the coach came to a stop right in the middle of the road.
“It’s Webb,” Oliver shouted down to her.
What? How had he found them out here? It was a major “highway”, if you could call it that, but she was certain no one had seen her leave the apartment. She had done the whole look-over-the-shoulder thing and met Oliver a couple of blocks away.
“Come out of there, Mr. West.” Webb sounded pretty serious. He had probably learned that Ryder’s ship had left port and that Ryder hadn’t been in London for nearly a week, but neither fact was very damning. What had set him off?
“He has a pistol, Miss Reed.” Oliver’s voice was quiet, but she heard him all the same. Webb was getting desperate.
“Now, West!” he roared.
Oliver raised his voice as well. “He’s not in the coach, you damn fool!”
Sam stuck her head out of the coach’s window. “This is getting old, Mr. Webb.” The revenue officer sat astride a winded horse, as though he hadn’t given it a break for many miles, and he was rather unkempt. His boots, hose and breeches were splashed with mud. His face was red and he looked to be in sore need of a bath. In one hand he held his reins and in the other was a flintlock pistol.
He gnashed his teeth and lowered the gun. Sam could hear the labored breathing of his horse. Webb then dismounted and tossed the reins onto the horse’s saddle. The gun he kept, though pointed at the ground.
Webb gestured to Oliver with his empty hand. “Come down from there.”
“You—you’ve got no right to stop us here or make me do anything!”
Webb’s eyes widened and Sam knew he was close to losing it.
“It’s okay, Oliver,” she said. “Do as he says.” The driver grumbled but descended from his perch. Webb had Oliver open up the coach and assist her out of the cab. “I needed to stretch anyway. Now that we’re all standing in mud, why are you here, Mr. Webb?”
He didn’t answer and boarded the coach. He searched the compartments under
the seats, which were mostly empty but for the remainders of a basket of food she had shared with Oliver at midday. Webb’s gun hand was always near the door, ready to raise his pistol if they came near.
“I really want an answer, Mr. Webb. What point is there in not telling me?”
Webb glanced at her from inside the coach before opening up the compartments beneath the opposing seat. “West’s ship docked in London but without him or any goods, though I know from the port in Le Havre that the ship was there. I…had it from one of his crewmen that West disembarked in Poole.”
Sam could guess what he meant when he said “had it from”. She hoped the poor crewman wasn’t beaten too badly.
“So you’re on your way to Poole, you recognized Ryder’s coach, and you decided to harass me at the point of a gun?”
Webb stopped at that. “I would never direct it at you, Miss Reed.” He then closed the last compartment.
Alighting from the coach, he seemed calmer but then he saw the trunk affixed to the back of the coach. Sam shot a look at Oliver, who knew exactly what she feared.
The trunk was filled with bolts of whole cloth silk, bound for the draper with the silly wig. Though she could claim it was her own purchase from the open market where practically any goods could be bought, cloth of that quality was unlikely to be found in Hounslow Heath and more importantly, the ledger was buried at the bottom of the trunk.
She couldn’t let him find it. “How did you know Ryder’s mother?”
Webb was startled by the question. “I…knew her in Poole. Her family is from there, as well as the West family.” He groped the pistol in his hand as though he would fire a bullet right between William West’s eyes. The muscle in his jaw flexed.
“Did you know her before she married?”
“Yes.” He then shook his head as though waking. “I would search this trunk before I continue on my way. Where is the key?”
In her handbag. “Did she love you too?”
He wouldn’t look at her. His voice was gruff. “She said as much.”
“How do you know she was murdered?”
“They said she hung herself after she had her son, but I know she wouldn’t have abandoned her child. Elaine would’ve loved him with all her heart. That was her way.”
Sam hadn’t known how Ryder’s mother had died. She couldn’t imagine how it had been for the person who discovered her body. “You think William did it? Why?”
He quickly closed the distance between them and confessed in a whisper. “No doubt because Elaine and I had an affair.” He straightened from her, though he still stood only an arm’s length away. He seemed grimly satisfied at the shock on her face.
Did he know the real reason why she was shocked? How likely was it that Mr. Webb was Ryder’s father? Could she even present such a theory to Ryder, who hated few people as much as Webb?
“I went to Lydd after she married, but when her son was born she sent me a letter, saying she wanted to see me. I…I agreed to return to Poole, but she had hung herself before I arrived.”
“Mr. Webb, I…” She didn’t know what to say. It was all so tragic and terrible.
“The key, Miss Reed.” Webb held out his hand and she remembered that he wanted to open the trunk.
She stepped back. “No key, no trunk. Let us be on our way.” His body tensed.
“The key. I’ll not ask again.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
He eased a step closer. “You think you know what kind of man I am.”
“You’re in pain. Hanging Ryder will not bring her back.”
Webb snapped. He lunged, reaching for the handbag dangling from her wrist. She swung away and grabbed the pistol. He held it tight in his grasp but she forced the barrel up, pointing it at the sky.
Oliver threw himself onto Webb’s back. The pistol discharged and the horses whinnied. She heard a horse charge off but the coach only moved a couple of feet—Webb’s horse had cut and run. Oliver put a chokehold on Webb and Sam pulled herself from Webb’s tight grip on her arm. The driver dangled from Webb’s shoulders as he was much shorter than the revenue officer, and Webb bucked like a stallion to remove the pressure from his jugular. Oliver slowly won out.
When Webb lost consciousness and dropped to his knees, Oliver released him. The taller man collapsed into the mud.
“Holy shit,” she said.
Oliver stood akimbo, panting. “I’ve wanted to do that for some weeks now.”
Sam felt horrible for Mr. Webb, yet she was full of adrenaline and relieved that no one had been shot. “That was amazing, Oliver. Nice grapple.”
He smiled tiredly and tipped his hat at her. “Should I go fetch his horse or do you wish to be on our way?”
She grimaced. How nice did she want to be? “We should at least move him off the road. I’ll help.”
Webb was incredibly heavy and she didn’t have much mobility, even in a traveling dress, so it was with a great deal of grunting that they carried him to the nearest tree and leaned him against it. As she wiped some of the mud from his face, his horse wandered back to the road. Oliver fetched it and tied it off on a branch. From so close, Sam could see the exhaustion on Webb’s face, the lines around his eyes that betrayed his age. He made a soft noise and she reared back, thinking he was waking up, but he didn’t, thank God. She didn’t want a repeat demonstration of a stranglehold.
Having done as much as expected, she left her muddy kerchief on his lap and returned to the coach.
* * * * *
Ryder was sprawled across the seat of a hackney coach, exhausted but relieved. He would be quite glad to sleep in his own bed that night—Samantha’s naked form against his side—but alas, it would be only for a day. He would be returning to France the day after tomorrow in repetition of the past six days, and what remained in storage at the warehouse would be delivered to their buyers by Monday. Samantha would settle the transactions in his absence.
His heart ached, so desirous he was to see her. Would she have returned yet from her day trip out of the city? Would she be as joyous to see him as he was to see her? He sat restlessly in the cab, the thought invading his mind yet again that he might confess the true depths of his feelings. Would she reciprocate them?
The hackney slowed to a stop at his destination. The curtains at the front windows were drawn, so he didn’t know if she was within. He descended from the hackney, paid the driver, and let himself into the apartment.
Mary approached from the parlor. “Mr. West?” She spoke with confusion, as though she had woken from a nap and was regaining her bearings. “Ah, welcome home. I’m sure you’re glad to be back.” Ryder looked about but didn’t see Samantha or hear anyone stirring about the apartment.
“Samantha?”
The maid dropped her eyes to her feet and reached for his coat without looking. “Ah, she hasn’t come back yet, sir.” She turned to hang his coat and mumbled to herself. “Mm, this’ll need some cleaning.”
“Is all well?”
She didn’t turn around to answer him, but instead tugged at the sleeves of his coat. “Would you like me to fetch you a meal from the tavern, sir? Or some tea if you’ve already taken your supper?”
“What’s wrong, Mary?” He gently turned her about. She was close to tears.
“Samantha. She made me promise not to tell you…”
The room grew darker and his grip tightened on her arm. “Was Webb here?” Mary’s eyes shot up with alarm. He nearly roared.
“N-no! No, Mr. West. She would never do that to you. She loves you.”
His throat closed up. He was both ashamed and ecstatic. He thought himself past unfair assumptions of Samantha’s conduct, but he feared that he did not have her heart or her fidelity. Mary’s assertion otherwise gave him such hope.
“She made me promise and I don’t want to break her trust. I don’t, but you need to know. She…had an accident while you were gone.”
“What? Is she all right?”
The
maid nodded hastily. “Yes, but…a moment if you would, sir.” Confused, he let her go and she went through the kitchen and downstairs. He entered the parlor and waited for her there. She returned with what looked to be towels.
She then opened up the folds to reveal a great amount of dried blood.
Ryder nearly toppled over. His head was light and his heart pounded with fear. He reached for the towels in Mary’s hands and saw that his hands shook.
His voice was raw. “What happened?”
“We were washing her hair, sir, and I came down to get more water. I was only gone a few minutes.” Tears slid down the maid’s cheeks. “W-when I went back upstairs, she was on the floor. Blood all over.” Mary nearly lost control of her voice, but swallowed and took a deep breath. “She wouldn’t wake up and I put her on the bed. I thought I should get a doctor but she woke up after a few minutes.”
“Where?”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Where was she bleeding? Did she hit her head?”
Mary shook her head. “I tried to—a lot of it was on her legs, sir…like it had dripped down.”
Ryder fell back against the sofa. Could she have been? They hadn’t been careful, but it had only been a month… Would she have even known yet?
The front door opened.
“Ah, home sweet home. Mary?” Samantha called. “Oh Oliver, thank you so much. That box is probably heavy. You can just set it anywhere.”
Ryder stood straight and steeled himself. Mary seemed terrified.
Samantha walked farther in, her hat in her hands, and spotted them in the parlor. Her face lit up. “Ryder! You’re back. I’m a muddy mess. You won’t believe who stopped us on the road.”
She saw Mary beyond him, and then what Mary held in her hands. She froze for a brief moment, as if she were posing for a self-portrait. Her smile slowly dwindled. Her breaths grew shallow.
“Were you pregnant, Samantha?”
Mary broke into sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
It was sheer panic on Samantha’s face as she dropped her hat. “No, I—it was just the first day of my uh, monthly.”