The Dream

by Jaycee Clark

  She didn’t move. For a moment, everything in him froze, taking a deep breath, he reached a trembling hand out and touched her head.

  She jerked.

  Thank God.

  “Joy? It’s all right. I’m here. Papa’s here.” He turned her over, wished it were big enough in here for him to sit up. “Poppet, can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “Joy?” He pulled her to him, his hands under her arms. She was cold to his touch and hung listlessly. If she hadn’t jerked before, he’d be afraid she was dead. “Joy.”

  When she was even with him, he tilted her face up. Terror pierced his soul. Wide eyes stared at him, her thumb firmly in her mouth. But it was the blood. Blood matted her hair, freckled and streaked her face, stained the entire side of her gown.

  “Jesus. Rayne. Rayne, she’s bleeding. Oh, God, she’s bleeding.”

  “Hold her,” Taber’s gravelly voice instructed.

  He did, protected her as best he could. Someone grabbed his ankles and pulled. When he cleared the space, he gently eased his daughter out. The collar of her gown was crusted, brown and red, wet and sticky. A thick trail of blood ran down one side of her face.

  “It might not be hers. Move, Jason.” Rayne pushed his hands away, but he didn’t move.

  Rayne wiped some of the blood off. Jason didn’t breathe, even though he felt her small chest rise and fall with air. Her eyes stared wide and vacant. Someone handed him a blanket and he tucked the soft material around her.

  He’d failed them all.

  “Looks like the bullet grazed her scalp. No ball as far as I can see.” Taber looked at him, then back to the group around them. “Is the doctor still here?”

  Like thunder echoing in him, everything ripped apart and slammed back together. He growled at Rayne when the man tried to lift Joy.

  Jason picked her up, careful to keep her head up, to keep her cradled against him. With long even strides, he carried his daughter from this room of carnage and down the stairs to their room. The room she liked to nap in, when she could.

  At the side of his bed, he couldn’t let her go.

  “Put her down, my lord,” a voice whispered.

  Jason turned to tell them to go to hell and looked into the spectacled eyes of Dr. Blaine.

  The man’s voice was gentle. “I’ll help her, but you have to set her down.”

  Of course he did. Jason took a deep shuddering breath. Cautious of her small frame like never before, he leaned over and put her down. She was like a doll. Limp, staring off into space.

  “Joy?” he said. “Joy, honey. It’s Papa.”

  She blinked.

  “Joy?”

  The doctor laid a hand on his arm. He moved back as Rayne came up to stand beside him. He didn’t realize he was crying until he reached up to wipe his eyes.

  God, please, please let her be well. Please let her live. Forgive me for not protecting them. He hadn’t protected them, not at all.

  He bit down until he was certain his teeth would shatter. Hands fisted on his hips, he didn’t move, hardly breathed as he watched the doctor clean the blood off her small pale face, away from the wound at her head. Though Jason could see Dr. Blaine was being gentle, it had to have hurt, burned like the fires of Hades, but she never even flinched, not so much as a whimper. The only sound was her sucking her thumb. And right now, it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

  The bowl of water beside the bed became red. So much blood for one so small. Jason moved, walked to the other side of the bed and sat, holding her chubby dimpled, little hand.

  He closed his eyes and prayed again. And prayed again. And again.

  Finally the doctor straightened, the lines around his mouth and eyes tight, but he still grinned. “Well, the ball just grazed her, I don’t know if it passed across her first or Jack, not that either matters. Considering everything she might have seen…” He trailed off. Jason shuddered at the thought of her watching what happened to Franny.

  “She’s alive, Lord Ravensworth,” the doctor said. “We need to keep her warm, give her some warm liquids. She’s had a shock of great proportions.” He motioned with his head to move away.

  Jason didn’t want to, he watched as she just stared at nothing. With his thumb, he caressed her wrist and leaned over, kissing her cheek. “I’m here, Poppet. I’m here.”

  Then he rose and followed the doctor into the hallway. “I heard your wife is missing.”

  “What’s your point?” he bit out.

  “Try and refrain from mentioning that in little Joy’s presence. She may seem as if part of her is not there, but she can hear.”

  Jason looked back at the small bundle on his bed. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen another case like this. A young boy in a winter accident. Ice too thin.” The doctor waved. “It was weeks later, but he finally came out of it. Mentioned how he heard his mother talking, repeated a story his father told him. I don’t know why this happens, but many believe that young children, when faced with horror, just shut down until their mind can wipe it away. I think of it as a survival trait.”

  Jason had never heard the like, but it made sense to him. He nodded once.

  Thinking about what Joy may have witnessed, what was above the stairs, he asked, “Can we move her? I don’t know when, but I want out of this house as soon as possible.”

  The doctor nodded. “Give her a bit more time to make certain an infection doesn’t set in, unless this move is only a few blocks away. I’d rather her not be dragged about the countryside.”

  Jason nodded again. “Thank you, Dr. Blaine. How is Jack?”

  The doctor shrugged. “He’ll hurt on the morrow when he wakes up, more from the amount of laudanum I gave him than the wound.”

  Jason rubbed his face. Voices floated up from the entryway. “Jason! Jason!”

  Aunt Elsie.

  Footsteps hurried up the stairs. He looked into the room again, before striding to meet them.

  His aunt and Emily’s grandparents stopped at the top of the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” Lord Redgrave barked.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A hackney driver sat in the night, pulling his coat tighter around him. He thought again about the rough-looking cove and the fancy dressed gentry mort. Those two did not belong together. Maybe that was why they stuck out in his mind.

  The bloke had paid him good, he did, to wait in that alleyway for the gentry mort. Couldn’t blame the gal for not wanting to go with him. The man didn’t seem like the nice sort. Kind of off his horse, talking about demons and witches and whatnot.

  The driver pulled the blanket out from under the box seat. The night was slow, it was. Maybe he’d go back to the ‘spectable part o’ town and find some blunt off fancy sons needing rides to hells and stews.

  He looked over his shoulder at The Cuckold Inn.

  The pair of them stuck in his mind. If the man had picked the woman up, and she looked like she didn’t want to go, chances were she’d arrived with someone else.

  Maybe that someone would be looking for her. Or someone else would be looking for her. Plus he’d seen the way she was dressed. Some gov’nor’s piece she was, he’d bet. Fancy clothes and shoes. The drab and stained brown cloak the man had made her wear didn’t hide the bottom of her dress, nor the fancy shoes.

  He smiled. Yes, he’d head back to the fancy par’s of town and sees if he couldn’t find some blunt. A nice warm glass of whisky wouldn’t be remiss, but he needed coin to pay for it.

  And if he found out anyone were looking for that fancy li’l tart with the black dressed man, he’d sell them information for a price.

  He picked up the reins and clicked the horses. The carriage pulled away through the streets.

  * * * * *

  Emily held her aching ribs. How had she forgotten how fast he could strike? The man had fists as quick and deadly as an adder, as hard as rocks.

  She shuddered out a breath. Please, please, p
lease, keep the baby safe.

  Knowing better than to even move, she inwardly sighed when he strode away from her and said, “Get up.”

  Anger rode through her, not fear, not like it had been before. Now rage tore through her. And now that she had the courage to stand up to him, she dared not to lest he harm her unborn child.

  Carefully, she stood, her knees trembling. The bodice of her gown gaped open where he had ripped the delicate silk. Keeping her eyes down, she stared at the rough boards of the floor. What did she do?

  Images from her dream the night before danced in her head. She would not lose this child. She would not. Theodore would not take this from her too.

  He stormed from one side of the room to the other mumbling under his breath, raging the next.

  Emily stayed perfectly still, her stomach twisting in apprehension. The room was small, the ceiling slanted. Where she stood by the bed, Theodore would not be able to stand straight, nor would many people. It smelled of dust, sweat and whatever was cooking below stairs. The stench had saliva pooling in her mouth. She swallowed and prayed she would not be ill.

  “What does God say about adulterers?” Theodore asked, his boots still clicking across the floor.

  Emily swallowed again. She hated his games. Recite this, answer that, and God forbid she not get something right. Remembering the note he sent to Jason, she answered, “In Leviticus, God orders for them to be put to death.”

  He nodded, mumbled something else about demons and hell’s gates, the light and darkness. She tried to listen, hoping there had not been a question in there.

  A knock thundered against the door and she jerked, biting back a moan at the ache in her side.

  His gaze singed her. “Put the cloak back on.”

  The knock echoed again.

  She hastily covered herself, making certain the hood hid her face, and the cloak hid her torn bodice.

  Theodore ripped the door open. “What?”

  Emily gazed from beneath her lashes. A heavyset man filled the doorway.

  “What’re ye doin’ back ‘ere?” the man asked, his voice deep and rumbling.

  “I’ve come to collect my things,” Theodore answered.

  Emily frowned.

  “Be gone wit’ ye den. I’ve a business ta run, and the missus already rented the room out to another payer.”

  Theodore straightened. “My wife and I require some time before we depart.”

  The man crossed his burly arms. “Ye’s gots two minutes, ye do.” He jerked his head to the side. “Then ye’re arses be’er be out of these here rooms.”

  Theodore nodded and scooped up a tattered bag. She briefly wondered where he’d gotten it and what was in it. Not that it mattered. He turned to her and said, “Rebeckah, come.”

  Head down, she followed him out the door, brushing by the big man in the doorway.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled.

  Theodore swung out, striking her against the side of the head. She stumbled into the wall, black spots dancing before her eyes. “Don’t speak to the likes of him. I’ll let you know when you can speak. A woman of virtue does not speak to other men.”

  Hands held her arms. “Ye all right, Miss?” the big man asked.

  Emily looked up at him, saw a blurred image, but the eyes behind the gray bushy brows were kind. “Ravensworth,” she whispered.

  “Get away from her,” Theodore’s voice echoed against her ears. The hands left her arms and she swayed.

  Her hood was jerked back up to cover her head. A hand vised around her upper arm and she stumbled after Theodore even as the large man’s voice followed them. “Shouldn’t treat a woman like that. Bloody bastard. And what’s a lady doing with the likes of you?”

  Before she realized it, they were outside and hurrying along the streets.

  Where were they going? She dared not ask. Not with him as angry as he was. She wondered how much time had passed since they’d left the party. Was Jason looking for her? Had the man back at the inn heard what she whispered?

  She tried to keep up with Theodore, her ribs pulling, her head swimming, but she kept going. She knew all too well what he would do if she balked or asked him to slow down.

  The streets were filthy, some were narrow and cobbled, most were dirt and mud, sludge running down the sides of the gutters. The stench roiled her stomach. She held one hand to her ribs.

  And through it all, she heard the sounds of the docks. They must be near them. Jason had showed them to her several times. In fact, this looked like the area he’d brought her to. She tried to look around, to gauge if anything looked familiar. Things looked different in the dark, very different. Perhaps she could get away long enough if she figured out where she was, to find someone who would help her.

  * * * * *

  Jason paced the hallway. The doctor had given Joy some laudanum and she would sleep until morning. Her stillness scared him to the very marrow of his bones. It was like a small shell of his daughter was there, but whatever life sparked within her had been dimmed to almost nothing.

  She was alive. She was alive. She was alive. That thought kept him sane and focused.

  And he would damn well find the man who’d done this.

  He, Rayne, and Taber had spoken to the watchmen. Word had already gone out, searches were underway.

  Jason wanted to be out with them, searching. He stopped outside the bedroom where he’d sat for the last hour, until the need to prowl had become more than he could control.

  Strategically, he knew it were better if he stayed here. One, Joy needed him. Two, if any word came about, this is where he would hear it. He had not needed Taber all but ordering him to remain here. Sir Taber said he had his own men looking as well.

  He sighed and rubbed his face.

  As yet, no word arrived and the tension crawled under his skin. He wanted to shred the city apart to find Emily.

  He stopped, leaned back against the wall. What the hell was he to do? Where was the coolness he was known for in tense situations? Gone.

  A commotion below stairs had him looking down into the entry. Nick stood glaring at Taber, who asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready to sail? Don’t compromise your trip.”

  Nick muttered something and glanced up to Jason.

  Jason looked back into the room and saw Aunt Elsie kneeling beside the bed. He hurried down the stairs.

  “What the hell is going on?” Nick asked.

  Jason stopped at the bottom of the stairs and jerked his head toward his study. “Come back here and I’ll explain.”

  “I hear about murders and mayhem and kidnappings and Ravensworth,” Nick muttered. “I left the ship and came here straightway.”

  “It’s a bloody mess. The bastard’s got Emily. Managed to get in here, kill three people, wound several others and almost got…” He rubbed his face with one hand. “Almost killed my daughter.”

  The memory of her covered in blood was not one he would soon forget.

  “Well, a bloody mess does rather sum it up then, doesn’t it? Damn me.” Nick didn’t sit, he prowled. “What do you want me to do?”

  Nothing. Everything. “Just help me find him. Help me find Emily. Pray to God she’s all right. I still don’t even know who the hell is behind this.”

  Taber cleared his throat. “All our sources still show De Fleur to be busy in France with his own problems. “ He shot Nick a narrowed look. “Which is where Nick should be. But in light of that news, I do not think De Fleur is the man behind this. Besides the fact we can all agree it’s just not his style. He would have managed to obtain both your wife and your daughter without the extra carnage.”

  Jason frowned. “I don’t give a damn who’s behind it.” He glared up at his superior. “I just want him.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Rayne said, handing him a snifter of brandy. Jason took a sip and stared into it. He didn’t want a damn drink. He wanted his wife. He wanted her here. He wanted her now. He wanted her unharmed and
he damn well wanted this bastard’s head. Jason threw the drink, the glass shattered against the mantle.

  Taber only cocked a single brow and shook his head. “You need to calm down and think. You hotheaded will not be a help to anyone and only a hindrance. Remember I’ll have you detained to this house if I have to.”

  Jason took a step toward his superior.

  Nick stepped in front of him and slapped a warning hand on his shoulder. “You need anything here?”

  Jason didn’t answer. He took a slow deep breath.

  “Fine then,” Nick continued, “I’ll head back down to the docks and put the word out. Have Hobbs send men out. We’ll find her, Jase.” Nick squeezed Jason’s shoulder.

  Jason shrugged him off, but said, “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

  Boot heels thumped down the hall. Summerton barely got out, “Sir Robert Sheldon.”

  Sheldon stopped in the doorway, glanced around the room, his eyes locking on Taber.

  “Taber,” Sheldon inclined his head.

  Taber only sighed. “I should have known you’d all get involved.”

  Jason frowned, but didn’t try to figure it out, instead, he tried to ignore the flare of hope. “Have you found anything out?”

  Sheldon nodded and stepped into the room. “As a matter a fact, more than I’d hoped.” The man hadn’t even taken off his Garrick. “Seems a man was seen forcing a woman into a carriage.”

  “Forcing her?” Jason interrupted.

  Sheldon shrugged. “She acted as if she didn’t want to go, and it was about the right time. I’m assuming it was her, but it was a plain black hackney any bloody sod could hire, so that was of no help.”

  Jason’s patience was wearing thin.

  Sheldon smiled. “I was about to leave and come give you that bit of not so helpful news, when a black hackney pulled up in front of the house. Seems the driver was having a slow night and thought that the ‘gentry mort’ might belong to someone who would care that she didn’t seem to want to go with the man who hired him.”

  Jason’s muscles tightened.

  Sheldon continued, “By the way, you owe me four pounds. In any case, the driver dropped them off at an inn down by the docks.”