Crystal Passion (The McClellans Series, Book 1) Author's Cut Edition

by Jo Goodman

  "Ya 'ave a point," Ned said, shaking his head from side to side in reluctant agreement. "Sorry, miss, but 'arry's right. We'd 'ave ta lock ya up if ya sent the cap'n ta 'is reward. An' this ain't no place fer you ta 'ave yer babe." Ned began to approach Ashley carefully. "Now, how about 'andin' over the pistol? It's far too heavy fer yer fair 'ands anyway."

  Ashley spun on the guards. "Stay away! I don't care what happens to me, do you hear! I don't care as long as I know he's paid for it! He told me he loved me! He said he would take me with him. He lied to me."

  Ned was stopped by the tears misting Ashley's eyes. "Now don't start cryin', miss. Oi can't stand ta see a lady cry—even me own missus." Ned's rapt attention on Ashley caused him to fail to see Salem move. Harry's warning came a second too late. Even Ashley was startled when Salem's weak arm came around her throat while the other took the pistol from her hands and poked it in her side.

  "Now gentlemen," Salem said easily, smiling at both men. "It would seem the tables have turned. Remember, I have nothing to lose by hurting this wench. For all her sad airs and high manner, she's no more quality than you or me. But she does have some important friends who would hold you responsible if anything happened to her." He looked expectantly at the guards to see if he was understood.

  "Steady yerself, man," Harry said. "There's no need ta 'urt anyone."

  "Exactly what I thought. Now, if both of you would be so kind as to step into that corner over there. That's right. And toss me your keys. Toss them!" His command was sharp, and his grip appeared to tighten on Ashley when the guards hesitated. Neither Harry nor Ned suspected Ashley's slight body was giving the captain much needed support.

  Two key rings clattered to the cold stone floor. Salem directed Ashley to pick them up. "We're going to leave now. And if you make any move to shout for help, I'll open every cell door between here and safety. Think about trying to explain a mass escape before you call for your compatriots." He started toward the door, pretending to pull Ashley with him. It was difficult to manage because she wanted to drag him out.

  When the solid door was locked behind him he slid open the small portal and looked in on his prisoners. "And give a care for the wench's safety. Her guardian, the Duke of Linfield, will have your guts for garters if she's harmed." He gave the portal a satisfactory slam when he saw their shocked expressions. "The duke is well known in the most surprising circles," he said to Ashley, pushing her along the corridor with the point of his pistol. "Those poor souls certainly feared him."

  "Do be quiet!" Ashley hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "And must you prod me with that thing?"

  Salem shrugged. "It's for effect."

  The effect was not lost on the other occupants of Newgate. The confrontation with the guards in Salem's cell had been loud enough to alert the prisoners to what was happening. It did not take long for word to spread to every block of cells, although an observer would have been hard-pressed to say how the communication was accomplished. The locked rooms that Salem passed remained curiously quiet, and for the life of him Salem didn't know if it was because the occupants feared the Duke of Linfield or simply wanted someone to escape from the oppressive walls of the prison. He steadied himself against the eerie, and somehow expectant silence, and helped Ashley find the key that unlocked a shabbily repaired side door which swung open onto a narrow side street.

  Salem's first breath of air outside of the prison almost knocked him to his knees. He was beyond noticing it was tainted with a peculiar mixture of odors, fish and sewage chief among them. He was only relieved to find the cloying musty smell of his confinement had disappeared.

  Ashley steadied him on his feet. "Come. The hack is around the corner. We must hurry."

  An eruption of noise from inside the walls indicated the alarm had been sounded. To protect Ashley from blame if he should be apprehended, Salem continued to hold her as if she were his captive. But when mounting the driver's box, it was Ashley who had to summon her strength to assist the captain.

  "Let me have the reins," Salem gritted as a guard came running onto the street and shouted for others to follow.

  Ashley held the leather ribbons stubbornly. "No one will know I'm driving."

  The captain's curse was lost on her as the hack's nag, made skittish by the suddenness of the shouts and shots behind them, chose to escape the confusion with no encouragement from Ashley. The carriage jolted, throwing both riders backward, and then was off, managing a suprising speed in the close quarters of the street.

  "Bad-mannered beast," Ashley muttered, asserting herself to direct the animal where she wanted it to go. "You'll get us lost, and then where will we be?"

  Salem found it easier to look over his shoulder to see how many men were giving chase than to face forward and confront the obstacles that Ashley was narrowly skirting. He counted three brilliantly lit torches some distance behind them before the hack tipped dangerously to one side to negotiate a sharp turn.

  "Watch where you're going!" he muttered, righting himself and trying to ignore the throbbing in his infected arm. "On second thought, do you know where you're going?"

  If it had not been so dark, Salem would have seen Ashley's guilty flush. "London is different at night, you understand. And I've never really been here before. Bodnar wouldn't bring me so I tried to memorize everything when the hackman drove me. And then the nag—well, how could I know she would go off in the wrong direction?" She guided the hack around another harrowing corner and somehow missed colliding with two young men stepping out of a tavern with a lady of questionable reputation. "Did that woman have paint on her face? No, of course she didn't. It must be the poor light. D'you see why this is difficult. I could hardly light the flambeaux and make ourselves a target, could I? And the streets seem to look alike. I hadn't considered that we would be in such a hurry or that every house would look like every other. If only someone would have put up a Greek column or something. Though I don't suppose anyone can afford that sort of thing here, and it's really ill-mannered of me to even mention it. But how am I supposed to find my way when it's all the same? There—d'you see? I think we've passed that empty flower cart before."

  "That's because we have," Salem said, his head spinning. "And if you don't let me have the reins, I'm afraid we're in danger of you driving us directly back to Newgate."

  "Just direct me toward the wharf. You can't drive and you know it."

  "Then take the next left. And for heaven's sake—" The hack was around the corner. "Slow down," he finished when he righted himself again. "Where did you learn to drive like this?"

  Ashley reined in the nag, slowing the pace considerably. There was no need to bring attention to their progress now that they were some distance from the prison. She suspected the horse could not manage much longer, and she shied from the thought that she may have already pushed the animal too hard. "Riding was my one amusement at Linfield." Moonlight captured the cheeky grin she offered the captain. "Lucky for us that it was. Admit that I'm a good driver."

  "Torture couldn't wring that admission from me," he said with feeling. "How is it I never noticed what an impudent minx you are?"

  "I imagine it is because I'm not really impudent at all. I'm just very, very frightened, and I want to keep myself from crying."

  "An admirable goal. Although when we're safe, I don't care if you flood London with your tears. I may even shed a few myself."

  "You're afraid?"

  "To my very bones, Miss Lynne." He touched the fair skin of Ashley's smooth cheek with the back of his hand, then dropped his hand into his lap. "Take another left. We're almost there. Do you recognize your surroundings yet?"

  She nodded. She could identify some of the same rough-bricked structures she had seen earlier on her tour with Arnie and Bodnar. She saw the battered sign of the Candlewyke Tavern hanging precariously by one rusty chain over the head of a recently evicted patron. At the corner of a tobacco warehouse there was a man investigating what lay beneath the skirt of his gigglin
g companion. The woman had her back pressed to the building and seemed to be encouraging the exploration—if her delighted laughter was anything to go by. Ashley could hear her husky voice ring out when the man apparently strayed beyond the limits of what she would allow. "Oooh, luv. An' that's a fine idea, bu' it's goin' ta cost ya more than ya got just ta sniff it."

  Ashley glanced questioningly at Salem.

  "Don't ask. Just keep your eyes in front of you. We're not safe yet. This area will be searched soon enough."

  Ashley wasn't concerned by Salem's statement. It didn't seem possible that anyone could find them among the activity and crowds. "This is where I am to leave the hack," she told him, halting in front of the deserted business entrance to a counting house. Salem leaped down and secured the nag, then helped Ashley alight.

  "We have a little piece to go before we can rest," she said, lending him support.

  Salem had no choice but to follow. "You realize you have a great deal of explaining to do?"

  "I didn't suppose you could accept your freedom at face value. But explanations still have to wait." She stopped abruptly and, like an animal in the wild, her head tilted in the direction of an unknown danger. "Did you hear that?"

  "Indeed I did. And this is no time to stop. Those shouts are drawing nearer. We've got to get away from the hack. Can you run?"

  "I can. Can you?"

  "I'm going to find out. Let's go!"

  Ashley lifted her skirts and matched the captain's pace. The hastily secured pins in her hair loosened and dropped unnoticed to the street. Dark curls flew freely around her flushed face, and her breasts heaved as she gasped for air. Her breath misted in front of her as it made contact with the cool night.

  She slowed when she sensed Salem faltering beside her. She was certain under normal conditions she could never hope to stay close to him, but weakened as he was, he was finding it difficult to stay on his feet.

  She paid little attention to the people who sometimes blocked their path or the voices that yelled obscenities after them. She concentrated on her progress, afraid to wonder which of the gaunt, sinister faces around her was likely to betray their direction to the officials.

  "It's not much farther," she said to encourage Salem. She received only a labored grunt in reply. "This way."

  She turned into an alley strewn with objects she was glad she could not identify in the darkness. Something furry brushed against her leg, and she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her scream. She stumbled over a drunk sleeping in the waste thrown out of windows above them, and Salem reached to help her. Unfortunately her hand closed over his festering wound and he nearly fainted with the shock of the intense pain.

  "Oh my God, I'm sorry," she said. "Please, don't stop now. That's the place there. The Wandering Minstrel. You can just make out the sign."

  Salem clutched his arm and managed to look up. Beads of sweat clouded his vision, and he wiped them away. Indeed, not twenty yards from where he stood was the Wandering Minstrel himself. It could be assumed that he had seen better days. Although he retained his human shape, he had lost his dignity. The proprietor, rather than replace the life-size wooden minstrel when it had fallen once upon a time, had simply hung the slightly bent fellow up—this time by the neck. He swung grotesquely above the door to the tavern.

  "Cheery," Salem said blandly, raising one eyebrow.

  "I chose it because I knew I would remember it later," Ashley said tartly. Even so, she eyed the minstrel warily as she passed beneath him to enter the tavern. "Oh, dear," she murmured, her wide eyes taking in her surroundings.

  "An understatement."

  The Wandering Minstrel was crowded. It was smoky. It smelled of sweat, spilled spirits, and vomit. It was noisy. Those patrons who could still talk were shouting for more drink, laying bets, topping outrageous tales; those who had their allotment for the evening were snoring loudly.

  Salem helped Ashley step over one drunk on their way to the bar. He could feel the length of the pistol against his flat belly where he had tucked it in his breeches. Looking around at the hard faces, some scarred by pox, others by knives, he knew there were few men present who would quaver at the sight of his weapon if he suddenly pointed it between their eyes. Ashley, he saw, was doing her best not to show her fear, but she sidled closer to him for protection.

  Upon reaching the bar, the proprietor subjected both of them to his myopic squint and smiled hugely, baring more spaces than teeth. "Can't say that I really thought you'd make it, miss. Thought you must have been pulling my leg when you was here before." He dried his hands on a greasy towel jammed in the waistband of his breeches. For a moment Salem thought he was going to offer Ashley a handshake. Instead the man reached across the counter and put the back of his hand on Salem's forehead. "This bloke ain't got the plague, has he? He don't look good."

  "No, he's just very tired," Ashley said hurriedly. "Please, could you take us to our room. You promised everything would be ready."

  "Right this way. Your bags came earlier. Just like you said they would." He didn't add he had gone through them to see what manner of money she still had available. One couldn't be too careful when dealing with quality. He didn't like to think the chit might try to cheat him.

  He led them up a back narrow staircase to the very last room along a dark hallway.

  The room's sole light came from a miserable fire in the grate, and Ashley was just as glad she couldn't see how filthy the room was. She doubted the double bed's linen had been changed in a fortnight, and dust was probably thick on the nightstand. The room's odor was hardly better than Salem's cell, and she suspected there was a chamber pot somewhere in the room in need of emptying. Still, it was a refuge.

  "It's fine," she said. "What about a bath? You agreed to provide one."

  "I'll send up one of the serving wenches to take care of that." He ignored Salem as the captain slipped past him and lay on the bed. "If everything is to your liking, I'll leave you now." He shifted uneasily on his feet.

  Ashley was more concerned with Salem's exhaustion than she was with the owner's dawdling play for more money. She spoke to him with just the right amount of asperity. "I've paid you the agreed upon price. My friends downstairs would not want to know you suddenly find it insufficient."

  "Of course, miss. Right you are." He backed out of the room, gingerly shutting the door behind him.

  Ashley was immediately at Salem's side, placing a cool hand on his brow. His eyes were closed, and his lashes were damp from his own sweat "You're terribly warm." She slipped off her cape, tossed it aside, and found her handkerchief. She wiped his face carefully with the softly scented linen and lace. "How's that?"

  "Better. That smells so fresh. It seems forever since I was around something so clean. There's no need to nurse me, Miss Lynne. I'm not sick, just tired, as you said."

  She smiled faintly. The captain made no attempt to halt her ministrations. "I'm sorry about this. I hadn't thought it would be such an ordeal."

  Now Salem smiled. "I shudder to think what you imagined. It's not every day a slip of a girl springs someone from Newgate. Did I hear you tell the owner you had friends in the taproom?"

  "Yes. One of them tried to pinch me, but I think that was only to get my attention, just to let me know they were here. They're not really friends to be precise. I only met them by accident when I was trying to secure passage to the Colonies. They're Yankees, like you, you see. So I thought I could trust them." She pretended not to hear Salem's exasperated groan. "I told them what I wanted to do, and they agreed to help me."

  "You need a keeper."

  "That's what they said."

  "My respect for them grows by leaps and bounds. You speak of 'them' and 'they.' How many friends are there?"

  "Only two. But they're very big. I suppose they come from savage stock also." There was a knock at the door, and Ashley moved from the bed to help the serving girl with the tub.

  "What do you mean 'also'?"

  "Just a
moment." She addressed the servant. "What's the meaning of this? This water has been used."

  "Only twice, mum." The girl dipped a small curtsy. "An' I brought a kettle filled wi' fresh that you can 'eat 'ere. An' a bit o' soap, too." She handed Ashley a small chunk of yellow soap and retrieved the kettle which she set up in the hearth. "Macky says ta tell ya th' kitchen is closed, but 'e'll find something fer ya if ya don't mind cold."

  "A cold meal will be fine. And something to drink. Tea, I think."

  The girl simply gaped at her. "Tea? Oi don't know about that."

  "Then anything you can find as long as it isn't that swill you serve those men downstairs."

  When the girl was gone Ashley returned to Salem and answered his question as if there had been no interruption. "I mean that so many of you Colonials have a savage somewhere in the family tree. Or a thief—or a wastrel. I supposed it must have been the savage in your blood that made you so big and brown."

  Salem shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know where you came by these notions. No, I don't want to know. It seems you're not alone in your peculiar view of Colonials. But let me tell you now, I get my size from my mother's father and my coloring from the sun. You can see I'm hardly as dark as I was when I first met you. There's not a thief in my family unless you count the time Noah, Gareth, and I stole Tildy's cherry cobbler from the pie safe. The closest I ever came to being a wastrel was the time I spent in Newgate, and you, m'dear, saved me from that life of idleness."

  Ashley turned up her nose, pretending offense. "I never said I thought you were a thief or a wastrel. Only that there must be savages in your lineage." She left the bedside to check the kettle. "The water's hot."

  Using her skirt as a mitt to protect her hands from burning, Ashley lifted the kettle from the hearth and poured some into Salem's bath water.