Ghost of the Thames

by May McGoldrick

  He frowned and nodded. She stretched out her hand. “May I borrow it?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I shall only need it for a short time.”

  His hands landed heavily on her shoulders. He turned her around until she had no choice but to look up at him. “You will explain yourself right now.”

  She pointed toward the shed door. “Those men are bound to come out any time now. I saw them force at least a dozen women and children in there. This one. . . . ” She kicked the body at her feet. “This one decided to give that poor creature a lesson in proper behavior before going in. I don’t know if I can lay open all of their heads with this oar before the others notice and come after me.”

  “And what do you hope to accomplish?”

  “It is quite simple, Captain. Free the women and children.”

  “And do you think this will be the end of their troubles?”

  She glared at him.

  His hands dropped from her shoulders. “I read in the Times not a fortnight ago that there may be over eighty thousand prostitutes walking the streets of London. Most of them live in slums and opium dens. Do you know where they end up? In the Thames. Their bodies fished out and dumped in Cross Bones graveyard. Now what do you think is to become of these that you rescue . . . if you are able to free them?”

  “It cannot be worse than what was happening right here a moment ago!” she snapped. “This woman wasn’t willingly giving herself to that jackal for a fee. She was being forced. And I was floating in that river not too long ago, if you recall. Perhaps I was one of them. Perhaps I was destined for your Cross Bones graveyard.”

  Her words silenced him. The anger was roiling inside of her.

  “Not recalling any of my past, one thing I do remember is this. I would prefer to die than let this happen to me or to any other woman. I’ll fight them with whatever means I have. I shall use my bare hands if I must. Now, will you loan me your pistol or not, Captain?”

  His dark eyes bore into hers for a moment longer.

  “No,” he growled. “But I shall see to this matter.”

  “But—”

  “You go find my driver. My carriage is at the top of this lane. Tell him to go to the constable’s house by the village square. We passed it on the way here; he’ll remember. And you will wait in the carriage. Do you hear me?”

  Sophy held her ground, unsure that she wanted to go.

  “Go,” he barked.

  The sound of voices came from the closed door of the shed. It was true that if they were to do any good, they would need help. If that shed led into the inn, then she had no idea how many men might re-emerge.

  She ran through the dark alley and, at the end, turned up the lane. There was no one in the lane or the cross street at the top. The Captain’s carriage, however, were exactly where he said it would be. The driver was standing by the horses, a heavy-headed cudgel in hand, ready for any trouble that might surface. With wariness in his stance, he watched her approaching at a run.

  “Captain Seymour sent me.”

  Sophy doubted the driver recognized her. Hurriedly, she relayed the Captain’s instructions. With a frown he nodded, turned, and ran toward the market square to fetch the constable.

  She stood by the horses, absently stroking their muzzles and sleek necks, and considering whether she should go back to the yard behind the Broken Oar. Perhaps she should at least return to the woman who had been attacked, she thought.

  When she’d followed the ghostly figure from Urania Cottage to this village, Sophy hadn’t known what to expect. The young woman had simply gestured and Sophy had silently followed until they reached the inn and tavern. Then, still hidden in the darkness of the alley, she’d heard the noise and commotion of the group being forced out of a boat and herded toward the shed on the far side of the yard.

  The women were speaking in a variety of foreign tongues, but in spite of that, it was clear they were frightened. Some sounded sick. Many were sobbing.

  Too angry with the scene unfolding before her, Sophy had paid little attention to the danger or to the fact that her guide had disappeared. She only knew that something needed to be done, and when one of the men had pulled the young woman out of the line and thrown her against an overturned boat, Sophy’s sense of judgment sailed away on the breeze. She had picked up the first solid piece of wood that she could find.

  Now, out of the darkness, the driver reappeared with two men in his wake. They ran past with barely a glance in her direction and disappeared down the lane toward the river. It was then that she saw the girl in white, gazing at her from inside the carriage. Sophy hurriedly climbed in, closing the door. She sat across from the phantom.

  “Tonight was the second time you’ve done this,” Sophy said sharply. “You disappeared just when I needed help.”

  “My intention was only to bring you here. You knew what to do. You did as you were supposed to do.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Those women and children are still there. What is to become of them?”

  “They are better off already than they were before. That’s all you can do for now.”

  Her friend was speaking in riddles, but Sophy couldn’t bring herself to be angry. She knew that if the Captain and the other men were successful, those women would be better off. Sophy stared at the golden hair cascading around the shoulders of her guide. This was the closest she’d been to her, and still she couldn’t really study the features of her face. She was like an image in a dream, a reflection in water. Sophy reached across to touch the woman’s knees. Her fingers touched nothing but cool air.

  “I am imagining you,” she said, suddenly feeling sick to her very core.

  “You can see me.”

  “Who are you? What are you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me. I need to know if I’m losing my mind.”

  “Were those people you found behind the tavern only in your imagination?” the specter asked softly. “Do you believe you could have walked the dark and dangerous streets to the outskirts of London and arrived here without my guidance and protection?”

  Sophy knew she couldn’t have.

  “Am I the only one who can see you?”

  Before she could answer, the carriage door flew open. Captain Seymour peered in, and Sophy could see the look of relief in his face to see her there. She glanced back at the empty seat across from her. The woman in white was gone.

  Removing his top hat, Captain Seymour climbed in and sat where Sophy’s ghostly friend had been sitting only a moment before.

  “Were you just talking to someone?” he asked.

  Sophy took a deep breath, trying to recover herself. It was no dream. She had been having a conversation with a ghost.

  “Sophy?”

  She forced her attention back to him. There was dirt on his coat. The cravat at his throat was askew. He’d clearly been in a scuffle. She looked up into his face. She understood what the buzz among the girls at Urania Cottage was all about. He was handsome—exceedingly so. And confident. And at this moment, he looked impatient.

  “I asked you—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I was simply thinking aloud that you might need my help to finish the fight I’d started earlier. I was considering coming and giving you a hand.”

  He stared at her for a moment as if she were daft. And then he smiled broadly, a chuckle escaping him. She was pleasantly surprised with the sound, and felt a layer of tension peel away.

  “I believe you would have,” he said in a low voice.

  She smiled back at him. She was not jesting. If not for the appearance of her ghostly guide, she would have returned to the tavern yard.

  The carriage driver’s head appeared in the doorway. “All set, sir.”

  “Very good.” The Captain’s voice of command had returned. “We’re away, then.”

  The door shut, and Sophy felt the carriage rock slightly as the driver climbed to his seat.

 
; “Is it safe to assume that you are not hurt?” she asked.

  “I am not hurt,” he said, his tone gentle again.

  The carriage started. Concerned, she looked out the window. “Whatever happened to those inside the shed? And the woman hiding outside?”

  “It took a bit of convincing, but the ruffians delivering the women and the proprietor of the Broken Oar saw the wisdom of being agreeable. The village constable and the river policeman who happened to be dining with him this evening were a great help. Everything is under control; the captives are free and will remain so. The constable will see to it that they are delivered to the authorities who will help them.”

  She moved to the edge of the seat, not comfortable with the arrangement.

  “You are not going to jump out of a moving carriage. There is not enough room at Urania Cottage to take all these lost women,” he said, putting a hand on her knee. “They are safe, and they will be provided for. For the moment, at least, this is the best we can do.”

  His hand was warm, and Sophy felt flustered by his touch. She sank back against the seat, and he removed his hand.

  “Now,” he said, a note of command returning to his voice. “You can explain what you were doing there.”

  Twice now, her guide had put Sophy in the path of this man. She wondered why. “You might explain what you were doing there.”

  “That’s none of your concern. I’m the one who is asking..”

  “Actually, I was following—” She stopped, afraid that if she talked about ghosts, his next stop would be at an asylum.

  “You were following . . . ?”

  “A memory.” Sophy touched her forehead like she was still in pain. “I woke up with this place in my head, and I knew I had to go there. Perhaps I’ve visited this tavern before. I had to come here. The rest—going to that woman’s aid—was just the reaction to the villainy I came upon.”

  “So you woke up,” he said incredulously, “but you couldn’t wait for morning to come here?”

  “I was afraid of forgetting. I thought the place might hold a key to my past.”

  He ran a hand over his chin. “Would you like me to have my driver take us back to the tavern? The constable was taking charge of the proprietor, to ask a question or two, but there might be someone else in there who will recognize you.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “Not tonight, at least. This headache, you know.”

  Sophy forced herself not to wither under his hard gaze. She was afraid he would question her further, force her to tell the truth.

  “And how are the wounds on your head? The dressing is gone, I see.”

  Taking her chin he tilted her head to look at her injuries in the dim light coming in from the outside.

  She sat, dumbfounded at her response. Her skin seemed to catch fire at the touch of his fingers, her stomach twisting in an unfamiliar but not unpleasant way. Recovering, she leaned back out of his reach and looked away.

  Silence filled the carriage.

  “Would you mind taking me back to Urania Cottage?” she asked, daring to glance at him. He was studying her too intensely for comfort.

  “That is precisely where my driver is going,” he answered. “Tell me, other than the dream tonight of the Broken Oar Tavern, have you been remembering anything more of your past?”

  She shook her head. “It’s very frustrating, but no.”

  “I hope you were not offended that I left you some money.”

  “Oh, I meant to thank you,” she said quickly. “Mrs. Tibbs showed what you had left for me. You are very generous, Captain.”

  “You do understand that you cannot stay at the Cottage permanently.”

  Sophy nodded. “I’m hoping to delay them putting me out on the street. I could not have simply sprung to life from dust and fog and river. There must be people who know me. Someplace I must have called home. But no matter how hard I think, I can recall only the river and what happened after coming out of it. It is very frustrating not to be able to remember what my life was before that.”

  She had been reminded by Mrs. Tibbs that she was dressed in the tattered clothing of a man when brought to Urania Cottage. The inference to be drawn from that was horrifying. The empty hole of her recent past was as murky as what might become of her in the very near future.

  “You remembered how to get to Hammersmith tonight. That is a hopeful sign, at least. Perhaps you are from that village.”

  Sophy met his gaze. She wished she could tell him the truth. She recognized nothing of the wet, dilapidated village. She could just as easily be from the moon.

  They were now rolling noisily over the cobbled streets of London’s western suburbs, and before long the carriage came to a stop. She looked outside the window and saw the brick walls of Urania Cottage. She watched him put his hand out to open the door. He stopped and looked into her eyes.

  “Did anyone know that you left the house tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You might get into trouble if they found you left the premises.”

  “That is true.” Sophy looked at the house apprehensively. “The girls living here have very strict rules they need to abide by. Do you think they would put me on the street tonight?”

  “If asked, you tell Mrs. Tibbs that you left the Cottage at my instruction, and that any further inquiries should be directed to me.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Sophy was surprised when he stepped out of the carriage and offered his hand. She took it. The effect was the same as before, and she felt the sudden rush of beating wings in her stomach.

  Outside, the smell of the coming dawn was in the air. She took a deep breath and tried to rekindle some memory. Nothing. Everything seemed so new.

  “The next time you dream of a place you remember, you will wait for the daylight. Do you understand?”

  She noticed his imposing height for the first time. His mood was quick to change, and she could hear the tone of command in his voice now.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “You do understand that you exposed yourself to extreme danger tonight.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “And you will not, in the future, ask for anyone’s pistol.”

  “No, Captain,” she replied in a serious tone. “I know it is better just to take it, fire it, and return it to its owner rather than asking permission.”

  His face darkened. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

  “I should go in,” she said quickly, starting toward the alley leading to the back door.

  “Sophy,” he called after her.

  She turned. “Yes, Captain?”

  “I will be going back to Hammersmith Village tomorrow midday on an inquiry of my own. I can take you.”

  She wished she never had to go back there. She knew there was no need. But she also knew that the opportunity of seeing Captain Seymour again made it more than worthwhile. In fact, it changed everything.

  “Thank you. I would like that,” she replied, turning and disappearing into the shadows.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sophy was a temptation.

  How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? Too long, Edward thought. Just one hint of encouragement from her and he would find a room at the nearest inn and take her there.

  Her hesitation and her vulnerability, though, had only encouraged him to behave like a gentleman. Down deep, he didn’t know for certain if her amnesia and her actions were honest or diabolically calculating, but he did know one thing: he was truly entranced by her beauty and her boldness in action. In fact, he was downright excited at the prospect of seeing her again.

  Even at twenty eight years of age, Edward had never had a mistress for any extended period of time. As far as marriage, it never struck him as fair or even logical to keep a woman waiting for him during the long absences required by his service to the Royal Navy—and he’d never met anyone that he cared about enough to keep him home.

  The carriage stopped in front of the
house and Edward stepped out. The rosy light of dawn was already spreading across the eastern sky. Inside, he was not surprised to be greeted by Reeves, his butler. The housekeeper, Mrs. Perkins, was waiting only a few steps behind.

  The household staff, especially Mrs. Perkins, continued to be very anxious for any news of the sixteen-year-old Amelia. For the past three years, Mrs. Perkins had been the one primarily charged with overseeing the succession of governesses and tutors for the young woman. She continued to express the guilt she felt so keenly at what she saw as her lack of supervision the night of the young people’s disappearance.

  From all accounts Edward knew there was no negligence involved. Amelia had never been wild. She was an intelligent and prudent young woman, and barely knew the young man. There had been no forewarning of what was to occur. No one could have suspected the sudden elopement.

  “Tell me,” he chided gently, “that you two are up early this morning and did not wait up the entire night.”

  “Just up, Captain,” the lanky old man lied with a quick warning look at the housekeeper.

  The housekeeper spoke up for the first time. “Please, Captain. Do you have any encouraging news of Miss Amelia?”

  “No, Mrs. Perkins. Another blind alley.” Shaking his head, Edward started toward his study. Tired as he was, the dreaded letter needed to be written. It was time to admit to his father, who was stationed on practically the other side of the world, that Amelia was missing—and had been missing for two months.

  “Will you be wanting your breakfast now?”

  “Thank you, but no, Mrs. Perkins,” Edward replied. “I am not hungry just now.”

  “Staying healthy requires nourishment and sleep, Captain. You’ve forfeited sleep. And you are looking pale.”

  “All right, Mrs. Perkins. I’ll have my breakfast,” he said, surrendering. “But I should like to have it in an hour. I’ve decided to write to the admiral about Amelia.”

  “Oh my!” Mrs. Perkins visibly winced and sent Edward a sympathetic look before turning toward the kitchens.

  As Edward poured himself a glass of Madeira, he watched the butler straighten unanswered correspondence on the desk. Without comment, Reeves selected a specific note and placed it on top.