“What are you doing? Are you trying to kiss me?”
“No, I am restraining you.”
She looked at me in alarm then, and drew in a long breath, preparing to scream. I clamped my hand over her mouth. She tried to kick me, but I pinned her against the wall with my weight. She bit my hand. I snarled at her. She went suddenly limp and silent.
I jerked her upright and began to tow her back to the street, scooping up the lantern as I went. She trotted along, sniffling.
At the corner of the theatre, four men stood waiting. None were Jemmy. I took a step back, but they followed.
I tossed the lantern in one direction, and Nance in another. She squealed as she fell among the rubbish, and the lantern rolled and extinguished, plunging the passage in darkness.
The men struck. I dodged swiftly and felt a breeze brush my face. I wrenched my sword from my walking stick and clenched the scabbard in my other hand. I heard a strike coming, and I lunged out. A man grunted in surprise and pain.
They grappled with me in the darkness, trying to get under the reach of my sword, trying to get behind me. I put my back to a rubbish heap and struck hard and fast. Sometimes I hit, sometimes I didn’t, but it kept them at bay.
But for how long? I could not fight here forever; already I was tiring. I couldn’t depend upon Nance to run for help. She was crying loudly off in the darkness, making no effort to get away. She might be hurt. One of them might have her.
A blow got through and landed on my chest. I exhaled sharply, but kept my feet and struck back with my fist and scabbard. I felt teeth. The man I hit cursed and spat.
A sudden light blinded me. A lantern shone in my face, dazzling my eyes. I quickly closed them and looked away, but too late. A sharp blow fell on my left knee, and hot fire streaked through it. I struck out. In the light, another blow landed on my sword arm, then three men closed on me and wrenched the sword from my grasp.
“Hurry.”
I recognized Jemmy’s voice and sensed his flat face behind the lantern. I fought on. Another kick to my bad leg wrenched a cry from my lips, and then my hands and face struck the pavement, rough cobbles stinging.
They kept pummeling me. I curled inward, protecting my face and belly. My knee was a mass of pain, and I could feel little else. When the numb haze receded a little, I realized they’d stopped hitting me. I moved my arm, and heard myself groan. Sticky blood tickled my cheek.
I opened my eyes. In the light of the bright lantern, I saw a slender foot in a soiled slipper inches from my nose.
“It’s a fair turnabout, ain’t it, Captain?” Nance asked softly, and then she kicked me in the face.
*** *** ***
When I came to myself again, a long time later, I lay on a thin mattress and had a blanket thrown over me. Light—daylight—trickled through the broken slats of a wooden-shuttered skylight. My limbs felt curiously heavy, and the fiery pain I’d expected was now a dull, distant throbbing.
I tried to move and discovered my hands joined behind my back, the cords that bound them tight and biting. My feet were likewise tied, my boots gone.
They had not covered my mouth. I licked my dry lips, and drew a breath to call out, but only a whispered creak emerged, like a breath of wind through branches on a summer afternoon. My bed—no, the entire room, rocked gently, and I smelled mud and brine and filth. Shadows danced below the skylight, up and down, up and down, telling me that I was afloat. Somewhere. The air held the stink of the city, not the clean smell of open water, so I assumed the Thames, still in London.
Was I alone? Or did someone man the tiller? Perhaps the boat would sink, taking me down alone to the bottom of the river, my body lost forever.
I was thirsty and hungry and terribly sleepy. Even in my alarm, my eyes drifted closed, my body seeking the oblivion from which it had risen.
When I opened my eyes again, the light was fading from the skylight. A day had gone by. Only one? Or two, or more? My befuddled mind had an inkling this was important, but I couldn’t make myself care. At least the boat was still afloat. I heard a man’s voice outside the cabin door, then another answering. So I wasn’t alone. Perhaps they’d shoot me first, before they scuttled the boat.
I went through my fuzzy memories. I could not recall much of what happened after I’d been pummeled by the four men and Jemmy behind Covent Garden theatre. I did remember lying in a darkened carriage, groans escaping my lips, and I remembered a hand forcing me to drink something bitter and burning. Opium. That would account for my numb heaviness, my indifference as to my plight. When the opium wore off, I’d be wretched indeed.
My cracked lips formed a smile. I’d explain to Louisa, if I ever saw her again, that I’d missed her supper party because I’d been drowned while trying to rescue a sixteen-year-old prostitute from her own stupidity.
Nance had tricked me, and I’d walked right into it. She’d known I would not be able resist trying to keep her out of my business, and she and Jemmy had laid a simple trap. Jemmy worked for Denis, and the four men who attacked me reminded me of the bully in Denis’s library. Denis must have assumed I wouldn’t be able to walk away from him without an attempt at retaliation. He must have seen in my eyes the stupid idea of trying to shoot him before it had even formed. So he’d struck first.
The rickety door opened, and two large men entered—I assumed to kill me.
They beat me instead. Soundly, thoroughly, with fists and cudgels, they pummeled my body until pain stabbed me even through the opium. Hoarse screams I could not control leaked from my mouth. I looked straight at one man, into the same flat, uncaring eyes that Denis possessed.
They departed, and I lay in a daze.
They say that opium promotes clarity of thought. Poets and musicians are said to use it to inspire great works. I read little poetry, but music gave me joy, and it seemed to me that the strains of violin and pianoforte slid through my brain now, circling my thoughts. The drug lifted my mind above the pain, divorcing feeling from thought. While my body soiled itself and I lay there in the stink of my own blood and urine, the events of the last days sorted themselves out and lined up neatly and clearly.
Philip had told me everything I’d needed to know. I’d focused my wrath on Denis, the man who discreetly acquired things for his customers; his only consideration being how much they were willing to pay and how desperate they were. No matter how Denis dressed himself up, he was filth, and I knew it. But through my disgust with him, I had blinded myself to a simple truth—that not one person had visited Horne’s house that day, but five.
Bremer had nothing to do with Horne’s death, had been as surprised as anyone to find him. I’d always known that in my heart. But among those five people—Denis, Denis’s bully, two men making deliveries, and one woman with a basket—was the culprit. Mrs. Thornton had carried a basket the day her husband had been shot in Hanover Square. Alice no doubt had a basket for shopping in the markets. And who noticed a maid?
Who noticed a man who delivered things, for that matter? If Mulverton, Horne’s cousin, had been in a hurry for his inheritance, he could have dressed himself as a working-class man and come to the house with a bushel of turnips simply to see how things lay.
That was far-fetched; I did not suppose for a moment that a gentleman from Sussex would conceive of putting on shabby clothes and dirtying his face merely to see if he could put his cousin out of the way. But I turned the possibility over in my mind, because what I truly believed was terrible, and I did not want to examine that belief too closely. Bremer was a better culprit. An old man, who’d been willing to do his master’s disgusting bidding, who would achieve fame on his way to the gallows.
I still did not know where Jane Thornton was, but I had a good idea of what had happened to her. Philip had seen someone take her away that night, and I feared in my heart that she was dead. I also knew who would know for certain, and my wrath moved to that person and smoldered there for a time.
As the light faded, I thought abou
t the secondary problem of Charlotte Morrison. I thought about her letters, and I thought about the look I’d seen in her cousin’s eyes, and I realized what she’d feared. I’d known it in Hampstead, but I’d not wanted to believe the loathsome conclusion, and so had not let myself draw it.
The opium helped me to see clearly what I had already known. Just as it had happened years ago when I’d concluded which officer and his sergeant had decided to rid the army of Arthur Wellesley, I’d known the solution right away and had not wanted to look it in the face. A night alone, fearing for my life, had forced me to acknowledge the truth. During that chill night in Portugal, I’d not had the comfort of opium to dull my fear, but my life had been just as much in danger then as it was now.
But the secrets of Jane, Horne’s death, and Charlotte’s disappearance would die with me. No one would find them in my water-rotted brain when they fished me from the bottom of the Thames. My own fault for avoiding painful truths and keeping my confidences to myself.
I lay in twilight now, my eyes open, watching the last shadows drift across the scarred and tar-encrusted floor.
Sometime later, the door opened. The flare of a rag light pierced my widened pupils and sent fingers of pain into my head.
Black Nancy closed the door and moved to the bunk. She set the lamp on the floor and smoothed my hair from my forehead. Her fingers smelled of tar and mud. She may have bathed all over for me a few days ago, but she certainly hadn’t since. “Don’t worry, Captain. Nance will take care of you.”
I said nothing, still too weak to speak.
She continued to stroke my hair. “He’s going to give you to me, did you know that?” she crooned. “I help nab you, he said, and he fixes it up so you’ll always do everything I say. Black Nancy will always have what you need.”
She leaned down and kissed my lips. I lay, unresponding. She thrust her tongue into my mouth, forcing my blood-caked lips open, but I didn’t answer her insistent pressure. Her hand snaked down to touch my arm, my chest, my groin. Her smile widened. “There now, I knew you was awake. You like me in truth, don’t you?”
The drug that suppressed my pain seemed to heighten my physical response. I grew stiff under her hand, but the excitement stopped there, never reaching my head or heart. My trousers were damp where I’d wet myself, but Nancy did not seem to notice or care. She flashed a satisfied smile at me and began popping open the buttons.
On a sudden, the door thumped firmly shut, and a bolt grated into place. Nance gave a shriek, whipped her hand from me, and scurried to the door.
She stared at the barricade for a stunned moment, then she pounded her fist on the door. “’Ere. You let me out.”
No answer came. Nance pummeled the door again. I rolled onto my side and tried to force myself into a sitting position. Nance shouted and screamed until her voice went hoarse.
“They are not going to let you out, Nance,” I said. “They are going to kill me, and you with me.”
She whirled. “No, they ain’t. They promised.”
I shook my head, which only made it pound with nasty pain. “They used you, Nance. They aren’t going to let us go. They will likely scuttle the boat.”
Tears streaked her dirt-caked cheeks. “They can’t do that. I just wanted you, that’s all. I’d a done anything to get you.”
I wanted to hate her for doing this to me, but the only thing I could feel for her was pity. Denis had used Nancy’s silly childlike need to get to me. I’d used her desire to please me to find Jemmy the coachman. I knew who was to blame for landing her square in this business in the first place.
I tried to speak sternly. “Come here and untie my hands.”
Her eyes went wide. “If I untie you, you’ll beat me.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Nancy. I promise. Untie me, and I’ll think of a way to save us.”
“You’re lying. You’ll beat me.”
I lost my patience. “Damn you, girl. Come here.”
She put her hands to her face and wailed.
I clenched my teeth and tried to gentle my voice. “I haven’t the strength to beat you, Nance, even if I wanted to. If you don’t want to drown, you will untie me, and I will take you out of here.”
Her hands came down. “How?” She sniffled.
“I will think of something. Please.”
She watched me fearfully for a few moments, then she stumbled back to the bed. I rolled over to give her access to my hands.
It took a long time. Nancy picked at the tight knots and sobbed under her breath. Her tears dropped onto my bleeding hands, stinging them. She cried that she could not do it. I bullied her until she was incoherent with weeping.
At last the knots loosened. I tugged at the bonds until one broke, and I quickly unwound my hand. I tried to push myself up, but my fingers were wooden, lifeless, and would not support me. I heaved with my legs and shoulders to roll over again and finally raised myself to a sitting position.
I leaned against the wall and cradled my hands in my lap, closing my eyes as hot pins and needles spiked my flesh. I would have to wait until my fingers became deft enough to untie the cords that bound my ankles.
The act of sitting up had nearly drained my strength. I wondered how the devil I would get both myself and Nance off the boat and all the way to shore.
She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “If you’d only took what I offered, we’d not be in this fix.” Her eyes filled. “I’d not have chased you, and I’d not have believed them when they told me I could have you. You’d have been mine, and I’d have done you so good, you wouldn’t have wanted to go to no one else.” Her throat worked. “I’d have taken care of you and not complained when you knocked me about, and I wouldn’t have gone to no other man unless you said I could.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “I’d a done anything for you. Why don’t you want me?”
I suppressed a sigh. She still could not understand that all this was about more than desire. But she was hurting, and afraid, and I was responsible for dragging her into this danger.
I gave the bed beside me a clumsy pat. “Nance. Come and sit here.”
She shot me a distrustful look, but she shuffled to me and sat down. The bunk sagged, spilling my leg onto her thigh.
“I’ve told very few people this, Nance,” I said. “Once, long ago, I had a daughter.”
Nancy looked surprised. “Ya did?”
“Yes. When I was very young, I took a wife.” The word choked in my throat, and I had to swallow and wait before I went on. “And we had a daughter. One day, my wife—she took my daughter, and went away.”
I had not spoken much about it for fourteen years. And the words hurt. Oh God, they hurt.
Nancy stared. “She left you? The old cow. Was she mad?”
My temper heated to hear that white and gold girl from long ago called an “old cow,” but I reminded myself that Nancy did not and could not understand. “She disliked the army and following me about. I don’t blame her; it was a hard life, and she was of a delicate nature.”
“So where is she now?” Nance asked, frowning. “And your little girl?”
“I don’t know. They went to France, long, long ago, and I never was able to find them. I don’t even know if my daughter is alive or dead. But if she is, she’d be, oh, about as old as you.”
She stared at me, fascinated. “Did she have black hair, like me?”
“No. Her hair was fair as a field of buttercups. Like her mother’s. When I last saw her, she was only two years old. She could barely say my name.”
My heart wrenched, and the intensity of the wrench surprised me at little. I’d thought that all the years between had taken away the worst of the hurt. Perhaps the opium in my veins had broken down the shield I usually kept over that memory.
“You don’t know even if she’s alive?” Nance asked.
“I wonder sometimes, if she is. And whether she is safe, with friends who care for her. Or if she is . . .”
“Like me,” Nance finished
. “A game girl. Having to go with flats that are as likely to knock her about as pay her for kicking her heels to the ceiling.”
I touched Nancy’s matted black curls. “Yes. And when I look at you, I think of her. And wonder.”
“If she’s like me?”
“Yes.”
“So poking me would be like poking your daughter? Some coves like that.”
I pretended to ignore that revelation. “I want nothing to hurt you. You are so young, and yet, I’ve seen girls like you die when they’re not much older than you. I want to keep you safe.”
Silent tears spilled down Nancy’s cheeks. “You can’t keep me safe. If I don’t go with flats, me dad whips me ‘til I bleed.”
“You have to let me try.” I continued stroking her curls. “What color is your hair, really?”
Nance dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. “Brown.”
“I’d like to see it. Let it grow back without dying it.”
She snorted. “A right fool I’d look. With half of it a different color.”
“Cut it off, then. Some ladies of fashion still lop off their curls.”
She gave me a look that told me I was hopelessly old and likely insane. “Ain’t much I can do about it here. How are we going to get away, then?”
She sounded a bit like her old self, and some of the feeling had returned to my hands. I leaned down and worked loose the bonds that held my feet. I rubbed my bare ankles, wincing as the blood flowed its way to my feet. This took a long time, and Nance fretted with impatience.
I doubted I could stand or walk or fight or swim. But I would not sit and tamely wait to be killed. The boat was quiet, but the occasional thump of footsteps on boards outside told us Denis’s men still inhabited the decks.
I managed to stand at last, though my legs shook like new branches in a spring breeze. I refastened the buttons that Nancy had opened on my trousers, my fingers still clumsy. “Give me the candle,” I said.
Nance retrieved it from the floor and handed it to me. The light was little more than a rag soaked in grease, twisted into a wick at the top. The feeble flame burned blue and did not give off much light. But the rag was soaked, enough for my purpose.
The Hanover Square Affair (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries Book 1) Page 18