The Heiress of Winterwood

by Sarah Ladd

  Amelia stared into the fire as the full meaning of Jane’s words pressed upon her. Something within her recognized the truth in them. But a stubborn streak deep in her heart wouldn’t accept it.

  Jane laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “There are seasons to every life, Amelia. God gives each of us a great capacity to love, if we will only open our minds to it. I am not a woman given to romantic flights of fancy, but even I can tell the captain has developed feelings for you. The way he fusses over you. The great lengths he is going to protect you—”

  “He’s protecting Lucy.”

  “No, Amelia, he is protecting you as well. You will have a very lonely life if you refuse to let others in because you are afraid.”

  Those final words stung. Amelia pushed to her feet. She didn’t want Jane to see the tears gathering. Jane stood too and returned to the bed.

  Above them the pacing continued. Thud. Thud. Thud. Amelia waited until she was certain Jane had fallen asleep before she climbed back into bed. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, and she squeezed them shut. Oh, God, if you really care for me, where are you?

  And in the quiet of the room, a response, subtle and low, balanced in the quiet places between sleep and a dream.

  “My child, I am with you wherever you go.”

  Amelia tossed. She turned. Someone was chasing her.

  She bolted down a darkened corridor in her nightdress, her bare feet slapping against cold stone. The footsteps were gaining on her.

  Faster and faster she ran. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and her lungs burned with lack of oxygen. How much longer could she keep this pace?

  A menacing, angry voice kept calling her name.

  “Amelia. Amelia!”

  From the narrow window in the stone wall, a flash of blinding lightning pierced the darkness. A simultaneous clap of thunder boomed with such intensity the ground beneath her trembled. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. Again and again she tried, but no sound, not even a whimper, passed her dry, cracked lips.

  Lightning flashed again, and this time her lungs filled with air. She released a bloodcurdling scream before falling to the ground.

  The footsteps drew closer. They came faster. Pulse racing, she glanced over her shoulder. By the light of a subsequent lightning bolt she could see it. A dark shadow, a mass, crept closer. Closer.

  She tried to get up, but her nightdress caught on something. Desperate, she felt around in the darkness to free it but felt nothing besides limp fabric. She scrambled to her feet and attempted to rip the nightdress free, but whatever gripped it was pulling back, just as hard, just as determined. The shadow drew closer, closer . . .

  “Amelia.”

  The mass was upon her. Its unbearable heat engulfed her.

  Unable to free her dress, she succumbed to the instinct to fight. She swung at the mass. She kicked her legs. She writhed and twisted. It would not overcome her.

  “Amelia, wake up.”

  The mass grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. Again she screamed. Pain pressed her head, and fear squeezed her heart.

  The voice grew louder. Her kicks grew stronger.

  “Amelia, wake up! You are dreaming!”

  A solid shake snapped her eyes open, and she bolted upright. Perspiration trickled down her neck and back. She gulped for air and dug her nails into the wool blanket.

  When something touched her back, she jumped and cried out, then blinked as she looked around.

  She was not in a dark corridor, but a room at the Eagledale Inn.

  A black mass had not grabbed her. It was Jane touching her arm.

  Nobody had chased her. The footsteps were not footsteps at all, but a knock at her door.

  And Lucy was still missing.

  “For mercy’s sake, child, are you awake?” Jane’s voice rose, and Amelia, still lost in the haze between reason and dream, jerked away from her friend’s touch.

  The knocking at the door grew more insistent. The knob jiggled. “Are you all right?”

  Captain Sterling. Her Captain Sterling. He’d protect her, keep her safe.

  She jumped to her feet and ran to the door. “Yes, yes.” She fiddled with the lock. Still bewildered with sleep, she struggled with sluggish fingers to pull back the metal bolt. When it finally gave way, she flung the door open.

  His startling gray eyes met hers. His gaze fell to her nightdress. “What on earth is going on in here?”

  Suddenly conscious of her thin attire, she pushed the door closed, leaving only a crack to peer out through. “It was a frightening dream, Graham. Nothing more.”

  She did not realize she had addressed him by his Christian name until she saw the surprise on his face. He cleared his throat. “I heard you from my room. I thought something was wrong.” He tugged unconsciously at his untucked shirt. “Last night I instructed the coachman to return to Darbury and hired a post chaise for the rest of the journey to Liverpool. I was concerned for your horses, and the post chaise will get us there faster.”

  Her mind slowly cleared, and Amelia nodded. With each nod the pounding in her head intensified, though the black mass slowly shrunk to the background of her mind. She stared at the broad expanse of his chest. How would it feel to be in the protection of his embrace? She caught the scent of sandalwood, he was so close.

  Her Captain Sterling. Her Graham.

  Liverpool. They’d arrived.

  The sea breeze lured Graham like a siren’s call, drawing him closer to the water. The familiar seaport sounds—men shouting, hammers pounding, gulls crying—helped him breathe easier . . . until he recollected why he was here.

  All along the wide River Mersey, ship masts, dressed in canvas sails and draped with ropes, reached skeletal fingers into the sky. Frigates lined the docks, crammed tightly in a sea of rope and sails.

  His heart beat a steady cadence in his chest. He was that much closer to Lucy.

  Behind him, the post chaise transporting Amelia and Mrs. Hammond jostled over the cobbled streets. He turned in Starboard’s saddle to see if he could catch a glimpse of Amelia. The thrill of hearing her address him with the intimacy of his Christian name had been the bright spot of his dark morning.

  Graham consulted the directions he’d received from a nearby merchant and raised his hand to alert the driver that their destination was near. Across the bustling street, a tiny stone church nestled beneath ancient elms. To its left, a crooked fence encased a tidy graveyard, and just behind that sat the vicarage. Stephen Sulter’s house.

  Graham drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty air. Stephen Sulter. Their paths had been destined to cross again. He waited for a cart and donkey to clear the way before urging Starboard forward. What would it be like to see the man he’d revered as a midshipman and later as a lieutenant? The man who’d taught him how to lead others, to judge fairly, and to develop discipline . . . the very man who had led him to God?

  His stomach tightened. God had used Sulter as an instrument to open his eyes to the wonders of what a personal relationship with him could bring.

  And what had he done with that relationship?

  Graham pushed the question to the back of his mind as the door to Sulter’s house opened. A tall, thin man stepped outside, a grin spread across his face. Time’s paintbrush had turned Sulter’s dark hair gray and etched wrinkles into his leathery skin, but his long-toothed smile was unmistakable. Memories rushed Graham in chaotic disarray. Stephen Sulter knew him better than any other person, living or dead.

  Sulter reached for the bridle and steadied the animal as Graham slid to the ground. Then he reached for Graham and embraced him as tightly as any father would. “Can it be? Graham Sterling!”

  It was not discomfort but regret that caused Graham to stiffen a little at the affectionate greeting. “Did you receive my letter, sir?”

  The other man sobered. “Just an hour or so ago. I regret our reunion must be on such difficult terms, but still, it is good to see you, my boy.”
>
  The carriage pulled up to the house just as a round little woman burst out of the house and flung her arms around Graham. “Graham Sterling!”

  She squeezed him in an awkward embrace and then stepped back, face flushed and arms akimbo. “As I live and breathe, there now, let’s have a look at ye.” She eyed him from the top of his hat to the tips of his dusty boots. “Well, there now, see, Captain Sulter!” She turned her beaming face to her husband and flung her hand in Graham’s general direction. “He’s not a thing like the boy we saw last. So tall. And handsome, at that.”

  A smile cracked Graham’s face. Mary Sulter was the closest person to a mother he’d had since he left Eastmore. How she used to fuss over him. Cook his favorite meals. Mend his clothes. Give him advice. Words didn’t seem enough to express his feelings upon seeing her again. “Mrs. Sulter. I hope this visit is not an imposition.”

  “Imposition? Glory be!” She waved her hand in the air, her ruddy face beaming with pleasure. “You are always a welcome guest in this house, Graham Sterling, and don’t you forget it. As soon as Captain Sulter said you’d be arriving today, I set about making your favorite pound cake. See, I haven’t forgotten.”

  Graham felt his dusty sense of humor slowly returning. A sense of comfort spread from his chest to his limbs. He was home. Why had he waited so long to return?

  “I knew you, of all people, would not forget.”

  She leaned in closer, pushing past her tall, narrow husband. “I am very sorry to hear about your young wife. And your daughter! Oh my, I haven’t ceased praying since my Stephen told me the news.”

  Graham shifted his gaze from Mrs. Sulter to her husband.

  “Don’t worry, Graham.” Stephen stepped forward. “This isn’t the first pickle you and I have found ourselves in. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

  Amelia ducked her head out of the carriage in front of the Sulter home.

  Today was to be my wedding day.

  She looked behind her at the thoroughfare they had just departed. Carts darted to and fro, and seagulls swooped from the heavens. On the opposite side stood the docks, and beyond them, a broad river that just as well could be the sea. Men rushed about amid a tangle of ropes. The scents of salt and fish rode in on the nippy breeze, so different than the earthy moorland scents of Darbury.

  And Lucy could be anywhere amidst the bustle.

  Amelia drummed her fingertips on the leather seat. When will we begin searching? Graham stood talking to an older man and an animated, dark-haired woman. What were they talking about? Lucy? Her? She was in no mood for conversation.

  Graham strode up to the post chaise. “We’ve arrived.”

  Today was my wedding day, and Graham should be helping me out of the carriage and into our home with Lucy at Winterwood Manor, not a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar town.

  Amelia forced a smile and looked over at Jane before placing her hand in his. Her feet touched the ground, and cool air swirled her skirts around her wool stockings and half boots. An unexpected thrill shot through her as Graham took her hand and looped it around the crook of his arm. The protective act of familiarity warmed her heart, but the emotion was quickly dampened at the memory of why they were here.

  The timbre of Graham’s voice was rich and confident as they approached the tall man and his wife. “Mrs. Sulter, Captain, I would like for you to meet my betrothed, Miss Amelia Barrett of Winterwood Manor in Darbury.”

  Captain Sulter bowed. “Welcome to our home, Miss Barrett.”

  Mary Sulter clasped her hands in front of her. “Welcome to our home, indeed! What a beauty you have found, Captain Sterling.” She stepped forward and gathered Amelia’s hands in her own. “Captain Sterling is dear to our family, dear, indeed. What a pleasure it is to have you here with us.”

  The hearty welcome nearly overwhelmed Amelia. Mrs. Sulter chattered on, and Amelia smiled, nodded, and stepped closer to Graham to make room for Jane to step forward and be introduced. As she did, she glanced up at Graham . . . and couldn’t help staring. His expression was softer than she had seen it since the party at the Hammonds’.

  Why now, in the middle of a strange street, in front of strangers, and in tragic circumstances, should she be struck by Graham’s smile? The firm set of his square jaw had slacked and the hint of a smile curved his lips. Something was different about it—about him—today. Is this Graham’s demeanor in the presence of friends?

  He’d shown her a hint of this unguarded freedom, this easiness of spirit, in the fleeting moments when she imagined a romance between the two of them. But here, in this company, he seemed to share it freely, even in the midst of fear and uncertainty.

  A group of young adults gathered at the home’s modest threshold. They had to be the Sulters’ children. The two taller young men stepped forward to help with the luggage. Two young women, one of whom could not be much younger than Amelia, scrambled out of the way as their mother ushered the group inside.

  Graham put his hand on the small of Amelia’s back. Optimism flicked in his steel-gray eyes, and his warm whisper tickled her ear. “We’re close, Amelia. We’ll find her shortly, mark my words.”

  Graham watched as Mary Sulter escorted Amelia and Mrs. Hammond down a narrow corridor to the bedchamber they would share. Then he turned his attention back to Stephen Sulter, who was dropping a seasoned log on the fire.

  Sulter watched his two oldest boys leave the room and shook his head. “Rowdy bunch, they are. Too much like me and not enough like their mother, to be sure.” He turned to Graham, his smile fading from amusement to genuine concern. “Don’t worry, Graham. We’ll find your daughter.” He sat in a worn chair and leaned forward. “Tell me everything you know.”

  Graham moved over to the window and glanced at the busy street below before turning back to face Stephen. Where to start this nightmare of a story? Should he start at the beginning, with what had transpired since he arrived in Darbury? Or should he go back further and admit that these occurrences were punishment for past actions?

  He pulled the ransom letter from his pocket and handed it to Sulter, who unfolded the wrinkled paper and held it up to the window’s light. Graham stood silent, waiting as the man read.

  Sulter finished examining the note and lowered it to his lap. “All right now. Start from the beginning.”

  Graham drew a long breath and began. The events of the past three weeks spilled from him with unguarded honesty. At times the tightening in his chest and the shortness of breath threatened to prevent his words, but he pressed on, omitting no detail. Sulter was safe and unbiased, just as he had always been.

  When Graham finished, Sulter stood, leaned his elbow against the mantel, and rubbed his chin. “So, there are three possibilities.”

  Graham raised his eyebrow, curious if Sulter’s assessment matched his own.

  “The Edward Littleton fellow, Miss Barrett’s uncle, and—”

  “My brother.” Graham winced as the words passed his lips. But his brother had been desperate and drunk—an ominous combination. “So now you know the situation. What’s your assessment?”

  Sulter refolded the note and passed it back to him. “Liverpool’s a big city, a lot of people coming and going. But George’s Dock—that’s our key.”

  The glimmer in Sulter’s eyes sparked a flicker of hope in Graham. “I remember that place. Used to be big in the slave trade, if I recall correctly.”

  “Aye, you do. Now it receives ships coming from the West Indies.”

  The West Indies. It wasn’t until Graham repeated Stephen’s words in his head that a thought formed. Weren’t Edward Littleton and George Barrett partners in a shipping business? Memories of the very first dinner at Winterwood Manor rushed his mind. Yes, Barrett had announced that Littleton was joining the family business.

  Graham leaned in close to Sulter. “Have you heard of the Barrett Trading Company?”

  Amelia clutched her cloak around her and surveyed the tiny room she was to share with Jane. Two s
livers of afternoon light slid through the narrow windows flanking the fireplace.

  Mary Sulter scurried around the bed, smoothing the bright blue quilt and fluffing the pillows. She looked up from her task when one of the Sulter sons entered the room with Jane and Amelia’s trunks. “Just put those over there, and then take your leave. Miss Barrett and Mrs. Hammond need to rest after their journey.”

  Amelia opened her mouth to reassure her that she had no intention of resting until Lucy was secure in her arms once again. But before she could respond, Jane spoke. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Sulter.”

  Amelia caught Jane’s pointed expression and swallowed her impatience. “Yes. Thank you.”

  The sound of men’s voices floated from outside the window. The voices were near . . . and familiar. Amelia hurried to the window and looked down. On the cobbled street below, Graham, Captain Sulter, and one of the Sulter sons were walking toward the small stable behind the church.

  “Where are they going?”

  Mary Sulter looked up from the bedding. “I imagine they are going to look for the child.”

  Amelia propelled herself away from the window. She had not traveled all the way to Liverpool to sit and wait. “But I need to go, I need to—”

  Jane reached for Amelia’s arm, stopping her midstep.

  Mary hurried over. “Do not fret, my dear. My husband knows everything about everyone in Liverpool. You need to rest. The little one will need you to be strong when she returns. Am I right?”

  Amelia pressed her lips together with such intensity they trembled. With both Jane and Mary next to her, she felt more like a young girl than a woman on the verge of marriage.

  Mary’s warm brown eyes met hers. “Now, child, you and Mrs. Hammond here have had a trying day. I think it best, and I am sure Mrs. Hammond will agree, that the two of you rest after your journey. Mark my words, after you have had a cup of tea and a little time to freshen up, you will feel much better. Ah, and here is our Becky with some tea.”