by Sarah Ladd
“You look exhausted. You should sleep.” Amelia’s voice sounded small in the still silence.
He shifted his weight and balanced his elbows on his knees, a lock of dark hair falling with rogue defiance across his forehead. “I’ll be fine.”
The broad smile from earlier in the day flashed through her mind. She missed the easier tone she’d heard at their engagement dinner. His voice was heavy now. Defeated.
Graham turned his eyes from the fire to look at her, but his expression was distant. He let out a long, disgusted sigh and rubbed his hand over two days’ worth of stubble. “We wasted the day. And found nothing.”
At the short words, panic flooded Amelia. She tapped her hands nervously on the wool fabric of her skirt. If Graham lost hope, what chance did they have?
With the exception of the waning fire glow, the room was dark. Made bolder by the stillness, Amelia leaned toward him. She allowed her eyes to linger on his striking features. His straight nose. Full lips. And despite the worry about Lucy, her heart responded to his nearness. What would his strong arms feel like secured around her shoulders? What would it feel like to rest her hand in his, to let him share her fear? Help carry her painful burden?
The pain in his eyes hurt her, and guilt over her actions rose to the surface. “I owe you an apology.”
The expression in his eyes changed to confusion. “For what?”
Amelia toyed with the fringe on her shawl and wove it through her fingers, the weight of emotions she did not quite understand pressing on her chest. “I have been so consumed with my own desires and fears that I have been blind to a great many things going on around me. It was wrong of me to get so angry that night after the dinner at the Hammonds’. You had every right to ask any manner of questions, especially considering our future. I am sorry I behaved so poorly.”
Graham raked his fingers through his dark hair. “Our future? I thought we had a business arrangement.”
A flush rushed to her cheeks, the tease a welcome release from the suffocating tension. She eyed the mystery of a man in front of her, searching for meaning in his words. “One day Lucy will be home, and we will marry, and then—”
“We shall be a family.” His large hand covered hers. He squeezed it ever so gently, then laced his fingers through hers.
Amelia tried to think of something to say, but at the touch, her mind blanked. She could only stare at their intertwined hands—his so strong, hers small in comparison.
Her gaze fell on the shiny purple scar that crossed his hand and disappeared under his cuff. In this moment of connectedness, she felt a rising courage. She lifted her other hand and ran a finger along the scar. He jumped at her touch, almost as if he’d forgotten it was there.
“When did this happen?” she asked softly.
Graham straightened but did not pull away. “Last summer.”
She looked back down. “How?”
“During battle.”
His clipped words made it clear he’d not discuss the topic further. She could only guess as to what horrors Graham had witnessed—horrors that she, in her sheltered world, could never imagine. She moved to pull her hand away, but he caught it in his, turned it over, and wrapped rough, warm fingers around hers. Fire exploded in her at the intimacy.
He rubbed his thumb against the palm of her hand. His words were low. “I couldn’t predict it, just as neither of us could have foreseen Lucy’s kidnapping.”
Amelia barely heard his words over the erratic beating of her heart. She couldn’t look away.
“My years at sea have taught me—and I have been reminded tonight—that we cannot control everything around us. We all will answer for what we do, including this blackguard who has taken Lucy and Mrs. Dunne. But we control how we react. And I have chosen to react to this circumstance with reason and calm.” He paused before adding, “And prayer.”
Prayer? His comment caught her off guard, triggering more unanswered questions about this man. Did he share Katherine’s strong faith? Or was he like her, lost and desperate to find the truth?
“Do you put your faith in God?” she murmured.
He squeezed her fingers. “I didn’t when we departed Darbury. But now I am trying.”
Sterling, wake up. You have a visitor.”
Graham opened his eyes to narrow slits, just wide enough to see dawn’s faint light seeping through the windows. It took a moment for the words to register. “Is it Kingston?”
Sulter’s voice was hoarse. “No. Says he’s your brother.”
Graham bolted upright, uncertain he’d heard correctly. “My brother? William?”
“Says he’s here to help you find Lucy.”
Graham scratched his jawline, sat up, and looked around. He stretched the kink from his back and shook away his slumber, struggling to add this new piece to the puzzle. If his brother was involved with the kidnapping, would he dare show his face under the pretense of helping?
Sulter disappeared down the corridor, muttering something about privacy. With one determined step after the other, Graham exited the small parlor where he’d slept and moved to the main door. He straightened his rumpled waistcoat, still buttoned from the previous night, smoothed his tousled hair, and pulled open the door.
William stood in the bright morning air, a wide grin plastered on his face. A beaver hat covered his sandy hair, and a leather satchel like Graham’s hung by its strap over his shoulder. Graham tugged at his sleeve and leaned across the door frame. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a fine greeting.” William looked past Graham’s shoulder into the house. “I heard about what happened, about Lucy, that is to say, and I’ve come to offer my assistance. Will you not invite me in?” Without waiting for an invitation, William pushed past Graham into the warmth of the Sulter home.
Graham closed the door behind him. “How did you find us?”
“Mr. Hammond. He rode out yesterday and told me about the kidnapping.” William’s smile faded. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t expect to see you after your drunken tirade at the vicarage.”
“About that.” William shifted uncomfortably and let the strap slip from his shoulder. “I got a bit carried away.”
“Carried away? Is that what you call it?” Graham looked over his shoulder to make sure Sulter was out of earshot, then stepped very close to William. At the very memory of the argument, the back of Graham’s neck began to grow hot. He fixed his eyes on his brother and held the stare, daring William to look away. His brother may be able to pretend it never happened, but it was an offense Graham could not overlook. “I’m going to ask you this once, and I expect a direct answer. Because if you lie to me . . .” He let his threat fade and grabbed William’s sleeve. “Did you have anything, anything at all, to do with Lucy’s kidnapping?”
The grin contorting William’s face faded. His eye twitched. “Do you jest?”
“Do not lie to me, William. Outside the vicarage you told me I would regret not giving you money. Is this what you meant? Is this a—”
“Have you gone daft?” William’s eyes widened and he jerked his arm free. “No. No! Of course not. How could you think that I—”
“You told me yourself that you were desperate.”
“Desperate, yes. A criminal, no.” William’s already ruddy complexion reddened. “How can you even suggest that I would kidnap my own niece?”
“Desperate men take desperate action.”
“If I didn’t think you were delirious with grief, I’d be offended.” William swept his hat from his head and tossed it onto the side table next to Graham’s pistol. William eyed the weapon, picked it up, and turned it over in his hand. “So this is how it is?”
Graham stepped forward and held out his palm for his brother to hand over the piece.
William let the pistol drop into his brother’s hand. “I am going to forget you asked me such a ridiculous question and start over.” William gave a little bow. “Greet
ings, brother. I am glad to see you too, and I want to help you find your daughter. Now, tell me, have you been able to ascertain her whereabouts?”
Graham eyed his brother, assessing his trustworthiness. Surely he wouldn’t be here if he had anything to do with the kidnapping. But what if he was just covering his tracks? How could Graham be sure? His normally sharp senses, his keen eye of discernment, seemed muddled.
His candid talk with Sulter flashed in his mind. God had forgiven him for a much more grievous lapse in judgment. Could he not manage the same for his brother? He breathed an awkward prayer. Perhaps William’s return was the answer in disguise.
Graham folded his arms across his chest, his voice low. “The ransom note instructs us to meet at George’s Dock. I’ve engaged the services of a dockworker who has agreed to assist us as needed.”
“Well then, I am at your service as well. Give me a task. I saw Littleton last night at the inn, but he was headed in the opposite—”
“Wait.” Graham held up his hand to stop his brother. “Littleton, you say?”
William’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, Littleton. I saw him last night and I—”
“Where?”
William’s forehead furrowed. “He was outside the inn with a group of men. I assumed he— Wait, did he not journey to Liverpool with you?”
“No. You are certain it was him?”
“Certainly.” For once William appeared completely sober.
Graham would not waste time. “Show me exactly where you saw him.”
Amelia could not sit still. One more minute spent trapped amidst the silence of the Sulters’ parlor and the cage of her own fear and she’d most assuredly go mad. How she wanted to be a help in finding Lucy. To be useful. But here she sat. Waiting.
Next to her Jane mended her shawl, which she’d torn climbing down from the carriage at the Eagledale Inn. Amelia had tried to read but found concentrating impossible. How could Jane be so calm when such uncertainty swirled in the air?
The clock’s incessant ticking drove her to distraction. Eleven o’clock in the morning. Her toe tapped against the rough wood floor. She wanted Lucy in her arms. She wanted to become Graham Sterling’s wife. And she wanted it all now.
Noise in the hall caught Amelia’s attention, and she arched her neck to see through the low framed door. Becky, the Sulters’ oldest daughter, appeared in the narrow corridor, pulling a dark blue pelisse over her woolen dress.
Amelia straightened. “Are you leaving, Miss Sulter?”
Becky jerked her head up, as if surprised by the question, and nodded. “Indeed. Mother is sending me to the market.”
Amelia’s heart leaped. Finally, an opportunity! “You do not mind a bit of company, do you? I’m aching to be out of doors.”
Jane’s protest was immediate. “Captain Sterling asked you to stay here. I think you should respect his request.”
Amelia grabbed her cloak and flung it about her shoulders. “We’ll only be gone a short time. No harm will come from it, you will see. Please, Jane, I cannot just sit here and wait. I need to do something.”
Without waiting for a response, Amelia donned her own bonnet. She looped the gray satin ribbon into a bow beneath her chin, then hurried to open the front door. A stunned Becky grabbed a small basket from next to the door and followed Amelia down a narrow lane and out to the busy street.
Amelia looked around from side to side as they walked, soaking in the activity around her. Carts jostled over cobbled roads. Children in tattered coats of gray and brown darted to and fro. She sidestepped to miss crates and coils of rope. Men and women of every class bustled about, carrying packs or selling wares. So different this place was from quiet Darbury. She scanned the narrow row of shops. The answer to finding Lucy had to be here.
She paid little attention to Becky’s friendly chatter. Instead she searched each face as if it might possess a clue to finding Lucy. Elderly women, young men, soldiers and sailors in uniform—any one of them could know something that would help their efforts.
They reached the market, where Becky bought carrots and cabbage from a merchant’s cart. Amelia had never been in such a bustling place. Wares hung from an assortment of rickety carts outside more permanent shops. Long leather leads tethered sheep and goats to makeshift fences. Shoppers jostled one another and stopped to haggle over merchandise. Horses and carriages rumbled by on the cobbled road, lined with tall warehouses, that wound toward the river. The wind carried scents of smoke and meat and river and sea.
When Becky stepped inside the butcher’s shop, Amelia opted to remain out of doors. She walked to the building’s edge and paced the length of the other shops, hoping to put some distance between her and the rank pile of rubbish outside the butcher’s unpresumptuous shop.
Suddenly something made her pause and take notice. She turned and peered back through the throng of people and horses at a figure that was eerily familiar.
Could it be?
Amelia drew closer to the shoddy brick wall, wishing to be invisible. A quiver tugged her lip. The gait, the build, the mannerisms—she was certain. Edward Littleton was in Liverpool.
She squinted to make him out in greater detail. He stood close to a woman cloaked in black, a dark blue bonnet obscuring her face. They appeared to be arguing. The sounds of the docks and people muted their words, but their tense stances and jerky movements suggested a heated debate.
Amelia lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun peering from behind wispy silver clouds. The cut of the woman’s cloak and the color of the bonnet looked familiar. Then the woman pivoted, and even from the distance there could be no mistake. The sun’s golden light fell on none other than Helena Barrett.
Amelia gasped and fell back against the wall, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Her first instinct was to run to Helena. Surely she was here to assist in Lucy’s rescue. But more rational thoughts prevailed. Helena was in Edward’s company. And no good could come from Edward Littleton’s presence in Liverpool.
By the time she gathered her wits and pushed away from the bricks, it was too late. Helena noticed her first, and her mouth fell open. Littleton, reacting to Helena’s sudden change in demeanor, followed her gaze. For a moment, nobody moved. Then Helena tried to break free from Edward’s grasp, and he turned and shouted over his shoulder.
Amelia forced foot in front of foot. She needed to reach the butcher’s shop. She had to get Becky Sulter, and they needed to find Graham—now.
Alarm increased her pulse but slowed her steps. Edward. And Helena! She tried to tear her eyes from Edward, but his gaze—his hot, angry stare—locked on hers. He pointed in her direction. Then the two large men who had appeared at his side began crossing the street.
Amelia bolted for the butcher’s door. Why had she left Becky? She hazarded a glance behind her as she ran. The men had disappeared. She slowed. But as she was about to reach the door, a thick arm cinched around her waist and a gloved hand clapped over her mouth. Before she could process what was happening, someone yanked her into the small alley next to the butcher shop.
She kicked, flailed, even tried to bite through the glove, but the arms around her were too strong. She tried to scream but managed only muffled squeaks. She looked around, disoriented. Above her, sky. To her left, bricks. In front of her, the street receded with each step her assailant took. She kicked again, even harder, but the arms lifted her off the ground.
“She’s biting me!”
“Can’t control a woman?”
“Shut up and give me a hand.”
A second pair of hands grabbed her legs, then someone tied a kerchief around her eyes. Its smell was putrid—sweat, tobacco, and gin.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when Lucy needed her the most. Graham flashed in her mind. With a grunt, bulky arms lifted her, and she fell against a hard surface. A hand pushed her down on her stomach. The overwhelming scent of moldy straw nearly gagged her. It pricked her cheek, and something sharp pushed
against her side. Hot breath grazed her ear. “If ye know what’s good for ye, pretty lass, you’ll keep yer mouth shut.”
Graham adjusted the pistol at his waist for what felt like the hundredth time. More than an hour had passed, and still no sign of Littleton. “You’re sure this is where you saw him?”
William nodded. “I’m certain of it.” He nodded toward a pub next to the Darndee Inn. “That’s where he and his comrades went last night.”
Graham leaned against the pillar supporting a portico, his eyes fixed on the shabby pub and the dilapidated inn. He gritted his teeth. Now, more than ever, he was certain that Littleton was involved in Lucy’s disappearance.
Another ten minutes whispered past when Graham snapped to attention. “That’s him.” The inn’s door had flung open, and a trio of men emerged. They whispered amongst themselves. One of them shielded his eyes from the sun’s bright glare. Then the two other men broke away from Littleton and started down the street.
Littleton straightened his tall hat atop his head, stuffed something in his pocket, and arched his neck to see down the street. Whatever the case, Littleton was alone. Now was their chance. Graham grabbed William’s arm and pushed him forward. “Come on, let’s go.”
The brothers dodged through the pedestrians and carts on the walkway, weaving in and out of pockets of people, excusing themselves as they went.
“Littleton!” Graham called.
Littleton turned at the sound of his name, a shadow passing over his arrogant features when his eyes met them. His gaze darted between the approaching brothers and his departing colleagues.
Graham and William paired up shoulder to shoulder as they faced the man. Graham didn’t wait for him to speak. “What business brings you here to Liverpool, Littleton?”
Littleton stuttered a response, a false smile on his lips. “Barrett Trading, of course. Busy dock, Liverpool. Ships coming in almost daily. Have one leaving in the morning, in fact. I’m here to oversee. Dockworkers can be a dastardly lot. But I’m sure I need not tell you that, Captain.”