Dear God. Tristan gritted his teeth and fought the urges her words sent charging through him. He dreamed of touching her freely. Passionately. Though she had little to say as they traveled, simply listening to her voice when she commented about a cottage or pastureland sent waves of fire through him. Once this quest was over, he would ask for a mission along the borderlands. Something as far from the woman at his side as possible.
THEY ARRIVED AT POOLE by late afternoon. Today Julia had been more talkative than usual, and Tristan suspected she chattered in an effort to distract her thoughts from what they might find. Her odd mix of vulnerability and determination made traveling with her fraught with tension. He had assured her that they could resist their desire for each other, but he had his own doubts about that. She was too willing to see herself as ruined, and he was too conscious of how glorious it had been to plunder her mouth and explore her body.
They secured a meal and two rooms at the Ewe and Ram before Tristan escorted Julia along High Street. A pretty town, Poole’s wide quay and long, sandy beach had a different atmosphere than Portsmouth. This was a merchant, rather than military, port. Its citizens focused on the trade triangle of Dorset wool, Newfoundland fish, and Mediterranean olive oils. Red brick and limestone buildings dominated, and people bustled about with a sense of purpose.
After asking directions from a passing errand boy, they located the building where merchants and ship owners gathered to do business.
Inside they found a counter set up at the far end of the room with two clerks in attendance while several men stood in small clusters, chatting quietly.
Tristan led her to an empty chair near the door. “Wait here while I make inquiries.”
CHAPTER 26
Julia sat in the chair Tristan indicated and waited impatiently while he strode to the counter and spoke to both clerks. The first shook his head when Tristan spoke to him, but the second one nodded in the affirmative.
Tristan shook hands with the second clerk, nodded to the first and crossed the room to where she sat. “Captain Donnelly is out of port at the moment, but he keeps rooms at the edge of town.”
“Alone?” Her eyes darted to the two men nearby, then back to Tristan. She stood and walked to the door and outside before turning back for his answer. “Did they say if—“
“I thought it better to locate his residence first.” He took her arm and led her away from the building. “Do you mind walking? After so many days in the carriage, I would like a bit of exercise, but if you prefer—“
“Walking would suit me as well.”
By asking in various shops and stopping an occasional man or woman on the street, they arrived at a tall, narrow limestone residence where they had been assured the redheaded captain lived when not at sea.
“The stoop has been swept the door knocker is in place,” Tristan noted. “So someone connected to him is in residence.” He rapped the knocker and waited.
Lavender plants grew in large ceramic pots on either side of the door, their scent wrapping Julia in warm memories of her mother’s love. Though a common enough plant in both France and England, it raised her hopes to find it planted on the doorstep.
The dark haired woman in her middle thirties who opened the door studied them with gray eyes, however, not brown. Julia felt the sudden sting of disappointed tears and blinked rapidly lest they well over. The woman studied them curiously as she waited for Tristan to state their business.
“We are looking for Captain Donnelly’s home,” Tristan said with a slight bow. “Have we the honor of speaking with Mrs. Donnelly?”
“I am Mrs. Piers, his housekeeper,” the woman responded. Though it was quite faint, her words revealed a hint of a French accent. “Captain Donnelly is not married.” She held out her hand. “Nor is he home at the moment. If you will leave your card, I shall see that he receives it when he returns.”
. “We are hoping he can help us find a woman of French origins known by the name of Beatrice, Trixie or Queenie,” Tristan said with a charming smile, “It is difficult to explain. May we come inside?”
Mrs. Piers’ eyes widened, then narrowed. “That is an odd collection of names. They sound rather disreputable,” she said coolly. “Captain Donnelly is a respectable gentleman. Why would you think he would know such a person?”
Julia feared the housekeeper would refuse them entry when her posture stiffened and she looked beyond them to the street and anyone passing by.
“We were told The Captain assisted her several years ago,” Tristan told her. “It is a matter of family connections.”
In the end, she stepped back and led them to a small receiving room on the ground floor. They seated themselves, but she remained standing.
“We were told he rescued a young girl from unhappy circumstances.” Julia said. “I’m looking for my sister. We were separated many years ago.”
The housekeeper looked at her with more interest than she had since answering their knock. “When?”
“She disappeared from Portsmouth in ninety-three.” Julia watched the woman’s face as she added, “I was told she had died, but I recently discovered that to be a lie.” She hesitated. “Pardon me if I overstep—and I mean no disrespect, but might you have known her?”
Mrs. Piers paled, and Julia felt sure she knew something. She chose her words carefully. “Our confusion arises in that there were three women of the same name at the establishment, so were called different names to distinguish them. She raised her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “We know not which might be my sister.”
Julia hesitated to be too specific on the chance Mrs. Piers did not suspect what type of employment was involved. “We were told one of them was badly injured, and that the captain removed her from... her situation.”
Mrs. Piers said nothing for a moment. Finally, she asked. “Who told you this tale?”
“Their former employer.” Julia said. Again, she tread tentatively through the maze of pitfalls her story held for polite conversation. “Who is known as Mrs. Arbuckle.” Julia waited to see if her supposition had born fruit.
Several seconds passed before Mrs. Piers responded.
“Very well.” she said. She took a seat opposite theirs and let out a sigh that revealed her resignation. “You obviously know I once worked in a Portsmouth brothel.” She directed a challenging look at each of them. “I was abducted from the ship that brought me and my companion to England.”
She frowned at the memory. “I was fifteen and my family had arranged for me to attend a finishing school. My companion became quite ill during the trip and died. One of the crew offered to arrange transport to the school, but I was taken to Aphrodite’s Academy for an education of a far different sort than my family envisioned.”
“When I arrived, another Beatrice already worked there so Aphrodite decided to call me Trixie.” Her mouth twisted in distaste. “A whore’s name.” She quickly looked up at Julia. “I beg your pardon, but if you have come this far, you must accept the ugly truths that come with such circumstances.”
Julia nodded and was grateful she had not blushed at the blunt speech.
Mrs. Piers smoothed her dress over her knees, then continued. “The first Beatrice was a year older than me, but had already worked there for two or three years. Then, a day or so later, a much younger girl was brought in. Perhaps your sister? Dark hair and eyes with a faint cleft in her chin?
“Yes.” Julia nodded. “That sounds like her.”
“When the girl told Aphrodite her name was Beatrice, and announced she was related to an English earl before demanding to be taken to his home, Aphrodite laughed and dubbed her Queenie.”
“That certainly sounds like her. Even if she had not mentioned the earl, Beatrice always made her wishes known. She would not have bowed meekly to her fate.”
Mrs. Piers stood and went to stand by the window, her back to them. “A week later, they stripped us down to tissue-thin chemises, painted our faces, and auctioned each of us off in fro
nt of a crowd of cheering, leering men.”
She stared out the window for a full minute or two before she said, “Men who bid for the privilege of taking a girl’s maidenhead do so for one of two reasons. They wish to avoid disease or they wish to exert power.”
She turned back to them. “I was fortunate. The man who bought me wished to avoid disease. Other than the obvious, he did not hurt me. The man who bought Queenie liked power.”
Julia riveted her attention on Mrs. Piers, clenching her hands in her lap and dreading what came next, but determined to listen.
“We had been there a year when he came back to the house and asked for her again. He wanted to see what skills she’d gained and if she had learned her place while he was away.” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. “The captain—my client that night—found her in the hallway where she’d crawled before passing out.” Mrs. Piers’ eyes flashed with unforgotten fury. “That beast had left her, beaten and bleeding without anyone knowing.”
She met Julia’s shocked gaze and announced, “The captain scooped her up and took her to real surgeon, not the drunken sots who tended us for favors. The surgeon kept her at his clinic until she was recovered.” She smiled faintly. “The captain came back to the Academy a week later and offered me a position as his housekeeper.”
“Do you know where she went after she recovered?”
She took her seat again. “The captain told me she remained as a helper with the surgeon for a time, then married one of their patients and moved away.”
Julia could barely contain her excitement. “What is the doctor’s name? Is he still in the area? Better, yet, do you know who she married?”
“The surgeon was a Mr. Meyer, but I don’t know if he is still operating his clinic. He was in his middle years at the time, and it has been many years since the captain dealt with him. Nor do I know her married name. I’m sorry for your sake that I can’t help you further.”
“You’ve helped a great deal and I thank you for sharing your story and hers,” Julia said as she stood. “I wish the captain was here so I could thank him as well. It is clear Beatrice wouldn’t have survived if not for him.”
Julia’s mind whirled from what Mrs. Piers had revealed and she barely noticed their surroundings when they left the captain’s house. They had traveled halfway down the block before Julia asked, “Do you think Mrs. Piers is more than the captain’s housekeeper?” Julia had seen the soft light that came into Mrs. Piers’ eyes whenever she mentioned the captain and suspected she was.
“What do you think?” Tristan had remained in the background during their visit, but Julia knew he’d missed none of the nuances in the housekeeper’s story. Considering his childhood experiences, he understood far more than she did.
“I believe she loves him.” Julia said. She walked further, then said, “I hope he loves her.”
CHAPTER 27
As Mrs. Piers told her tale, the changing emotions passing over Julia’s features made Tristan wish she had been spared the details of what had happened before the two women had been rescued. The story the housekeeper told was a common one, with a most uncommon ending. That both women escaped and found respectable lives—or in the case of Mrs. Piers the appearance of respectability—was miraculous.
When they returned to the inn, he told Julia, “I can see you’re anxious to return to Portsmouth. If we rise very early, and travel long, we may be able to reach Portsmouth by nightfall.”
Traveling to Portsmouth in a single day would be grueling, and he admitted he was not sure it was possible except on horseback, but he didn’t want to take the chance of sharing a room again. Unlike most of the hamlets and villages along the way, Portsmouth had several inns where they’d be able to find separate rooms if they arrived late. Fortunately, the full moon would suffice to guide them if necessary.
The sooner they arrived and secured separate rooms, the sooner he could distance himself from the temptation Julia presented. Time spent in her company played holy havoc on his good intentions and he thanked heaven he had resisted her the night her curiosity almost overcame his scruples. He wasn’t sure if he could resist a second time.
They left in the pre-dawn as soon as the innkeeper loaded the two food baskets that they requested the night before. Julia never lingered in the morning, a trait he’d come to appreciate about her. She had not complained when he’d named the time of their departure, nor had she needed to be roused. When he knocked on her door, she had opened it, valise in hand. Though it was late in May, their early morning breath clouded in the crisp air and made Julia’s cheeks and nose bright pink.
Each time they changed horses once the afternoon had passed, Tristan considered asking about rooms but decided to continue on with the hope of reaching the port city by dark. The grueling trip became a test of endurance for both body and will. Along the way their conversation had ebbed and flowed, picking up topics when they changed the horses or encountered some view that inspired comment, then faded into companionable silence as the hours plodded by and the constant motion, bumps and jostling of the road wore them down.
They arrived in Portsmouth long after twilight faded to dark. When they pulled into the coaching yard where they had stayed before, both were exhausted and too stiff to do more than climb the stairs to their rooms before crawling into their respective beds.
Tristan awoke far more refreshed than he expected the next morning. The hour was not particularly early, but neither was it late, so he didn’t knock on Julia’s door. He went downstairs where he soon tucked into a hearty breakfast. He’d finished and ordered a fresh pot of tea when Julia joined him an hour later.
“I hope you slept well and are feeling refreshed,” he said as she took a seat opposite him.
“I did and I am,” she replied with a wide smile. “And I am now ferociously famished for I was too tired to eat last night.”
He signaled to the serving girl and, moments later, she delivered Julia’s meal. “I thought we would ask around the merchant district to see if Mr. Meyer still operates his clinic. Mrs. Piers indicated that he was not the usual incompetent gin drinker who treats the women in such places. Since the captain knew of him, he should be well known among the merchants. Hopefully, we’ll locate him quickly.”
As soon as Julia finished her meal and retrieved her reticule and pelisse, they started out for the shops along High Street. It didn’t take them long to learn that Mr. Meyer still maintained a clinic near the almshouse at the edge of town.
Mr. Meyer, when he was able to break away from his patients, proved to be a friendly, if harried, man of perhaps sixty years of age. His short, sparse frame, balding pate, and long, narrow nose gave him a gnome-like appearance.
When they explained their mission, his face blossomed into a wide smile of pleasure. “Of course I remember her. She was with us for nearly a year before she married Squire Groves.” His smile faded and he shook his head. “She was in a very bad way when the captain brought her here.” His brown eyes darted to Tristan as though gaging how much detail to disclose about her condition.
“Miss Dorsey knows where her sister worked and has an idea of how difficult her life became,” Tristan assured him. “As a child she and her sister witnessed the horrors of the Terror. You may speak freely.”
The surgeon’s gaze returned to Julia and his expression reflected his sympathy. “You are the little sister she called for in her nightmares. She feared you had been sold as well.”
“I believed her dead.” Julia said.
“She nearly was.” He gestured toward a door to the left. May I suggest we use my office so we can speak privately? I shall have my assistant bring us a pot of tea.”
He lead the way to a cramped room that held a narrow table, three straight-backed chairs and a glass fronted cabinet filled with instruments, books, and miscellaneous items most likely stored there for lack of any other place for them. Once they were seated and the tea pot in place on the table, Mr. Meyer retur
ned to his story. “When the captain brought Beatrice to me, several of her ribs were broken as were her arm, her nose, and clavicle. Her entire body showed damage of one type or another.”
He stopped and looked at each of them in turn. “Suffice it to say the man did not spare her any pain or... indignity. I’ve never seen anyone treated with such brutality since, and I’ve seen a great deal.”
So had Tristan. Tristan knew the kind of marks men left on women they cut. Such men always cut faces first. Some carved initials, as though branding them like cattle. “I assume he left scars?”
The surgeon sighed. “Yes.”
“Are they disfiguring or simply noticeable?”
Mr. Meyer’s lips thinned. “They are not grotesque, but some are more than simply noticeable. Had he pressed a bit harder with his knife at her neck, she would not have survived long enough to receive aid.”
Julia’s face had paled and her fingers clenched her skirts when Mr. Meyer described her sister’s injuries. “You said Beatrice married a squire,” she released the cloth and smoothed the crushed fabric across her knees. Her voice had the strained quality of someone attempting to remain calm though choked with emotion. “Do they live nearby?”
“His lands are near the village of Boarhunt where he raises sheep.”
“Boarhunt?” Julia straightened in her seat. “That is only two hours from my home.” She grimaced and added. “My former home.”
“What can you tell us about the Squire?” Tristan asked.
Chasing Scandal Page 20