In her haste to defend her friend, Bella started tripping over herself as she listed Chloe’s many gifts. “She is a healer. She has a lovely garden with all kinds of herbs and spices, which she uses to ease all kinds of ailments from a headache to a sick stomach. Her talent with needlework knows no equal, either. Isn’t that so, Gregory?”
“So, the child specializes in all kinds of services? You are indeed lucky to employ such a person.” Her father’s smile earned him another glare.
Gregory did not seem inclined to even acknowledge the rude comment, but Bella felt obliged to defend her friend’s honor. “Chloe plays the piano better than any lady of the ton I have met.” Turning to her mother, Bella continued. “She plays flawlessly, Mama. You should hear her.”
Wiping his lips with his napkin, her father’s eyes seemed to widen. “I am sure your mother would enjoy such a performance. I, myself, would love to spend more time with this pagan of virtue. Would you kindly call for her and ask her to play for us?”
Gregory stood up and moved out into the hallway, motioning for Bella to come to him. “Invite Chloe down to play,” he whispered to her. “But tell her to select a short piece and excuse herself the moment she’s finished.”
“You suspect Father knows Chloe is a runaway?” Bella fretted, wishing she had not ignored her husband’s earlier signal to stop talking so much.
“Something is troubling your father, and I don’t trust him. I have heard rumors he was having trouble meeting his debts. I have been waiting for him to ask me for funds, but now, I fear he’s planning to secure money in a more sinister way. I don’t want you or Chloe anywhere near him in his current, desperate state.”
“I understand your concern about Chloe, but surely, I am safe in his company.” Bella’s hands settled unconsciously on her rounding belly.
“He tried to marry you off to a scoundrel across the ocean so he could benefit financially. Have your forgotten that?”
“Obviously, you haven’t,” Bella said, pressing her lips together. “He didn’t know the man he was marrying me off to planned to kill me, Gregory.”
“That has yet to be proven.” He turned her in the direction of the staircase and planted a sharp smack to her backside. “And try not to tell him where we keep the family jewels and fortune.”
Unlike her mistress, Chloe never second-guessed the captain’s orders. She joined them in the parlor and executed a perfect curtsy before settling in at the piano bench. Her fingers gracefully moved about the keys as she shared a tune her father had taught her when she was a young child.
Bella’s father did not take his eyes off her. The haunting distress troubling him seemed to slowly melt away, replaced by a sly grin.
He walked over to kiss her hand as she stood up to take her leave. “My daughter was indeed, correct. I know of no one who can challenge your skill at playing. I am sure there are even fewer who rival your beauty. Your lovely red hair and wide blue eyes are becoming. So is your flawless complexion.” He chuckled. “You appear more the lady of the manor than a servant…almost as if you were once born to wealth.”
Gregory decided it was necessary to get both his wife and Chloe back on board his ship as soon as possible. On the Arabella, he was the law and protecting the women would be an easier task.
Chapter 2
One year earlier
Ashes to Ashes…
Had he not seen it in the dailies, he’d never have known about it. He reached the graveyard outside the stone church near Glossyp, where the vicar stood with his bible over the open six-foot hole in the ground.
He was indeed surprised there were so many people there. He’d expected a few, one or two at the most, yet dozens had responded to the death notice. The number of those who had come to pay their respects truly amazed him. There were multitudes here. It was only by chance that he’d seen the notice himself, having just returned to England a fortnight before.
To admit he was shocked would have been an understatement. But the proof was before his very eyes.
He moved with his usual stealth among the mourners, remaining the shadow he’d been for most of his life. As usual, no one seemed to notice he was there. He was thankful for the dreary day and the mists present in the churchyard. The sobbing of an elderly man brought his gaze upward and caused his heart to plummet. The vicar stood with a fistful of dust in his hand, ready to drop it into the casket.
“Ashes to ashes… Dust to dust...”
The sorrowful weeping of the gentleman, the pain in his weary expression, was too much to bear. He looked away, his own eyes tearing up at the misery he witnessed. Such a noble man with a broken heart. He took a step forward, about to go to him to provide comfort, without thought of the consequences. Almost…
It was then that he saw Captain Smythe and his first-mate, the commander. Both were staring straight at him oddly. He froze for only an instant and held his breath a few seconds before stepping back into the misty shadows and disappearing.
Silently, he released a long breath. He had not survived this horror only to suffer death by a noose.
He had returned to the ghostly shadows now, unseen by anyone. For that’s what he was now. A ghost. Taking one last, long breath, he shook his head.
The end of this poor devil’s life marked the start of his own.
He spent the afternoon alone in a darkened corner at the pub, to both drive away the memories of the gentleman he’d seen in the graveyard and to toast his own new life. Should he let matters lie? Could he?
The old man had never hurt anyone. It was completely unfair to leave such a noble man in his current state of grief. Never had he witnessed tears in this man. Never an unkindness. He couldn’t bear it.
It was late in the evening when he departed, his decision made. The sun was waning. At one time, he’d have been stumbling after all the ale he’d consumed. But the thoughts in his mind kept him sober.
It was time, he decided, finally. If he lost his freedom for doing this, so be it. The old man had to know the truth.
One year later…
Sitting in the same pub, at the same table as he had one year earlier, he stared down into his glass of stout. The year had been profitable. He’d been able to gather a few loyal friends about him. A rag-tag bunch they might be, but they were his pals. A smile played about his mouth as he thought of the man who had made it possible. He had just been able to secure a contract for his own ship and was about to embark within a few weeks on a merchant voyage, and he now had the use and ownership of Hartwycke, the manor that he’d grown up in.
In the beginning, he’d hated Hartwycke. When his mother had died, he was sent to live there, with the woman who married his father. At first, life was unbearable, but he learned how to avoid her. She adored Marcus, the true heir to his father’s wealth, as much as she hated him, the bastard son of his father.
But he’d learned to survive. He hid around corners when her footfalls approached. His father had given him his own governess, who adored him, and they stayed in their own wing, away from the others. Eventually, he made a game of it. When his father came to visit, he never told the duke how he was treated.
But that was over now. His stepmother had eventually died, and although her room still was full of the figurines she had prized, it stayed closed. His brother had bought in one of the fancier neighborhoods and married, and they rarely encountered each other.
Hartwycke was his now, given to him by his father as a gift, with the label of caretaker, for he’d never be able to fully inherit. He’d be forever grateful.
The years might have robbed him of many things, but his acute hearing was not one of them. He was deep in thought, when he heard the voices of two men sitting at the table behind him. His back was to them; for that, he was glad.
“The bitch is serious. Ain’t she?” said the first.
“I think she believes it. If she don’t, she’s good. It appears this is a way to make sure we never want again.”
Their voi
ces were low; at the table behind them, he didn’t move. One thing he knew. If there was an easy way to make a fortune, he hadn’t found it. A smile quirked up on one side. He took another drink. It was the next sentence he heard from behind him that caught his undivided attention.
“I ain’t killed anyone before, mind you. Least not a girl. But bloody hell, that’s a lot of quid she’s offerin’.”
“Aye. An’ we don’t even have to do the killin’.”
“But we’ll still be in it up to our bloody necks…”
Listening at the table behind them, he stiffened. Were they serious? A deep scowl crossed his face.
“Look, Nigel. Yer in or yer out. What’s it to be?
“I’m in. She said the girl’s to board the Arabella in Liverpool, tomorrow at three.”
“Should be easy enough to grab.”
“Just hope we don’t have to knock her cold to get her there.”
“Coward. I’ll take care of her if ye ain’t got the nerve.”
Behind them, their eavesdropper froze. At the mention of the Arabella, he’d taken a silent breath. He knew exactly what time they planned to do it. And exactly where. He even knew the name of at least one of them. Listening to the rest of their conversation, he heard them rise and throw a few coins on the table, slapping each other on the back at their good fortune.
Waiting until they were almost out the door, he turned just enough to get a departing glimpse of them. Neither of them had noticed him at all.
The girl they mentioned had to be one of three ladies; Arabella Smythe or Lily Collingwood, whom he’d heard married Lord Darby. And God forbid it should be darling little Chloe. He frowned at the thought it might be her. It’s possible it was someone else but not likely. The captain had taken Arabella with him on most of the voyages for the past year. The commander had not taken Lily with him since it had been rumored she was with child. He rose and dropped the coins for the stout on the table, barely nodding toward Edmund, the barkeep.
Spying a folded paper on the table they’d abandoned, he leaned forward and picked it up, tucking it under his arm. Edmund watched as the man left, but he seemed to stare right through him as he strode out the door.
What now? Should he go to the police and tell them what he’d overheard?
It wouldn’t even be done here. It would be in Liverpool. He’d been able to remain a ghost of a man for a year now. According to the British authorities, he no longer existed. Did he really want to change that? But letting this play out as the woman who hired these two thugs intended was out of the question.
There was only one thing to do. He had to go himself.
Enlisting help…
Ben and Mac, the loyal mastiffs, eagerly greeted him as he handed over the reins to his groom. He patted their massive heads and scratched their ears, waiting until the groom could accompany him inside before opening the paper. The cook, the gardener, and the butler were already in the kitchen. Althea, his housekeeper, glanced at him as he approached.
“You look disturbed, sir. Is there anything I can do?”
He gave her an appreciative smile. “Yes, Miss Althea. You can stay and hear our plans. I’ll need your help.”
“Do we need Gates?” the cook asked.
“Not yet. I’ll speak to him later.” He sat down on the table and began to go through the paper the men had left behind at the pub. Somewhere within it lay a clue that might answer at least some of his questions.
He found it two-thirds of the way down on the fifth page. He tapped his index finger on it and leaned back. “There it is,” he growled.
“Read it.” The men at the table with him made no move to take the daily. None of them here could read except Althea. He glanced at them and picked it up.
Reward offered for return of woman, age 18, blue eyes, red hair
He paused. His eyes narrowed. “Runaway. Danger to herself and others. Large sum offered for return.” He set it back down. “There’s an address there for a Mrs. Cates, on Walhurst. According to the two men in the alehouse, she’s offering quite a tidy sum. But her plan is to kill the girl.”
Althea gasped, and the men scowled.
He looked toward the others and slammed the paper down. “And she lies.” He heaved a sigh. “The young lady she describes never has been—nor ever will be—a danger to others.”
So, it wasn’t Arabella the woman had hired the thugs to kill, nor was it Lilliana. It was little Chloe, with her innocent big blue eyes and beautiful curly red hair. He shook his head, and his jaw pulsed in anger.
It struck him suddenly. A man learned things when he seemed invisible, and he’d learned his share of information about the woman offering such a huge sum. There was a definite reason she wanted the girl back. Rising from the table, he began to pace furiously, his fists tight, as if he wanted to hit something or someone. He was staring ahead with blazing eyes, yet not seeing.
The Cates woman had quite a reputation in Glossyp, in Darbyshire…in York. Even in Ainsley. He also knew she’d sold her daughter into servitude at the young age of fifteen for a pittance, after her father died. Was it possible that there was another young woman fitting that description in the area who was to board the Arabella tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock? The only Chloe he knew of that fit had been introduced as “Chloe Tucker.”
He stopped pacing. Suddenly, he knew who she was.
She was, in fact, Chloe Cates.
The groom raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s thinkin’, he is.”
“He’s too serious,” the butler added.
The cook, however, shook his head. “Trip to the brothel might be just the ticket. Me, I wouldna turn that down.”
Staring back at the cook, he frowned. “There’s a lady present. Curb your comments. Besides, sex without love to back it up is less than satisfying. It leads to empty arms and an empty heart. The next woman I take to my bed, gentlemen,” he said, “will be my wife.”
Althea smiled fondly at him. “What can we do then? About this?” She put her hand on the paper.
“This,” he said in his deep dark voice, “is about an innocent young lady who goes by the name of Chloe Tucker. The woman who put this in fully intends to kill her. She’s already hired two men to do the kidnapping, and they have no qualms about it. Odd, she didn’t hire them to do the actual killing. But since we are the only ones who know of it, and obviously, we can’t go to the police without exposing ourselves,” he concluded, leaning forward. “It falls to us. My friends, Chloe depends on us for her life.” He looked from one to the other and added quietly, “We must not fail her.”
He took the paper into the study with him when they parted. The last memory he had of Chloe swirled in his head. He frowned as he remembered seeing the younger Chloe meeting his eyes with those big blues of hers. Her long red locks had moved as she’d walked with a gentle sway.
Inside, he growled. He’d seen the way other men watched her, and it made him burn inside. Yes, he’d been guilty of looking with lust at other women in the past, but not Chloe. Never Chloe.
True, his moments near her had been few, but the ones he’d had were memorable. She was surely a woman by now, and he had no doubt when he saw her again, she would be an extremely beautiful one.
Chapter 3
Tossing and turning…
Sleep was impossible. Chloe tossed and turned, twisting the bed sheets with every move. The only sound in her dark room was the striking of the clock every hour and half-hour. Her mind was a riot of words, however. A menacing voice repeated phrases over and over again.
“Lovely, red hair…wide, blue eyes…lady of the manor, instead of a servant…born to wealth.” That voice of Arabella’s father had made her cringe.
The past year had been perfect. She had felt safe and loved, welcomed and part of a family. Now, she realized it could have been snatched away from her at any moment. An impending feeling of danger lurked over her head. The baron rested a few rooms away. Chloe’s door was barred, but it
wasn’t him invading her bedroom that terrorized her. Baron St. John did not look at her with lust, at least not in the carnal manner one normally thought of. Instead, she felt he was trying desperately to think of some way to profit from the secrets of her past coming to light.
Gregory had given his permission for her to stay hidden away, so it didn’t matter that she’d stayed out of the baron’s sight, hiding out in the kitchen or out in her little herb garden. Bella’s father seemed to search her out and always seemed to have a newspaper in his hand. She would look up and see him studying her. As soon as she saw him, however, he would quickly look down at what appeared to be the one of the dailies.
If only she could make it to tomorrow’s departure, Chloe was sure she would be safe again. Out of sight, out of mind, she hoped. But it was not only Bella’s father who concerned her now. Word had reached her from gossiping among the staff that her stepmother was in the area. Did her father’s widow realize yet she had escaped? Was this visit just happenstance—or yet another threat to her freedom? Mayhap she would stay aboard the Arabella permanently, this time, like Sarah and Benny.
All the tossing and turning finally took its toll, and Chloe managed to drift off to sleep shortly after the clock struck three-thirty. Tomorrow, she would help Bella gather the last of her items for the journey. Chloe’s own things had been packed and waiting by the side of the door ever since the baron had watched her play the piano nearly a week before.
Thankfully, Gregory had never agreed to let her play again.
Dreams…
Carefree dreams eased her worry as her subconscious allowed her to revisit dreams of happier days before trouble tracked her down. In her visions, she sat, smiling and carefree at her desk penning another letter to Sarah. It had been her habit since settling in at Gregory and Bella’s manor. Chloe knew she never had to send the messages when the time came if she thought better of it. Safe in the knowledge that she could pour out her heart and soul without fear of anyone reading the words, she spoke freely of her glorious memories of the handsome man she knew she would never see again.
Conquered by the Ghost (The Conquered Book 3) Page 2