The Captain Claims His Lady

by Annie Burrows

  ‘What?’

  ‘I take it, from the expression of horror on your face, you do not love the man so much you would rather die with him than live your life alone?’

  ‘You cannot mean that...’ Although, could that be what had happened to Jenny? The girl who’d come here to consult the Reverend? Had he done away with her, then made up the story about Mr Kellet breaking her heart? And if he’d done away with someone once...

  ‘Miss Hutton, think very carefully before you make your decision,’ he said, while she sat there gasping in horror and disbelief. ‘And if it is that you want to live, which seems to be the case, then remember that once I have...disposed of Rawcliffe’s minion, I can relate the tale of his death in such a way that you will be condemned for his murder. Everyone about here will believe me, once they hear how he deceived you, how you lost your temper with him, how I found you distraught, sobbing over his battered body...’

  ‘That isn’t what happened. What is going to happen, I mean...’

  ‘Even your grandfather will trust my version, rather than yours. I am a man of the cloth, you see. People respect the calling so much that they don’t look any deeper than the clerical robes. He will be bitterly disappointed in you, naturally...’

  No, no, Lizzie wanted to say. But her throat had seized up. Because she could just picture everyone believing Cottam’s version of events rather than hers. Because he would be all smooth and plausible. While she’d be either hysterical or tongue-tied.

  And people did naturally trust him. Why, she could hardly believe what he was planning, what he’d clearly already been a party to, though he was standing right there admitting to it.

  Without showing one shred of remorse.

  ‘Miss Hutton,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘I believe you have taken my point, at last. You have seen that Captain Bretherton’s fate is sealed. The only question now is, do you wish to join him in his watery grave, or do you wish to live?’

  ‘I... I...’ Lizzie gripped her reticule. Glanced just once in Captain Bretherton’s direction. If she went along, meekly, with Reverend Cottam’s plans, she would never get over the guilt. But if she tried to oppose him, he’d either dispose of her, too, or spread the tale that she was a murderess. Besides, how could she oppose him? There was only one of her and he had a whole gang of smugglers at his command.

  She felt her shoulders droop as she prepared to admit defeat.

  ‘I want to live.’

  ‘That’s a good girl,’ said Cottam, patronisingly, setting her teeth on edge.

  ‘I cannot prevent your grandfather from being bitterly disappointed in you,’ he said with false sympathy. ‘But I can ensure he will be grateful to me for my effort to protect your reputation. I shall tell him that I used my influence with these Gentlemen to dispose of the body and then, together, we will all spread the tale that after your quarrel yesterday, your false beau gave up his pursuit and has left the area. We may put it about that he discovered you have no money, after all. That he only set about to woo you because he mistakenly believed you were an heiress. Yes, that will account for his presence in the area. It will be nothing to do with me.’

  Oh, no, it wouldn’t. If Cottam told that tale, Grandfather was bound to smell a rat. Because they’d covered the issue of her lack of fortune, right at the start. It was a small glimmer of hope, but Lizzie clung to it. And took it as a sign that no matter what it looked like, now, Cottam would not win in the end.

  ‘So, how do you want it done then, guvnor?’ A huge man stepped out of the shadows, making Lizzie jump. She couldn’t believe someone that big could have been concealing himself so effectively.

  ‘The same way we disposed of the others, of course, Bolsover.’

  The others?

  ‘What others?’ But even as she spoke she knew the answer. ‘You mean poor Jenny, don’t you? And Mr Kellet.’

  Cottam rounded on her. ‘What do you know of them?’

  Her heart began banging against her ribcage. If she told him what she knew, it would be like signing her own death warrant.

  ‘Explain!’

  ‘W-well...’ The hands on her shoulders gripped her painfully hard. The man gave her a little shake, as though he was growing impatient.

  And Cottam bent down to peer into her face.

  ‘Only that I could never quite swallow the tale that went round after Mr Kellet drowned. And Jenny never said anything about having her heart broken, either. And then, when you said that about me and Captain Bretherton being star-crossed lovers ending it together, I just...’

  ‘Not so stupid as you look,’ hissed Cottam into her face. ‘Bolsover!’

  ‘Yes?’ The giant stepped forward.

  ‘Prepare the necessary equipment. And bring the boat to the High Inlet. Now.’

  ‘Now? But, it’s broad daylight...’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, man. Just do it!’

  Bolsover melted back into the shadows. And the man who’d been standing guard over her wandered over to where Captain Bretherton was lying.

  And then, all of a sudden, Captain Bretherton shot to his feet, drew back his arm, catching one of his captors in the face with his elbow, then punched the other one. Her own guard quickened his pace, but he wasn’t any more successful in subduing Captain Bretherton. Instead, the pair of them went down and before she could blink, it looked as though all four of them were rolling around in a blur of thrashing limbs.

  And then he was surging up out of the melee, shaking all three smugglers off him, the way a terrier shakes off a pack of rats.

  ‘Run, Lizzie,’ he yelled. ‘Run for your life!’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They were going to kill him anyway. So what did it matter if they did it here with their boots and fists and knives, or out at sea somewhere? At least this way he’d give Lizzie a chance to escape.

  He’d have taken them on sooner if he hadn’t seen them holding that knife to her throat, effectively holding her hostage. If he’d made one wrong move, they might have used it on her.

  He hadn’t let them have it all their own way, though. To start with, he’d slumped down, giving the occasional groan as though he was half-stunned, so that the next pair of ruffians to come upon them had to haul him to his feet and half-carry, half-drag his limp body back the way they’d come.

  They were both strong men, for their size, the way so many tough, wiry sailors were. But by the time they’d dragged him all the way along the tunnel and out into a kind of natural cavern, they were blowing hard.

  For the next little while he’d lain still, surreptitiously looking around him for anything he might be able to use as a weapon. And listened to Cottam interrogating Lizzie. It wasn’t too bad at first. Indeed, he’d felt an immense surge of relief upon hearing that she’d come down here to seek out a lost boy. He might have known it would be something of the sort, rather than her having a secret link to such a cutthroat gang. That the naïve, brave, trusting girl had rushed in on someone else’s behalf. She was not involved in Archie’s death in any way. Not even by association.

  Only then Cottam had spilled some information of his own. In such a way that his involvement with Rawcliffe sounded far worse than it was. And he’d caught a glimpse of Lizzie’s anguished face and couldn’t keep silent any longer, no matter what the risk.

  A couple of deftly aimed kicks had put a stop to any explanation he might have given her. Indeed, for a moment or two, just breathing, and keeping the contents of his stomach in place had been all he could manage.

  Besides, it served him right. He deserved the pain. For putting that look on Lizzie’s face—for although Cottam had been the one to wrench the veil from her eyes, Harry had been the one who’d hurt her.

  So when Cottam had offered her a way out he’d gritted his teeth and prayed she’d take it. Prayed that she hated him enough to actually want him
dead. Because if she showed any sign of resistance, they’d kill her, too. They’d already killed one woman. Admittedly, Jenny had been one of the gang and far from innocent, but if they’d killed one woman, they could certainly kill any other who might pose a risk to their organisation.

  But his prayers were in vain. The moment Lizzie blurted out what she suspected about Jenny and Archie’s death, it changed everything. Cottam was never going to let her go now.

  The only way she might ever get out of this alive would be if he created a diversion, giving her a chance to slip away through the tunnels she’d said she knew so well.

  So he staked everything on one last throw of the dice.

  Maybe, in years to come, she would remember this last, sacrificial act and find it in her heart to forgive him for exposing her to such danger in the first place. She’d pleaded for his life, after all, just when he’d started to think he was beyond forgiveness.

  Or perhaps he was beyond forgiveness. Perhaps it was just that Lizzie could not face the thought of becoming party to murder. Even if she did despise the intended victim.

  ‘Run, Lizzie,’ he yelled as the smugglers came rushing to him from all sides. ‘Run for your life!’

  She stood up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that much.

  But then pain exploded in the back of his head.

  And darkness closed in.

  * * *

  The next thing he knew, someone was dragging him along yet another tunnel. He could hear the sound of waves breaking somewhere up ahead. And Reverend Cottam’s voice, from behind.

  ‘Careful, lads,’ he said.

  ‘They know the drill,’ came a voice he was beginning to recognise as that of Bolsover, from somewhere further back. ‘As few marks on him as possible.’

  He supposed he ought to be thankful for small mercies. Since they were being careful not to leave any tell-tale injuries, they were dragging him by the arms, rather than his feet which would have ended with his skull being bashed in. His head did throb and there would probably be a lump like a goose egg where they’d hit him, but it didn’t feel as if they’d done him any permanent damage.

  ‘Come along, Miss Hutton,’ said Reverend Cottam, in a wheedling tone. ‘If you walk a little faster, it will warm you up. And then again, you know, you will feel much better when we get out of these nasty, dark tunnels.’

  Good Lord, he was talking to her as if she was a simpleton. Her blood must be boiling. No wonder she didn’t bother answering him, though he knew she was there. He could sense her. Could almost feel her misery and despair reaching out to him like tendrils of a vigorously growing plant.

  Though why she hadn’t run when he’d given her the chance, he shuddered to think. What means might they have employed to prevent her? He hoped she wasn’t hurt. He strained all his senses in her direction and heard the light, firm tread of her footsteps through the heavier trudging of the men.

  Though all the sounds were altering slightly as they grew nearer to the exit from the tunnel system. From hard-packed floor to crunching shingle. Upon which they dropped him, face down, before trudging on ahead. He half-opened one eye and noted that it wasn’t much lighter outside than it had been underground. It felt like early evening. Had he really been unconscious that long?

  He imagined poor Lizzie, sitting all alone in that cave, waiting with no hope, and wanted to groan. He gritted his teeth. He must not give any sign he was coming round, or they’d tie him up, he was sure. And he’d stand a far better chance of doing something to ensure Lizzie could get away, if they left his arms and legs free.

  It cost him dearly to keep to that vow when a couple of the men returned, dragged him across a bank of rough shingle, and then manhandled him over fairly steep gunwales into their craft.

  ‘Gently, lads, gently,’ said Reverend Cottam.

  ‘I’ve told you, my men know their business,’ said Bolsover in a rather surly tone, as Harry landed face down on a pile of netting. The smugglers did indeed know their business, he concluded, for the netting, though extremely pungent, had cushioned his fall very effectively.

  ‘Come along, my dear,’ said Reverend Cottam from the beach. Lizzie must have demonstrated some reluctance to get into the boat, because he continued, ‘In you get. And we’ll give you a ride back. I’m sure you don’t want to go back into those nasty, cold, dark tunnels on your own again, to try and make your way home, do you? Especially not without a lamp.’

  The boat rocked as Lizzie gave in and did as she was told. He hoped it was a good sign that she chose the bench closest to where he lay sprawled. His heart leapt when, under cover of another person clambering in, which made the boat rock again, she bent down and laid one hand swiftly against the exposed nape of his neck. Was she checking to see if he was still alive? Even after everything she’d heard about him? Glorious girl. No wonder he loved her.

  Loved her?

  The boat rocked again as someone else clambered in. Or was it only his head reeling at the momentous discovery he’d just made? Why hadn’t he noticed the feeling creeping up on him? Though at least he now understood why he’d just decided he would rather die for her, so she might have some fond memories of him. In a sort of attempt to atone for any hurt he might have caused her.

  What a time to discover the state of his heart. When he couldn’t tell her. When she wouldn’t want to hear it, either.

  It was Reverend Cottam who’d climbed aboard. Harry recognised his shoes on the planking close to Lizzie’s feet. So, he was sitting next to her. Though not as close as he’d intended, for she shifted away at once. And then there was a lurch and the distinctive sound of planking dragging across shingle as somebody launched them into the sea. And more rocking. And the rattle of oars. Since this was a time when everyone would be concentrating on getting the craft underway, Harry took the chance to open his eyes and take a swift glance round.

  Under the bench, between Lizzie’s feet and Cottam’s, he could see two more sets of sea boots in the forward thwarts. By letting his head roll as the craft got under way, he noted two more men sitting at the stern, wielding an oar apiece. Before he shut his eyes again he also spied a central mast, from which hung a tightly furled sail. But what was best, over the splash of the oars and slapping of the waves against the hull, he could hear the sound of the rest of the gang crunching their way across the shingle.

  Two smugglers in the bow, two at the stern and the Reverend Cottam, that was all he had to overcome.

  The odds against him had drastically reduced.

  * * *

  Lizzie had no idea what she could accomplish against a gang of smugglers armed with knives. There were so many of them. And all able bodied. And all with eyes that worked properly.

  She only knew she couldn’t abandon Captain Bretherton, not while he was still alive. No matter what he’d done, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone, in the hands of these merciless men, not while he was unconscious.

  And anyway, who was to say that if he came round, there might not be some way to escape?

  From the middle of the ocean?

  Actually, the odds improved considerably once they got into the boat. Most of the gang went back into the caves after loading Captain Bretherton into it and shoving it into the water.

  If only he’d wake up.

  The boat pitched as the men rowed it beyond the shelter of the inlet and his body rolled nearer her feet, his hand flopping against her foot.

  And then, under the cover of her skirts, she felt him squeeze her foot. Her heart sped up. He was awake! He’d been shamming it! Though why should she be surprised? Shamming was what he was best at. But never mind resenting him for that now. Whatever he’d done, he didn’t deserve to be drowned for it.

  Did he have some kind of plan? He must have, or why let them put him in this boat while pretending to be unconscious?

  Whatev
er it was, she hoped it resulted in Reverend Cottam going to trial. He was a disgrace to his calling. She was so disillusioned with him, she...well, she could actually see why Captain Bretherton might have gone to such lengths to expose him. Every now and then, that was, when she wasn’t writhing with chagrin and misery, and the conviction she must be the most stupid female ever to draw breath. Both of them had fooled her. Both the Captain and the Curate.

  But at least Captain Bretherton was trying to break up a gang that was steeped in all sorts of wickedness.

  So she had to do what little she could to help.

  The only thing she could think of, right now, was to draw attention away from Captain Bretherton, lest somebody notice he was starting to come round. Or they’d hit him on the head again, and he wouldn’t be able to put his plan into action.

  If he even had a plan.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said aloud, drawing attention to herself, lest anyone should take it into their heads to examine their captive too closely. ‘This makes no sense.’

  ‘What, disposing of one man, so that the rest of us may carry on living in peace?’

  She shook her head, resenting Cottam’s jocular manner. Good heavens, he was talking about murder.

  ‘No. I mean the others. Why kill Jenny? Or Mr Kellet? Oh—I suppose he wasn’t down here just to visit Lady Buntingford, then, was he?’

  ‘Congratulations, Miss Hutton. Or may I call you Lizzie? I feel that we are going to grow very close over the next little while.’

  She shifted further along the wooden thwarts. Not that she could move all that far. The boat was narrow. Even so, she had to do something to show that she had no intention of letting the man close. Even metaphorically.

  Besides, as she moved, she managed to flick a bit more of her skirts across Captain Bretherton’s arm.

  He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t a fool. He kept a firm hold on the heel of her boot. And then, as though his fingers wondered what the strap could be, began to explore the holster which kept her knife in place.