by Connie Mason
Jack sustained a nasty cut to his upper arm and another to his ribs. They were painful but not life threatening, but he realized it was only a matter of time before a mortal wound was delivered.
Suddenly shouts and the sound of creaking wheels reached Jack’s fuzzy brain, nearly at the same time that Dickey and Robin heard them. With his knife poised at Jack’s throat, Robin turned his head to stare at the carriage jolting down the dirt lane. He cursed violently and leaped to his feet. Jack wasted no time in throwing Dickey off and gaining his own feet.
“Ho, there, Jack! Can you use some help?”
The carriage ground to a halt and Spence leaped from it before it came to a full stop. Colin, his head dripping blood, followed close behind. They were joined by Spence’s burly coachman, wielding a stout cudgel. When Robin and Dickey saw they were outnumbered, they turned tail and ran.
“Don’t let them get away!” Jack yelled. Colin and the coachman caught them handily and dragged them back to where Jack and Spence were waiting.
“What should we do with them?” Spence asked, prodding Robin with the point of his short sword. “Who are they, and what did they want with you?”
“Obviously they’re street thugs who were paid to do me in,” Jack said, staggering weakly against the carriage.
“Bloody hell,” Spence muttered darkly as he turned a ferocious glare on the man held captive by his sword. “Who paid you to kill Lord Jack?”
“I don’t know his name,” Robin said sullenly. “I think he’s some high-born bloke, but I ain’t sure. We was to collect the rest of our blunt at the Fatted Calf later tonight.”
Jack frowned. “The Fatted Calf is the roughest dive on the waterfront. What time were you supposed to meet him?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Someone will meet your benefactor, but it won’t be you.” He turned to Colin, wincing when he saw a lump crusted with blood blossoming on the lad’s head. “There’s rope in the boot, Colin. If you’re up to it, help Spence’s coachman tie them up and put them inside the carriage. I’ll drop them off at Newgate and press charges.”
“I’m up to it, milord,” Colin said. “I’m sorry I failed you. They hit me in the head.” He gave Jack a cocky grin. “’Tis the hardest part of me. They made the mistake of not tying me up. I staggered out of the alley just as they drove off. I assumed you were with them. The next person I saw was Lord Fenwick. He’d arrived at your place of business looking for you. I told him what happened and we gave chase. I should have been more vigilant.”
“It’s not your fault, Colin. No one was expecting something like this. I thank God you’re not hurt and had the presence of mind to enlist Spence’s help. Can you drive? I don’t think I’m up to it.”
“Christ, Jack, you’re hurt!” Spence cried, noting the blood seeping through Jack’s sleeve and vest where it covered his ribs. “Get inside the carriage before you fall down. You’re pale as death.”
“I’ve suffered worse,” Jack said, though admittedly the pain from his wounds was making him light-headed.
“I’m taking you to the doctor.”
“Not until these two are locked up. After I’ve pressed charges, you can take me home and send Colin for the doctor. I have this unaccountable urge to see Moira.”
Spence grinned. “Matrimony must agree with you. Very well, as soon as my man loads up that dead fellow we’ll be off. By the way, good shot. You always were accurate.”
Jack limped into the house leaning on Spence’s shoulder. Pettibone was beside himself with worry as he fussed over his master. Jack was surprised to see that the doctor had already arrived and was waiting. They bore him to his room and divested him of his coat, vest and shirt, laying bare his wounds. Very carefully, Dr. Dudley cleansed the lacerated flesh, clucking his tongue like a mother hen.
“These look like knife wounds,” the good doctor said. “I thought you’d been injured in an accident.”
“It’s a long story, doctor. I assure you I’m not badly hurt. You must be a mind reader to have arrived so quickly.”
“You’ll need some stitching,” Dr. Dudley said as he threaded his needle. “This shouldn’t take long.”
“Where is Lady Moira?” Pettibone asked as he suddenly realized Moira hadn’t come in with Jack and Spence. “I must admit I was leery and more than a little worried when that grimy urchin told us some outlandish story about you being injured. Even though I knew Lady Moira would be all right with Lord Spencer, I greatly feared something was amiss.”
The blood froze in Jack’s veins, and he jerked spasmodically.
“Hold still,” the doctor warned as he drove the needle into Jack’s flesh.
Ignoring the pain, Jack tried to sit up. The doctor pushed him back down and glared at him. Mindless of the doctor, Jack grasped Pettibone’s sleeve. “What are you saying, Pettibone? Isn’t Moira home? As you can see, she isn’t with Spence.”
Pettibone’s face turned gray with fear. “I thought…That is…The carriage…The lad said…Oh, my God!”
“Get hold of yourself, Pettibone,” Jack said through clenched teeth. “Start at the beginning.”
Pettibone swallowed convulsively. “Very good, milord. A ragged urchin appeared at the door this morning, bearing the news that you had been injured in an accident. He said your friend was waiting in the carriage at the curb for Lady Moira to join him. We all assumed it was Lord Spencer, and that he would take Her Ladyship to you. I wanted to go with her, but she bade me to remain here and send for the doctor.”
Jack’s expression grew grim. That explained the doctor’s presence when he arrived home, he thought, but it still didn’t explain Moira’s disappearance, or with whom she had gone.
“No one could have known about my injury except…”
“The man who wanted you dead,” Spence contended. “But why would he abduct Moira? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Jack felt as if his world had just come to an end. “Moira is carrying my child,” he said tonelessly, addressing no one in particular. “If she or my child is harmed, I’ll kill the bastard who took her.”
Pettibone gave a visible shudder. Dr. Dudley took the last stitch, knotted the thread and said, “You’re not going anywhere for a while. Your wounds aren’t life threatening, but you’ve lost a considerable amount of blood. Bed rest is indicated for the next few days. I recommend that you contact the authorities and let them deal with this.”
“Not bloody likely,” Jack grit out.
“Listen, Jack,” Spence urged, “the doctor knows best. Let me handle this for you.”
“No! If some crazy bastard has my wife, I’m damn well going to be the one to get her back. And I strongly suspect that the man who took her is the same man who paid to have me done in. We won’t know who or why until we have him in our possession.”
“How do you intend to do that?” Spence wanted to know.
“I can see that you aren’t going to follow my advice,” Dr. Dudley said as he packed up his bag. “I have other patients to treat. If you need me, send someone around to my office. Good luck, milord. And congratulations on the forthcoming birth of your heir.”
The moment the door closed behind the doctor, Jack eased into a sitting position, catching his breath when the stitches pulled against his lacerated flesh.
“What can I do, milord?” Pettibone asked as he hovered over Jack, wringing his hands in despair.
“Find me something to eat,” Jack directed, more to get rid of him than because he was hungry. Pettibone left immediately.
“I know what you intend,” Spence said, frowning. “You’re going to go to the Fatted Calf and wait for the man who ordered your death. You’re not up to it, old man. You don’t even know the man’s identity. Let me handle it. Or better yet, the police.”
“No! If he sees the police, he’ll likely be frightened off, and I’ll never find Moira. Bloody hell, Spence, if only I could find a reason in all this! Who would hate Moira or me enough to do this?”
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Thoroughly stymied, Spence ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair. “I wish I knew. What can I do to help?”
“You can question the men we dropped off at Newgate earlier. I know they denied any knowledge of the abductor’s identity, or his reason for wanting me dead, but it can’t hurt to question them further. If you learn anything, I’ll be here until it’s time to leave for the Fatted Calf.”
Spence left, silently vowing to be at the Fatted Calf at ten o’clock with plenty of help no matter what Jack wanted. Jack was in no condition for a fight should he need to defend himself.
Jack stifled a groan, lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare cave in to the pain with Spence and Pettibone looking on, but now that he was alone, he allowed himself the luxury of expressing his pain and anguish.
You must find her.
Jack’s eyes flew open. She stood at the foot of the bed, shrouded in mist and shimmering light.
“Lady Amelia, thank God you’ve come back. Do you know who has abducted Moira? Can you help me?”
Lady Amelia shook her head.
You are the only one whose life can be changed by my intervention.
“God knows you’ve made a new man of me,” Jack admitted, wincing as he levered himself up against the pillows.
She has redeemed you; now you must save her.
“I intend to. Are you certain I will succeed?”
You must succeed. The future of the dukedom lies within Moira’s womb.
“I have no future without Moira,” Jack said with slow emphasis. “Can you tell me nothing more?”
Beware the tides.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Suddenly the door opened and Pettibone stepped in, balancing a tray in his hands. Jack spit out a curse as Lady Amelia receded into the shadows. “No, don’t go! Come back, please.”
Startled, Pettibone looked at Jack as if his employer had just lost his mind. Following Jack’s gaze, Pettibone saw a flickering light in the corner of the room. He watched in stunned silence as it vanished before his very eyes.
“Bloody hell!” Jack said, sending Pettibone a disgruntled look. “You’d best set the tray down before you drop it, Pettibone. And close your mouth.”
Pettibone carefully set the tray on the nightstand and looked askance at Jack. “Is aught amiss, milord?”
Jack swung his legs over the edge of the bed and waited until the pain subsided before speaking. “There’s plenty amiss, Pettibone, as you well know. Set some clothes out for me while I eat. Nothing fancy, something dark and nondescript.”
Pettibone cleared his throat. “Were my eyes deceiving me, or was there a strange light in the chamber when I entered?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Pettibone. I’m not sure I believe it myself.”
“If you say so, milord,” Pettibone sniffed. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on. Only one thing could have brought about Black Jack Graystoke’s amazing transformation. From a rake well on his way to perdition, Black Jack had been transformed into the soul of respectability with a wife and a child on the way. He saw the fine hand of Lady Amelia in all this. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Lady Amelia had just paid a visit to her reformed descendant.
Dressed in unrelenting black, his wounds bound tightly, Jack left the house at precisely nine o’clock that night. Colin drove the plain black carriage to the Fatted Calf, discharged his passenger and, following Jack’s instructions, parked in the alley so as not to rouse suspicion. Jack entered into the raucous atmosphere of the crowded inn, deliberately selected a table in the farthest corner, sat down and waited for someone he recognized to show up.
Moira awoke to the inky blackness of fear and confusion. And a subtle rocking motion that sent panic racing through her. Rising gingerly, she tested her limbs and found them somewhat unstable but uninjured. She took a step forward and tripped over an object she soon discovered was a coil of rope. A pervading odor of rotting fish stung her senses, and when she combined everything she felt and smelled, she could only deduce that she was aboard a ship. And that Lord Roger Mayhew had brought her here.
Memory of the events that took place before she fainted emerged from her sluggish brain and she recoiled in horror. Jack was dead, not injured as she had assumed. Pain converged on her like rushing water, filling her with such anguish that her legs buckled beneath her. Choking sobs shook her body, sending scalding tears cascading down her cheeks. Did Lord Roger intend killing her, too?
Moira tensed when she heard a noise outside her dark prison. Suddenly the hatch above her opened and a man appeared in the opening, holding a lantern aloft. “So, you’ve finally awakened. Good.”
“Where am I? Why are you doing this to me? What have you done with my husband?”
Mayhew climbed down the ladder, closed the hatch behind him and hung the lantern from a hook on the ceiling. Hands on hips, he loomed over Moira, his eyes bright with anticipation. Or was it madness?
“You’re the cause of all my problems. Because of you, my father disowned me and named my brother his heir. I was sent off to America in disgrace and told never to return. I’m an embarrassment to the family. All because of an Irish wench too good to spread her legs for the heir to an earldom. From now on, you’ll spread your legs any time I order you to.”
“You’re mad. What have you done to Jack?”
“His body will be discovered on a deserted road, or in an alley. The victim of footpads, no doubt.” He laughed without mirth. “A fitting end for a rogue.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re trying to frighten me. Where am I?”
“In the hold of a ship bound for China. I paid the captain a small fortune to take no other passengers and ask no questions of me. You’ll find no help there. We sail on the midnight tide. I have a small piece of unfinished business to conduct at a nearby inn but will return in plenty of time. I suggest you rest while you can. When I return you’ll be too busy catering to my needs to sleep. By the time we reach China, you’ll know all the little tricks necessary to survive in a Chinese brothel.”
Moira inhaled sharply. This couldn’t be happening to her! Lord Roger was supposed to be far away, where he could never hurt her again. She was Jack’s wife and carried his child. She had found a grandfather she never knew she had, and her life was full to overflowing.
“What are you doing in England? Your father promised he would personally put you aboard a ship bound for America. You can’t have returned already.”
“My father is a stupid old man,” Mayhew said irreverently. “He did put me aboard a ship. But I’m much smarter than those he paid to make sure I sailed with the ship. I jumped ashore moments before the ship pulled away from the pier, with no one the wiser. I’ve been living in London’s underground, waiting for the opportunity to exact revenge. I made useful friends among the derelicts of the city. My friends would kill their own mother for enough blunt. Finding someone to do in Black Jack was easy.”
Moira considered telling Roger that she carried Jack’s child but decided against it. Obviously the man was mad; it was hard to tell what he’d do when he learned she was increasing. All she could do was hope and pray that Lord Roger had been lying about Jack. If he was truly dead, she’d feel it in her heart.
“Do you have proof that your friends killed Jack?”
Mayhew frowned. He’d sent three men—what could go wrong? “Not yet, but I will as soon as I meet my friends at the Fatted Calf and they verify his death. ’Tis almost time.” He reached for the lantern and turned to leave.
“Wait! Leave the light. The dark frightens me.” She wasn’t really afraid of the dark; she needed light if she was to search for a way to escape. This time she didn’t have Matilda to help her.
Mayhew considered her request, then nodded his head. “Very well. Just don’t get any ideas about setting the place on fire, for it won’t work. You’d probably die of smoke inhalation before rescue arrived.”
Moira
waited until Lord Roger climbed the ladder and secured the hatch before beginning a thorough search of the hold. If a means of escape existed, she’d find it.
The hour of ten arrived, and the Fatted Calf was nearly filled to capacity with boisterous, hard-drinking seamen and painted whores plying their trade. A fight broke out, which Jack watched with disinterest. A whore approached him and he quickly sent her packing. He shifted impatiently, his eyes never leaving the door, waiting, watching, wondering if he’d know the next man who walked through the portal. Pulling his hat down to shade his face, Jack tried to relax his tense body. It wasn’t easy, for his thoughts kept straying to Moira, fretting over her safety.
When Lord Roger Mayhew skulked through the door of the Fatted Calf, Jack’s shock was enormous. Tucking his chin into his chest, he watched Mayhew make a search of the room and saw him frown when he failed to locate who he was looking for. At length, Mayhew took a seat at an empty table facing the door.
Hunching his shoulders and pulling down his hat over his eyes, Jack rose and made his way slowly through the crowded common room, escaping Mayhew’s notice as he came up behind him. Jack was fully armed. Besides a primed and loaded pistol, he carried a knife and a short sword beneath his coat. Palming the knife, Jack stopped behind Mayhew and pricked his neck with the weapon.
“Don’t turn around, Mayhew. Get up slowly and walk out the door.”
Mayhew blanched when he recognized Jack’s voice. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Your henchmen weren’t as efficient as you’d hoped. As you can see, I’m very much alive. Move. You’re going to take me to Moira. Make one false move and you’re a dead man. I know where all the vital organs are.”
Mayhew did as he was told. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, for the revelry continued unabated. “You don’t dare kill me,” Mayhew sneered. “If you do, you’ll never find your wife.”