Grabbing hold of his arm, she walked him to a nearby chair. “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Coombes.” Her little speech would have been much more believable had mirth not colored each word.
Once seated, he peered at his bare feet. “Boots would be helpful, but it’s much easier to swim without them.” She had moved away from his side, and his head hurt too much to crane his neck and see what she was about. He had to content himself with listening to the rustle of her skirts, the light clinking of silver on china, and the soft padding of her feet on the wooden floors.
“I’m sure it is,” she soothed and handed him a teacup. “Drink up. I mixed in a tonic to help ease the ache in your head.”
Ever dutiful, he took the proffered beverage and did as ordered, all the while clutching at his shirt. When the liquid was gone, she removed the cup, and he rested his head on the chair back. “What of your husband and uncle? And my friend, William Blackburn? Where are they?”
“They are seeing to the townspeople. The flooding has caused dozens to flee their homes. The women and children are being housed in the manor, and my uncle and Mr. Blackburn are arranging shelter for the men.”
Already the comforting warmth of the tea had helped to chase away some of the tension in Alfred’s neck and shoulders, and the persistent ache no longer hammered away at his skull. He relaxed and loosened his hold on his shirt.
“What’s hanging around your neck?”
He looked down and grabbed the metal disc in his hands. “It’s St. Christopher, the Patron Saint of Travelers, a gift from Mr. Blackburn.”
She held out her hand. “May I see it, please?”
“Are all Westby women so damned forward?” She did not let on she had heard, nor did she retract her hand or seem to care she had been rude. He removed it and placed it into her outstretched hand.
“It’s cold, almost ice cold.” She examined the edges and either side of the coin before returning her attention to him. “How strange.”
“I don’t know why, but whenever I am near your sister, it heats up. As soon as your husband found me and I roused enough to take notice of aught besides my ailing head, the disc seared my skin with its icy fingers. I knew she was gone.”
“The medallion will guide you to her.”
He agreed. For some time now he had guessed the medallion’s true purpose was to guide him where he needed to go, but he was reluctant to voice his theory. Because if his suspicion was correct and the medallion was guiding him, this small metal disc was more than a minister’s cherished memento.
“You are not shocked by this, an enchanted medallion?”
A wry smile touched her lips. “I was cursed by a gypsy when I was eight. Besides, I have a shawl…and it’s not important right now.” She held up the medallion and let it spin on its chain. “This is why you didn’t board your ship when you had the chance, and why you returned here. She is a part of your journey, isn’t she?”
“You’ve been talking to your uncle.”
She passed back the medallion, and he looped it around his neck. Its familiar presence comforted him. “My aunt. We arrived after they found my sister and Lord Newgate missing, and while the men searched for you, my aunt informed me of what had happened. We both questioned why you had returned here when a letter or a messenger would have served the same purpose. You could have been free of my sister.”
He had asked himself the same question. Why hadn’t he sent a letter or left after delivering his message? While his conscious mind was satisfied to believe his honor demanded it, his subconscious knew the truth. After all his ruminating about what he should have done, could have done, and in the end didn’t do, he had concluded it had to be love. Otherwise, what man in his right mind would be brave enough to face the whirlwind named Lady Evelyn Westby and return for more?
“You care for her, don’t you, and not because Uncle is insisting you marry her to protect her reputation.”
“How could I not care for her? She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Now she’s gone, and I didn’t get to tell her. Even if I were to cross the river, I do not have transportation to Southampton. Walking will take days, and by the time I get to port, I fear she will be gone forever.”
“Do not give up hope. Remember, the same rain keeping us prisoner here has also moored the ships at port. No one is traveling, not unless they wish to face certain peril.”
“The bad weather buys me a day or two at most, and I’ve already spent two of them unconscious.”
“There is someone who might be able to help you. Are you up for a visitor?”
Curiosity overshadowed his pain. “Yes.”
Lady Stanton exited the room and returned with Mr. Coachman at her heels.
“You!” He attempted to rise, but when the action proved perilous for his head, he slumped in his chair.
With cap in hand, Mr. Coachman stood before him. His clothes were torn and dirty. Mud streaked his face and caked his boots. He was a pitiful sight. “I can ’elp you cross and get you to Southampton, Mr. Coombes. I know where they took ’er.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Lady Stanton ignored him. “Mr. Coachman, tell him what you told me.”
“About two days ago, ’er ladyship comes into town with some gentleman looking for passage t’ port. The river was swollen and none of us was looking to be swept away in the currents, but his lordship recognized me from afore and told me to take ’em across the river. He said if I didn’t he’d tell the constable he found those forged banknotes and I was the one who made ’em.” He turned to address Lady Stanton. “I’ve got a wife and two wee ones at home, m’lady. Who would believe my word against a nob’s? I’d hang for sure!” His cap by this point was a mangled mess.
“I’m sure you did what you had to, Mr. Coachman. No one here is judging you for your actions.”
She might not be, but he was. Lady Stanton mouthed for him to be quiet, so he held his tongue.
“I knew it was a fool’s errand, and I was sore worried for the young lady, so I agreed. When it was time to board the carriage, the young lady recognized me, but I shook my head to tell her not to say nothing. I didn’t know what ’is lordship was up to, but ’im knowing the lady and I had a previous acquaintanceship wasn’t going to help any.”
“Knowing Newgate, he would have used your acquaintance to his advantage.”
“She picked up on it right away, too, and pretended not t’ know me. It was rough going across the river. Damned near drowned, begging your pardon, m’lady.” A blush crept up his neck. “We traveled about three hours afore he ordered me to stop. It wasn’t anywhere special, a patch of wilderness along the side of the road, and I couldn’t figure out what we were waiting for.” He shuddered. “After a few more minutes, I found out. They came along.”
“Who’s they?”
“Three of the biggest men I’ve ever seen, riding down the road on horseback. The leader had legs the size of tree trunks and hair blacker than even the deepest pits of hell, I reckon. They talked for a couple of minutes. I heard bits and pieces of what they were saying, but they were in an awful hurry to leave. One of them said the Stallion was waiting in port, and he was unhappy at the delay. Afore I knew it, one of them big goons pulled me off the driver’s seat, tied me up, and left me alongside the road. They rode away in a thunder of clomping hooves.”
“How is it you are here?”
“They may have been big and a mite fearful, but they didn’t know how to tie a knot worth a lick. I wiggled free in no time and ran back. I knew the lady had family here, and they’d need to know what’d ’appened to ’er.”
Lady Stanton hugged the grubby little man, dirt and all. “You did the right thing coming here, and we are so grateful for your bravery, aren’t we, Mr. Coombes?”
He rose, strode to the coachman and shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Coachman. You have done me a great service.”
“I can take you to ’er, too. There is a way across the river and to port. We could be there afore dusk if
we left now.”
“But what if the ship has set sail?”
“Don't you fear none, Mr. Coombes. I took care of the ship, too.”
“What? Are you a conjurer of spells as well as a coachman?”
“Let’s say an old acquaintance was happy to do a favor for you and the young miss.”
“Assuming you have by some miracle been able to delay the ship, pray tell, Mr. Coachman, what form of transport have you devised for us to cross the uncrossable?”
“How good are you at rowing a boat?”
Chapter 20
Days had passed. Maybe it was weeks. She no longer knew. Time held no meaning in this dark prison of fear and uncertainty.
“Who knows where I am now? France? Africa? Maybe we’ve even traveled all the way to the New World.”
It was possible. The tug of the tide urging the ship out to sea jarred her as it caught the waves and flew across the open waters. Blinded and hobbled as she was, all she could do was imagine and listen. Deprived of sight and touch, her hearing intensified, and each sound was amplified for her listening pleasure. From the creaking of the wooden ship as it adjusted to the ebb and flow of the tide to the squeaking rats and their little scurrying feet, she heard it all.
She had taken to talking aloud to fill the gaping black void of silence following Lord Newgate’s departure.
“And yes, we’re calling him Lord Newgate again. Call me Alex,” she mocked, recalling their conversation in the carriage before he drugged her with delicious, inviting marzipan. She snorted. “Friends indeed, Lord Newgate. Friends don’t tie friends up, you blackguard!” she screamed, tilting her head back to what she hoped was the approximate location of the above deck.
Her mind went quiet for a while, but the nibbling sounds of her furry friends had her hurrying to talk over the incessant squeaking and chewing. Perhaps if she were loud enough, she could pretend they were not there.
“After months of imprisonment, it’s funny the things I miss. A cool breeze, a comfortable seat, a chamber pot.” She should not have mentioned the chamber pot, for bringing up the lack of one made her aware of how desperate she was to use it now.
“I need to relieve myself!” she yelled in the hopes someone, anyone would hear her. Something touched her nose, and she screamed. “That had claws and fur! Do you hear me? There are rodents walking on my face!” Now her nose itched. She yelled again. “These rats gave me a disease, because now I’m itchy where their paws touched me!”
No one heeded her call.
“Is anybody there? My nose itches and I have to relieve myself! I’m hot and there is something crawling on me!” Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been weeks, if not months, since she last ate. She wet her lips, an unwelcome reminder of how parched she was. If she didn’t eat or drink soon, she was going to die.
“I’m hungry and thirsty!” she hollered. “If it’s your intention to starve me to death, at least untie me and let me die in dignity!” Her bladder reminded her of an urgent need, and she added, “And another thing, let me use the chamber pot, if you please. Starve me all you want, you…you rotten scoundrels!” She was so intent on coming up with a scathing insult, she missed the approaching footsteps of a visitor to her wretched, bleak prison.
“Good lord, woman! Would you be quiet?”
Never expecting anyone to check on her, she was surprised by the unexpected male voice, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Shut your mouth, or I will be forced to shut it for you.”
She clamped her jaw together so hard her teeth rattled inside her head.
“Thank you,” the exasperated man said. “Your racket is giving the crew a headache.”
“Hmpf. It serves you right for tying up and imprisoning a helpless woman. God alone knows how long I’ve been your prisoner, or what you are planning on doing with me.”
“You’ve been down here less than an hour, and you’re going to stay here until the captain is ready to speak with you.” He helped her into a sitting position and removed the blindfold from her eyes. Soft light from above had her squinting as her eyes adjusted to the murky blackness below deck. When at last she could see, she found herself staring into the haggard eyes of a man past his prime. Judging by the thinning pate of gray hair and the lines bracketing his eyes and mouth, he was into his fifth decade.
“An hour? You joke.”
“Lord Newgate brought you aboard about half-six, and it is now a quarter past seven. No more than forty-five minutes have passed.”
“More like an eternity.”
“I am aware, as is anyone who retains working eardrums.” A tight grimace contorted his weathered face, and he shook his head. “I’m not supposed to do this, but it isn’t right keeping you down here. If I untie you, will you promise not to scream again or try to escape?”
She thrust her joined hands in front of her. “You may untie me now.”
He took a knife from his boot and sliced through the rope. She snatched back her hands and rubbed the tender skin. “Thank you. Now would you be good enough to direct me toward the nearest chamber pot?”
“There’s one in the corner over there. I’ll turn my back while you take care of your business.”
She gasped. “You are not leaving?”
“So you can get into mischief down here by yourself? No, thank you.” He jerked his head toward the corner. “Go on. I promise not to peek.”
Standing, she eyed the older man and tried to judge his intentions. He rose and turned his back. She waited for several seconds to ensure he didn’t try to trick her and turn around once she was occupied, but he kept his word. Scurrying like the rodents who had befriended her, she found the chamber pot where he had told her it would be and concluded her business. Several minutes passed before she was once more presentable. “You may turn around now. I am done. What is your name, kind sir?”
“You can call me Jones.”
“I am Lady Evelyn Westby.” In spite of the less than civilized accommodations, good manners were essential, even when addressing a less than respectable seaman. She curtsied. “Thank you, Jones, for coming to my aid. Now, please take me to the captain. I would like to conduct my business with him and be on my way.”
Instead of complying with her request, he gave her a hard, round object, and she took it with equal parts dread and eagerness. “Here, eat this.”
“What is it?”
“Hardtack. It doesn’t taste like much, but it will stop the gnawing hunger for a while.”
With a delicate nibble, she broke off a bite. He was right. It was tasteless and hard, but saliva pooled from the texture of actual food. She devoured the hard biscuit in a matter of seconds.
“Do you know why I am here?”
“I do, though I am not supposed to say.”
All she said was, “Please.” Maybe it was the tone of her voice or the pleading look in her eyes. Maybe it was because Jones didn’t like how they had tied her up, but he capitulated.
“You’ve angered some powerful people. Seems as though you took some property not belonging to you, and they want it back.”
“I have never stolen anything in my life.” She bristled and was insulted by the insinuation she had stooped to stealing.
“Not even money?”
She remembered the borrowed banknotes she had found in the room next to her father’s study. As soon as she returned home, she had every intention of returning the full amount. The implication of Jones’s account sank in. What if they weren’t Father’s? The blood drained from her head, and she wobbled. Jones grabbed hold of her arm and steadied her. “I did, but I assumed it was my father’s or else I never would have taken it.”
“Let’s hope you can convince the captain. Otherwise, I don’t know what’s going to become of you.”
She slumped to the floor, the piece of hardtack churning in her stomach and threatening to reappear. Jones knelt beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, miss. I s
houldn’t have told you.”
“No, I asked, and you told me what I needed to know. I thank you for your honesty.”
A voice from above called down below. “Oy! Jones! The captain’s ready for her. Bring ’er up!”
“Can I take you to the captain now, miss?”
Without a word, she took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her above deck to meet the captain.
****
Had Jones not told her it was nearing eight o’clock, Evie would have guessed much later. Rain clouds had almost blackened the horizon, and the sea churned up and over itself. Restless and wild, cresting waves threatened to charge overboard and swamp the deck and the hustling crew. A sudden lurch and roll of the ship caused her footing to slip, but Jones grasped her with his gnarled, weathered hands and ensured she did not fall. They stopped their precarious march in front of a small group of men. Lord Newgate was amongst them, with two other men, and fresh anger at his treatment shook her from head to toe. Jones squeezed her arm in silent warning, knowing her tendency for rash behavior, and she calmed, having no wish to further anger the captain.
Of the two unidentified men, she had no difficulty spotting the captain. The other unknown man, though older and the more likely candidate for the important role of captain, was not in charge. He lacked a certain aura of command. While the captain was physically less intimidating, his confident bearing and arrogant demeanor compensated for any physical differences he might have had. Lord Newgate and the other man deferred to him, too. She watched, fascinated as he squelched an argument between the two men with a flick of his fingers. His power was undeniable, and fear lumped in her throat. She stared at him in morbid curiosity; he held her fate in his hands.
There was something odd, almost familiar, about his mannerisms and style of dress. Attired in dark breeches, double-breasted tailcoat, and golden epaulets, he was more fashionable than the others on this ship. He almost appeared effeminate, and had they never met before, she would have sworn she recognized the captain’s uniform. Perhaps she had seen its likeness in a painting. Most captains must dress similarly, and that’s why it looks familiar.
Silence Is Golden Page 16