The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  Like a top, Saunders wobbled unsteadily and then righted himself. He ignored Renfrew and Caroline, staring at Rebecca with an inhuman glint. He tightened his grip on the hummingbird dagger and advanced toward her with increasing speed.

  Behind him, Caroline grabbed up the pistol and fired at Saunders.

  The ball shot wide, but it and the simultaneous shout from the door threw him off-kilter. One leg remained true but the other skidded through the slippery blood from the trader’s wound. He hit the floor in a sprawl, half kneeling. But the momentum pitched him forward and he put his arm out to protect his face. He hit the floor hard, twitched, and then lay still.

  Rebecca looked up at the doorway. James and Brant. A finer sight she had never seen.

  One moment she was on the ground, the next she was in James’ arms. “Risely,” she said in a shaky whisper as he held her tight. “Risely. Elizabeth is at Risely Hall. She’s wounded.”

  “Davis!” James shouted over his shoulder, still holding Rebecca close. “Send someone to Risely for Elizabeth immediately! She’s been hurt. Tell Lord Hanton!” Turning back, James touched their foreheads together, breathing deeply. “Soon, my love. All will be well very soon.” Her body molded to his and she lost sense of time. She didn’t want to think anymore. Couldn’t think anymore.

  All too soon, noise broke through her fog. All too soon they had to return to a warehouse full of boxes and men in blue uniforms.

  Four constables hauled Renfrew from the floor while he struggled and shouted his innocence. He accused Saunders’ of coercion, but his words fell on deaf ears and he was dragged to the outer warehouse without any deference to his title.

  James led Rebecca in a slow, solemn procession to the door, ahead of Caroline and Dr. Brant. Just before Rebecca stepped across the threshold, she looked back. Saunders had been flipped over and now lay on the floor faceup. Inspector Davis saw her glance their way and, with a sharp command, ordered the peelers to obstruct her view.

  But they had not moved fast enough.

  Rebecca had seen what he had tried to shield her from.

  For a brief moment everything else had ceased to exist. Her eyes had locked on the menacing beauty of the hummingbird dagger. The dark wood hilt curved into the body that had once been Saunders. The long bill that had been fashioned to drink the nectar of life had done its job again. Blood wept to form a puddle beneath him, blending and mixing with the trader’s blood that had been his doom.

  Rebecca laid her head on James’ shoulder and together they left the warehouse and hummingbird dagger behind forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Aftermath

  Despite the number of persons ensconced in the drawing room of the Brant London townhouse, the silence was overwhelming. Rebecca glanced at Caroline sitting next to Dr. Brant, and James, who was glassy-eyed, leaning on the mantel. She wanted to say something witty to distract all from their worries, but her thoughts were muddled and dominated by questions about Elizabeth—her safety and whereabouts. Only a knock at the front door roused them from their lethargy.

  They had returned the day before with smiles and light hearts, ready to celebrate having survived the horrors at the warehouse. But no sooner had they started to relive their experiences, than the lack of knowledge about Elizabeth had torn them asunder. A long evening and a sleepless night had followed.

  “All is well!” a voice shouted from the doorway as it slammed open.

  Lord Hanton stood beneath the frame, his chin up, his chest puffed out, and a wide smile on his face. He strode into the room, took Rebecca’s hands in his own, and pulled her to her feet. “Elizabeth is safe at Hardwick. I just received word … from a Derrick Strickland.”

  Rebecca squealed her happiness in a most indelicate way and was about to beg everyone’s pardon, when she heard Caroline do the same—and then James hurrahed. Suddenly, the room was full of noise, voices, and laughter.

  “Pack, everyone, pack!” Lord Hanton ordered. “We are Welford bound.” Then he gulped and turned to look at James. “If you are amenable, of course.”

  James smiled broadly and glanced at Rebecca. “Absolutely.”

  “Excellent, excellent! I shall follow directly.” Lord Hanton nodded.

  * * *

  REBECCA SPENT THE entire journey back to Hardwick Manor trying to recall her sister. Disjointed memories came in spits and spurts without any continuity, leaving Rebecca as befuddled as ever. When the carriage finally drew up in front of Hardwick, Rebecca stepped into the manor anticipating an uncomfortable reunion. She found Elizabeth in the morning room, lying on the settee, a collection of pillows behind her back. A scarf was wrapped around her neck, a cup of tea sat on the table at her elbow, and a light throw covered her legs.

  “Rebecca!” Elizabeth’s voice was scratchy and strained but her smile offered a full welcome.

  Rebecca stood in the doorway of the morning room and stared. One moment the girl on the settee was a stranger, the next she was Elizabeth: sister, friend, and companion. A rush of memories crowded into her mind, and suddenly Rebecca’s life before Hardwick was returned to her. It was so abrupt and so unexpected that Rebecca stumbled, nearly tripping. Righting herself, she reached for the wall beside her for support and dragged in a ragged breath. She stood for some moments trying to still her racing heart. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  Scenes of running down a country lane together as young girls, discovering a frog in the garden, their first horseback riding lessons, and countless other memories streamed past her mind’s eye. Some recollections were of happy days, others were of them squabbling, and still others of the pranks they played on their brothers. They were the best of friends or the fiercest of enemies depending on the day. However, there was no doubt about their deep affection for each other.

  “Elizabeth,” she croaked, and then rushed across the room. Rebecca dropped to her knees in front of her sister and wrapped her arms around her. She was thin and frail, and Rebecca worried that she might be squeezing too tightly, but Elizabeth clung to her until they both broke into sobs.

  Eventually Rebecca stood, grabbed a nearby chair, and pulled it beside the settee.

  “There is so much to say I almost don’t know where to start,” she said.

  Elizabeth smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Then I’ll start first.”

  Behind them, James sighed with great relief and quietly closed the door to offer them some privacy.

  * * *

  A TALL YOUNG man, who looked remarkably like Rebecca, stared at James from the bottom of the stairs. He held on to the banister as if in need of support.

  “Matthew Hanton, I presume,” James said, putting out his hand to greet him. “I am James Ellerby. Your father told me you were in Welford Mills.”

  “Did he come with you? Is he here?”

  “Not as yet,” James said with a smile. “He will be here tomorrow. Just a few things to clear up in town.” Not as frivolous as it sounded, Lord Hanton was verifying Mr. Renfrew’s arrest. “I’m sure he will set off directly. He is anxious to see Elizabeth.”

  The young man shifted. “Yes, I imagine so.” He placed a walking stick in front of him and wobbled forward.

  “Oh,” James said, “I didn’t … here, let me help.” He took Matthew’s arm, offering support and led him to … “Where are we going?”

  Matthew chuckled. “I was in the drawing room when I heard the commotion of your arrival.” He glanced at the closed morning room door. “I should probably return there.”

  But before he could start up the stairs, Caroline and Brant stepped through the front door.

  “There is no need.” Caroline said as she turned toward her brother. “Is there, James? Dr. Brant need not hurry back to Kirkstead-on-Hill. He should join us … Oh, hello,” Caroline addressed the stranger in their midst. “James told me we had guests. Would you be Matthew Hanton?”

  When all the introductions were made, James and Brant helped Matthew up
the stairs and they were soon relaxing in the drawing room. Mrs. Fogel promised tea and cakes.

  “And where might Walter be?” James asked, looking around. He was surprised that Walter had not met them at the door. Matthew shrugged.

  “I am here!” a pompous voice called out. “I was out with Henry, touring the neighborhood. Checking on our incarcerated villains. Making sure that all was well.” And then he added as an afterthought, “Got to keep Henry busy; don’t want him stewing about his uncle.” He flopped onto one of the chairs by the fireplace.

  Caroline nodded. “And might you enlighten us about how you came to find Elizabeth? Your note only said that you had.”

  Walter explained, describing the circumstances of Miss Elizabeth’s rescue in such florid detail that he was rather pleased with the expressions of horror on the faces of his nearest and dearest. He also told them that Elizabeth needed the special talents of Dr. Brant. Mr. Strickland had prescribed various potions, but her recovery would be better assured with the care of the good physician.

  Walter was also pleased to report that Mr. Strickland had taken the protesting coachman and dazed builder into custody. He praised the deputy’s keen sense of logic and curiosity that had sent him rushing to the new ruins upon hearing the reverberation of the pistol shot. If he had not been so timely, Greg Brill would have escaped and their feelings of accomplishment would have been tempered.

  In the midst of the celebrations, Matthew Hanton explained his presence in Welford with some amusement. It seems his suspicions of the Ellerby involvement began with the report of a Miss Dobbins staying at Hardwick under mysterious circumstances. Matthew had been dispatched to verify if Miss Dobbins was indeed one his sisters, only to arrive after she had left for London.

  “I would not have left you to handle all this on your own,” James said to Walter. “Had I known…”

  “But I did just fine, James.” Walter winked saucily at his sister. “I rescued Elizabeth and prevented the villains from getting away. Not bad for a day’s work.”

  James chuckled and nodded. “Too true, Walter. Not bad at all.”

  * * *

  NOT ALL THE Welford Mills’ homecomings were pleasant. Mrs. Thompson’s discomfort was extreme, for not only would she now have to live with the shame of her brother’s actions, but the realization that all those around her would know of it. Gilbert Renfrew had been found guilty of kidnapping and was being transported to Australia.

  James, after turning one and twenty, journeyed with Lord Hanton into town to ensure the successful repeal of the letters of marque—legalized privateers would soon be at an end.

  Upon their return from London, a small gathering was held to celebrate the event.

  It was a congenial affair, held in the saloon of Hardwick Manor. For Henry’s sake, the Thompsons had been invited; while Henry was happy to join the celebration, Mrs. Thompson declined. The company bore the loss well.

  * * *

  WALTER GREETED HENRY at the front door, and then led him into the saloon. The boys strutted in a style that had become less common for them now. However, it was one of those days and they were doing it up proud. And with a touch of panache, the boys were clothed in the same wild waistcoats and jackets as the day of the accident.

  James rose and greeted Henry as they entered the room. But just as Henry was about to perch himself on the settee, he found Lord Ellerby staring at his waistcoat.

  “Lord Ellerby?” Henry’s eyebrows met above his nose.

  James smiled and fingered one of the silver buttons on Henry’s waistcoat. “You are missing one.” He pointed to the last buttonhole, conspicuously empty. And then seeing Henry’s discomfort, patted him on the shoulder. “I have it.” He laughed and with great enjoyment turned to Rebecca. “I thought that it was a clue at one time.”

  Rebecca tilted her head and smiled. Sitting on the settee beside her in an apricot high-necked gown, Elizabeth whispered a comment that brought Rebecca to blush and then she too laughed with the company.

  James felt great comfort in the sound. He loved Rebecca’s laugh, and now it was unrestrained. Gone were the shadows; they had been banished—banished and replaced with childhood memories. Even her nightmares were milder and fewer. It was likely that they would soon disappear entirely. It was a comforting thought.

  Someone cleared their throat. And then again, louder.

  James turned.

  A woman stood at the saloon door, dressed in the latest fashions, with a tall ostrich plume tucked into her turban. Her shoulders were back and her chin was in the air; she exuded poise and hauteur.

  “We have guests? Are we having a party?” she asked, looking with a quizzical gaze. She stared at one face after another as the room became quiet and still. “Did I miss something? Something important?”

  Caroline stepped forward. “No, Mother, nothing out of the ordinary.”

  At Caroline’s denial, the room burst into laughter and the chatter resumed. A good time was had by all well into the night.

  After

  The next morning, Rebecca raced to the drawing room, bursting through the door with no ceremony or announcement. She stopped and looked around, knowing that James was waiting for her; the butler had said as much. The room seemed empty until Rebecca saw a figure standing very still by the glass doors that led out to the terrace.

  “James,” she said, her voice a sigh of contentment as much as recognition. She stepped closer, swaying her hips in what she hoped was an enticing manner. And yet James had not spoken, not moved … still as a statue. A very handsome statue. A very handsome, well-dressed statue.

  Clothed formally in a morning coat with a red-striped waistcoat and charcoal-gray trousers, James looked stunning and … well, uncomfortable. It was odd to see him less than confident. He had a fistful of flowers in one hand and a small piece of paper in the other.

  Finally, he moved. He shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “Good morning, Rebecca,” he said in a formal tone, then lifted the bouquet toward her. “These are for you.”

  “They are beautiful,” Rebecca gushed, taking the flowers and holding them to her nose. “And they smell divine.”

  James returned to his statue stance.

  Frowning, Rebecca laid the flowers gently on a nearby table and approached James. “Is all well?” she asked, standing only a few feet away.

  “Yes,” he said woodenly and then glanced down at the paper in his hand. “I wanted to speak with you.”

  “Yes.” Rebecca giggled. “It would seem so.”

  “We have something of great importance to discuss.” He took a deep breath and lifted the paper again, this time reading. “I know it is perhaps too early and that the stresses of these past days have just been resolved … no, no, that doesn’t sound right.” He shook his head and ran his finger down the paper. “I practiced this for hours and yet, I’m still not doing it right.”

  “What, exactly, are you doing?” Rebecca asked, smiling encouragement.

  “Proposing.” He ignored her gasp and continued. “But I cannot help—no, cannot resist … yes, that sounds better. I cannot help … resist making our attachment official—”

  “James.”

  “So I would suggest … no, I would ask. There, that’s better, don’t you think?” He gulped and drew another ragged breath and finally looked up at her.

  “James, you know how I feel about you. I have not hidden my feelings.”

  He blinked and then nodded. “Yes, but it is still not a given that you would want to spend the rest of your days with me. That you would marry me.”

  “Yes, it is.” Rebecca leaned closer, plucked the note from his hand, and tossed it behind her. “Now, try again.”

  “But, but … I need my note. I had it all written out. Quite eloquent, if I could just read properly.”

  “You don’t need to be eloquent. Just tell me how you feel.”

  “But … but … are you certain? A lady should have a perfect propos
al. Something to remember all her life.”

  “I don’t need perfection, James, just you. But I can’t say yes if you do not ask the question.”

  With a snicker of self-deprecation, James shook and then nodded his head. He licked his lips, shifted his balance from one leg to the other once again, opened his mouth and then blurted it out—the most beautiful words she had ever heard.

  “I love you, Rebecca. You are in my thoughts from the moment I awake until the moment I sleep. I want to be at your side throughout life, the good times and the bad. You are my strength and I would like to be yours. Will you marry me?”

  Rebecca closed her eyes and sighed very deeply. “That was perfection.” There was a dreamy expression on her face when she opened her eyes again. Wrapping her arms around James’ neck, Rebecca lifted her face, expecting a kiss.

  But James hesitated.

  “James? Why are we not kissing?”

  “I thought an answer first was in order.”

  His breath brushed across her lips, sending tingles down her spine.

  “Of course.” Rebecca laughed and stood on her toes, again waiting for her kiss.

  “Do you mean of course you think an answer is in order? Or do you mean of course you will marry me?”

  “James, kiss me! We’ll work out the semantics later … perhaps after we are married.”

  James laughed and pulled her tighter. Lifting Rebecca off her feet, he twirled her around the room. And then, he kissed her.

  Finally.

  HISTORICAL NOTE:

  Separating Fact from Fiction

  LETTERS OF MARQUE authorized the attack and capture of enemy ships by civilian vessels. The sailors and licensed ships were called privateers, and it was considered an honorable and patriotic occupation at the onset. The privateers’ heyday took place during the Renaissance; they did not lose their respectability until the 1830s. Still, the practice of using the letters of marque to legitimize piracy was not renounced until 1856 by the Paris Declaration.