EscapeWithMe (8 page)

“He’s different when you’re around. I’m not the one who
killed my mother.”

It was rare that twice in one day Ryder would wish to make
another man bleed. Only because it was an old wound did he resist rising to
Phillip’s bait.

Ryder let out a deep breath and they both remained silent
for a moment. Phillip donned his coat and then picked at it as they jostled
along down the street. Eventually, he was satisfied with his appearance and
threaded his fingers together.

“If you’re not going to turn me in, what shall you do?”

Ryder looked out the window at the dark streets. “I shall
need any ledgers or notes of all your business dealings, whether legitimate or
not.”

“What good would that do?”

He spoke to the roof of the coach. “Do you have them or
not?”

“I do, but my bookkeeper disappeared more than a month ago.
Without him…” Ryder looked at his brother, who was rubbing the bridge of his
nose. “I was lost without him, and nothing in the ledgers made sense.”

“Give me the name of your bookkeeper and his last known
whereabouts. I’ll attempt to bring him to ground. I shall require the ledgers
in your possession.”

“Very well. They are in my desk at my apartment.”

“Inform Oliver of the address and lend him your key. I’ll
have him retrieve the books.”

Phillip set his elbows upon his knees. “What do you intend,
Ryder?”

“To arrange future shipments and see that they arrive
without interference from the preventatives,” Ryder said. His brother’s head
jumped up. “No doubt several trips will be required to resolve both your debts
and those of the business.”

“Are you serious?” Phillip spluttered. “My brother, the
simple-minded soldier?”

“I am quite serious.”

“What do you know of accounting or distribution? What
experience have you in anything to do with Father’s business?”

Ryder frowned. “Unlike you, I have friends in the right
places and far more experience with shipping. I doubt you know the first thing
about sailing despite your self-assigned rank of captain.”

“Is that it then? You’re here to succeed where I have
failed? Have you come to guarantee that Father loves you best before he dies?”

Ryder’s temper snapped. His hand shot out and laid a hard
slap across his brother’s face. Phillip’s surprise was a slack-jawed,
shuddering exhalation of pain. When he brought his hand back, Ryder was shaking
with rage. The pain of old wounds never truly faded, it seemed. He raised one
pointed finger.

“So help me, Phillip…” When his brother made eye contact
with him, he settled once again in his seat and folded his hands in his lap.
“Would you rather I sacrifice you to the tenacious Mr. Webb?” His brother
looked out the window, saying nothing.

Ryder sighed. “I am not here for any selfish purpose…and
despite your own selfish nature, I do love you.”

His brother smiled nervously and made a noise of disbelief.
“Astonishing.”

“I shall do whatever it takes to clear your name and your
debts.”

Phillip leaned forward and his face was illuminated on one side
by the lights of a house as they passed. His tired, gaunt expression was almost
gruesome. “Even risk your own freedom?”

Ryder didn’t answer.

Chapter Five

Sam woke early, nearly an hour before sunrise. Only for a
second did she think she was in her apartment. The bed was too uneven and
smelled unfamiliar. The window was in the wrong place and the room was way too
small. When she shifted to her side, she felt a twinge between her legs and a
flash of memory made her chest ache. What would become of her now?

She stayed abed for a short while as she didn’t know how to
light a candle. Were there even matches? Or would she need pieces of flint?
Wasn’t that dangerous? She considered using the bell pull to get Mary, but fell
asleep before she could decide.

The sky had brightened when she opened her eyes again.
Sitting up slowly, she kept the blanket close about her and looked through the
open curtains. The building across the street was too tall to see beyond, but
the sky above it was smoky from the belching of hundreds of chimneys throughout
the city. It was like trying to look through a dirty screen door.

Using the chamber pot was uncomfortable to say the least—and
unsanitary—but she did her best with a hand towel and a basin of stagnant
water. After removing the chair from under the door, she then played the
waiting game and passed the time by watching the activity on the street below,
which was a replay of the previous morning with its menagerie of city-goers.

Thankfully, she only waited half an hour before a quiet
knock sounded on the door. It could be only one person.

“Come in.” The door unlocked and opened. Mary poked her head
in. Her dark hair was still messy under her cap.

“I knew you’d be awake.” The door swung open and she
entered, bearing a tray with a plate of food. A robe hung over her arm. She set
the tray on the vanity and hung the robe over the back of the chair.

“I don’t have much time. Eat and I’ll make up the bed.”

“Sure,” Sam said. She sat on the stool and took a second to
inspect her food—a thick slice of soft bread drizzled with honey, two
hard-boiled eggs and a steaming cup of tea. Thankfully, the bread seemed fresh.
She wasn’t so sure about the eggs.

“Thanks for this,” she said as she brought the bread to her
mouth. She watched in the mirror as Mary pushed the bedclothes aside and
smoothed the sheet over the mattress. The maid looked upset. Her face was tight
and her head shook as though she were disagreeing with herself. She made a trip
to the other side of the bed and tugged the blankets into place. Sam could hear
her muttering.

“What’s wrong?”

Mary looked at Sam’s reflection. “I…I shouldn’t say. Mrs.
Hayes hates it when I do.” She smoothed the blankets. “I’m not clean like you,
miss. Don’t listen to me.”

“I’m not like Mrs. Hayes and you’re not unclean. You can
tell me.”

Wringing her hands, the maid returned to the other side of
the bed. In a couple of tugs, the bed was made but she continued to smooth the
blankets.

“It’s probably nothing, miss. I just hear this…spirit and it
tells me things. Most of it makes no sense.”

Sam felt as if she were stuck in that damn corset again.
“What does it say?”

Mary gave up on her task and sat on the bed. “It talks about
animals and always in rhyme. Does a dove mean anything to you?” The invisible
corset tightened. Sam turned around on the stool.

“I’m the dove, I think.” Mary let out a breath of relief,
her eyes blinking rapidly.

“I thought you might be. It told me that the dove would
escape its cage tonight, only to be caught in another. It talks to me enough
that I know who the mistress is, and…and the master.” Sam didn’t like the fear
in Mary’s face. “He’ll hurt me. He’ll hurt both of us.”

Sam rounded the corner of the bed and sat next to Mary.
“What else did it say?”

“It told me to help when I could, that this was the last
night I’d spend in the cage.”

She grasped Mary’s hands. “Did it say why the dove was
here?”

“Here? In the house?”

In 1783
, but she couldn’t say that. Mary wouldn’t
understand. Sam sure as hell didn’t. “In London.”

“I don’t remember the words exactly,” she said. “It was
something about a reunion and lost love.”

Confused, Sam stared at her hands tight around Mary’s and
tried to pick out the meaning she needed. “Did it say who I’m supposed to
reunite with?”

Mary shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I never
really know what it means. I’ve tried asking, but it doesn’t answer.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged, though she had more hope now than
any time since waking up in that attic. She knew she was brought here for a
reason, to do something important.

“Does it talk to you too?” Mary asked. Sam looked at the
maid’s quivering lip, heard the desperation in her voice. Mary needed to know
she wasn’t crazy. Well, Sam wasn’t sure if the both of them weren’t, but Mary
didn’t have to hear that.

“Yes, but not in the same way.” She touched her locket,
which Mary seemed to notice for the first time. Mary pointed at it with an open
mouth.

“That,” she whispered. “I understand better. That is your
life. I—I don’t know how, but that necklace is your life. Don’t ever take it
off, miss. It binds you here.”

Sam nodded soberly. “When did you start hearing this voice?”

The maid’s voice was small. “Ever since the baby.”

“Peter?”

Mary nodded wordlessly. Who was the father, Sam wondered.
She hugged Mary, more for the maid than herself.

“We’ll get through this. It told you so.”

“I’ve stayed too long.” Mary pulled back and stood. She
reached for the robe on the nearby chair and handed it to Sam. “This is for you
as well. Best eat up while I take care of the chamber pot.”

“Where are my regular clothes?”

“I really have very little time, Miss Samantha.” Not wanting
to get her in trouble, Sam returned to the tray of food while Mary tidied up
the room.

The eggs tasted fresh enough and as Sam gulped down the last
of the tea, Mary peeked out the door to see if the coast was clear. She then
turned back to Sam.

“You can be about the house now, but Mr. Hull is keeping his
eyes on you. Stay in here and be quiet.” She fetched the tray from the vanity.

“What do you mean?”

“He’d make up any excuse, Miss Samantha. He’d lie to Mrs.
Hayes and she’d believe him. She always does. Just keep out of sight and stay
quiet.”

Sam swallowed hard. “Sure.”

Mary pressed her lips together in concern and then opened
the door. “I’ll be back later.” She then left, shutting the door behind her.

The day went by excruciatingly slow even though her thoughts
did much to distract her. People-watching became boring after an hour. Only
once did anyone on the street even notice her sitting at the window. A man on a
horse happened to look up and he tipped his hat at her before his horse trotted
on.

Her brief conversation with Mary replayed endlessly in her
mind, but she came no closer to understanding her purpose in 1783. Rather, she
clutched her locket protectively and wondered with dread what would happen if
Mrs. Hayes ever tried to confiscate it.

She didn’t have the guts to take off her necklace and find
out.

It seemed forever until Mary returned with lunch. Again, she
only stayed a few minutes. Sam asked after her clothing, but Mary hadn’t found
time to look for them.

An hour after Mary left, Sam sat at the vanity and stared at
the unchanged inscription on the back of the locket when heavy footfalls came
up the stairs. Her heart shrank. She looked to her bedroom door where the chair
was braced beneath the handle.

That it was Mr. Hull was unmistakable. She was absolutely
still as he approached her room. She didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. Mr.
Hull stopped at her door and she prayed he wouldn’t try the handle. For a
terrifying moment, he just stood there outside her room. Was he listening?
Fantasizing?

The door of the next room opened. Sam hadn’t met her
neighbor, but she had heard the woman coughing occasionally last night. The
woman yelped when she saw Mr. Hull in the hallway. “Mr. Hull,” she said. “I-I’m
not well today.” Sam heard him walk away from her door.

“I’m not well,” the woman repeated plaintively. She and Mr.
Hull entered the woman’s room. It wasn’t long before the sounds of sex
penetrated the wall separating the rooms. Sam covered her ears, tears swimming
in her eyes.

When Mr. Hull left, those heavy feet thumping back
downstairs, Sam listened to the utter silence in the next room, and she knew
that it wouldn’t be long before Mr. Hull got her alone.

She needed to get out of this house.

* * * * *

“Here’s to you, lieutenant.” Kelter clunked his glass
against Ryder’s. The man smiled gleefully, likely envisioning all the king’s
pictures he would pocket. Kelter then downed the entire glass and dribbled onto
his shirt. Not to be outdone, Ryder put back his glass. Kelter slapped Ryder’s
shoulder. “Haha! That’s the spirit.”

When Ryder could focus his eyes again, he leaned toward his
acquaintance and lowered his voice. “When can I expect to hear from you, my
good man?”

“At least a week, sir, if not two. Can take awhile to rally
up that many men.”

“Two weeks is excellent. I knew I could count on you and—”
Ryder looked beyond Kelter at the empty seat where MacKenzie had been sitting.
“Where’s he gone?”

Kelter’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively. “Off to occupy the
lovely Danielle, but I’ll pass along your regards, sir.”

“I shall soon enjoy a similar diversion,” Ryder said smugly.
“A ginger-pated American named Samantha.” The mere thought of her in that
diaphanous chemise and those red stockings had him adjusting his seat. He
motioned to the barmaid to refill his friend’s drink.

His former crewmate sniggered. “You don’t look like a man
who’d lay with a buttered bun. You keeping a mistress?”

“I’ve more discerning taste, yes. I’ll not settle for any
old cat, especially Danielle now that I am aware of the sort of men with whom
she lies.”

Kelter’s laugh was a long, shuddering wheeze. The barmaid
leaned down with fresh beer and Kelter sat back with a smile. “You’re a good
woman, Eliza.” The barmaid giggled and lightly slapped his hand when he placed
it upon her generous posterior.

Once she had left the table, Kelter took a large swig from
his glass. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sir. That man Webb isn’t after a
bit of grease in the palm. He wants to hang your brother, though I’d wager he’d
take you instead.”

“Then I am very grateful to have you as a friend, Kelter,
and I will heed your warning.” Ryder stood and dropped a coin on the table for
Kelter’s drinks. “With that, I am off for fairer company.”

“Thank you kindly, lieutenant.” His friend saluted him with
his half-empty glass and Ryder made his way to the door. “Let’s hope your
American mort is not Frenchified, for neither country does well with England.”

Ryder quit the public house knowing very well that Samantha
did not suffer the Covent Garden ague. He had never chosen his lovers
impulsively and that included her. More importantly, he had been her first
lover.

The unbidden thought of another man ever lying with her,
burying his face in her fragrant hair or grasping the mounds of her breasts as
he ploughed between her thighs…it made his hands clench until they ached. Why
did she affect him so? Samantha’s circumstances were not rare—a destitute
maiden in London had little other choice unless she had friends or relations
upon which to impose, yet for the tenth time that day, he regretted the manner
in which he had left her.

With a frown, he nodded at Oliver and climbed into the
coach.

A night with her was all the time he could spare. Tracking
down the bookkeeper was essential, for none amongst his associates were learned
enough to make sense of the man’s shorthand. He also had to forge new alliances
with London merchants willing to fence the contraband and do so carefully if
Webb watched him as closely as Kelter believed. More than a single smuggling
run would be required to pay off Phillip’s debts, and Ryder still intended to
pursue his own investigation in Lydd regarding Carter’s death.

Even so, those steady eyes that saw through him. Those full
lips that curled secretively. He had no doubt that he would take her again, no
matter what intentions or regrets he harbored, but afterward…

“Sir?”

Ryder snapped to attention. He looked out the window and
realized they had arrived at Mrs. Hayes’ nunnery. Oliver had pulled out the
steps and opened the coach door.

“I must have been lost in thought.” He stepped down to the
street.

“Sir,” his coachman said noncommittally. Ryder fit his hat
upon his head while Oliver folded the steps and closed the coach door.

“I give you leave to refresh yourself wherever you like,
Oliver. Return for me in two hours’ time.”

“Ha!” With high eyebrows, Ryder turned to find a scowl on
his driver’s face. “Two hours?” he asked. “I’ll be at the Shakespeare’s Head if
you need me.” Oliver climbed up to his perch. “Only a very tempting piece would
have you visiting a place such as this.” He gestured dismissively at the house
as he picked up the reins. “If the lady is so tempting, two hours is not
enough.”

Oliver slapped the reins and was off.

“Never seen a servant set down his master before,” a deep
voice said. Ryder turned to see Mr. Hull at his usual post beside the front
door. He pulled a cigar from his vest pocket.

“I am as shocked as you,” Ryder said with a chuckle.

“And I suppose you’re here to see the new whore?” Mr. Hull
wedged the unlit cigar between his teeth. Ryder’s smile fell. “Mrs. Hayes wants
to speak to you first.”

“Of course she does.”

Mr. Hull opened the door and went in first. “Wait here.” He
disappeared into a salon on the left, where other patrons and at least half a
dozen harlots enjoyed various diversions. A
mademoiselle
and her client
were locked in an amorous embrace on a settee in the rear of the room.