Unconquered (38 page)

“No, thank you, m’lord Dunham. I am very happy to have my own identity back. The quicker Anne and I can have a public courtship, the quicker our marriage can be announced. You do understand, Jared?”

“Yes, Jon.”

“Anne?” queried a totally confused Adrian. “Who is Anne?”

“Mistress Anne Bowen.”

“The vicar’s daughter? Do you know her?”

“Quite well, Adrian. In fact we were married a month ago by a special license. Since, however, Jonathan Dunham was not officially in England a month ago, let alone personally acquainted with Mistress Anne Bowen, we must begin at the beginning for public observation.”

At that moment Captain Ephraim Snow was ushering into the main salon of the
Dream Witch
the English Ambassador’s secretary, Mr. Morgan, and an official in the Tzar’s police. “Brandy, gentlemen?” Both men nodded. Captain Snow filled the snifters full, and passed them around. “Well,” he said, “what word do you have for me? Have you found her?”

“Possibly,” replied Mr. Morgan, “but the news, Captain, is not good.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out something and proffered it. “Do you recognize this, Captain?” he asked.

Shocked, Ephraim Snow stared at Miranda’s wedding band. There was simply no mistaking the delicate rose-gold band with its tiny diamond-chip stars. Still, he had to be sure, and so he took the ring from Mr. Morgan’s hand. Inside it was engraved.
Jared to Miranda December 6, 1812
. “It is
her
ring,” he breathed. “No doubt about it.”

Mr. Morgan turned to the burly police official. “This is Nicolai Ivanovich, Captain. He speaks quite good English, and he has questions for you.”

“Please,” the Russian said, reaching into a small leather bag at his side and drawing out a garment, “you recognize this?”

Horrified, Ephraim Snow took the sodden, discolored garment from the man. It was the green-and-white-striped muslin dress Miranda had been wearing several days earlier when she had disappeared. He had had enough suspense, and he was no
fool. The news was bad and he wanted it now. “Tell me the truth, Nicolai Ivanovich,” he said.

The Russian looked at him sadly. “One more question, Captain. Is your mistress a blond lady?” Ephraim Snow nodded. “Then our identification is complete. The body of a blond woman wearing this garment and this ring was pulled from the Neva this morning. Lady Dunham, I regret to tell you, is dead. The unfortunate victim, obviously, of robbery. Was she wearing any other jewelry at the time she left?”

“Yes, yes, of course! She had diamond and pearl earbobs on, and a gold bracelet, her cameo brooch with the diamond, and at least two other rings. I’m not certain what pieces they were, but I am sure she was wearing jewelry.”

“There, Mr. Mogan, I thought so!” said Nicolai Ivanovich with grim satisfaction.

“No,” snapped Captain Snow, “it ain’t simple at all! How the hell do you explain that coach that came for her?”

“I can’t,” said the policeman, “but obviously someone saw her and her jewelry, and made it their business to find out that she was a foreigner, deduced how best to lure her away, and did. This is a painfully unpleasant incident, Captain, but I can only offer the most abject apologies of my government to you.”

Ephraim Snow had dealt with Russians before. They were an obdurate people. They had stated their position on the matter, and not even an act of God would force them to change their mind. Tightlipped, he asked, “May I see the body?”

“I’m afraid not,” came the answer. “We were forced to bury it quite quickly, Captain. It had been in the water several days, and was horribly bloated. Then, too, portions of it, including the face, were eaten away by the fish. We tentatively identified it, and buried it in the English cemetery. I brought the ring and the dress so we might have final identification.”

Sickened, Ephraim Snow nodded his understanding. “Jesus Christ! How am I going to tell this to Master Jared? My God, what kind of animal would murder such a beautiful woman?”

“The Tzar’s government is deeply distressed by this incident, Captain Snow,” said Nicolai Ivanovich sympathetically.

“Perhaps we had best go now, Nicolai Ivanovich,” said Mr. Morgan gently.

“Da! You are right!”

Ephraim Snow called out to them as they reached the door. “I want to up anchor right now. Will you see I ain’t stopped, Nicolai Ivanovich?”

“Da, my friend, and go in safety with the God who watches over all of us.”

On August tenth,
Dream Witch
arrived back at the village of Welland Beach on the English coast. She had encountered heavy seas almost from the moment she had left St. Petersburg, and until she got into the North Sea it had been slow going. For some reason Captain Snow was not surprised to see a familiar figure waiting on the stone quay as he brought the yacht into the safety of her dockage. He sighed, and took a quick swig of black Jamaican rum from the flask in his pocket. It didn’t help.
Dream Witch
was made fast, and Jared Dunham came briskly aboard.

“Hey there, Eph, you’re two days later than I thought you’d be! Where’s that wildcat wife of mine?”

Unable to meet his employer’s gaze, Captain Snow said, “Come on into the main salon, Master Jared.” Not even bothering to wait for a reply, he walked into the ship’s interior. There just wasn’t any easy way to do this, so he turned to face Jared and the words came quickly, tumbling out with brutal force. He ended by shoving Miranda’s wedding ring into Jared’s hand, and then bursting into unashamed sobs. The tears poured down his weathered face into his salt-and-pepper beard while Jared, rigid with shock, stood staring at the gold band, its tiny stars twinkling mockingly at him. Then to Captain Snow’s immense horror Jared Dunham cried, “Damn her! Damn her to
hell
for the wayward bitch she is! Any other woman would have stayed put, but not her!
Not her!
” Violently he jammed the ring into his pocket. “I don’t hold you responsible, Eph,” he said a little more quietly, and then stormed from the yacht.

Striding purposefully down the quay, Jared headed to the Mermaid. Slamming into the inn’s taproom, he called for a bottle of brandy and proceeded to get drunk. Ephraim Snow discreetly followed his employer, sick with worry, but the innkeeper knew a desperate man when he saw one, and had already called Lord Dunham’s servants. When Ephraim Snow entered the inn he saw them: Jared’s valet, Mr. Mitchum; Martin the coachman; and Miranda’s maid, Perky. Ephraim signaled to the three to join him, and then tersely told them of the tragedy.

“God have mercy on her,” sobbed Perky. “She was a good mistress, she was. She wanted everyone about her to be happy.”

“I think,” said Mr. Mitchum, who was the senior servant, “that we had best let his lordship get good and drunk. When he finally collapses we will load him into the coach, and proceed back to Swynford Hall. Lord Dunham’s brother and brother-in-law will know how to handle the situation from there.”

Ephraim Snow nodded. “Sounds like a good idea to me,” he said. “I’ll tag along with you, if you don’t mind, Mr. M.”

“I should be obliged to you for your help, Captain,” came the reply. “It may be a difficult trip back.”

Alfred Mitchum had no idea how really terrible a coach trip could be. Miranda did. During the first few days after her abduction Sasha kept her in a drug-induced sleep. Occasionally she would become aware of the movement of the coach, but the second he caught her returning to consciousness he would force the bitter-tasting water down her throat, and she would tumble back into the dreamless darkness. After some days, in the few moments of lucidity she had, she realized she must stop him from drugging her further. She needed to think out her situation.

The next time she began her perilous return to consciousness she was careful to not alter the rhythm of her breathing, or open her eyes. Gradually her thoughts began to focus, but she had a dreadful headache. Finally, after several hours, she could no longer hold her cramped position, and to Sasha’s surprise she sat up. He quickly reached for the silver flask, but she stayed his hand.

“Please, no more of whatever it is you’ve been giving me. I am your prisoner. I don’t even know where I am.” He looked at her closely. “Please,” she begged softly. “My head is simply throbbing. I promise I’ll give you no trouble.”

“All right,” he said finally. “But a wrong move on your part, and I’ll pour the whole damn flask down your throat.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just tired of playing nursemaid to you. Now I won’t have to diaper you, either. You can take care of your own needs.”

“Oh!” Miranda blushed beet-red.

“Well, hell,” he muttered a little less sharply, “the coach would’ve stunk if I hadn’t taken proper care of you.”

“
Please, sir.
”

He laughed. “Quite the lady, aren’t you? Call me Sasha. Actually I’m Pieter Vladimirnovich, but I’ve always been called Sasha. Your first name is Miranda, I know, but what was your papa’s name?”

“Thomas.”

“Then your proper name is Miranda Thomasova, but I’m going to call you Mirushka.”

“No,” she said, “I am Miranda Dunham, wife to Jared Dunham, the lord of Wyndsong Manor.”

“Were you really his wife? She said you were only his mistress.”

“Who said?”

“Prince Alexei’s mistress, Gillian.”

“Gillian Abbott?”

“Yes. She was an appalling bitch. She said you had stolen Lord Dunham from her, and that he’d be grateful to be rid of you. She said she owed him a favor.”

“Then I have
her
to thank for my current predicament! God, I’ll throttle the bitch myself when I get my hands on her!”

“Easy, easy, Mirushka,” cautioned Sasha, his hand on the silver flask.

For a moment her sea-green eyes flashed angrily, but then she said, “I’m not angry at you, Sasha, but your prince has been very badly misled. Lady Abbott’s reputation in London was not of the best. She always went to the highest bidder, even when poor old Lord Abbott was still alive. Please, Sasha, turn the coach back to St. Petersburg. My husband will reward you for my return.”

“No,” he said. “I saw you first, you know, in the Jew’s store. Jews aren’t usually allowed in St. Petersburg, but this one has the Tzar’s patronage. Besides, they’re good at running shops, and if they didn’t, who would?” He chuckled. “Anyway, I saw you in Bimberg’s. I was there purchasing a pair of lavender kid gloves for the prince’s woman, and you came in with a sea captain.”

“Captain Snow,” she said.

“Alexei Vladimirnovich has been looking for several years for a woman with your coloring. Lucas has the same coloring. The moment I saw you I hurried to tell the prince. He might not have
taken you if his woman hadn’t convinced him that you were an unimportant creature.”

“But in my world I
am
important,” said Miranda, desperately trying to convince him to turn back. “I am a great heiress, I am married to a very important American!”

“America is a long, long way from Russia, Mirushka, and it is a savage, unimportant backwater. America doesn’t matter.”

“My husband’s title is English, Sasha, and my sister is married to a
very
important English milord.”

“Gillian said your sister was in America with your mother.”

“She lied to you, Sasha! Our mama is in America, the wife of a rich and powerful man, but my sister is the Duchess of Swynford and her husband is quite close to the Prince Regent.” As she spoke she wondered if Amanda would appreciate her elevation in rank.

“I suspected she might not be telling the whole truth,” replied Sasha, nodding proudly. “I told the prince so, and on the chance that she was lying he devised a plan so that your disappearance would not be questioned. No matter who you really are, you will not be missed. Your life is now here in Russia on Alexei Vladimirnovich’s slave-breeding farm. You will be very well taken care of, Mirushka. All you must do is have babies.”

I am having some awful kind of nightmare, Miranda thought.

“Why will my disappearance not be questioned, Sasha?”

“Because you are dead,” was the calm reply.

Miranda shuddered, but her voice held not the faintest hint of the panic she was feeling. “I do not understand, Sasha.”

“The prince’s woman, Gillian, let her hair grow and dyed it blond when she escaped from England,” Sasha began. He explained everything to her. When he was through, Miranda sat very still, listening to the rhythmic gall-op, gall-op of the horses as their hooves hit the road.
Dead! Dead! Dead!
went the mocking refrain.
Jared!
she cried out in her mind.
Don’t believe them! Oh, my love, don’t believe them! Don’t believe them! I am alive! I am alive!

“Mirushka, are you all right?” His voice was anxious.

“I am Miranda Dunham, wife to the lord of Wyndsong Manor,” she said. “I am not dead! No one will believe it! Gillian Abbott doesn’t look anything like me!”

“Do you know what a body looks like after several days in the
water with the fish nibbling on it, Mirushka?” She blanched, and he continued. “Besides, who is to connect Alexei Vladimirnovich with your disappearance? You never met except when he took you in his coach, and no one could identify the coach as his. It isn’t like the time with Princess Tumanova’s governess.”

“What do you mean, Sasha?”

“Two years ago,” began Sasha, “my master became quite intrigued with a little French girl who had come to be governess to Princess Tumanova’s children. She was really an exquisite creature, with silky yellow-gold hair and gray eyes. Alexei Vladimirnovich wanted her for Lucas, and so he lured her from St. Petersburg. Unfortunately, the silly girl left her mistress a note. The princess was quite furious, and complained bitterly to the Tzar, who warned the prince that there could be no more scandals concerning the farm. Of course, he didn’t scold my master too harshly, as Alexei Vladimirnovich pays the Romanovs handsome revenues each year. Revenues that come from the farm’s operation.”

“What happened to the French girl?” asked Miranda.

“She’s still at the farm, of course. She fell in love with Lucas, and has borne him two children already. You will love Lucas, too. All his women do. He is a bit simple, but quite sweet-natured.”