Victorian Dream (20 page)

The ruffian stared at the bore of the gun then glared at her. She didn’t know why, but now her hand was rock steady, and with unconscious effort she assumed the stance she’d been taught to use when handling a firearm.

The man snarled in defeat, lowered the knife, and high-tailed it through the crowd. The other two hooligans released Merrick and followed suit. As the weight of the heavy pistol took its toll, she was about to set the weapon aside. Then she recognized another crate of interest.

The markings indicated it came from Persia, and she wagered it contained the magnificent carpet noted on the ship’s manifest. The rug had been specially ordered for one of the richest men in London. He would be furious if anything happened to his long awaited prize, and the buyer sent to collect it for him would be held accountable.

She fired a shot over the bow of the ship, bringing the anarchy to a swift conclusion.

“I’m willing to resume bidding if you will grant me an honest price,” she offered. “I’m also willing to start destroying this entire cargo, beginning with one very expensive carpet.” With the pistol trained dead center on the crate, she awaited their answer.

Clamoring around the table, the buyers were eager to begin again. She sat down, cradling the pistol in her lap. This time, prices soared beyond her wildest imaginings. The exuberant crew sang her praises, and gave her three cheers.

Having completed the paperwork, she wandered over to the seaward side of the great vessel and stood gazing out upon the water. Why had the crowd been so agitated? And who were the men attacking Merrick and encouraging the insurrection? It was all very curious.

As puzzlement faded, she stood taller, and the thrill of victory quickened her pulse. She had held fast, had represented the St.Christopher name with honor. If only Walker had been here to witness her success. Would he have been proud of her? Wish it or not, his opinion mattered to her.

Gripping the rail, she studied the seagulls soaring overhead. Walker had spent near a lifetime viewing the world from the deck of a ship; she could almost feel his presence at her side—see his rugged profile as he faced into the wind.

Where was he? He’d been gone too long. Ire at his absence had once again shifted to concern, leaving her emotions in tatters. Maybe she was overreacting. After all, the man had sailed the world over, and heaven only knew the escapades in which he had engaged. So far he had managed to remain unscathed. Surely, a simple trip to Brighton wouldn’t be his undoing.

****

While Hargis was at work, Walker prowled the immediate vicinity, scrounging for wood and anything else they could burn for fuel.

The process was slow and painful. Simple activities, once taken for granted, took on the dimension of major accomplishments leaving his self-image near as damaged as his body. He couldn’t abide being weak and dependent, it made him feel less of a man.

His outer wounds were healing cleanly, adding three new scars to his collection. But his insides were slower to mend. He’d finally quit urinating blood, thanks to the mysterious concoctions Hargis insisted he drink. Yet while the hours seemed to drag on, the days were flying by. How soon until he was fit to travel?

He tossed a piece of planking into the cart. When he became too downhearted, Hargis cajoled or bullied him out of the doldrums. His friend also countermanded any delusions of grandeur. Yesterday, he proclaimed himself ready to return to London, but Hargis insisted it was too soon. Adamant and overconfident, he’d challenged Hargis to a mock battle. Thoughts of an immediate departure were quickly reversed. But ready or not, he must leave soon.

Back at the shack, he unloaded the burnable material into a box in the corner. He’d failed Trelayne, had let her down, and it tore at his heart, pride, and conscience. His battered body was proof there was danger afoot, a condition he would gladly suffer again if it meant keeping her safe, keeping all eyes on him, but gut instinct told him this wasn’t the case. Grimsby and Lanteen were responsible for this mayhem and murder, he felt it in his broken bones, and now they would list him as dead and turn their attention elsewhere.

“How goes your day, Walker Garrison?’ Hargis greeted, coming home for the evening. “I got a surprise for you.”

Without explanation, he motioned Walker to the abandoned smokehouse behind their hut. When his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Walker saw something hanging from one of the meat hooks attached to the rafters. Close inspection revealed the wriggling object to be a man. He threw Hargis a questioning look.

“I found the lone survivor of the four men who attacked you. It was a hard choice which way to hang him,” Hargis growled, “by the feet or by the neck.”

The cutthroat, trussed like a Christmas goose, revolved upside down, and as he came around full circle, his gaze focused on Walker and his eyes widen in recognition.

“You…you’re dead,” he stuttered.

“Almost,” he countered, drawing closer, the urge for retaliation coursing through his body. “Who hired you to kill me?” he asked, his voice stone-cold, his hands balled into fists.

“Nobody,” the man whined.

“So the four of you were just walking along and it occurred to you it would be a damn good time beating me to a bloody pulp.”

“That’s it, gov’nor, exactly. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

"I’d say lying would come rather natural to a man who would take money for murder.”

“I think he needs encouragement,” Hargis said, starting a fire in the little woodstove. “I hear smoked English pig be very tasty.”

“We Yanks like nothing better,” Walker agreed, going along with the ploy. “Of course, the best meat is cooked long and slow. Why, it could take days to get it just right. Let me lend you a hand so we can close this place up and relax outside in the cool evening air.”

“Good idea, friend. I would rather be tending a red hot forge than be left in here when this fire takes hold.”

“Now wait a bloody minute,” the dangling man shrieked. “You can’t be doin’ this to one of the Queen’s citizens. You cut me down, you foreign devils.”

“Did you hear something?” Hargis asked, cupping one hand to his ear.

“Just a squealing pig-like sound,” Walker replied.

The room was small, the heat fierce, and sweat beaded off all three men as hickory smoke filled the confined area. Walker coughed, setting his ribs to burning and aching, and he and Hargis made for the door. Surprisingly, the man remained silent. Was this no-account actually willing to die rather than reveal his employer? This kind of loyalty, or more likely fear, said something for the man who had hired him.

“I’ll talk,” the rabble relented, his face red as a beet. “Cut me down, for God’s sake, cut me down.”

Hargis raised a questioning brow. At Walker’s nod, he produced a large knife and sliced sideways through the rope. With a thud and a curse, their prisoner dropped to the floor.

After closing down the stove, Hargis kicked and rolled the evil little man closer to the door where all three could breathe easier.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just untie me. Get me out of here.”

“Not yet,” Walker insisted. “Talk first. Then we’ll discuss your accommodations. Who hired the four of you to kill me?”

“Ah, sweet Jesus save me,” the fellow trembled and pleaded. “If I tell you he’ll kill me he will.”

“And I’ll kill you if you don’t tell,” Walker bluffed.

“It was Grimsby what hired us, Bartholomew Grimsby.”

“And for whom does Grimsby work?” Walker asked. A well-aimed prod with the toe of his boot helping matters along.

“He works for Lucien Lanteen. They transport goods and do a bit of smuggling, whatever will turn a profit. Legal or illegal, they don’t much care. And, they ain’t particular about eliminating whoever gets in their way.”

Finally, his suspicions were confirmed, but he felt no relief or satisfaction, rather the news revived his worst fears. He pictured Trelayne at Royston Hall, alone and at the mercy of Lucien with only Merrick and Wynona to keep watch over her.

“And….” Walker pressed, his voice rough with the anger building in his chest.

Hargis sighed, stepped to the stove, and stirred the coals back into flames.

“All right, all right. All the else I knows is Lucien received a recent shipment of opium. A large shipment and they be keepin’ it down here.”

“In Brighton?” Walker interrupted.

“No, no, just somewhere close to Brighton. A warehouse or an old inn. I can’t recall. I was never there meself. But Lanteen’s got a right regular scheme what includes marrying some girl. And there’s something else in the works as has not been revealed to the likes of me.”

Marriage… Was Lanteen mad enough to believe Trelayne would agree to marry him? What if Trelayne viewed Lucien in an entirely different light? She didn’t know he ruined peoples’ lives by selling smuggled drugs, nor did she know Lucien had been willing to kill him and injure her parents in order to prevent the merger of the shipping lines. She thought of him as a longtime friend and advisor, unaware he possessed a greedy, perverted, and most generally unhinged side to his nature.

He should have confided in her more readily. Trusted her to be sensible and mature. He had hesitated because he feared she wouldn’t believe him. Feared he might drive her into the arms of whoever had been responsible for all this madness, and now it looked as if may have done just that.

“What else?” he hollered, frantic at the thought of Trelayne being under Lucien’s control.

“Nothin’ else. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you. Think harder. You must know more. I don’t care if it’s only idle gossip or speculation. Tell me everything.” Fists raised, he towered over the man.

“I’m tryin’ to think, really I am. All I remember is they stay at that inn or winery when they come down here and he’s obsessed with the lass, nearly mad for her. I don’t know another word. I swear. Except Mr. Lanteen likes gamblin’, good clothes, and seein’ things suffer.”

“I think the pig’s done squealing,” Hargis said, “but it’s your call.”

Walker turned away. “I agree, but we’ll have to keep him here a few more days until I’m fit to travel. If we turn him over to the Constable tonight, word may leak out I’m still alive, and I’d like to keep that quiet until I’m back in London. Thank you, Hargis.” He threw one arm across the big Norwegian’s shoulder. “You’re a man among men and a friend indeed. Come outside where we can finish making plans.”

“Hey. Wait a minute,” the Englishman cried. “You can’t just leave me here tied up.”

“Why not?” Hargis growled. “You be quiet and ponder you are lucky to be alive. If it were up to Hargis you would be standing before Odin for what you done to my friend. Remember, he is the nice one and he is leaving soon. Then you will have only me to decide if you live or die.”

Damping down the stove, they closed the smokehouse door, wedged a large board up against the latch, and left the man trussed and stewing in his own thoughts. When true darkness fell, Walker donned local costume to obscure his identity, and they went to town.

Along the docks, he located a ship from New Bedford. Arranging free passage to America for Hargis, he left a promissory note and letter with the Captain, and instructed Hargis to find Dr. Nathan Robinson when he made port. The letter advised Nate to honor the promissory note and treat Hargis with all due respect and assistance.

The arrangements completed, the temptation to seal the deal with a drink was too great to ignore. They slipped into a pub called the Pick and Shovel, a quarry men’s hang out. Walker kept to the shadows and watched in amusement as Hargis became involved in a wrestling contest. His friend took on every challenger, and beat all comers. In payment for the entertainment, the tavern-keeper gave Hargis complimentary ale, which he heartily consumed.

Hargis slammed down his current empty tankard and grinned. “Enough fighting. Now is time for loving.”

A pair of lovelies, impressed by Hargis’ strength, sidled up and vied for his attention. “Which one of us pleases you most?” the dark-haired girl asked, trying to force him to make a choice.

“I like you both,” he declared.

He picked one girl up under each arm, and amidst their shrieks of laughter, headed for the private backrooms of the establishment. Walker snorted in amusement and continued to lay low.

It would probably take two of them to satisfy the big Goliath.

When a third girl strolled his way, he smiled and shook his head. She ambled off to find a more willing prospect, and he passed off his lack of interest as a result of his injuries, but in his heart he knew the real reason was because he yearned for only one woman, and there could be no substitute.

Heaven only knew what Trelayne must think of him. He’d been gone nearly a month. Would she turn to Lanteen for comfort and amusement? Merrick indicated she’d led a rather sheltered existence, but a need for adventure and a willful spirit were a part of her too. He’d seen it in her eyes and felt it pulsing in her body when he kissed her wrist.

The more he brooded, the more restless he became. He should leave for London tonight, but the last train was gone.

Then he’d damn well go by horse. He glanced out the window. There was no moon to light the way, and it was threatening snow, or at least sleet. With a sharp wind blowing out of the north, the going would be treacherous for man and beast.

So what? He’d ridden in worse conditions, but over trails he knew well and only when he’d been of sound body. To suffer a re-injury due to poor judgment would only succeed in making matters worse. The reasonable thing to do was to wait a few more days, renew his vigor, and go north by rail as planned.

Logically, he knew this—emotionally he was unconvinced.

Once before, he’d been too late to save the woman he loved.

He couldn’t survive going through that again.

To build up his strength, he ordered a huge meal from the barmaid and ate every scrap. Then as the night slipped away, he waited with good humor for his friend.

Smiling from ear to ear, Hargis returned from his trysting and threw himself down onto the seat.