The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “How was it that you came to survive, Captain? How many of your crew are accounted for?” Cornelius asked.

  “She hit against some icebergs under water, broke all to pieces.” the sailor struggled to recount. “Some of us, we was able to hold onto some of it. Others got some of the skiffs unhooked before the wave. They picked me up in a skiff, we made a fire on an iceberg, waited for the storm to end. When it did, rowed out to the first ship we seen coming through the lane.”

  “Your crew, Captain?” Cornelius pressed. “How many can you account for?”

  “We had forty-four souls aboard.” the captain shuddered. “Eight of us made it on board the French ship that picked us up.”

  “Have their statements been taken and sworn to?” Cornelius asked the panel of East India officials.

  “They are here, Lord Wilson.” one of the men approached with a small stack of papers.

  “Very well.” Cornelius looked through the documents briefly before handing them over to Kenneth.

  Kenneth looked to him with astonishment. Does he truly want me to make the decision?

  “Very good then.” Cornelius announced. “The partners shall deliberate, and your answer will be received within a week. This hearing is adjourned.”

  The visiting parties shuffled out and finally Cornelius and Kenneth were left alone in their offices to discuss the claim.

  “What was your impression?” Cornelius asked, pouring up two brandies for them to share.

  “He seemed earnest.” Kenneth admitted, taking the glass.

  “That is what you always say.” Cornelius smiled and drank with his nephew. “You participated in the questioning, what drove that?”

  “I cannot say for certain.” Kenneth shrugged.

  “Well, whatever it was,” Cornelius took in a deep breath. “I should like to see more of it. This will all be yours one day, yours without me that is. It is already half yours. I should like you to make the final decision about the nature of the claim. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “I suppose I must be.” Kenneth replied, taking a refill of brandy.

  “Indeed.” Cornelius lit up with a grin and toasted again with Kenneth. “You shall need all of these.” he uttered, collecting the transcript of the captain's testimony. “Read it over, as well as the other testimonies. The word of a sailor is less reliable than the word of a captain, but between all of their stories you will either find commonality or dissimilarity. Think on it well. Take until the next week at this time, and return to me your answer along with its reasoning. Are you prepared for this?”

  “I am.” Kenneth said boldly. “Although I find it dull, I understand the importance.”

  “Well said.” Cornelius laughed. “Now, will you be staying in London? I hear there is to be a gala two days from now.”

  “Alas no, Uncle.” Kenneth shuffled all the papers together that he required, sliding them safely into a carrying case. “I have an urgent delivery to make.”

  Chapter 12

  Leah, if she was not already bored with her bedrest, had come to completely despise everything about the room she inhabited.

  Everything in her proximity seemed to reach out at her, holding her back in the one-person bed, keeping her pinned and smothered in the crannies of this mansion.

  She had been immobile longer than ever in her life, and it worked into her fiber like an irritating tic. She was stuck there, healing at whatever pace she progressed at, fretting over how long she could remain here anonymously.

  It was far from likely that any of Riphook's gangs would try to reach her here, if even they knew where she was. Yet, still she felt uneasy, as if she had already been discovered by some malicious force.

  Yet, in bed she remained, ever ready to spring out the windows, should the situation merit it.

  “Leah?” She could hear Kenneth rapping on the door, as if she could be in a position other than the one she was captive to.

  “Are you coming in or not?” she called back playfully.

  “Well, of course.” he said, stepping through the doorway. “Although it is only proper to have permission first.”

  “What do you care for proper?” she asked, cocking her head with a grin. She was glad to see him. Out of all the bars that kept her here, he was by far the least offensive; he was charming, even, in his own sort of sour way.

  “Not much, or so I'm told.” Kenneth grinned and took the seat beside the bed.

  “How did you find London?” she asked idly, diverting her attention briefly out the window.

  “Well,” he shrugged. “you know London.”

  “That I do.” She glanced back to him and saw a small brown paper wrapping in his hand. “What is that?”

  “Ah, it is a gift.” She could see him blushing; he was likely embarrassed that he had brought it at all, least of all wrapped it. “I confess I do feel foolish, yet I found pause to think of you along Piccadilly.” He thrust the package towards her most awkwardly, eager to get it out of his hands.

  “Oh?” she did not know yet what to expect from the wrapping. I do love a mystery.

  “It is not a large thing.” he went on, trying to cover up his blushing with blubbering. She found it rather touching, how confused he was over a little present.

  Leah undid the twine that held the paper together and let the sheet fall to the floor. She held in her hands a copy of Frankenstein, and she felt faint over it.

  It was not that she craved to read the book so intensely that she was weak with excitement, nor that she had been given a gift by a gentle Duke. What took hold of her so was the fact that he had actually listened to her, remembered her, and thought of her.

  Never before in Leah's life had someone given her a gift the likes of which she had explicitly desired and expressed that desire. That bridge into a world where people listen and care for one another without resorting to thieving and murder caused her much distress.

  Suddenly the book was so much more than a novel between leather bindings. It was a testament to her personage; it represented that she existed in any other capacity than a cog in Riphook's machine. It was a welcoming to another world, and Leah had no idea of how to approach it.

  You must get yourself to France. Leah tried to steer her mind back on course, yet all she could do was clutch the book and gape.

  “Are you alright?” Kenneth's voice snapped her forth from the trance, and she jumped a bit in her bed.

  “Quite.” she said briskly, running her hand down the novel's spine. “Thank you, really, I don't know what else to say.”

  “What else is there to say?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Kenneth blushed even more. “I only meant – it's nothing.” and he shook his head vigorously.

  “Suit yourself.” Leah palmed the book over in her hands one more time. “What were you doing in London, anyhow?”

  “I had to meet my uncle for a business hearing.”

  “A hearing?”

  “Like a trial, only not for a criminal case.”

  “For one of your ships?”

  “Not my ship, but yes.” Kenneth let out a long slow breath. “She belonged to the East India Company.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Sunk off the horn of Africa.” Kenneth rubbed his eyes.

  “So, you pay them money, correct?”

  “Well, that is one option. I must read through all of these testimonies,” he gestured to the papers he carried. “Then I must judge if they deserve to be reimbursed.”

  “Why would you not? Is that not what they pay you regularly for?”

  “It is.” Kenneth admitted. “Although if we determine that the vessel was lost due to negligence on the captain or crew's behalf, the claim will be denied.”

  “So that is the decision you must come to? Whether it was the fault of a man or the sea?”

  “Essentially, yes, and it is not an easy task. I must either find commonality or discrepancies between the testimonies. I confess i
t is work that I dread, yet as I am reminded it is important, necessary work.”

  “You sound as if you are trying to convince yourself of that, rather than me.” Leah laughed a bit, adjusting in the bed. “Perhaps I could help you.”

  “Help?” Kenneth seemed dumbstruck by the idea. Clearly, he had never asked a woman's help with anything, let alone business. “How would you do that?”

  “You need to know if they're lying, right?” Leah squinted at Kenneth. “Because they assert the ship was sunk by the storm. That is truly the determination you must reach.”

  “Well, yes, it could be reduced to that. I confess I had never thought of it in that way.”

  “Of course, you haven't.” Leah grinned.

  “What's that mean?” Kenneth puffed out his lip, obviously pretending to be overly insulted.

  “Come, let's have a look.” Leah waved for him to hand her the stack of testimony.

  “This is unorthodox.” Kenneth complained, but nonetheless he handed over the documents.

  “Did you believe the man you heard?” Leah asked, beginning to look over the papers with great interest. This glimpse into the other world was a fascinating one. What strange things they did with their money.

  “I did.” Kenneth granted. “He seemed trustworthy. He was brief; however, I cannot wonder if perhaps he neglected pieces of information.”

  “Let me see.” Leah began to read over the captain's statement.

  “You know this is all confidential.” Kenneth stammered.

  “Who am I to tell?” Leah poked. “You shall have to make an appointment with a newsman if you wish for me to tell all of London.”

  “I suppose that is true.” Kenneth conceded, sitting back on the stool and throwing up his hands in a mock surrender. “Then read away and inform me of your opinion.”

  “You shall have to give me some time then.” Leah turned over the pile of paper.

  “Very well, I shall leave you then.” Kenneth said, and left with a glance over his shoulder.

  Leah encouraged him with a friendly nod. “Go on.” she said, and the door shut behind him.

  The papers before her were crisp and orderly. They were organized into boxes and lines that seemed so neatly ordained. Within the boxes, some very calculated handwriting had been manifested, clearly by the same tedious hand, detailing individual testimonies from surviving sailors.

  She took her time to study each report, taking apart the narrative through the eyes of traumatized people. She could feel their sorrow, their fear, and their general remorse.

  There was real pain in these pages, pain she knew, the pain of unexpected and brutal loss. She had felt it before, when her parents died, and again when her friend Teller had disappeared.

  It was a drawn-out feeling, one that would sit with the carrier for years, slowly falling away piece by piece until instead of pain there was simply an emptiness where something used to be.

  Before she knew what was happening, Leah was crying. She could hear the creak of the mast and the shouts of the crew as the rogue wave rose up; then the shuddering impact – the splintering of timber and ruining of sails – split the ship in two and she sank swiftly beneath the stormy sea.

  The water was cold, colder than anything she had ever felt. It crushed in around her, squeezing every bit of air left in her lungs out through her throat, threatening to let her slip beneath the waves, and they came over her head again and again.

  She was powerless against the raging fury above; the thunder and lightning rocked the atmosphere as the ocean responded in kind. The ship was gone, and so too the crew, and so she relinquished what little shred of life she clung to and went under.

  It was freezing, heavy darkness, muting her, and she sank, yet something took hold of her then. Something strong and alive, and it yanked her upwards from the salt water. On the ships shattered side the group limped to an iceberg, where they took shelter in the hollow of a wind impression until the sun rose, and everything was suddenly peaceful.

  Leah was shaking. The narrative that she had just entered had scared her; she had felt the true danger and fright of perishing at sea through the manicured words of another, and she did not know what to make of it.

  It was a powerful thing; to be transported in such a way. In all her years of which she could read, she had never thought to live so deeply in the content of pages. Her talent was most often reserved for reading newspapers, wanted posters, special bulletins, and advertisements.

  Even though she had asked for Greek classics, she was not familiar with them. Nor could she earnestly engross herself in them, for she lacked much of the necessary context one requires to suddenly open Homer's pages Who am I trying to fool? She had only asked for Frankenstein because she had heard it concerned a living dead man, and that it had caused quite the stir in many a literary circle. It was the most intriguing, controversial title she could think of.

  But in the true recounting of a shipwreck, she was wholly immersed, and she learned what is was to read another's pain.

  In her bed she mourned the lost souls. If she believed in any sort of religion she might have prayed, but she mourned the men she would never know in silence.

  Kenneth finally appeared some hours later after Leah had been attended to by the housekeeper. He had changed his clothes and clearly washed his face, for he shone with the bright light skin of a polished nobleman.

  “How did you find it?” Kenneth asked.

  “This is your business?” Leah responded, handing back the papers.

  “Not all of it.” Kenneth offered a defense. “But yes, this is a large portion of it.”

  “Fascinating.” Leah whispered, lingering on a fleeting thought.

  “What is?” Kenneth looked perplexed.

  “The stories.” Leah turned back to face him. “I found them fascinating, truly.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, they were so real, far more so than anything I have ever read.”

  “Well I should hope so.” Kenneth snorted a chuckle. “Else we would have fraud about. So, you mean to say that you found it truthful?”

  “Well, yes.” Leah said.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “How can you not be?”

  “Believe me, I am convinced such as yourself, but what can I say is the reasoning behind the decision? It must have weight, you see.”

  “What are you asking me?”

  “What is it that makes you so sure the tales are truthful?”

  “It is the way they are told.” Leah explained. “You see, if someone is lying, they will go to great lengths to accomplish their lie. They will invest the smallest and most insignificant of details, because they feel that it will make the story more complete.”

  “Doesn't it?” Kenneth looked a bit lost.

  “It's the opposite.” Leah grinned; she enjoyed the feeling of explaining the world to someone like Kenneth. Or was it that she just enjoyed talking to him in particular? She could not be sure.

  “A true story is about what someone feels, not what time it was or how many men were above deck, what have you. You see it time and time again in these accounts: people are scared, their memories are raw, everything is all tumbled up. That's how you know it's real.” she concluded.

  Kenneth looked at her with a face of amazement.

  “You can see the world in a way I have never chanced to glimpse.” he finally said.

  “What does that mean?” Leah was taken aback. There was a look in his eyes that betrayed his conflicted emotions.

  “Will you walk with me? When you are able?”

  “Walk? To where?” What is he on about?

  “When you are well enough, that is, and I do not know, perhaps through the gardens? Anywhere you please for all I am knowledgeable.” He was flustered again, blushing up.

  “I would enjoy that.” Leah smiled, feeling her heart give a light flutter that went against her schemes of stealing away to France with a sizable amount of this mansion's we
alth.

  “Good!” Kenneth seemed quick to make his getaway, rushing for the door in an embarrassed stumble. “I will send for Dr. Fowler to attend you as soon as he is able!” and he slammed shut the door in a hurry.

  Chapter 13

  Dr. Fowler was in a terrible state when he received the Duke of Worthington's letter. He had been dreading his return to the Worthington estate ever since his encounter with the street rat that held his social life hostage. He knew that he had to return, eventually, but that day was still some ways away and for the moment at least he could put it out of his mind.