by Renée Dahlia
‘Just sign it. Then we’ll be on our way,’ said that voice again. A familiar voice. Josephine frowned as she forced her brain into action. She squeezed her eyes tight to create tears and clear her vision. She blinked and blinked. Slowly with each movement her vision started to clarify.
‘Now. Do it now,’ someone yelled at her. They grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. Nausea rose in her throat.
‘Wake up. Sign it. NOW.’ Josephine lurched forward and vomited. A deep gut wrenching vomit that made her sides ache. Her head pounded as she collapsed back against the chair. She dragged her hand across her mouth to wipe away the remnants. The taste remained, acidic on her tongue. The world was fuzzy. As if she awoke from a dose of chloroform. Chloroform. Oh no. Damn it.
She opened her eyelids to tiny slits and peered out. Van Percy sat there. What? Where was she? She dropped her head into her hands. A pen scraped at her temple. Her breath came out in ugly puffs, each one tasting of bile.
‘You bitch. You will pay for this. My shoes are ruined,’ he said in that tightly controlled voice. She hated him. She sat up. Her hands dropped to her lap and she glared at him through narrowed eyes. From nowhere, pain exploded across her cheek. Her body splayed sideways across the seat and she instinctively reached out with her hand to right herself. Had he slapped her? Oh, God. He had.
‘Wake up, bitch. Sign this.’
What? A second pain scratched at her ankles as she tried to sit upright. She scrambled on the seat. The coarseness of the rope scratched as she wriggled her bound legs. She rubbed her cheek as the fog of chloroform dissipated. Only pain, an internal thudding migraine and the sting of his palm on her cheek, remained.
‘Water,’ she said. Her voice croaked, rough from the chloroform.
‘No. Sign here first,’ said her kidnapper.
‘What am I agreeing to by signing this? It would be foolish of me to sign a paper without knowing what it is,’ she retorted gruffly.
‘I don’t think you have any choice,’ he said. He sneered at her. Only stubbornness stopped her from looking away.
‘Just sign,’ he said, and shoved the pen at her.
‘Fine,’ she bit out. She grabbed the pen and signed the paper.
‘You are now man and wife.’ A new voice rang clear into the carriage. Josephine whipped her head around to see a plain-suited man. The pen clattered to the carriage floor. The noise seemed extra loud in the empty air left by that announcement. The sudden movement was a mistake and she wretched again clutching her sides. Van Percy handed the man a leather pouch and sat back on his side of the carriage as the man left.
Fuck. Married to Van Percy. The nauseous scent of her vomit punctuated the moment. She groped around for her reticule. Nothing. No handkerchief to clean herself on.
‘Now to the bank,’ said Van Percy. He stepped out of the carriage, locking the door. She gathered up some of her skirt to wipe her face, rubbing her tongue with the rough fabric to rid herself of the awful taste. Every fibre in her body fought to break out and she rattled the door as hard as possible. The splashes of vomit at her feet and the rub of the rope around her ankles added to her desperation. The carriage moved and she fell back onto the seat, grasping at the edge to prevent herself falling onto the muck-covered floor.
She closed her eyes. Think. There must be a way out of this. Van Percy must be playing a long game. What would he gain from marrying her? She gasped. She’d signed a paper while kidnapped, drugged and in the presence of someone who had been bribed. That hardly counted as a real marriage. A simple piece of paper given to him by some random person in return for a bag of coins. She wouldn’t give up hope on her future yet.
Nicholas was her future. Last night had decided that. If anyone could find a way out of this mess, it would be him. Surely as the son of a Duke he would have access to the best lawyers in Europe. Her heart belonged to Nicholas. Between them, they must be able to break this farce of a marriage.
***
After a while, the carriage stopped rolling and Van Percy opened the door.
‘You promised me a pass in the surgical assessment,’ she blurted at him. He came in and sat down in an elegant, unconcerned fashion. As if he kidnapped someone every day. Just another casual day of kidnapping.
‘Yes, wife?’ said Van Percy. Was that a note of caution she heard? She lifted her chin and stared him in the eyes.
‘I will not agree to any of your terms until I have that pass.’
‘Then you’ll have it.’
‘No. We will first go to the university and you will write the pass and give the paper to the correct person.’
‘No. You are my wife now. My needs are the priority.’ Van Percy’s face reddened and his moustache wobbled as his jaw clenched. ‘You. Are. My. Wife,’ he raged at her. She sat tall on the seat opposite. It took all her last vestiges of strength to hold his gaze and sneer at him. He leapt at her, slapping her across the face with great force. The impact whipped her head to the side and she had to reach out with her hands so she didn’t fall. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back upright. The pain in her skull dominated everything.
‘Never. Argue. With. Me. Again,’ he screamed in her face. Shock kept her eyes focused on him, unable to react to his sudden change in demeanour. Shock kept her still, even as she saw him draw back his fist.
Her head jerked back. A sudden stinging pain smashed between her eyes. Her vision blurred. A warm wetness spread down to her lip. The coppery taste of blood touched her lips. Her head snapped forward after the impact. She saw him reach his arm back. Again? No. She spat her own blood at him. His eyes bulged. Pain exploded again. And again. Until blackness won.
Chapter 21
‘We have a problem.’ Those weren’t the words that Nicholas expected to hear. He’d been reading a book while he waited for Josephine to finish her final examination and come home to him. Now, her friends were here. Without her.
‘Yes?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Josephine is missing.’
‘What?’ Nicholas sat up, eyes wide. ‘Explain.’ In an instant, he ceased to be a patient and reverted to his normal commanding role as an intelligence officer. This was his worst nightmare and all his experience was going to be required to solve this problem. All those skills he had acquired during his career created a sudden focus. His shoulders squared. Battle-ready.
‘There isn’t much to tell. We finished the exam together and walked down the hallway to the ladies retiring room. I’m not sure what happened. She was there, and when I had finished using the facilities, she was not,’ said Claire. He nodded, grateful that she responded without drama.
‘We assumed she was waiting outside for us, so we chatted for a while and then left the room to join her. When she wasn’t in the hallway, we started to wonder where she might be,’ she said. Nicholas rolled his hands in front of him as he watched Claire inhale slowly with her eyes closed.
‘Yes. Get to the point.’
‘We had already agreed to go out for a celebration lunch together, and she wouldn’t have gone without us. Marie wondered if she’d left something in the exam room, so we went back there, but no-one had seen her. We started to panic a little and hunted around everywhere, but there was no sign. So we came here, hoping that she had simply come home.’
‘Think very carefully. There is always a clue in the details,’ he said. He swung his legs off the bed and stood on his injured foot. Over the last week, the swelling in his foot had reduced markedly. Adrenaline surged through his body, so he didn’t notice the usual throbbing ache. He glared at Josephine’s two friends, not bothering to hide the tension that infused him.
‘The only clue is that one of the janitors thought he saw her walking with Professor Van Percy. We dismissed that because she doesn’t like him and wouldn’t just leave with him. But now I wonder if he was right,’ said Marie. Her face grew pale as she spoke. The room fell silent and awful scenarios flew through Nicholas’s brain. This was not good news.
‘Get my crutches and order a hackney. We will go back to the university and you can show me everything,’ he said. Every day, he had been using his crutches to move around the room and the motion had been helping him heal. His lung function had improved and the daily routine had increased his stamina. It was slow, hard work, an improvement of inches. Every ache mattered. Now he wasn’t hindered by his injuries. His heart beat erratically in his chest as he grabbed the crutches from Claire.
Josephine belonged to him. Last night proved that. She wouldn’t volunteer to go anywhere with Van Percy. He didn’t trust that man at all. He used the full reach of the crutches to race across the room.
‘Before you rush off, we need a plan,’ said Marie. A fierce knock on the front door was the only thing that prevented Marie from being throttled. His hands slipped on the crutches as he swung his way to the door. He threw the crutches to the side and flung open the door.
Before him stood a uniformed man. Not Josephine. His body went rigid. Cold.
‘Who? What?’ His questions punched the air.
‘The mail, sir.’ The man handed him a small envelope. He took the envelope, unable to process this moment. The door closed. He stared at the envelope, panting. The words blurred.
‘Who was that?’ asked Claire from behind him. He turned to see three women crowded in the hallway behind him.
‘Just the mailman,’ he said in a quiet, despondent voice. Claire grabbed the letter and the soft paper slid from his hand.
‘It’s addressed to Josephine,’ she said. ‘I’m going to open it.’
‘One doesn’t open someone else’s letters,’ protested Betsy quietly.
‘It might contain a clue,’ said Marie. Nicholas swallowed. He should’ve thought of that.
‘I have no qualms about opening Josephine’s mail. Especially when it might prove useful,’ said Claire. She tore it open and read aloud.
Dear Josephine,
I hope this letter finds you as well as you were during my visit a few months hence past. I am sure you would like to hear something about the wedding of Lady Rose Castleton,
‘God. Who cares about Lady Whatsit,’ said Marie.
‘Continue,’ said Nicholas, nodding in agreement with Marie’s statement.
… who has been much admired at Court this season. Her dress was of the palest yellow silk. The skirts were covered with an abundant amount of cream flounces created from French lace draping from her waist. The bodice was trimmed with pearl embroidery, and as befits her station, she had a train carried by two fine little page boys. They were dressed in blue velvet and made such a striking picture. The bridegroom was the second son of Viscount Radbury, a Mr Nevill, and by all accounts it is a good match for her.
She is the younger sister of Lady Heather Brackenbridge, whom you must be acquainted with, being of the same age as her. Of course, she has long been married to the Earl of Brackenbridge, and has presented him with an heir and three spares.
Speaking of marriage, how is that lovely young man whom I had the pleasure of meeting during my last visit? I have such high hopes for him, as he seemed very interested in you. We spent many a pleasant hour over coffee discussing your finer points, and I was rather hoping he would have presented a proposal of marriage by now.
As I haven’t heard anything, I do hope that the most wished for news is merely delayed by the post. Perhaps your next letter may be signed Mrs Van Percy?
Yours,
Lady Aunt H. Smithton.
‘Mrs Van Percy! Curse that aunt of hers. No wonder he has been chasing her. She probably told him all manner of confidential details,’ spat Nicholas.
‘Her financial details?’ queried Claire.
‘Of course. The aunt is so keen for her to marry, she probably told him everything. I assume she has a decent dowry,’ he said. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his palms dry.
‘Does this mean that he has kidnapped her? Perhaps the janitor was correct in his sighting,’ asked Marie in a quiet voice.
‘He must be desperate for money,’ said Claire. ‘I bet that your presence has forced him to speed up his plans.’ Nicholas felt like his chest was clamped in a large vice. The weight of bad outcomes squeezed him.
‘Damn it all.’ His mind whirled with the details of the problem. He paced along the hallway. His hand caught on the side table as he tried to move in the small space. A vase of flowers toppled off. Water splashed on his feet.
‘If he does have her, she could be anywhere,’ he muttered. ‘The Van Percy brothers have a wide circle of connections that would provide a hiding place for her.’
Betsy bent down to clean up the flowers, early season tulips, and their scent swirled in the air, mixed with his own panicked sweat. Betsy left with the flowers in her arms. He stood still, arms crossed over his chest. Two faces stared back at him, their eyes narrowed and faces pinched. Time stopped as his mind raced. Betsy arrived back and continued to clean. A new smell blended with the rest. A tantalising detail that reminded him of something. A detail that he couldn’t reach.
‘What is that?’ he said.
‘The cleaning solution. It’s a special blend Josephine makes at the hospital,’ she said.
‘I know where she is,’ he exclaimed. The pieces of the puzzle snapped together. He grabbed his crutches and flung open the door.
***
Cold seeped into her conscience. Her hip ached against a hard edge. A hard floor? She slowly peered through the cracks in her eyelids. The room swayed and she jammed them shut again. She wiggled her toes. Then slowly diagnosed herself piece by piece. Everything seemed in order. She opened her eyes again. The janitor’s sink shook, the edges blurring into several. She blinked.
Cautiously she turned and explored her surroundings. It couldn’t be. Was she? In the women’s toilet at the university? Right back at the start of this misadventure. Josephine pushed herself into a sitting position. How long had she been out? Time enough for Van Percy to have moved her here. Time enough for Van Percy to have taken advantage of her. She gasped. Her heart banged in her chest. She reached under her skirts for that tell-tale stickiness. Nothing. She sagged. Her head drooping on her shoulders. Although she couldn’t be completely sure. One thing at a time. It wasn’t the time to panic. Be logical.
She bent her knees and took off her shoes to start the process of checking again. She carefully checked each toe and slowly worked her way up her legs. She gently twisted from side to side to test her back, then wriggled her fingers and checked her arms. Everything seemed fine. Stiff and sore. A few bruises and some small rope burns on her ankles. Nothing serious. She stood slowly and gasped in horror as she saw her reflection. Her face was caked with blood and her nose was obviously broken. The pain and fog in her head was not a hangover from the chloroform. It came from a more brutal source. She swayed slightly as all the horror came flooding back. At times like this, there were only two options. Either she could wallow in the emotions and hope for a saviour. Or she could take one practical step at a time and plan to be her own saviour.
That thought gave her strength and she took a few slow steps towards the sink to start washing her face. She gently scrubbed her face with the only hand towel in the room. The cold water soothed her skin as she worked. Eventually the caked on blood transferred to the fabric and she could see the extent of the damage. The colour of the bruising told her that she hadn’t been here too long. It would look much worse in a few days when the full extent of colour emerged.
‘Now for the worst part,’ she muttered. She broadened her stance and leant her stomach against the sink for support. She took a big breath and thought through the process of fixing a broken nose. She had done this several times on other people, surely she could fix her own nose. Once ready, she washed her hands, reached up with both hands and swiftly performed the action to straighten her nose back into place. Blood poured out freely, red against the white porcelain sink
. A light-headed wooziness washed over her and her head rolled backwards. She grabbed the cool, hard sink with her slippery, wet fingers and closed her eyes. She stood, teeth clenched against the pain and just let the blood flow into the sink. The coppery taste touched her lips and she used the cloth to keep it out of her mouth. Slowly the initial pain faded to a throbbing ache and she felt less faint. She opened her eyes to judge her success rate.
What a mess! Her nose was massively swollen and more bruises started to form under both her eyes. Very carefully, she reached up with one hand and ran her finger gently down her nose. Even the lightest of touches sent an excruciating pain spinning inside her head. She grasped the sink. Only once the swelling had reduced would she know how successful she had been. There was little point in adding to her pain. She had to trust in her medical training. She let out a slow breath and grabbed the hand towel. She squeezed it out, folded it and held it against her top lip to slow the blood flow. Her other hand still clutched the sink, keeping her upright. It wouldn’t do to faint. Her nose wouldn’t cope with another hit. Slowly she sank to the ground and sat crossed legged in front of the sink. She dropped her head forward and held the hand towel against her face.
Only the fading light through the tiny window at the top of the small room told her how much time had passed. The blood had slowed to a trickle. The coldness of the hard floor seeped through her clothes and she started to shiver. The door behind her creaked. She curled her shoulders forward and hid her head in her hands. If it was Van Percy, returned for another turn, she might not survive. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and the action pulled against her aching face.
‘Oh God! Thank heaven.’ Tears welled as she heard Nicholas’ voice. Before she could turn to him, she found herself wrapped in a hug. She moaned, both in relief and agony, as his arms tightened around her sore body. She turned her head to face him and he stared at her, his blue eyes wide.
