by Regina Darcy
Walking back inside, David took a moment to search the room, quite sure that Savage would be within. The man would not involve himself in any scrupulous activities, even though David was without doubt that Robert orchestrated the entire thing. His eyes finally landed on the man, who was in deep conversation with another gentleman, who was surveying the women dancing with a lustful gleam in his eyes. He was rubbing his hands as if he were a lion who was about to have his choice of meat. There could be no doubt of his intentions. The man intended to have one of the girls here and, remembering what Miss Worthington had told him of what she had heard between Rashton and Savage, fear climbed up David’ throat. He had to save the girls here from Savage’s schemes – but first, he had to discover what Savage had done with Charity.
His hands curling into fists, David stormed across the dance floor, ignoring the gasps of surprise as couples attempted to avoid him. He made no attempt to get out of their way, his gaze entirely fixed on Robert Savage. Midway across the floor, he saw Savage take note of him, his wide grin slowly lessening. David glared at him, forcing himself to continue walking instead of breaking into a run and planting a facer on the man. Stay calm, Cunningham, he told himself, sternly. Miss Worthington needs you.
“Ah, Cunningham. How are you?”
David waited until the gentleman Robert had previously been talking to took his leave, before grasping Savage’s arm and practically dragging him to a corner of the room.
“Good gracious, man!” Savage protested, struggling ineffectually against him. “What is the meaning of this?”
“What have you done with Miss Worthington?” David grated out, flinging the man against the wall. “And do not tell me that you know nothing of it, for I am more than aware of what you have done.”
The look on Savage’s face changed from astonishment to fear, although it was swiftly covered with a look of indifference.
“I am not sure what you mean,” he replied, looking away. “Miss Worthington, as far as I am aware, is dancing somewhere in this room.”
David’ hands shot out and grasped Savage’s collar, slamming him back against the wall. “I know that is untrue, Hemsworth. Tell me what you have done with her.”
“She must have run away,” the man gasped, struggling for air. “Just like her sisters.”
David’ hands tightened. “You told me, Savage, that her sisters had been happily settled into matrimony – and now you are changing your story. That leads me to believe that you are, in fact, lying.” Rage coursed through his veins as the man’s face slowly infused with colour, his hands scrabbling at David’ sleeves.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he whispered, still gasping for breath. “Please, I beg of you.”
There was nothing to do other than release Savage, who fell back against the wall, his legs unable to hold him up. The man took in great lungful’s of air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. David looked down at him in disgust, frustrated that he had been unable to force the man to speak the truth.
“Do not think that you are about to get away with this, Savage,” he stated, his lip curling. “I have your papers. I know they are forged. I am about to receive the proof and, when I do, you will find yourself behind bars, awaiting your sentence. What you have done is utterly despicable and it has been my pleasure to assist your so-called niece into revealing who you truly are.” He lifted one eyebrow, as a flash of fear entered the man’s eyes. “And do not think of running either. You will be caught, no matter where you go. Your disgusting plans are at an end.”
And, so saying, he turned on his heel and walked smartly out of the room, wishing he could see and speak to Miss Hemsworth before he left. However, he could not see her and certainly could not waste any more time looking for her. His need to find Miss Worthington conquered everything else. Besides, once this night was over and Miss Worthington was safe, he would then explain everything to Miss Hemsworth. It was probably best that she remained here so that she might keep herself out of harm’s way.
Stepping out onto the street, David took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, trying to get his bearings and form some kind of plan. He had no idea where Miss Worthington would be, although his best guess was the docks. However, in order to have any chance of saving her, he would need to know which ships were under Hemsworth’s command, for he was quite sure that Miss Worthington would not be put on just any ship to the colonies. There could be no doubt that she had most likely been taken to either the East London docks or Portsmouth. But how was he to find out which? Most likely, in order to cover his tracks, Robert Savage would place his love onto another ship, which would then meet another, larger ship, in another port. Then, Miss Worthington would be transported from one to the other, before being taken to the colonies. He raked his hand through his hair. He needed to clear his mind. Surely, Portsmouth was out of the running as it was Royal Navy dockyard. Even Savage would not be that brazen.
“I must speak to Sandiford,” he murmured, jamming his hat firmly on his head and hailing his footman. It was not but a few moments before he found himself on his way towards Sandiford’s home, hoping that the man would not mind being called upon so late in the evening. There had to be something, some kind of information that would help David know which dock and ship Miss Worthington might be on.
FIFTEEN
Sandiford was looking more than a little bemused when David entered his study, but his expression immediately became serious as David rattled off his story.
“I was hoping that the clerks might have found something – anything – that would help me know where she might be,” he finished, growing more and more desperate as the minutes ticked by. “If I go out searching without any kind of direction, then I will be searching completely in the dark.”
“Of course, of course,” Sandiford replied, opening one of his study drawers and producing a file filled with papers. “It is most fortunate that you came to me, Cunningham. I do believe I might have something for you.”
“Oh?” David leaned forward to study the papers being strewn across Sandiford’s desk. “What is it?”
Sandiford did not answer immediately, instead rifling through the papers with a look of deep concentration on his face. David bit his lip, wanting to either hurry the man along or ask a multitude of questions, but forcing himself to remain silent.
“Ah, here we go,” Sandiford said, finally, pulling out one parchment in particular and handing it to David. “This states some acquisitions we are currently looking into. I have reason to believe that they might be related, in some way, to the man pretending to be Miss Hemsworth’s uncle.”
David grasped the parchment and held it a little closer to the candlelight, his eyes running over each line carefully. He saw a great number of men listed, men he presumed to be in Savage’s employ, then a couple of properties and, finally, the names of two vessels, one located in Southampton and one in the East London docks .
“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed, jabbing at the lines with his finger and handing the parchment back to Sandiford. “He must mean to take Miss Worthington to London via Southampton. No major transatlantic craft departs from Southampton. The dock facilities frequently talked about in the area are not yet in place. I shall intercept them in London,” he explained. “Thank you, Sandiford.”
“I do hope you find her,” Sandiford replied, firmly. “I will follow after you with the constable. Miss Worthington is a valued member of our community, we will not allow such a dastardly future to be pressed upon her.” Sandiford rose, determination colouring his features. “My lord, I would suggest you see about picking up some trusted Bow Street Runners in the capital. You will need them if you are to arrest the men involved.”
“And hopefully one of them will confess to being in Savage’s employ,” David replied, putting his hat back on and walking to the door. “I shall see you very soon, Sandiford.”
“Godspeed!” the man cried, as David left the room.
***
It had
taken what seemed like an eternity to ride from Upper Nettlefold to London. In actuality it had only been a couple of days. David was worn out. He had stopped briefly at his townhouse to get a change of clothes and then swiftly asked his butler to see about getting the carriage ready as swiftly as possible.
Sword in hand and a pistol at the waist, he had only a short minute to write a missive to his clerks, which was to be actioned upon immediately.
Hurrying David jumped aboard the carriage and gave the footman instructions to head for the docks.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes and prayed silently that Miss Worthington was quite safe, and that he would find her in time. He could not imagine never seeing her face again, never hearing her laugh or seeing her lips curve into a beautiful smile. He did not care about her background, nor about her parents. All he wanted was Miss Worthington, to have her forever by his side. Why had it taken him so long to realise the depth of his feelings? Frustrated with himself, David shook his head and slammed one fist into his palm. Now was not the time for regrets. He would tell her all the moment he had her back in his arms.
Although the carriage ride was brief in comparison to the days he had spent on horseback getting to London it felt like it was taking an eternity. The fear that Miss Worthington was at the very moment misused gnawed at him relentlessly.
The carriage pulled slowly into East London. The dock was silent, save for the sound of waves. Without a moment’s hesitation he stepped out of the carriage, nodding to the footman to be at the ready.
The night air was crisp and cool, his feet crunching on the gravel as he approached. There were a great many ships in the dock, some with lights and some without.
How was he to discover what ship was the ones he was looking for? David clenched his fists.
He would do anything he had to, in order to get Miss Worthington back safely. Even if this meant paying Robert Savage an obscene sum of money to get her back.
“Oi, you there,” came a croaky voice from the depths of the shadows to his left. David turned around immediately brandishing his sword. “Spare a coin or two?”
Realising it was just an old beggar, David fished out a coin from his pocket and threw it towards the man. He hoped it would keep him quiet, for he did not want to let anyone know of his presence.
“Are you looking for something, my lord?” the man asked, biting down on the coin to make sure it was genuine. “Maybe I can help you.”
It was not an entirely terrible idea. “I am, in fact.”
“Looking for a lady, mayhap?”
Frowning, David turned to stare into the darkness but could barely make out the form of the man sitting against some large wooden crates. The moonlight hardly made a dent into the shadows, keeping the beggar’s face entirely obscured.
“I work for James Ashton, the Earl of Herringford,” the beggar said, surprising him. “You might not know him, but he keeps me well paid to watch on Robert Savage’s doings.”
A wave of relief rushed through David. He had never heard of Lord Ashton before, but clearly, the man was working with this beggar to find out what Savage was really up to. Maybe this was the person his clerks had been trying to identify, “Then you know that I am seeking a girl that Savage recently had brought here.”
“His associates have taken her to one of his ships,” the beggar replied, quietly. “Yes, I’ve been watching him.”
“I have the name of a vessel,” David stated, quickly. “Might you know where it is? The Gabrielle.”
The beggar let out a harsh laugh. “The Gabrielle is in port.”
“Where?” David asked, desperately. “Please, I must save her.”
The beggar held out his hand and David thrust five coins into it, desperate to hear where Miss Worthington might be.
“Go to your left,” the beggar replied, the coins clinking as he dropped them into an old tin cup. “Five ships along and it should be there. But you’d best hurry, it’s been preparing to drop anchor for some time.”
“Tell the Mr Sandiford and the Bow Street Runners when they arrive,” David directed, already running along the dock and following the beggar’s instructions to the letter. “I will pay you well!”
He did not care that his voice carried through the darkness, his anxiety over Miss Worthington’s fate overwhelming all of his senses. He forced his steps to slow, counting the ships as he went. He could hear the murmur of voices, but could not tell from where they came. The dock was poorly lit, with only the moonlight lighting his way. Ducking behind some large crates, David peered over the top and looked towards the sixth ship, the one labelled ‘Gabriella’.
“Charity,” he whispered, seeing a figure tied to a chair sitting on the docks. He whipped out his pistol. If they had harmed even one hair on her lovely head, he would make them pay.
SIXTEEN
Charity glared at each of the men who were walking past her, hating that she had been so easily captured. If Lord Cunningham had not frustrated her so, then she might not have left the ballroom in such a fit of angst!
No, she realised, sagging into her chair, she could not blame him. Try as she might, and despite his appearances, she loved Lord Cunningham with every fibre of her being. His kiss had been furious, but she had loved every moment of it, despite the growing ache in her heart.
Lord Cunningham had looked mightily confused, however, when she had mentioned the very idea of a mistress. Had she been wrong in her estimation of him? Would he truly ever come to consider her as worthy of being his wife, in spite of her questionable background? She could hardly bring herself to hope, but he had looked incredibly confused over what she had said. Had he been surprised at her declaration of love? Or was it because, in truth, he had never once thought of her as a mistress?
Not that it mattered now, Charity thought to herself, her heart tearing anew. Even if Lord Cunningham was searching for her, the dock was large and the ship was going to drop anchor any moment now. She had been left here briefly, tied firmly to a chair so that there was no means of escape. Why she had not been put on board yet, she was not quite sure, but it would not be long now. It appeared that Robert Savage had done what he’d threatened. She was going to be sent to the colonies to marry a man she had never laid eyes on before. There would be no choice for her once she reached there, for having no protection would be, without question, far too dangerous.
A sob rose in Charity’s throat. She was to be nothing more than a payment of a debt. Who knew if the man in question would really marry her? Perhaps he would use her as Robert Savage had done, sold and bartered like goods at the market. She would never see Lord Cunningham again. She should have told him the truth about her feelings towards him. But the man ought to know that she loved him completely, even if he did not return her feelings. She would carry the memory of that one kiss with her until the day she died.
“On you come now, missy,” said a voice from the darkness. “Time to go.”
Charity tried to protest, tried to scream, but the gag stopped any sound from escaping. She could do nothing but kick her legs, her hands having been bound tightly the arms of the wooden chair.
“Spitfire, this one,” said the man on the other side of her. “No wonder Savage wants to be rid of her.”
Charity wanted to scream, wanted to do everything in her power to escape, but found herself completely helpless. The ship grew closer, her fate waiting for her until, suddenly, the world around her exploded with sound.
She was dropped heavily onto the ground, the chair wobbling perilously close to the edge of the dock. The waters to her left glittered dangerously in the moonlight, promising her certain death should her chair be pushed even slightly. All around her came the sounds of gunshots, as well as shouts and cries of fear. Sparks blasted through the darkness, and the sound of clashing blades rang harshly across the water.
“Charity,” came a familiar voice, e. “Miss Worthington? Where are you?”
Charity tried to shout but the gag still held tight.
A man fell in front of her, slamming into her legs. With a scraping sound, her chair moved across the wet and slippery wood of the dock, no more than a few centimetres from the edge.
Charity kept as still as she could, closing her eyes tightly and willing Lord Cunningham to find her. He had to. She would be quite lost without him, meeting her end in a watery grave. In all the hubbub, she was quite sure that no one would hear the sound of her body hitting the water. He had to find her. She did not want to die.
A scream lodged in her throat as the man on the ground groaned and rolled over. She was tipped back as one leg of the chair went over the edge of the dock – and then, something caught her.
“Charity!” Lord Cunningham exclaimed, a sheen of fear in his eyes. “What have they done to you?”
She almost fainted with relief, her heart hammering in her chest as he ripped the gag from her mouth, letting her draw in great gasps of air.
“Here,” he said, cutting away at her bonds with a sharp knife. “You are quite safe now, my love. I will not let anyone hurt you again.” He pulled her into his arms and she went willingly, unable to stand. With one hand under her knees, Lord Cunningham lifted her in his arms and began to walk away from the dock, leaving the Bow Street Runners and Sandiford to finish the work they had begun.
Charity clung to Lord Cunningham, her tears slipping, unabated, from her eyes. He had come to find her, rescued her when it had looked to be too late. One more second and she would have gone into the water. She could hardly bear the thought.
“There is my carriage,” Lord Cunningham said, quietly. “We must get you back to St Bernadette’.”
“No, not the school,” Charity begged, unable to face the idea of seeing Robert Savage again. “Savage….”
“Will be arrested,” Lord Cunningham replied, firmly. “I believe Sandiford has found some evidence and the men at the dock will not all remain true to him, especially when they are facing gaol, if not the hangman’s noose, for abduction and conspiracy.”
