Who noticed a man who delivered things, for that matter? If Mulverton, Horne's cousin, had been in a hurry for his inheritance, he could have dressed himself as a working-class man and come to the house with a bushel of turnips simply to see how things lay.
That was far-fetched; I did not suppose for a moment that a gentleman from Sussex would conceive of putting on shabby clothes and dirtying his face simply to see if he could put his cousin out of the way. But I turned the possibility over in my mind, because what I truly believed was terrible, and I did not want to examine that belief too closely. Bremer was a better culprit. An old man, who'd been willing to do his master's disgusting bidding, who would achieve fame on his way to the gallows.
I still did not know where Jane Thornton was, but I had a good idea of what had happened to her. Philip had seen someone take her away that night, and I feared in my heart that she was dead. I also knew who would know for certain, and my wrath moved to that person and smoldered there for a time.
As the light faded, I thought about the secondary problem of Charlotte Morrison. I thought about her letters, and I thought about the look I'd seen in her cousin's eyes, and I realized what she'd feared. I'd known it in Hampstead, but I'd not wanted to believe the loathsome conclusion, and so had not let myself draw it.
The opium helped me to see clearly what I had already known. Just as it had happened years ago when I'd concluded which officer and his sergeant had decided to rid the army of Arthur Wellesley, I'd known the solution right away and had not wanted to look it in the face. A night alone, fearing for my life, had forced me to acknowledge the truth. During that chill night in Portugal, I'd not had the comfort of opium to dull my fear, but my life had been just as much in danger then as it was now.
But the secrets of Jane, Horne's death, and Charlotte's disappearance would die with me. No one would find them in my water-rotted brain when they fished me from the bottom of the Thames. My own fault for avoiding painful truths and keeping my confidences to myself.
I lay in twilight now, my eyes open, watching the last shadows drift across the scarred and tar-encrusted floor.
Sometime later, the door opened. The flare of a rag light pierced my widened pupils and sent fingers of pain into my head.
Black Nancy closed the door and moved to the bunk. She set the lamp on the floor and smoothed my hair from my forehead. Her fingers smelled of tar and mud. She may have bathed all over for me a few days ago, but she certainly hadn't since. "Don't worry, Captain. Nance will take care of you."
I said nothing, still too weak to speak.
She continued to stroke my hair. "He's going to give you to me, did you know that?" she crooned. "I help nab you, he said, and he fixes it up so you'll always do everything I say. Black Nancy will always have what you need."
She leaned down and kissed my lips. I lay, unresponding. She thrust her tongue into my mouth, forcing my blood-caked lips open, but I didn't answer her insistent pressure. Her hand snaked down to touch my arm, my chest, my groin. Her smile widened. "There now, I knew you was awake. You like me in truth, don't you?"
The drug that suppressed my pain seemed to heighten my physical response. I grew stiff under her hand, but the excitement stopped there, never reaching my head or heart. My trousers were damp where I'd wet myself, but Nancy did not seem to notice or care. She flashed a satisfied smile at me and began popping open the buttons.
On a sudden, the door thumped firmly shut, and a bolt grated into place. Nance gave a shriek, whipped her hand from me, and scurried to the door.
She stared at the barricade for a stunned moment, then she pounded her fist on the door. "'Ere. You let me out."
No answer came. Nance pummeled the door again. I rolled onto my side and tried to force myself into a sitting position. Nance shouted and screamed until her voice went hoarse.
"They are not going to let you out, Nance," I said. "They are going to kill me, and you with me."
She whirled. "No, they ain't. They promised."
I shook my head, which only made it pound with nasty pain. "They used you, Nance. They aren't going to let us go. They will likely scuttle the boat."
Tears streaked her dirt-caked cheeks. "They can't do that. I just wanted you, that's all. I'd a done anything to get you."
I wanted to hate her for doing this to me, but the only thing I could feel for her was pity. Denis had used Nancy's silly childlike need to get to me. I'd used her desire to please me to find Jemmy the coachman. I knew who was to blame for landing her square in this business in the first place.
I tried to speak sternly. "Come here and untie my hands."
Her eyes went wide. "If I untie you, you'll beat me."
"I wouldn't do that, Nancy. I promise. Untie me, and I'll think of a way to save us."
"You're lying. You'll beat me."
I lost my patience. "Damn you, girl. Come here."
She put her hands to her face and wailed.
I clenched my teeth and tried to gentle my voice. "I haven't the strength to beat you, Nance, even if I wanted to. If you don't want to drown, you will untie me, and I will take you out of here."
Her hands came down. "How?" She sniffled.
"I will think of something. Please."
She watched me fearfully for a few moments, then she stumbled back to the bed. I rolled over to give her access to my hands.
It took a long time. Nancy picked at the tight knots and sobbed under her breath. Her tears dropped onto my bleeding hands, stinging them. She cried that she could not do it. I bullied her until she was incoherent with weeping.
At last the knots loosened. I tugged at the bonds until one broke, and I quickly unwound my hand. I tried to push myself up, but my fingers were wooden, lifeless, and would not support me. I heaved with my legs and shoulders to roll over again and finally raised myself to a sitting position.
I leaned against the wall and cradled my hands in my lap, closing my eyes as hot pins and needles spiked my flesh. I would have to wait until my fingers became deft enough to untie the cords that bound my ankles.
The act of sitting up had nearly drained my strength. I wondered how the devil I would get both myself and Nance off the boat and all the way to shore.
She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. "If you'd only took what I offered, we'd not be in this fix." Her eyes filled. "I'd not have chased you, and I'd not have believed them when they told me I could have you. You'd have been mine, and I'd have done you so good, you wouldn't have wanted to go to no one else." Her throat worked. "I'd have taken care of you and not complained when you knocked me about, and I wouldn't have gone to no other man unless you said I could." Tears spilled from her eyes. "I'd a done anything for you. Why don't you want me?"
I suppressed a sigh. She still could not understand that all this was about more than desire. But she was hurting, and afraid, and I was responsible for dragging her into this danger.
I gave the bed beside me a clumsy pat. "Nance. Come and sit here."
She shot me a distrustful look, but she shuffled to me and sat down. The bunk sagged, spilling my leg onto her thigh.
"I've told very few people this, Nance," I said. "Once, long ago, I had a daughter."
Nancy looked surprised. "Ya did?"
"Yes. When I was very young, I took a wife." The word choked in my throat, and I had to swallow and wait before I went on. "And we had a daughter. One day, my wife--she took my daughter, and went away."
The words hurt. Oh God, they hurt.
Nancy stared. "She left you? The old cow. Was she mad?"
My temper heated to hear that white and gold girl from long ago called an "old cow," but I reminded myself that Nancy did not and could not understand. "She disliked the army and following me about. I don't blame her; it was a hard life, and she was of a delicate nature."
"So where is she now?" Nance asked, frowning. "And your little girl?"
"I don't know. They went to France, long, long ago, and I never was able to find them. I don't
even know if my daughter is alive or dead. But if she is, she'd be, oh, about as old as you."
She stared at me, fascinated. "Did she have black hair, like me?"
"No. Her hair was fair as a field of buttercups. Like her mother's. When I last saw her, she was only two years old. She could barely say my name."
My heart wrenched, and the intensity of the wrench surprised me at little. I'd thought that all the years between had taken away the worst of the hurt. Perhaps the opium in my veins had broken down the shield I usually kept over that memory.
"You don't know even if she's alive?" Nance asked.
"I wonder sometimes, if she is. And whether she is safe, with friends who care for her. Or if she is . . ."
"Like me," Nance finished. "A game girl. Having to go with flats that are as likely to knock her about as pay her for kicking her heels to the ceiling."
I touched Nancy's matted black curls. "Yes. And when I look at you, I think of her. And wonder."
"If she's like me?"
"Yes."
"So poking me would be like poking your daughter? Some coves like that."
I pretended to ignore that revelation. "I want nothing to hurt you. You are so young, and yet, I've seen girls like you die when they're not much older than you. I want to keep you safe."
Silent tears spilled down Nancy's cheeks. "You can't keep me safe. If I don't go with flats, me dad whips me 'til I bleed."
"You have to let me try." I continued stroking her curls. "What color is your hair, really?"
Nance dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. "Brown."
"I'd like to see it. Let it grow back without dying it."
She snorted. "A right fool I'd look. With half of it a different color."
"Cut it off, then. Some ladies of fashion still lop off their curls."
She gave me a look that told me I was hopelessly old and likely insane. "Ain't much I can do about it here. How are we going to get away, then?"
She sounded a bit like her old self, and some of the feeling had returned to my hands. I leaned down and worked loose the bonds that held my feet. I rubbed my bare ankles, wincing as the blood flowed its way to my feet. This took a long time, and Nance fretted with impatience.
I doubted I could stand or walk or fight or swim. But I would not sit and tamely wait to be killed. The boat was quiet, but the occasional thump of footsteps on boards outside told us Denis's men still inhabited the decks.
I managed to stand at last, though my legs shook like new branches in a spring breeze. I refastened the buttons that Nancy had opened on my trousers, my fingers still clumsy. "Give me the candle," I said.
Nance retrieved it from the floor and handed it to me. The light was little more than a rag soaked in grease, twisted into a wick at the top. The feeble flame burned blue and did not give off much light. But the rag was soaked, enough for my purpose.
I hobbled to the rickety wooden door. My left leg buckled, pain throbbing through it, and I had to pause three times, easing my weight from it, before I could resume.
I rubbed my hands in the grease, and then onto the doorframe, near the latch. I repeated this several times, being careful not to douse the lamp, then I touched the flame to the wood.
The grimy doorframe sizzled, and a thin band of smoke rose and stung my eyes. I held the flame to it, rubbing on a little more grease. The wood grew warm. The grease melted. After a long time, the flame crawled up the damp wood, found fuel, and clung there.
"What are you doing?" Nance cried.
"Setting the door alight."
She sprang to her feet. "Are you mad? You'll kill us."
"I imagine Denis's men will not want to remain on a boat that is going up in flames."
"No, they ain't stupid. They'll light for shore."
"Not if they have no way to get there. They will not want to go down with us."
"Why don't we just duck out the skylight?"
"We will. But Denis's men are out there. And maybe you're right."
I tossed the candle to the bunk. The flame nearly went out, then it caught on the dirty sheet. The linen crackled and smoked.
Nance stared at me, round-eyed. "Right about what?"
"That I am mad. Up you go."
I caught her 'round the waist and boosted her toward the skylight. She pushed on it. "It's fastened."
"Pound on it, then. The wood's old."
"You should have done this before you set us on fire." She beat her fists against the frame, but to no avail.
I lowered her to the floor. I stripped off my coat and wadded it around my hands. While she hunkered in the corner farthest from the bunk, I reached up and slammed my hands, at the top reach of my arms, against the slats above.
The bunk was burning well now, and the wall behind it caught. Flame snaked up and down the doorframe, and smoke hung heavy in the air. I heard shouting. They'd seen. They were coming.
I pounded the boards. With a loud crack, they broke. I continued beating them, smashing the wooden slats away. Splinters rained down on me, and slivers cut through my jacket to tear my hands.
I flung the jacket aside and grabbed Nance. "Up you go."
She squealed. I shoved her through the broken skylight, pressing my hand on her backside. "Once you're out there, you run for the side and go over and cling to the boat. I'll be right behind you."
She wailed. "I can't swim."
"Damn you, I can. I am a strong swimmer. I'll tow you to shore."
I had no idea if I could walk across the deck, let alone get myself and one sobbing, wretched girl to the bank of the Thames, but I'd galvanized Nance. She wriggled herself upward and caught the edges of the skylight. Nancy cried out softly as the slivers cut her hands, then I pushed her through. She landed on her stomach and rolled away.
I couldn't follow. My leg made it impossible for me to jump, and the only piece of furniture I could have stood on, the bunk, was bolted to the wall and ablaze.
A splash of water hit the door. They were trying to put out the fire without entering the cabin. I smiled. Futile. Flames licked the roof, eating toward the skylight from which Nance had fled. This boat would burn.
I caught up my coat, wrapped it around my arm and shoulder, and charged the burning door. The wood, weak and smoldering, gave way at once, and I fell through. My bare foot slid on the wet deck, and I fell hard to my knees.
I scrambled to right myself. One of Denis's huge brutes charged me, and I ran, gritting my teeth on the pain. I wondered whether Nance had gotten away, and if so, where she had gone over the side.
In the shadow of the cabin a grappling hook bit into the planks of the deck. A taut rope drew a rowboat alongside. A bulky shadow of a man crouched in the stern, but in the bow, one foot on the gunwale, stood Lucius Grenville. Firelight glinted on his dark hair and his glittering eyes. In his hand he held a pistol, and he pointed it straight at me.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-One
I took one step back then dashed forward and flung myself over the side. Grenville shouted. The bitter cold water of the Thames took me, sliding greasily over my body. The cuts on my face stung as the grimy water closed over my head.
I kicked hard, and surfaced. Above me, Grenville fired. The spark flared in the night, and the roar deafened me. A thin spiral of smoke drifted upward, white against the darkness. On the deck, one of Denis's thugs fell, groaning.
A rope snaked across the space between me and the rowboat and slapped the water. I grabbed the line, wrapping it around my numb wrists. It tightened, dragging me toward the boat. I realized that the bulky figure behind Grenville, towing me to safety, was Aloysius Brandon.
I grabbed the side. Brandon reached down, seized me beneath the arms, and hauled me into the boat. I landed on the gunwale and rolled in, a crash of water following me. Grenville fired another pistol. Brandon abandoned me to slice the rope that bound us to Denis's boat.
"Wait." I climbed to my knees, my teeth chattering. "We must find N
ance."
"What?"
"Nance. I told her I'd take her to shore. She can't swim."
"I can't make out what the devil you're saying, Lacey. Sit down. We're going."
"No," I choked.
Grenville swung around. "Are you talking about the girl? I saw her climb out of the cabin and go over the side. You came out just after."
My jaw shook hard with cold and reaction. "Where? Row 'round the boat."
Grenville dropped to the seat and grabbed the oars. I thought, hysterically, that I supposed I should take it as a compliment that he was ruining a pair of fine kid gloves to rescue me.
He competently pulled around the stern of Denis's boat. The cabin was completely ablaze now, and Denis's men had turned their efforts to dousing the fire. I expected any moment to see Nance clinging to the side, her black head above the water, but she did not appear. Grenville circled close, turning the boat on one oar.
I peered into the blackness, shading my eyes against the glare of the fire. "Nance!"
I heard nothing above the crackle of the flames. Other boats, attracted by the blaze, were moving toward us, coming to the aid of the ailing craft.
"Nance!"
My eyes stung, and my opium-fogged brain wanted to slip back to sleep. But the drug was wearing off enough for me to feel the wounds Denis's men had inflicted, along with the cuts from the skylight and the torn mess of my bare feet.
A pistol roared, and a ball whizzed by my head. Brandon ducked, cursing.
"Devil take it, Lacey, we have to go."
"I won't leave her."
Grenville rowed, breathing hard. I scanned the surface near the boat and the water beneath it. I saw nothing. We slid all the way back to our starting point.
"Go 'round again," I shouted.
The Hanover Square Affair Page 18
