The Slide Into Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

“My, my, you are devious.”

  “When one is born a female in this world, one must muddle through for the best results. Now run along and do what must be done. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Darius looked to Marcus in time to see his man cringe when the long kiss good night seemed to never end. Finally though, the spectacle played out and then the carriage was gone, with the woman inside and some of Trelissick’s men to follow.

  Darius’s gathered intelligence had revealed very little about the underworld figure who was Mr Smith. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed a woman to be behind it all. The gambling hells, the brothels, the deep, dark, sinister depths designed to make men pay up or else.

  The tall thin man stood for several long minutes with four of the lantern bearers, watching the carriage drive away long after the wheels stopped clamouring against the cobbles and the light dimmed to nothing. With a sigh and a shrug, he headed back along the gangplank and onto the ship.

  Darius rubbed his brow and then raked his fingers through his damp hair. The situation had just grown more urgent and even more impossible.

  *

  Some time passed, Eliza couldn’t be sure how long, until Wickham came for her. Her only relief lay in that they weren’t at sea yet. They were still docked, which meant unless he had procured a special licence in the dead of night without her father’s signature, then Gabriella’s final hour wasn’t yet upon her.

  “Come along, m’dear,” Wickham said after opening the hatch and peering into the corner to make sure his other prisoner remained chained. “You have been invited to a very special supper.”

  “Gabriella won’t go anywhere with you,” Nathanial called back, putting his body before his sister’s.

  Wickham stepped back from the hole and a different man climbed down. A man with vicious intent written all over his face. Eliza stepped to Nathanial’s side and ensured the rest were behind her, backed into the corner. “I won’t let you take her,” she told them all. “You cannot think this plan will work.”

  Wickham’s head appeared again but this time he met Eliza’s gaze, not Gabriella’s. “I am your legal guardian. You will all do as I command. Mr Smith is waiting to meet you.” His face split into a maniacal grin. “You are going to be my gift to him.”

  There was a rattle of chain as the captive in the corner stood for only the second time since they had been thrown into the hold. His voice was low, his weakness obvious in the way he stumbled, but he said in a clear voice, “You should probably leave the ladies be.”

  Wickham laughed and his man shook his head, still advancing on Nathanial. “Out of the way, boy. If she comes willingly, no one needs to get hurt.”

  “You cannot have her!” Nathanial roared and surged forward, shoving the man hard. The stranger stumbled and then righted himself but he retreated a few steps. Right into the arms of the captive captain.

  He didn’t seem to hesitate and Eliza was unable to tear her eyes away as he lifted his shackled wrists to grip the man’s head in his hands. He gave just one twist and the sickening sound of crunching bone was followed by a thud as their attacker fell to the floor. Her stomach churned and her knees wobbled as Gabriella sobbed and Grace and Ethan cried out.

  Flexing his fingers and rolling his head on his neck, the captain looked up to Wickham. They all followed his gaze as he spoke again. “Who’s next?”

  Wickham snarled his fury but it wasn’t his anger Eliza worried about, it was the pistol in his hand. Though he would have only one shot, she would bet his men were armed also.

  “I should kill you for that,” Wickham growled. “He was one of my best men.”

  The captain strained against his bonds as he threw his arms wide. “So kill me!” he roared. He surged forward, the shackles pulling him back as he kept shouting. “Do it! Put a bullet in my chest and free me from this hellhole. Do it!”

  It only made Wickham’s mouth curl up into a half smile. “Not today, my friend. Not today.” He turned his derision back to Eliza. “Don’t make me shoot someone to show you how serious I am. A bullet this big would make a very large hole in a child’s chest.”

  “I will go with you.” How could she not? She wanted nothing more than for their situation to be resolved. The only way she could see to do that was to raise an alarm of some kind. There had to be other vessels in the bay, at anchor at the docks. Surely if she screamed loud and long enough someone would come to their aid. She could do none of it from the stinking hold.

  She untangled herself from her siblings’ clawing hands and didn’t look back as Nathanial fought to restrain Ethan, his screams of terror following her up the steep ladder and out into the corridor.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Waiting for the last man on deck to slide down the railing and land on his arse seemed to take an eternity but Darius and Marcus agreed it was the only way they had half a chance. If indeed Mr Smith, or whoever she claimed to be, had drugged the wine on board then it would work in their favour, not against. But it was the waiting that was the hardest of all. Every minute they sat there in the dark was another minute the children were in danger. It was another minute Eliza would be at the mercy of his sire. Darius had no doubts that if Wickham were to discover Eliza had married him, the earl would be beyond furious. Eliza would suffer. He was sure of it.

  “I say we go,” Darius said quietly.

  “We should have gone an hour ago,” Marcus grumbled.

  Trelissick still disagreed. “If it was only your necks at stake, I would have let you go two hours ago, but I like my head where it is. We wait thirty more minutes and then we go. I’ll pass the word down the line.”

  Everything and everyone was set. Their number sat at forty-nine so they wouldn’t be completely outnumbered. Darius knew how to fight in close quarters, as did Marcus, but the Bow Street Thief-Takers might not. He’d bet by the look of most them, they knew how to fight dirty and that’s all he needed.

  For the hundredth time, Darius checked his dagger and made sure his pistol had its one shot. He wished he had his sword at his waist but he had left it behind on the Persecutor. Stupid decision, he knew. But at the time he’d been casting off his captain persona and taking on that of a bastard gentleman. Country gents didn’t gad about with steel strapped to them. Not in their century anyway. Modern-day pirates and sea captains who had spent half their lives in battle, they were the ones who required their swords to be at hand every moment of the day.

  “Right-oh,” Trelissick said with a tap to Darius’s back. “Get your wife and the children out first. Deal with Wickham and the others second. Agreed?”

  Darius shook his head. His decision was a difficult one but one he wouldn’t budge on. “You go for Eliza and the children. I’m going to take down Wickham—and Percival. It’s the only way this will really be over.”

  “You can’t kill a peer of the realm. I can’t stand by and watch you do it.”

  Darius only glanced over his shoulder for a second, the sincerity on Trelissick’s face real although there was a flash of regret there too. “Don’t watch me then.”

  He left Trelissick’s men and the runners to check the state of the sailors on deck. He’d given directions to Trelissick’s men to the holds below but he had kept to himself the location of the captain’s cabin. Wickham would have taken the most opulent and the largest space for himself. He just hoped his sire was there and not somewhere else on the ship. He hoped he was alone so no one else had to witness what he was about to do.

  All was eerily silent as they crept along the corridors. They came upon a man perched on a chair but his head was tilted back, his hands held loosely at his sides. Darius shook his head to let Marcus know to leave him be. They edged around the sailor and kept going. When finally they reached the door to the room where he would have his reckoning with his father, a scream rent the air followed by curses and the scrape of chair legs against timber boards.

  A woman’s cries reached him and he reacted without thought. E
liza? He threw the door open with a slam and a roar. But he needn’t have bothered with all of that.

  The room was in chaos but all eyes were riveted to the table before them. Wickham’s surprised look seemed to pass right through him as he held a hand to the side of his neck. Blood pumped through his fingers though he tried uselessly to stem the flow. Darius had seen enough. He swung his pistol towards Eliza where she struggled to pull away from the tall thin man who held her, the man masquerading as the real Mr Smith, the odious Sir Percival at his side, the two henchmen behind them.

  Held in Eliza’s fingers was a butter knife. On her hand was a spray of crimson that went up her arm and had spattered half her face. Her swollen and scratched face. Her gown was torn from the neck to one side of her hip and her beautiful blonde hair hung in tatters.

  This faux Mr Smith put one arm around her chest and took the knife from her hand with the other, holding it to the delicate skin of her neck.

  Eliza met Darius’s gaze, moisture pooling against the blue depths. “I’m so sorry, Darius. I didn’t want to… He was going to make me… I’m sorry. I had to.”

  He couldn’t quite believe it was over. His sire was dead.

  But he was mistaken. Wickham might be dead as dead could get, but it was far from over.

  Mr Smith held her tighter, using her as a shield of sorts. “You lot, away from the door.” He gestured with his chin, the knife indenting against Eliza’s neck. It probably wasn’t sharp enough to slice her, but it was obviously pointed enough to stab an earl in the neck.

  Eliza called out to him, “Save the children—they’re below. Don’t worry about me.”

  Darius heard her but he wasn’t about to leave her there. Alone with the rest of the pond scum. He raised his hands, his pistol swinging loosely around his thumb. “We have the ship surrounded. You can’t get away.”

  The crazed, trapped look in the other man’s eyes was enough to have Darius and Marcus edge away from the doorway and further into the room, leaving the exit clear. He knew someone would catch the man before he made it off the ship. “Leave Eliza here, Frederick. You don’t need her slowing you down.”

  The man acting as Mr Smith raised his brows in genuine surprise at Darius’s use of his real name. But then he held Eliza tighter, pushed the knife closer. “She comes with me. If you follow, I’ll stab her in the belly.”

  He was helpless to act as Frederick, the two henchmen and Percival fled the room, the former magistrate closing the door and turning the lock.

  *

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  She’d killed a man. Eliza had spent months condemning her sister for not finding another way with their father, for not coming to her for help, for shooting him dead in his desk chair. For months she had watched as Gabriella seemed not to feel any anguish over the murder at all. She’d kept saying it was the only way. Is that what this was for Eliza? The only way?

  Darius hadn’t appeared angry with her when he’d burst into the room, Marcus at his side. Hope had swelled in her chest but as the Earl of Wickham’s blood dried on her face and in her hair, that hope had faded. At least she didn’t have to be scared anymore. Darius would save her siblings. He would. Why else would he have followed them all the way to London?

  The sound of metal clanging and shots firing met her ears in the corridor. They were the sounds of a fierce fight. Eliza smiled numbly as she was hauled up a flight of stairs. Finally, after months of unrest, her brothers and sisters would be safe. She found she didn’t even particularly care what came next for her or what had just happened. Wickham deserved death and now he’d found it.

  “Which way?” the man who held her hissed at his companions. Darius had called him Frederick on purpose. Not Smith.

  She recalled how shock had lit his slim features as Wickham had presented her to him, like a gift he could take and do with what he wanted. Mr Smith, the cutthroat criminal, would have been used to times like these ones. The man who held her clearly was not.

  When he’d politely declined the use of her body, something about a possessive mistress already on his arm, Wickham had simply shrugged and made a comment about sharing her around. He’d taken the bodice of her ancient travelling gown in his hands and ripped the fabric with ease, an insane bent to his determination.

  Eliza remembered the seconds that had followed. As he pulled her to his chest, his breath reeking of wine and fish, she’d reached for a plate to conk him with, a mug, anything, but then her hand had closed around silverware. It could have been a fork or a spoon for all she cared. The next thing she knew, the utensil had found a mark on the earl’s throat. Instead of being appalled at her actions, she’d pulled the knife out, ready to stab at anyone who dared touch her again. She hadn’t meant to kill him but there wasn’t a part of her that regretted it. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t harass Darius. He couldn’t twist the tale of this night once it was finally over, if it ever ended.

  When they rounded another corner, a woman stood in their way, a pistol in her hand and a smile on her lips.

  Mr Smith and his men stopped. One of the henchman, the one with the lantern, saw her and his face contorted into a half grin. “Two birds with one stone?” he mocked with an evil smile. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “Good day to you, gentlemen,” the woman called as though welcoming tea visitors. She was dressed in a gown of the highest fashion and the most expensive forest-green fabric, her red hair pulled tight into a plait that swung over her shoulder when she stepped forward.

  The other henchman scowled. “Who the hell are you?”

  The woman spoke again, her smug smile still in place. “I am Daniella Germaine. Perhaps you’ve heard of my father, Captain Richard Germaine?”

  All the men shook their heads, bewildered. Eliza inwardly cursed but the knife at her throat wasn’t nearly as close now and she breathed deep.

  “No matter. You will let the lady go,” Daniella Germaine demanded.

  The man holding her shrugged and pushed Eliza hard in Daniella’s direction. Unprepared for the man’s compliance, the other woman almost didn’t catch her. In a mess of arms and legs and shrieks, they both fell. Eliza scrambled to untangle the pistol from their skirts, having fallen on the steel, but the men didn’t advance. Sir Percival muttered something unintelligible and took off in the other direction, escaping whatever was to happen next.

  The one who held the lantern made a tsk, tsk sound and then said, “’Tis a pity such fine ladies have to die like this.” He turned to the one who had held Eliza and asked, “Are you sure we can’t have some fun with ’em first?”

  Mr Smith shook his head. “No time. Start the fire and let’s get out of here. There are too many of them. We don’t stand a chance with hostages.”

  The man with the lantern thought about it but then added, “We aren’t low enough yet. The fire will only burn up. Didn’t Smith want no traces left behind?”

  “You let me deal with Smith. The smoke should be enough to kill everyone left even if the flames do not. I want to be well away before it takes hold.”

  She hated the way the men so casually spoke of murder as though they partook in the act on a daily basis. Perhaps they did? Her stomach churned.

  The lantern was held aloft, a wicked glint in the man’s eye. When her father had taught her how to use a gun, he’d told her if you pointed it at a man, you had better be able to fire the thing. Eliza aimed and pulled the trigger. She missed the front man but hit the second right in the chest. The report threw her hand high and jarred her arm all the way to the elbow but then Daniella was lifting her from behind as the lantern was thrown at the ground. Flames spread quickly, the puddle of oil tilting in their direction with the gentle roll of the ship. The two remaining men cackled with laughter as they retreated, the one known as Frederick lay still on the floor, unmoving, probably the second man Eliza had killed in that hour.

  Half dragging Eliza, Daniella managed to get her away from the flames but they could only go low
er, not higher. They were trapped.

  “Who are you? Where are the others?” Eliza asked her as they fled the smoke and heat.

  “We don’t have time for this now but I am a friend of Darius’s. Do you know where the children are? Darius or my husband? Wickham? Do you know a way out?”

  “Wait. You’re Daniella? You aren’t Darius’s friend.”

  “Whatever he told you about me, I am his friend and I am here to help. Now, do you know where the children are being held?”

  “Follow me,” Eliza said, overtaking at a run, uncaring of whatever lay between her husband and this woman at this exact moment in time. She lifted her filthy skirts above her bare feet so as not to trip and fall. “I think I remember the way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  There was so much smoke. The stench of burning timber made Darius’s eyes water and caused his throat to feel as though rusted wire was trying to make its way down to his gut. He coughed before bracing himself to have another run at the locked door. Pain jarred his entire body. He clenched his teeth against hopelessness. Since the door opened in, there wasn’t a chance to break it down from their side. Ships were built solid for a reason.

  “That door is never going to give,” Marcus said behind him, stating the obvious in a toneless voice.

  “I’m open to better ideas,” Darius replied, surprised when sarcasm emerged instead of desperate fury.

  When he turned back to the stateroom, Marcus had put his boot to the dead Earl of Wickham to knock him onto the floor. Taking the legs of the chair and flipping it upside down, he held it high above the table and then slammed down with a show of power Darius had rarely seen from his old friend. The timbers splintered and came apart in large pieces.

  He threw a leg to Darius and then indicated the huge window facing out to the water. “We have to break our way out and jump.”

  “I can’t leave without knowing where Eliza and the children are.”