“Nae. She was lost off the coast of Solway Firth, Scotland.”
Steven's jaw tightened. He looked at the Indian. “Joseph.”
Marcus didn't hear the man leave but knew he had when Steven swung his gaze back to him.
“You have any idea how many people have information concerning my sister?” Steven's expression turned speculative. “None of them ever tracked me through the wilderness. You must feel damn confident about your information. You have five minutes. I should warn you, however, if I don't find your story amusing, I'll kill you.”
A melancholy warmth rippled through Marcus. “That sounds like something your sister would say.”
Steven's gaze turned icy. “If you want to delay dying, don't bother with the amusing anecdotes.”
“I will begin with this.” Marcus reached into the front pocket of his buckskin jacket.
Steven pointed his rifle at Marcus. “Easy.”
Marcus paused, then slowly produced his and Elise's wedding certificate from the pocket. He dismounted, then strode to Steven and extended the certificate to him.
Steven rested his rifle against the tree he'd been hiding in. “Don't think we're alone,” he said as he unfolded the document, “I saved Joseph's life once. He can't return to his Chickasaw tribe until he returns the favor, so he's hoping like hell someone will try to kill me.”
Steven scanned the document. A moment later, he looked at Marcus and gave a short laugh. “You got the name wrong. Elise is not a Merriwether.”
“Nae,” Marcus said, “she's a MacGregor.”
Half an hour later, Marcus laid Elise's death certificate on the ground between him and Steven. The boy stared at the document. The fire they had built flickered off his pale face in the waning daylight. He lifted his gaze to Marcus.
“No death certificate was issued for Elise.” He stared at Marcus for a long moment before saying, “I have no way of knowing if a word of what you say is true.”
“Perhaps you do.” Marcus retrieved the gold band from his front pocket. He laid the ring on the death certificate.
Steven looked at the ring, his brow furrowing in thought, then he picked it up and held it up to the firelight. Marcus watched him read the words etched inside the band—For all eternity—words he'd read a thousand times over the last month.
Steven set the ring back on the document and looked at him. “Why tell me any of this?” He nodded toward the death certificate. “She's dead.”
Marcus took a deep breath. “Mayhap not.” He produced the next piece of evidence: the notice of reward for Elise's body that had appeared in the Sunday Times.
By the time Marcus finished with the more bizarre half of his tale, Steven's expression had hardened. “I knew Price was a fortune hunter, but this goes beyond anything I suspected. Twenty-six percent of Landen Shipping remained held in trust for me until I reached twenty-one. When the shares became mine, Price wasn't pleased, but he still held controlling interest. Elise married Robert when she was twenty-one, four years before she would come into possession of her inheritance. Not that it mattered; Robert controlled the purse.”
“The woman you describe is different than the one I knew. Elise—” Marcus laughed, “She has done things many men would grow fainthearted over.”
Steven picked up the stick he'd laid beside him earlier and poked the fire. “She never wanted for courage. That night on the Amelia, she surprised even me.” Steven looked at him with sudden surprise. “Damn! Her journal.”
Marcus tensed. “What?”
Steven plunged the stick into the ground. “Amelia's doctor instructed Elise to keep a journal in order to chronicle her illness. After she died, Elise began doing research. Actually, she began the research before Amelia died but, by then, it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“Amelia was diagnosed with everything from heart trouble to nervous disorders. No one could offer a cure. You won't believe this, I wouldn't have believed it either had I not caught Robert trying to kill her, but Elise suspected Robert of poisoning Amelia.”
Marcus went cold. “Bloody hell.”
“I learned of her suspicions from the journal. By then, Robert was gone.” He gave Marcus a frank look. “Despite how I felt about Robert, if I hadn't walked in when he was strangling Elise that night, I would have attributed her suspicions to… well…”
Marcus clenched his fist. “If the bastard were alive, I would kill him myself.”
Steven gave a cold laugh. “I would have done it long ago.”
“Aye,” he said. “I wager you would have.”
Steven laid the stick back on the ground beside him. “Price being in Scotland and that bounty don't prove Elise didn't die in the carriage accident.”
Marcus held his gaze. “Three months ago, Ardsley told the Landen Shipping board of directors that Elise was here in America.”
Steven went white.
“Are you all right, lad?”
“When Elise married, I gave her my shares in Landen Shipping.”
Marcus gave a slow nod. “The stakes are even higher. Ardsley has begun negotiations for a large loan to Landen Shipping. He wants to expand the shipping routes.”
Steven started. “What?”
“He began negotiations six months ago.”
“How can he hope to make the vote without me?” Steven's lip curled up in a derisive twist. “Of course.”
“Aye,” Marcus said. “He would not need you if he has Elise.”
Chapter Nineteen
Marcus strode into the Single Penny tavern with Steven behind him. Marcus glanced back at his young companion. They'd spent seven days on the road and the boy looked none the worse for wear. No one would suspect he wasn't a regular in the establishment. The deception went beyond the rough clothes he wore. The metamorphosis from upper-class gentleman to the rough, bawdy character ready to yank his knife from its sheath and open the gullet of any man who looked in his direction was complete. Steven certainly wasn't the typical wealthy American.
The boy's gaze rested for an instant on a table in the far corner of the room, then moved on. Marcus glanced in the same direction and realized he had seen Justin sitting with another man. Even in the shadows of the dimly lit room, Marcus understood what had snagged Steven's attention. Despite the rough clothes Justin wore, the way his manicured fingers curled around the beer mug he drank from gave away the fact he wasn't a typical river rat.
Steven looked at Marcus. Marcus gave a small jerk of his head and Steven followed as he strode to the table. Justin set the mug of ale on the table and looked up at their approach. Marcus slid into the seat to his right. Steven circled the table and took the seat to Justin's left.
“Marcus,” Justin's cultured English accent remained evident despite the hoarse quality he injected into his voice.
“Justin,” Marcus greeted in a thick, Scottish brogue.
“Meet William Sheldon of the Boston police department,” Justin said.
“Shhh,” Sheldon hissed, ducking his head down.
“Mr Sheldon,” Justin said, “tell my friend what you told me.”
Mr Sheldon looked about. He sat back suddenly and Marcus would have urged him on, but a tavern maid approached the table, two ales in hand.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, setting an ale before Marcus, then going around William to place the other in front of Steven. She straightened, saying, “You have a choice of jackrabbit stew or roast pig.”
“Jackrabbit stew, my girl, all around,” Steven spoke up.
Marcus hid his surprise at hearing the guttural accent Steven employed and nodded to the girl in assent when she looked at him. She started for the bar at the back of the room and Marcus focused on William.
“Lad,” he said in low tones, “proceed with your tale, if ye please.”
William cast a nervous glance about the room, then leaned forward. “Your friend here,” he nodded toward Justin, “promised the remainder of the fee.”
&nb
sp; “Aye,” Marcus said. “Whatever he agreed to, you'll get.”
“If you don't mind, sir,” William said, “I'll have my payment now.”
Justin pulled forth a small pouch and set it on the table. William reached for it, but Marcus laid a hand on his when it covered the pouch. “The money stays where it is until I've heard what you have to say.”
William nodded, and Marcus withdrew his hand. William released the pouch and placed his elbows on the table. “There's a place up north, a hundred and fifty miles or so, Bainbridge Hospital. A month ago, a man incarcerated his wife there because she believes she was Cleopatra in a past life.”
“And what makes ye think this woman is the one we are looking for?” Marcus asked.
“The description your friend here gave. The woman is dark haired, late twenties and slim of build. The man is much older and seems to fit your description. He's rich, sure enough.”
William sat back and Marcus saw the tavern maid approach again, tray in hand with four bowls of stew on it.
She set a bowl before each of them and looked at the men. “Anything else?”
“That'll be all,” Steven said, and hunched over his bowl. He began clinking the spoon loudly against the side of the bowl.
The woman turned as he took a hearty mouthful. William gulped a spoonful of stew. He chewed, his gaze following her until she was out of hearing range. He took one more bite of food as two men passed, headed for a nearby table.
William pushed the bowl forward. “As I was saying, the man is rich. He's left strict orders that no one is to visit his wife and she is to be kept under heavy sedation.”
Marcus's hand balled into a fist and, before realizing it, he started to push to his feet.
Justin grasped his shoulder and shoved him back into his seat. “Easy there, my fellow,” he said, his voice all amusement. “You would think it was your own wife there instead of—well”—Justin flashed a grin—”you know how it is, Mr Sheldon, when a woman cuckolds a man.”
William nodded. “Indeed, I do.”
“Seems the lady was burning both ends of the candle,” Justin said. “It's my guess her husband is teaching the wench a lesson far beyond that you could serve up, my boy.” He gave Marcus a hearty clap on the shoulder.
Marcus slumped back into his chair. “She didna' cuckold me,” he muttered in a sullen a voice, and looked at William. “'Tis no' enough to be sure she's the one.”
“She is the most likely one.”
Marcus exchanged a glance with Justin. “What do you mean 'the most likely one?'“
“There's another woman, but she doesn't seem a good fit. A raving lunatic. Has nightmares about a child who was poisoned—”
Marcus started. Justin straightened and Steven dropped his spoon into his nearly empty bowl. William looked from one man to the other.
“Where is this woman?” Marcus demanded.
“Twenty miles outside of Boston in Danvers Sanitarium.”
“Danvers?” Steven repeated in a loud voice.
Marcus shot him a warning look.
Steven lowered his voice. “That's an asylum for the criminally insane.”
Marcus felt the blood rush to his head.
“What are her circumstances?” Justin cut in.
“Her father brought her,” William replied. “She suffers from delusions that her child has returned from the dead.” William shivered. “Most of the men working there fear her. There's nothing like the fear of the devil to put the fear of God into a man.”
Or the fear of a courageous woman, Marcus silently added.
Minutes later, Marcus stepped from the tavern onto the dimly lit street between Justin and Steven. Once out of sight of the tavern, Marcus looked at Justin. “I am the spurned lover?”
Justin grinned. “You weren't anything until I thought you would do poor William in.”
“Who is this William?”
Justin gave a deprecating laugh. “A Boston law-enforcement officer.”
Marcus addressed Steven, “What do you know of Boston law enforcement?”
“I don't know William, but many Boston police officers are in a position to know information like what he told us.”
Marcus nodded. “Where does Landen Shipping hold its board meetings?”
“The Brill Building, downtown Boston,” Steven answered.
Justin said, “Ardsley will have to transport her from the sanitarium to the meeting,”
“Aye.” Marcus replied. “Only, we will meet him long before he reaches Boston.”
* * *
The sun peeked over the horizon. Not a single traveler had appeared on the road leading to Danvers Sanitarium while they lay hidden under the cover of darkness. Marcus tapped Justin on the shoulder and signaled that he would return momentarily. He slipped from the trees overlooking the road east of them, crept through tall grass, brambles, and bush up a hill. The wildly growing foliage ended abruptly. Across a vast manicured lawn, the view of the sprawling, ivy-covered, brick building—his first in the light of day—chilled him to the bone.
The pointed towers and peaked gables had lost the haunting look their silhouettes projected in the twilight hours and became, instead, the bared teeth of The Witches' Castle. A shudder ran through him. What sort of twisted mind had built a sanitarium on the spot where John Hathorne, the most fanatical judge of the Salem witch trials, once lived?
Marcus's heart hardened at sight of the iron-barred windows. He brought his gaze down to the stone steps of the front entrance. Marked on both sides by wrought iron railing, they lead up to a circular, covered porch. Columns supported the porch roof on either side. He looked again at the windows, studying one, then another, of what seemed an endless array of cells.
Which of those tiny rooms held Elise prisoner? So close. Marcus envisioned forcing his way past the attendants who fed off the brutality they inflicted upon the helpless inmates. The image, however, was violently replaced by the realization that those men would hold him until Price arrived. Then any power embodied in the information he held would become worthless—and Elise would be lost forever. He closed his eyes in an effort to banish the thought but saw, instead, her frail form, lying on a thin pallet, hands crossed over her breasts in readiness for the coffin. He shook off the vision, then turned from the menacing asylum. He crept down the slope and returned to Justin and Steven.
Marcus scanned the empty road before whispering, “What has gone wrong?”
“Mayhap Ardsley took her out before we arrived?” Justin asked.
Steven shook his head. “No. You heard what our scout said when we arrived yesterday evening. Price hasn't been to the sanitarium.”
Marcus started to speak, but Steven cut him off. “The surrounding area is being watched. Had anyone ridden cross-country, we would have been alerted.”
“A single man could have slipped past your men,” Marcus said. “Does Ardsley ride?”
“Quite well,” Steven replied. “But he couldn't have approached the hospital without being spotted. As you have seen, Danvers is surrounded by open country.”
“He would need a carriage for Elise,” Justin said.
“Aye,” Marcus agreed, “but if he didn't plan on bringing her to the meeting today, he would have come by horseback.”
“If he doesn't need her at the meeting, he may not have come at all,” Justin added.
“He has no hope of swinging the vote without her,” Steven said. “He must bring her. Why keep her alive if he isn't going to present her?”
That was a question Marcus couldn't consider.
* * *
Another day of living with the knowledge that Elise was locked in hell had worn Marcus beyond thin. The Single Penny's tavern door swung open and he snapped his attention onto the newcomer, his brother-in-law. His heart rate accelerated. The grim expression on the lad's face didn't bode well. Steven assessed the room in the same manner he had the day they'd met William Shelby, then pressed through the cluster of men milling nea
r the door and shuffled across the room.
He slid into the seat opposite Marcus and without preamble whispered, “I'm a complete fool.”
“What has happened?” Marcus demanded.
“We were so occupied with Danvers—so sure Elise was there—”
“Are you saying she is not?”
Steven shook his head. “No. Only that our knowing she is there created a distraction.” He gave a harsh laugh. “If I didn't know any better, I would swear Price planned it.” His mouth dipped into a deep scowl. “It occurred to me last night that I should question Price's servants.”
“Wouldn't Ardsley stop you?” Marcus asked.
“If he knew, yes. There is little love lost between Price and his servants. The housekeeper, in particular, despises him.” Steven halted and looked past Marcus. He realized the barmaid must be approaching with ale in hand. An instant later, she appeared at his right and set an ale before Steven.
“Any of that jackrabbit stew left?” Steven asked.
“Always got jackrabbit stew,” she replied.
“Two,” Steven said, and she left. He drank from his mug, then said, “Mrs Hartley is a jewel of a housekeeper and Price knows it. Every day, after lunch, she goes to the market. This afternoon, I met her there.” Steven paused. “I've always wondered why she stays with Price. A woman with her skills could easily find another post. She doesn't live in terror of him as the other servants do.
“This is the only concession I have ever known him to make in his household. That, too, puzzled me. Price isn't a man to tolerate being questioned. Today, I discovered why she stays. Mrs Hartley has a son. He is now thirty years of age. About fifteen years ago, he killed a man in a brothel brawl. The dead man was a well-respected businessman. All these years, Price has been holding this over her head.”
“Why tell you this after all this time?”
Steven gave a low grunt. “Two reasons, I suspect. One, she likes Elise. The second, once I told her Price was holding Elise captive she must have realized that there was a great chance I would deal with him legally. That would free her from Price's hold.”
Seduction Regency Style Page 85
