Salting the Wound

by Janet Woods

  Seth smiled. That sounded like Marianne, all right, but she was stronger than her appearance implied. ‘Did you see the girl again?’

  ‘I didn’t see her step ashore, if that’s what you’re after knowing. The Samarand set sail not long after. Her master went striding on board about fifteen minutes after the girl. Wake up you lazy buggers, all hands on deck, he roared, and within minutes the crew were swarming over the ship like fleas on a dog’s back.’ He chuckled. ‘He soon had that lot jumping, I can tell you. Off she went with the tide, and she ain’t due back yet.’

  ‘Where was she headed?’

  America I reckon. She didn’t load enough provisions for a longer voyage. She should be back in about five or six weeks. The Thornton ships takes turn and turn about, you see. Two American to one Australian run. It happens that Daisy Jane – that’s old man Thornton’s ship, is due back about the same time.’

  That information seemed fairly conclusive to Seth, and he’d learned more than he’d bargained for. Firstly, that the man who’d dropped his pencils had been snooping for information about himself. Second, that he’d probably sent the note regarding Marianne’s whereabouts. He doubted that the man was called Henry Smith though.

  ‘Many thanks. He dropped a shilling into the man’s hand then turned and strode towards the rig. He was not looking forward to telling Charlotte that her suspicions were probably correct, and that Marianne was most likely on board the Samarand.

  From what the fisherman had said, Seth was willing to wager that Nick Thornton hadn’t known she was on board. The girl must have hidden herself away. Why, for the adventure of it? And why hadn’t she taken any personal belongings with her? Had she gone on board intending to visit someone, and met with an accident of some sort?

  He hummed to himself as he headed back to Heath House, enjoying the morning sun on his back, trying to convince himself it was the most likely explanation. Despite the bad blood existing between Nick Thornton and Charlotte, Nick was enough of a gentleman to make sure Marianne would be looked after, Seth was sure.

  That thought was followed by a more worrying thought. Then why hadn’t Nick turned back to port with her? He must have known that Charlotte would have worried about her sister.

  He supplied his own answer by saying out loud. ‘Perhaps it’s because Charlotte would have worried about her.’

  Charles Barrie was thorough in his questioning of Adam Chapman. ‘Are you certain it was my grandson with the Colonel?’

  ‘As I stated in my report, Sir Charles, I can only be sure there was a boy of your grandson’s age with a man known as Seth Hardy. I saw them for but a moment and we shook hands. The boy was introduced as his son, John Hardy.’

  ‘But you formed an impression there was a family likeness.’

  ‘I did form that impression.’ Adam handed him the sketches. I drew these likenesses. That one is Harbour House, where they live.’

  But Charles Barrie’s eyes were scrutinizing the sketch of the boy. ‘Hmm . . . unless I’m imagining it there is something of Jonathan about the lad.’ Charles frowned. ‘Did they suspect you were investigating them? I asked you not to approach them.’

  ‘Not at all, Sir Charles. The meeting was entirely accidental, which was fortunate because I would have never got near the house unobserved. I’m given to understand that Mrs Hardy has recently given birth to twins.’

  Caustically the old man said, ‘Then she won’t miss my grandson when he’s removed from her care. In fact, she could lose her own children for a while if she knowingly helped her husband to keep the boy.’

  Adam considered it harsh to punish the woman and her children, and he found it hard to keep the displeasure from his voice when he told him, ‘You didn’t strike me as the type of man who’d punish two newborn infants when they rely on their mother for their sustenance.’

  Shame chased across Sir Charles’s face and he blustered, ‘Of course, I would have taken that into account.’ He quickly tried to change the subject. ‘How did the boy look?’

  ‘Happy, and well cared for. He seems to have a good relationship with his . . . with his stepfather.’

  ‘His abductor, you mean.’

  ‘No, sir, I do not mean that. Seth Hardy’s story has yet to be heard. He could be completely innocent of doing any wrong. I make it my business not to judge people.’

  ‘And I do judge them, since that’s my profession. I’m an expert at it.’

  ‘Forgive me for being outspoken, but there’s a difference between making a considered judgment, and judging with prejudice, especially when dealing with somebody you’ve never met. I understand that you’re a man who wants to do the best for his grandson, but you’re personally involved. That’s bound to have a bearing on your thinking, and you are jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘And if it were you in my shoes?’

  ‘Right at this moment I’d be thankful that the child was alive and had been well cared for, especially since you didn’t know of his existence until a few months ago.’

  ‘Would you, by God,’ Charles spluttered, then he laughed. ‘For such a young man you’re remarkably frank. Thank you, Mr Chapman. I will not need your services any longer so you can present your account. If the boy turns out to be my grandson I’ll let you know.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that.’ He reached the door and remembered the reward money. He turned back and placed the package on the desk. At an inquiring quirk of Sir Charles’s eyebrow, Adam said, ‘It’s what remains of the reward money. I didn’t need it all.’

  Charles smiled at that. ‘I knew you were honest the first time I set eyes on you. Keep it . . . call it a bonus for a job well done. Your services may be required again if the boy and I happen to be unrelated.’

  Now it was Adam’s turn to smile. ‘I can almost guarantee that you are.’

  After Adam left Bedford Square he made his way across London to Chiswick, using the available tram service for most of the way. He turned into Sutton Court Road, where he’d bought a fairly new terrace house a year before, shortly after his father’s estate had been dealt with.

  Celia’s face appeared at the window before he had time to take out his key. His sister beamed him a wide smile, the door opened and she threw herself into his arms. Whirling her around he set her back on her feet. ‘How’s my favourite sister?’

  ‘I’m well.’ She practically dragged him into the house. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘And I’ve missed you . . . how’s our mother?’

  ‘She’s in a mood today. Seeing you might cheer her up a bit.’

  Dressed in black, Florence Chapman was seated before a stretcher frame by the window embroidering a coloured bird amongst some equally gaudy flowers. He guessed it was to replace the shabby-looking panel in the fire screen. She was good at needlework. He kissed her. ‘Mother.’

  Peevishly, she said, ‘Where have you been all this time, Adam?’

  ‘I was employed to find someone, and it took longer than I expected.’

  ‘I don’t see why you have to work at such a demeaning profession. You should take after your father and do something in the city. At least we had a bigger house to live in with staff. And we entertained.’

  His father had entertained himself by gradually losing almost everything they had at the card tables. Adam had bought the best house that he could afford from what had been left. It was of a manageable size, even though it was inconveniently far from central London. He also rented a small suite of rooms in the business district. He sometimes slept there during the week, on a sofa in the back room, which was about the size of a dressing room.

  ‘There’s no reason why you can’t entertain.’

  ‘I have no friends here.’

  ‘Then make some, Mother. You must meet other women at church. As I recall you used to enjoy your card parties.’

  ‘They won’t be the same as my old friends.’

  ‘How will you know if you don’t bother to try and make any?’

  ‘I
want to go back to where we used to live.’

  An edge of impatience crept into his voice. ‘You can’t. May I remind you that father died leaving us without means to pay his debts.’

  She heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, you always blame him . . . but then, you never did get on with him.’

  Neither had his mother, but it would be unkind of him to remind her of the fact.

  ‘I suppose you’re doing your best, Adam.’

  Considering he’d had to give up his education in order to earn enough money for them all to survive on, yes, he was doing his best. ‘We have a roof over our heads and food. And you have a housemaid.’

  ‘But only two days a week.’

  Celia broke in, ‘Our housemaid is very good, and two days is enough to keep the house clean and the laundry done. I can do the rest.’ She kissed the top of his head. ‘If it wasn’t for you we’d starve, Adam dearest. I, for one, am grateful. Mother, you should be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘And so should you be. If you’d accepted Edward Rayburn when your father was alive we’d all be wealthy now.’

  Adam felt sick at the thought. ‘Celia was only sixteen at the time and Edward Rayburn was seventy.’

  ‘He’s since died, and Celia would have become a wealthy widow. As it was, it all went to his miserable sister. What have you been doing all this time, Adam – where have you been?’

  ‘Looking for somebody’s grandson. I went to Edinburgh first, then down to the harbour town of Poole, in Dorset. It’s very pretty there.’

  ‘Did you find the child?’ Celia asked.

  He smiled at her. ‘Yes, I did find him. I’ll tell you all about it later.’ He welcomed input from Celia, who was interested in his chosen profession and liked to unravel a puzzle as much as he did. At least they wouldn’t be constantly interrupted by their mother’s caustic comments then. She’d be in bed.

  ‘In the meantime I have a gift for your birthday.’ He pulled a small jewellery case from his pocket and handed it to Celia. Her eyes shone with excitement as she opened it to reveal a silver pendant with a garnet set in a circle of seed pearls. He took it from her and fastened it around her neck. ‘I wish I could have bought you something better.’

  ‘It’s lovely, Adam, thank you so much. I’ll treasure it.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea. I’m looking forward to hearing about your recent case.’

  His mother looked up from her stitching. ‘Well I’m not. Your father and I had such great hopes for you, Adam, and look what happened. You became an investigation agent. How can you stand working with such unsavoury people.’

  He gave a faint smile. Unsavoury? His clients were hardly that. Most were discreet, well respected and wealthy – people like the judge. It had been a struggle at first, but business was picking up via word of mouth, which was the best advertising to have. Adam intended to secure a better life for them all eventually. However, he didn’t argue with his mother, but decided to allow her to have the last word.

  Charles fetched his hat and cane, and even though he wasn’t feeling well he made his way by foot to Edgar Wyvern’s chambers. News of his grandson had given him a new lease of life, and although he’d been warned that excitement was bad for a man of his age, he encouraged the feeling on this occasion.

  The air outside was diffused by a thin mist that promised to become a thick fog by nightfall. On several occasions Charles was obliged to stop when it caught at his throat, and he was overtaken by a coughing fit which left his throat sore.

  Edgar wasn’t surprised to see him. ‘From that smile on your face I imagine you’ve received some positive news.’

  ‘I most certainly have. Can you take time off to accompany me to Poole, Edgar? I intend to confront this Colonel Hardy.’

  ‘I daresay my clerk can rearrange my appointments to suit, but confrontation is not the path to take, since we don’t yet know the circumstances. A letter informing the man of the situation would be the proper way to act.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, Edgar. I intend to bring John back with me. As his grandfather my jurisdiction concerning the child is clear.’ Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped the perspiration from his face.

  Edgar gazed closely at him. ‘You don’t look well, Charles.’

  ‘It’s an inopportune moment to be taken ill. I appear to be running a fever and my throat is sore. I’m probably developing a cold.’ He began to cough and held his handkerchief to his mouth.

  Edgar poured him a brandy. ‘Here, drink this while I go and tell my clerk to find you a cab. Then you’d best get home to bed. A couple of weeks won’t make much difference. The boy can wait until you’re better.

  Nine

  Marianne had never been out of England, and the sight of the gently sloping hills of Boston and the bustle of the docks was an exciting novelty.

  They anchored outside. Eventually a boat arrived carrying a medical officer, and a man climbed aboard. The crew was given a clean bill of health and the Samarand was allowed to dock.

  The ship’s cargo was unloaded.

  To her disappointment Nick told her to stay on board when the crew went ashore. ‘I run a dry ship, and they deserve a drink. A tavern isn’t the place for a woman, neither are the docks. I’d be obliged if you’d stay in your cabin. Sam can keep you company until I get back.’

  He stopped to exchange a few words with the watch-keeper, and they both looked her way. When Nick waved and followed the crew down the gangplank she thought he’d be drinking with them, but he returned before too long with packages under his arm and a grin on his face that made her smile. There wasn’t a trace of liquor about him. He dismissed Sam with, ‘Off you go, lad. You know where your shipmates will be. Behave yourself, I don’t want to have to explain to your mother why I had to bail you out of the lock-up.’

  Sam grinned widely.

  Nick placed the packages on the table and said, ‘These are for you. I’ve booked you into a . . . hotel overnight, where you can take a bath. An acquaintance of mine will make sure you’re looked after.’

  Her eyes began to shine. ‘A proper bath?’

  He gave an odd sort of a chuckle. ‘What other sort is there? And we’ll have dinner afterwards. You’d best get changed, a woman wearing trousers will be frowned upon when we go ashore.’

  The hotel looked like a large house, and it bore no sign of advertising itself as such. Inside it was predominantly red velvet and gold tassels, but the bath was a luxury that she appreciated. Marianne sank up to her neck in the warm, scented water and allowed it to caress her body as she gazed round at the room. It had a wide bed, and above the bedstead hung a picture of a naked woman draped in a diaphanous cloth.

  ‘Lor,’ she murmured, her eyes widening, ‘the hussy is leaving nothing to the imagination.’

  To her amazement a maid attended to her needs. Her hair was washed and styled. The gown Nick had bought her to wear was pretty with blue cornflowers on a cream background, the sleeves and bodice trimmed with lace. She blushed when she saw the underwear, a froth of stiff petticoats to wear in lieu of a hoop. Then there were the silk drawers, and a corset of white satin and lace that was more decorative than useful, since her waist was already small.

  She blushed again when Nick arrived, looking dashing in a black suit and gold patterned waistcoat. He’d also bathed and his whiskers were gone. He looked her up and down then gazed into her eyes and chuckled.

  She giggled. ‘Say one word about those garments you bought me and I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.’

  ‘My dear Aria, you’re a delight.’

  She laughed. ‘Which is not something you can be accused of, Nick. You’re an out and out rogue.’ He looked pleased by her description of his character and she couldn’t be cross with him. ‘May I ask you something?’

  ‘That depends what it is.’

  Her eyes went to the picture hanging over the bed. ‘Is this a proper hotel?’

  ‘If you need to ask I think you’
re well aware that it’s not. If the picture shocks you, I’ll cover it. Let me just say this. Mrs Crawford rents out rooms and service for people in need of it. She is high class, and discreet.’

  Marianne began to suspect that his attentions towards her were dishonourable. ‘You mean she rents rooms to businessmen who need to meet their lovers somewhere private.’

  ‘Sometimes she provides them with a companion as well . . . but this is not something we should be discussing. If you’d prefer to go back to the ship I’ll be happy to escort you. I haven’t got designs on you if that’s what you think. I just thought you’d enjoy the facilities.’

  She felt guilty at suspecting him of having an ulterior motive, but contrarily, was miffed that he didn’t. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not what?’

  ‘Why haven’t you got designs on me? Am I unattractive?’

  He gazed at her, beginning to smile. ‘Ah, you truly have the mind of a woman. You know damned well that you’re an attractive baggage, as you are aware that I lied. I do most definitely have designs on you. If you think I’m not having a problem keeping my hands off you, think again.’ Folding his arms across his chest he shoved his hands under his armpits. ‘There, now you’re safe.’

  She blushed and placed her palms against her cheeks. ‘Now you’re mocking me.’

  His hands fell to his side. ‘I’ll try not to. Whatever I feel, or imagine when I look at you, it’s all about being a man. However, I do have some respect for you, Aria.’

  ‘What do you imagine?’

  Laughter huffed from him. ‘Men’s thoughts.’

  Her cheeks fired up even more, though she wanted to laugh. ‘I had no idea you felt attracted by me. Is that because I’m Charlotte’s sister, and remind you of her?’

  ‘Is it hell! I haven’t given Charlotte a thought lately, and you’re similar, but not alike. My uncle tells me you greatly resemble your mother.’ Taking her hands in his, he said, ‘Stop thinking so little of yourself. You have your own desirable qualities and I want you for yourself. I know you’re hankering after Lucian Beresford but you don’t stand a chance with him. Not then, and definitely not now. You haven’t got enough money to buy his interest to start with. Besides, he’s too cold-blooded and clinical for a woman like you.’