by Lori Bond
She had been a fool—a bubble-headed, vapid fool as dense as the persona she’d pretended for Mrs. Wickingham. She was unbelievably lucky the spy hadn’t slit her throat when he realized that Mrs. Kimbley had confirmed his identity. That made Caroline pause for a moment from berating herself. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared out at the cargo hold without seeing the shadowed boxes or trunks. How had the man known that Mrs. Kimbley had confirmed that Bryce and Hillard were one and the same? There was no chance he could have overheard them in the Woman’s Parlor, and there was no evidence that anyone knowingly colluded with Bryce. For that matter, there hadn’t been time for anyone to tell him. Caroline had only just learned the information herself.
If she hadn’t been kidnapped because she posed a threat, then why had she been taken? And why now? Caroline thought on all that had happened that night. She had been preoccupied with Jerry while on deck, but there had been the mysterious light, the one that might or might not have been sending a message in code. What if her absence wasn’t about removing an obstacle? What if she was a distraction?
Her fear began to fade, subsumed by the anger coming to a boil in her center. She sat up straighter in her chair, at least as straight as her bonds allowed. How dare someone use her for a distraction from his treasonous plan. Before now, she had plenty of reasons to see herself free: fear of death, fear of Jerry finding out and overreacting, fear of overheating and being found too late. None of those reasons motivated her like revenge. She would see herself off this chair if only so she could wring Bryce’s neck with her own two hands.
But first she had to free those hands.
She’d tried busting the chair. Perhaps it was time to try twisting it to pieces. The joints had seemed rickety enough, but she didn’t have the weight to break the pieces apart by slamming them into things. Perhaps she could generate enough force to prize the chair apart at its joints.
She wobbled and hopped her chair over to a gap between the crates. She leaned to one side and crammed the right edge of the back of her chair into the gap. Then turning her body as far as she could, she strove to twist the chair to pieces.
There was an audible crack, but Caroline wasn’t sure for a moment if it was the chair or her spine. She panted around the gag in her mouth, exhausted from her various efforts. She wished she could rest for a moment, even take an uncomfortable nap, but she knew that she didn’t have the time. If she was being used as a distraction, then she had to get out to warn the others. If she wasn’t a distraction … well, then it was best that she should remove herself from the cargo hold before someone unpleasant returned.
She twisted her body again, and this time, with a snap, the back right portion of her chair came loose from the seat. It wobbled a bit, but it didn’t fall to the floor since it was still held in place by the left edge. Caroline didn’t care. She pushed her right hand down. Loop over loop of the rope slid off the chair until her arm was free. She still wore the rope around her wrist like the ugliest bracelet, but she could move her arm wherever she liked.
Caroline shot her arm up in the air in a fist of triumph. “Ha!” she yelled, or at least tried to yell. With the gag it came out as more of a grunt. The first thing she did was to remove the foul-tasting thing from her face. After a great deal of tugging the knot in back gave away. She wiggled her tongue out in the air savoring the freedom before setting to work on her left wrist.
The knots had been clumsily if securely tied as if her assailant hadn’t cared how easily she was freed once she was found. Caroline could never have gotten loose with both hands tied, but she was able to unpick the knot with only her one hand. Once both hands were free it only took her a moment to free her legs, and then she was running for the cargo hold door.
She tried to fling it open, but the door was locked, possibly even bolted. Caroline pulled two of her pins from her hair and started searching for the lock. She and Olive had once read a story about an intrepid orphan boy who could pick locks. With nothing better to do in her never-ending seclusion at home, Caroline and Olive had learned to pick every lock in the London townhouse, including the one on the gate. Between their habits of listening at keyholes, picking locks, and trying to observe everything in a room without seeming to notice anything at all, the two girls had mastered many of the skills needed to be a good spy or a highly successful larcenist. For a moment, Caroline paused in her search for a lock, amused by yet another possibility opening before her. She had never considered a life of crime before. With a small smile at herself, she shook her head at the idea. Her personal ethics weren’t going to allow for a lucrative career in burglary. Better to put those skills to use for crown and country.
Caroline ran her eyes over the door once more as the horror of her situation began to sink in on her. The door did not have a lock on this side. She shut her eyes for a moment, picturing the door to the other cargo hold, the one that had held the Kimbleys’ art. That door had a latch and a padlock on the corridor side of the door. Caroline slumped forward, her forehead resting on the cool metal of this door. There was no reason to assume this door was any different.
Caroline screamed in frustration. How dare she get this far only to have several inches of metal separate her from freedom? She beat on the offending door with her hands, and she kicked it once, although, in her thin shoes, she did more damage to her foot than the door. She became so caught up in her rage and fury that Caroline went back to the chair and wrenched off the loose edge from the back. She started beating on the door with it, leaving tiny dents as if the door had developed the pox.
To Caroline’s surprise, the door started to swing open into the corridor. She hadn’t expected her beating on the door to do more than relieve her emotions, not have an actual effect. She lowered the piece of chair and crept forward.
A crewman for the ship swept the door open even wider. “What the devil,” he started to say but stopped mid-word when he caught sight of Caroline.
“Don’t stop cursing on my behalf.” Caroline swept past the man, heedless of the effect she had on him. She knew she looked a fright between her hair trailing down her back and her sweat soaked dress. “In for a penny,” she muttered. Hiking up her dress she shot off at a sprint for the main decks above.
Chapter 40
Followed by the pathetic Bickle, Jerry and the women headed back to Caroline and Olive’s room. They had agreed to start the search there in case Caroline had left any clues to where she might be headed.
When they reached the room’s door, they found a clue, but not one left by Caroline. A small handwritten note addressed to Jerry had been tacked to the door. Everyone crowded around Jerry as he ripped the paper down and opened it to read.
Return to me my plans, and I will return your “wife.” — HB
“He doesn’t appear to be hiding his identity anymore,” said Mrs. Turnton in her driest voice. “Had he figured out we knew, or is deception no longer necessary?”
That was a chilling thought.
“Plans?” asked Bickle. “Why is wife in quotes? Have you after all not actually married the chit yet?”
Jerry didn’t bother to answer, but Mrs. Turnton did. “The viscount has offered you an entrée into Society. Do you really wish to irritate him with minor matters at this time?”
Bickle’s mouth snapped shut.
“Clearly, my lady hasn’t become lost on her own,” Olive said. No one wanted to use Caroline’s name in front of Bickle.
“There’s no mention of Wellburn.” Mrs. Turnton frowned. “Either the rogue does not have him, or he plans to use your man as a bargaining chip in the future.”
Jerry didn’t like the sound of either option. If Bryce didn’t have Wellburn, then where could the man be?
Jerry tapped the note against his thigh. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the ransom this man demands.”
“But you do know what he refers to?” asked the inconvenient Bickle.
Jerry regretted having accepted the man’s aid. “Yes.”
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br /> Everyone paused as if waiting for Jerry to explain more. Instead, he continued to tap the ransom note against his thigh and ignore them.
“Well?” Bickle asked.
Jerry had to make a decision. His instinct was to politely get rid of the man, even shut the door in his face if he had to. However, when Jerry had tried to shut Caroline out of the investigation, he’d only served to alienate her. Admittedly, Jerry didn’t care if he alienated Bickle. Jerry had learned something else from the experience though. If someone had enough information, there was always the chance that the person would act on their own. Bickle knew that Caroline was missing. He didn’t have enough knowledge to figure out who had taken her, but he could get them all into trouble stumbling about the ship.
With a sigh, Jerry ushered the entire group into Caroline’s room.
“Mr. Bickle,” Jerry began, “I’m not at liberty to discuss many of the details, but suffice it to say that during this voyage, I managed to acquire a dangerous enemy.”
“And you such a friendly lad.” Mr. Bickle rubbed at his jaw as if Jerry had struck him there even though no fisticuffs had been thrown.
Even Jerry couldn’t miss the man’s sarcasm.
Jerry took a deep breath. Once again, his emotions wanted to bubble to the surface where he would have no use for them. Better to keep them burning low in his gut where they could keep him resolutely trying to think through the problem.
“At some point,” Jerry continued as if the annoying Bickle hadn’t commented, “this enemy made the mistaken conclusion that we had something of his. In return, he stole something of ours. My wife.” Jerry’s teeth ground together as he uttered the last words. If only she truly was his wife. Well, he would attempt to remedy that at the first conceivable opportunity.
“Then if you can’t pay the ransom, it would be best if we found the girl first.” Bickle stated the obvious, but Jerry felt no need to point out that fact.
Instead, Jerry paced the room trying to put his mind in order. He tried to think logically, but his mind kept going to Caroline restrained in the Russian’s clutches. For a moment he worried that she would be terrified, and then he remembered that Caroline was made of sterner stuff than the average female. Although glancing at the women with him, he wondered if perhaps people had mistaken the average female. Neither of them seemed prone to a fit of vapors, yet he knew they were as concerned as he.
They were on a boat, so the places Caroline could be were necessarily limited. The note promised her return, so she hadn’t been pitched into the sea. For a moment, Jerry’s heart froze colder than the icebergs floating in the ocean around them. He shook his head forcing himself to focus on the problem at hand. He couldn’t allow his mind to wander there, not yet.
“There are so many places Caroline could be hidden,” he muttered aloud. He hadn’t meant the others to hear him, but they had nonetheless.
“Not quite so many as you’re thinking,” Mrs. Turnton said. “This place may be full of nooks and crannies, but there are plenty of spots Caroline will not be. She won’t be any place public.”
“Nor is she likely to be in Second-Class or crew accommodations,” Olive added. “There isn’t enough privacy in a place like that.”
“She could still be in any First-Class cabin.”
Mrs. Turnton shook her head. “It isn’t likely. Our enemy doesn’t have an accomplice if you don’t count the unwitting Kimbleys. We don’t know why they brought a Russian spy as their servant, but I doubt it was to further the Russian agenda. As far as I can tell the only agenda they serve is their own. And though they might have agreed to bring Bryce, I doubt they would accommodate him enough to allow a kidnapped woman to be left in their room.”
Bickle had perked up at the mention of the Kimbleys. “I have made their acquaintance during the journey. If I had to guess, I would have thought they might be smugglers of some kind.”
“Art,” Mrs. Turnton supplied.
Bickle nodded. “But I agree with Mrs. Turnton here. They aren’t dealing in human flesh.”
“We can’t rule out the First-Class cabins,” Jerry insisted.
“No, but we can come up with some more likely areas first,” Mrs. Turnton retorted. “You can’t let your fear overpower your judgment like you did earlier.” Mrs. Turnton gave a small sniff in the direction of Mr. Bickle. “And they call females the excitable sex.”
Jerry had enough grace left to feel slightly embarrassed, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that now. “Then we need someplace relatively isolated where no one goes, yet there is still access. Somewhere you could store someone with little chance of her being found.”
Jerry paused in his pacing, wondering if it could really be that simple. He turned to Mrs. Turnton to ask her if he thought Caroline might have been hidden in one of the cargo holds. Accessible, they still sat off a little-used hallways, and it would be out of the way. Some of the holds were near the engine, so if Caroline protested or yelled for help, her cries might not be heard.
Jerry didn’t have a chance to utter a single word. The door flew open, and Caroline hurled herself into the room. Her lovely dress from earlier in the evening was covered in streaks of grime and had ripped in several spots. Her wrists were red as if she’d burned them, possibly from rubbing the skin against rope. Jerry’s jaw clenched at her ill treatment.
Caroline stared for a second at the blank and dumbfounded expressions around her. She crossed her arms and glared. “What? I’ve been held hostage in the cargo hold for who knows how long.” She gestured at her filthy dress. “It’s not as if I spent the time primping in a mirror.”
At that moment, finding Caroline completely unchanged for the ordeal—if anything she was stronger than before—relief flooded every inch of Jerry’s body. His head buzzed for a moment as if he’d drunk a sip too many of strong spirits. Without thinking, without considering that Mrs. Turnton and Olive and Mr. Bickle were in the room, Jerry crossed the room in two steps, gathered Caroline up in his arms and kissed her.
Chapter 41
For a moment, Caroline allowed herself to sink into the kiss. She wanted this moment to go on and on, for days or weeks or perhaps a lifetime. Now wasn’t the time though. They had a spy to catch. Caroline had to remember and focus on that even if Jerry’s mind had moved on to other, more pleasurable pursuits.
She drew back, and Jerry’s arms dropped, reluctant to end the moment. She turned and properly took in the group this time. “Mr. Bickle?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
Mr. Bickle gave her a small bow. “Your husband was concerned about your disappearance. After becoming aware of the events, I offered my assistance.”
Caroline was a bit taken aback, but she didn’t comment.
“However, with your safe return, I see I’m no longer needed.” Mr. Bickle shared a look with Jerry that Caroline couldn’t interpret. Then, with another small bow to the room, he left.
For a moment all stood in stunned silence.
“What was that about?” Caroline asked the room. Apparently, no one felt the need to answer.
“That was more graceful than I would have given him credit for before.” Mrs. Turnton turned to the reunited couple, a frown on her face. “My lord, if you weren’t planning on marrying the girl before, you’ll certainly be marrying her now after a kiss like that.”
Both Caroline and Jerry flushed, but Caroline didn’t regret the kiss, not even the littlest bit.
“A conversation for later,” Jerry murmured. He reached for one of her hands, and Caroline allowed him to take it. His thumb rubbed across her knuckles, both soothing and a promise of how he felt the conversation would go.
Caroline gave him a small smile. She knew exactly how the conversation would go if she had her way. True, kissing other men might give her the same heady feeling, but she didn’t want to kiss other men. She didn’t even want to experiment. Her hesitation before had been her fears speaking. Now, after having spent who knew how long tied to a chair i
n mortal danger, she no longer had the luxury of succumbing to fear. She wanted Jerry, and she was going to have him, even if she had to tie him to a chair and drag it to the altar. Based on that kiss though, that wasn’t going to be an issue.
Olive interrupted Caroline’s thoughts with a hug. “We were so worried, my lady. The Russian agent demanded a ransom for your release.”
Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “So I was being used as a hostage.” Considering the other options, that should have been comforting. Somehow, it was not. However, surrounded by her friends and chosen family, she didn’t feel the tendrils of panic that had flared in the cargo hold. Instead, the anger that she had banked during her headlong run through the ship flamed back to life. Her cheeks began to burn again, but this time she felt no embarrassment. She turned to Jerry. “I want this man captured and hung for the traitor he is.”
“I think we all want that, dear,” Mrs. Turnton said. “Does anyone have any ideas how that is to be accomplished?”
“He wants something in ransom?” Caroline asked. “Why don’t we give it to him?”
“Tempting,” said Jerry, “but we don’t have the ransom. He wants the plans for the bayonet returned to him.”
“Returned? Then he no longer has them? If you don’t have them who does?” Caroline glanced at Olive, but her friend shrugged.
“Wellburn, we assume,” Mrs. Turnton answered. “Unfortunately, he seems to have disappeared as well.”
“That’s disturbing.” Caroline glanced around as if the valet might be hidden in a corner.
Jerry’s hand tightened on hers, but otherwise he didn’t comment.
“Wellburn can take care of himself. If he has made himself scarce, he surely has a good reason.” Mrs. Turnton’s no-nonsense tone belied the concern she couldn’t quite hide.
A knock on the door saved anyone from having to answer. Olive answered and received a note from one of the stewards.
