Isabeau rubbed her wrists and glared at both men.
She opened her mouth, but a dirty hand forestalled her. "Don't want to spoil the surprise for the boys aboard." He pointed up at the shadowy faces above them hanging over the ship's rail.
Connors pushed her to the ladder hanging from the side of the ship. Isabeau put her hands out as the small boat rocked sideways. With a grin, Connors jabbed a thumb upwards.
Slowly, Isabeau reached for the slimy rungs, her mind working feverishly on a means of escape.
There were more silhouettes peering over the side. Before she reached the top, every seadog on the vessel would know she was a female.
Connors poked her leg. Isabeau climbed up a rung, then stopped, her cold fingers cramping.
"Go on," he growled. "Unless you're tired. I can shout up to the lads above their good fortune and they'll haul you up in a flash."
Isabeau climbed two more rungs. Clouds moved across the moon.
The two men had not yet started up the ladder behind her. She pulled herself up one more rung, out of their immediate reach.
Looking down, she saw Connors had his hands full with the two lanterns while the other man held the boat steady.
Saying a hasty prayer, she knew it was now or never. She pushed with all her strength, kicking her feet against the side of the ship, arcing out over the comically surprised faces of the two men, diving into the water just beyond the rowboat.
She had only a brief moment of satisfaction before she hit the water. Underwater, she swam as hard as she could, her lungs fairly bursting when she finally bobbed up like a cork. She was several yards from the boat, beyond the scope of their light. Her long skirts weighed her down.
Treading water quietly, Isabeau heard them arguing.
"Go on after her, I tell you." Connors.
"I can't swim a stroke, won't do any good," the other man said.
Quietly, she dog-paddled in the direction of land. The night was black but she could dimly see lights on the shore.
A delayed wave of terror gripped her as she swam, and she began to wonder irrelevantly about what might be in the water with her. Thoughts of swimming all night in circles and drowning began to prey on her. Quickly, she began to tire in the cold water.
She thought of all the things that could have gone wrong. She could have caught her foot on the rung when she had jumped, or fallen into the rowboat if she'd let go of the ladder at the wrong moment. It had been crazy to make that dive, but desperation had decided her actions.
The cold water became numbing, the undercurrents pulling at her legs as she grew weaker and more tired. She hadn't fully recovered from her near drowning and now this.
Wearily, she struck out, one arm after the other, blocking thoughts of her fatigue, intent only upon reaching solid land.
Hawk. She saw his face and felt renewed strength as her stroke continued. She remembered their lovemaking with vivid clarity.
She didn't want to die. She had to tell Hawk she was sorry for doubting him. She also had to confess she had read part of his journal.
She couldn't die. There was too much to live for.
Chapter Twelve
Isabeau lay on her back. She frowned at the piece of blue sky visible through rough wooden slats. A heavy, once brightly colored blanket covered her.
Vaguely, she recalled crawling up a muddy bank and a child's face flitted through her mind.
Daylight filtered into the small room. A dirt floor was partially covered by a faded rug, and Isabeau could see the efforts that someone had made to create a more appealing space. She lay in a rough wood shanty no more than ten-foot square. Pictures hung on the walls and a large trunk was partially concealed by a tattered white cloth that had an embroidered design in the middle. A child's tea set rested on the cloth, and a doll with a cracked china face sat in a small rocking chair, a tea cup in its lap.
Dropping her feet to the side of the cot on which she lay, Isabeau stared at the doll. Because of a crack across its chin, the doll had a macabre smile. Isabeau thought it looked like it was smirking at her.
Standing, she walked over to a sheet covering the doorway. Isabeau pushed the material aside and shaded her eyes against the bright sun.
A small group of children ran about, their playground a grassy knoll on the riverbank. The water's edge was lined with numerous wooden structures similar to the one she now stood inside. The structures formed a cheerless backdrop for the city's skyline. The overall picture was depressing and quite distressful. The squalor…dogs roaming the area, a small pig tied along a fence, chickens picking at the dirt next to where children were playing.
The few adults she did see were idly sitting on makeshift chairs or on the ground next to other shanties.
No one appeared to pay any attention to her until a little girl came up to her. She had the face Isabeau recalled upon waking. Wordlessly, the child took her hand and urged her around to the back of the structure where a dark-haired young woman knelt beside a fire. She kept feeding it little pieces of wood and long dried leaves, carefully stoking it.
The little girl, about four years old, pointed with glee at Isabeau, drawing the mother's attention. The mother's face appeared an older replica of the child's, though her mouth was turned down in a tired, defeated line.
Indicating the fish she was grilling in a pan, the woman lifted a small piece and handed it to Isabeau on a dainty plate with pink roses along the scalloped edge.
Isabeau thanked her and she and the little girl sat on the grass. The woman sat next to them on a small stool. Isabeau took several bites of the fish, then gave the child the rest, wondering if that's all they had to eat. Although the child looked like any other child, bright eyed and happy, the woman looked halfway to starvation.
The dark-haired child kept peeking glances at her.
"Tell me your name," Isabeau invited, wiping her fingers through the grass.
The little girl ducked her head shyly, then looked up through incredibly long lashes. "Megan."
"What a pretty name," Isabeau said softly, smiling. "I had a friend with that name."
"Where is your friend?" Megan asked curiously.
"She died a long time ago."
"Does it make you sad?" Gently, the child touched her shoulder. "When I think of my Da, I get very sad. Mama told me to think of all the fun we used to have. That's what I like to remember."
"How long have you lived here?" Isabeau asked carefully, indicating the row of wooden structures lining the river's edge.
"Since my Da died." The child pursed her lips. "Mama had no money."
Isabeau's chest constricted painfully. "How long?"
The child stared thoughtfully at the clouds skittering overhead. "Spring." She counted on her fingers, then shrugged helplessly. "Lots of days." She smiled and dimples appeared in her rounded cheeks.
"Times are hard," injected a weary voice. The young woman, Megan's mother, came to stand beside Isabeau, her delicately drawn cheeks flushed with shame. "People make do with what they can."
Isabeau swallowed hard, perceiving the woman as thoroughly enslaved by the reality of the times. Hesitantly, she pointed to the other structures in the clearing. "How did all these people come to be here?"
The young woman lifted a shoulder indifferently. "Through one means or another, each of us have experienced rough times. No family, no work, nowhere to go. No one questions the means of arrival. It's enough to know we are here. The knowledge drags you down. People act as if you don't exist." she said flatly. "Sometimes the police come and try to move us out. We always come back. Nowhere else to go."
Isabeau swallowed, deeply affected by the despair that permeated the mother.
She wiped her hand on her skirt and belatedly offered her hand. "My name is Isabeau. I ran into a little trouble last night."
For the first time, the other woman smiled, her whole expression lifting. Isabeau stared at her, realizing they were about the same age.
"What a b
eautiful and unusual name you have, Isabeau. My name is Lila. You have met my daughter, Megan. You are luckier than most," she stated soberly, eyes shadowed, "you escaped the river men. Others before you haven't been so lucky. They can be quite ruthless."
Isabeau's eyes widened. "How do you --"
"It's common knowledge what occurs after dark near the harbor, even though they do not bother us. No child ventures out at night with the impressing agents about."
"I can't believe they've never tried to bother anyone here." Isabeau ground to a halt, face flushed. "What I mean is --"
Lila held up her hand. "Who would know or care if anyone from the camp disappeared? Last fall, three of the agents took some boys from a family encamped here."
Tensely, Isabeau asked, "Were they able to escape?"
Sadly, Lila shook her head. "No, but the following day, the three men responsible were found dead."
"Someone from the encampment killed them?"
"It is not for me to say. The men were hung from trees which stand at the water's edge. The bodies were in full sight of any ship passing through the harbor. Stories travel quickly."
"A warning?"
"Yes." The other woman nodded. "None in the camp have been bothered since by the impressing agents, as long as they are within this camp by dark."
"But -- the authorities!" Isabeau was aghast. "Surely they could do something about this?"
Lila gave her a strange look. "I, too, used to have such an innocent outlook. To the authorities we are invisible, or as much as they can make us. We as a group do not exist."
Impulsively, Isabeau placed a hand on the other woman's thin arm. "I owe you big time, Lila, you and Megan saved my life." She hesitated. "Vaguely, I recall last night when you pulled me from the water. I had gotten away from two men who grabbed me and swam away. The water was so cold I didn't think I would make it. I would like to repay your kindness in some way. Have you no family to turn to?"
Lila slowly shook her head. "I lived in a state-run orphanage as a child, then in a private home as a nanny until I married Roger, my husband. He was a wonderful man . . . a musician by trade. He was killed in an accident three months ago." She straightened her back, blinking back the trace of tears which had crept into her voice. "We had to vacate our rooms when the rent money ran out."
"The landlord threw you out?" Isabeau demanded indignantly.
Lila hesitated, her face coloring. "He was not a pleasant man. We would only be allowed to stay under certain circumstances."
Isabeau clamped her mouth shut, her eyes falling on Megan. The realization of what Lila meant hit her in the face.
There were individuals like that to be found in any era. In her own experience, Isabeau had seen the type of individual who took advantage of any situation.
"What of your husband's family? Are you in contact with them at all?"
Lila shook her head negatively.
"No, Roger had a falling out several years ago with his family. He would never speak of it. All I know is that he grew up in the Carolinas."
Isabeau knew there had to be a way to help them. Hawk would know. Thinking of him now, she felt a rush of guilt. She had left him with no explanation. She had let impulse rule her before giving him a chance at an explanation. She knew she had to get back as quickly as possible.
She came to her feet and Lila watched her with a quizzical light in her eyes. Isabeau realized manners kept the other woman from prying about the circumstances leading to her recent abduction and near drowning.
With a rueful smile, Isabeau said, "Right now, I need your help in finding Hawk Morgan, my -- my friend. I know he'll be able to help you and Megan." Isabeau bit her lip. "I…er…I wonder if you've some clothes I could borrow?" Her once lovely dress was covered with dried mud and hung limply at her ankles. They'd never let her into the hotel looking like this.
Lila nodded, motioning her back into the wooden structure where she had earlier awakened.
Removing the tea set and tattered cloth from the steamer trunk, Lila opened the lid. She handed Isabeau a white blouse and a long dark skirt. Megan brought her black lace-up boots with a short, squat heel.
"These are Mama's," Megan told her.
"We're of a similar size," Lila said with satisfaction, her hands on her hips.
"I promise to replace everything," Isabeau said, then quickly donned the garments. Looking into a small mirror with a lovely mother of pearl handle, she still felt apprehensive. What if Connors was out there looking for her?
Resolutely, she turned to face Lila. "Do you know the whereabouts of the Strand Hotel?"
The other woman gasped, eyes wide. Taken back, Isabeau asked her if there was a problem.
"No," Lila assured her, "I was merely taken with surprise. The Strand is one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. Roger and I saved a long time to spend our honeymoon there. Your Mr. Morgan must be a wealthy man."
"I suppose so," Isabeau admitted slowly. "It doesn't matter. He's a wonderful person. You and Megan must come with me, give Hawk a chance to figure out a way to help you."
Lila hesitated. "Why would he be willing to come to our aid? We are strangers. He would not wish to be burdened with our problems."
"Please," Isabeau entreated, "trust me. You've helped me, let me now do the same for you and your daughter." She shuddered, admitting huskily, "I hate to think about what may have occurred if you hadn't pulled me from the river. They might have found me again. This time around, there wouldn't have been any chance of escape."
"You are fortunate they did not swim after you, Isabeau. You are a beautiful woman."
Frowning, Isabeau shrugged. "Neither Connors nor the other one could swim."
"Connors?" Lila repeated the name, her face visibly whitening.
"Yes. He sailed under Hawk Morgan from Virginia, on board The Lady. I ran into him here in New York. You can't imagine how frightened I was when I realized he was the man who grabbed me --" Her voice trailed off as Lila put her hands to her mouth.
"A man named Connors came by with an official looking paper earlier this morning, about dawn. He and another man claimed they were seeking a young lady who had committed murder. I had no idea." Dismay was clearly written on Lila's face. "He vowed to return with more men and the authorities to search every dwelling along the river."
"Well," Isabeau said nervously, "I'd better get out of here fast." She met the other woman's eyes squarely. "I've done nothing to harm anyone, I swear to you. I've no doubt he'll return with more men. The authorities?" She shook her head. "Not a chance."
As Isabeau walked over to the doorway, the unaccustomed boots felt tight around her ankles.
"We had better leave before --" she stopped, hearing raised voices. Cautiously looking out, Isabeau's stomach plummeted in dread when she saw a group of men approaching. Connors was in front of the group as they noisily entered the encampment. Biting her lips, Isabeau looked back at Lila.
"It's too late. Quick! Is there a back way out of this camp?"
"No."
"Does anyone else know you picked me up from the river?"
"I think not. Even if anyone saw you, they would never speak of it. Not to the likes of them," Lila said disdainfully, holding Megan close to her.
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Isabeau peered hard at the approaching group. They were a sorry, scraggly looking lot. She saw Connors waving his arms, barking orders that every building must be searched. This was her fault, Isabeau knew it. She had to come up with a solution.
She looked over her shoulder. "Your hair." She touched her own, staring at the way Lila's almost black hair was pulled straight back. "Do you have something I could grease my hair back with -- and a cap to pull over it? Somehow, I've got to alter my appearance enough so there's no spark of recognition."
"I do have some lilac grease," Lila told her, rummaging at the back of the room.
"I don't care, just hurry, please. I want you and Megan to leave just in case I should get caught
. I don't want the two of you in the middle. Let's just hope he's lacking in the smarts department."
"Here," the other woman held up a hairpiece. "I had cut my hair several years ago. I saved the hair piece at Roger's insistence. Now I'm glad I did." She also handed Isabeau a can with something in it that looked like Crisco.
Isabeau slicked her hair back while Lila fastened the hairpiece, placing several ribbons where the piece was attached, then she pulled the cap down on her forehead. She stepped back to look at the hasty job, patting the hair in place on Isabeau's shoulder. It looked like she had dark hair instead of blonde.
"As long as you don't move, it should stay."
"Thank you." Impulsively, she hugged Lila, then nudged her toward the door. "Leave now, you must think of Megan. Meet me --" she shot another glance out the door, "-- where -- tell me where we should meet?"
"There's a small park at the far end of the camp, after the last building --"
"Okay, go!" Isabeau looked out. Connors and his men were getting closer, just two buildings away. Frantically, she waved her arm. "Go now!"
Carefully, Isabeau sat down on the one chair in the room, reaching for the mending which had been placed on the small table beside it. She also found a pair of glasses, and she slipped those on her nose. She couldn't see a thing with them, everything was a big blur.
Stiffly, she bent to her task, fingers clenching the needle. Clumsily, she pulled the needle through the worn material of a play dress. She had never been any good at sewing. An ungodly long stitch resulted and she jabbed her finger. Mesmerized, Isabeau stared at the tiny prick of blood welling to the surface.
When men suddenly erupted into the shanty, her start of surprise was not wholly feigned. Clenching her jaw, Isabeau lifted her head, raising an eyebrow in haughty disdain at their noisy intrusion.
Several men plowed through the doorway, the first man halting, then cursing when several others ran up on his heels. In the scantily furnished room, it was obvious there was nowhere for anyone to hide.
Connors elbowed his way to the forefront of the group. Wedging his short, cumbersome body between several men, his small eyes squinted suspiciously at her.
Time Travel Romance Collection Page 17
