The last of Abigail's warning was lost on the breeze as Clara had already pushed into the hat shop.
Abigail watched her cousin through the window a moment longer. Clara was Abigail’s cousin on her mother’s side; their mother’s had been sisters. While Clara knew of Abigail’s struggles with her paternal uncle, she did not fully understand them. She still had parents she could rely on. Abigail sighed and turned away from the milliner’s shop.
She looked in the windows of the shops she passed, stopping when she saw several violins hanging on display. Looking through the window, she saw the shop contained several boxes of sheet music. Changing her destination, Abigail pushed through the door of the shop. She had not purchased new sheet music in ages.
A man emerged from behind a curtain at the back of the store. "May I help you, Miss?"
Abigail looked up at the portly man. As he got closer, she realized he was younger than his balding head had led her to assume.
"Have you any Vivaldi? I am looking to play it on the pianoforte, but I can adapt if you only have it for another instrument."
The man scratched his head. "I may have a piece or two. Is there a particular piece you are looking for?"
Abigail licked her lips. "Four Seasons." She had been searching for this piece for more than two years, after hearing it played in London.
"Hmmm." The man hummed to himself as he fingered through hundreds of pieces of music.
"Do you not have your music filed by Composer?"
The man shook his head, his breathing becoming heavier the more he concentrated. "No. I find it easier to file them by the name of the piece."
Abigail's brow furrowed. That seemed a very odd way, indeed.
After several minutes, the man lifted a score from the box, triumph on his face. "Here it is."
Abigail's heart raced inside her chest. Could she have finally found it?
He handed her the music and she stared down at it, her eyes flitting over the notes on the opening page. This was it.
"What is the cost?"
Her heart plummeted into her stomach when he told her the price. She had limited funds and spending so much on a single piece of music would put her in a difficult position so early in the trip. Such an action, no matter how much she desired the music, was irresponsible.
Her hands shook and she found herself close to tears. Could this day be any more disappointing and heartbreaking? First, she left Bernard at the docks and now she must leave Vivaldi behind.
Placing the music on top of the nearest box, she shook her head. "Thank you for finding it for me. I'm sorry to have put you to so much trouble, but I will not be able to purchase it today." She ran her finger over the page before pulling her hand back and dropping it to her side.
The man shrugged and plucked the music up from where she placed it. Fingering the music in the box, he found its place much quicker and placed the Vivaldi back.
Abigail hurried from the shop, her resolve to leave the music behind weakening.
Clara and her maid, Hannah, were standing outside the book shop, a hat box dangling from Clara’s arm.
"Oh, there you are. I thought you said you were visiting the book shop. Where have you been?"
Abigail grasped her cousin's arm with both hands. "Come, cousin. We should be on our way."
Abigail hurried back to the carriage, practically dragging Clara along. Hannah followed behind at a brisk pace. “What is your hurry? We are not so very behind schedule.”
“I find I am ready to be away from Portsmouth. Can you not quicken your pace?” Abigail’s voice was tight and wobbled slightly.
Timmons stepped down from the carriage as they approached.
"Hello, Timmons. Harry.” The last was said with a touch of disdain. “I hope we have not kept you waiting too long." Abigail smiled at their driver and handed off Clara's hat box to the footman her uncle had sent along.
As Harry placed the box with the trunks on top of the carriage, Timmons extended his hand to Abigail. "You know I don't mind waiting for you, miss."
Abigail stepped up onto the first step and smiled at him over her shoulder. "Thank you, Timmons. I am glad uncle allowed you to drive us to Brighton."
"It took a little convincing, but in the end, he saw things my way." Timmons gave her a small wink.
Timmons was the only servant remaining from when her parents were alive. Her uncle had even replaced Abigail's maid with one of his choosing. Abigail needn’t be a genius to realize the girl was there to spy for her uncle. It had been a hard-earned victory when Uncle Rupert had allowed Abigail to leave the maid home and use Clara's maid instead, at least for their time in Brighton.
"And it is a good thing, too,” Timmons went on. “A scoundrel, if ever I saw one, was nosing around the carriage while you were out shopping."
Abigail perked up and turned around. "Oh?"
"Not to worry, miss. I sent him on his way. I am sure he found someone else to impose upon."
Abigail ducked into the carriage before poking her head back out. "I feel much safer knowing you are here, Timmons. Thank you."
Even though the man was old enough to be her father, Abigail did feel safer knowing he was about. She knew Timmons would do anything for her, which was not something she could say for Harry.
Harry did not know that Abigail knew his true purpose in coming to Brighton was to spy on her. But she was not a dolt, nor was she blind. She had seen him lurking about outside each shop they had visited. Why he did not come in and help carry the packages, as any footman worth his salt would have done, Abigail did not know. In any other house the man would have been sacked for such insolence.
Abigail did not know the purpose behind his spying—she couldn’t imagine what her uncle hoped to learn, but she planned to make the reports very dull, indeed.
Clara ducked into the carriage and tossed several of her smaller packages onto the bench across from them, followed by Hannah. The carriage door shut behind her as she sat in the corner, on the opposite side of the carriage.
A moan sounded as the rug slipped to the floor, revealing a man huddled on the bench, his feet nearly touching Hannah’s dress.
Clara opened her mouth to scream, but the man lifted the pistol which rested in his lap and shook his head. "No screaming, now.” He motioned Hannah to the other side of the carriage. “Now, tell the driver to move smartly." His voice was deep and gravelly.
Abigail bit her bottom lip and thumped on the side of the carriage with a slightly shaking hand.
Who was this man?
More importantly, what did he plan to do to them?
Clara sat with her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers. Hannah looked as if she might faint.
The carriage slowly picked up speed and the man seemed to relax slightly.
Abigail glanced at his shirt; brown and red mottled the area of his shoulder and left arm.
"You are injured. You need to see a doctor."
He rested the pistol back onto his lap, but his finger stayed near the trigger. "You need not worry. I will be well, as long as we weigh anchor."
Abigail bit her lip again. "But you’re bleeding." She motioned her head in the direction of his shoulder.
His gaze never left her face and she was unable to look away. Never had she seen such unique eyes. To say they were brown would be to say the sun was yellow. Golden was a more accurate description, with flecks of green and dark brown around the iris.
"I don't believe it ever stopped bleeding.” Using his injured arm, he winced as he lifted his hand and pushed his stringy, matted hair out of his face.
Now that she could really see him, Abigail could see how ashen his skin was. He must have lost a great deal of blood.
He reached into his shirt and withdrew a loaf of bread, taking a large bite out of the end. He held it out to them. "Would you care for some?"
The crust looked wet, with several flecks of lint stuck to it. Abigail assumed the same beads of sweat which
dotted his forehead, most assuredly covered his body and, undoubtedly, the bread.
She shook her head, trying not to gag. "No, thank you. We ate in town."
Clara still seemed unable to speak.
The man continued to eat the bread, and Abigail wondered how he could eat when the smell coming off him was so repugnant. With every move he made, an odor drifted about the carriage. The man must not have washed in a long while.
Abigail stared at him. A scar on his right cheek disappeared into his light brown beard, the white of the scar standing out sharply against his darkly tanned skin.
"Where are you taking us?" she finally ventured to ask.
"Where are you going?" He seemed to watch her just as closely as she watched him.
"We are on our way to Leeds to attend a house party."
Clara elbowed Abigail in the ribs. "What are you doing? Do not tell him anything." She placed her hand in front of her mouth and whispered loudly, "He is a pirate. I am certain of it."
Abigail's lips twitched. "You need not put your hand in front of your mouth, Clara. He can hear everything we say."
The pirate shifted. "It is not what you think. I am not…" He stopped and dropped his gaze. "I don’t intend hurt you if you do as I ask. As I said, I needed only to leave Portsmouth quickly."
Abigail looked into his eyes and felt the truth of his words. She did not know how she knew he would not hurt them, she just did.
"If you will not hurt us, then perhaps we should deposit you, here and now. This whole incident is entirely inappropriate." Clara’s voice was high and clipped.
Abigail glanced at her cousin, wishing she was still unable to speak.
"Come, Clara, we can't let him off here. He would die. He needs a doctor."
Clara huffed. "You are right. The world would not be better off with one less pirate roaming about it."
Abigail looked at the man. “What is your name?”
His beard was full of crumbs and Abigail could only imagine what else. He reached up a hand and his already pale face turned to chalky white. His face registered the pain, yet he still ran a hand over his beard, pulling it into a point. “Captain Stringham.”
“Captain?” Abigail leveled her gaze at him as she nodded. “Who were you hiding from in our carriage?”
“My crew.” He stared at her again.
“Why would a Captain need to hide from his crew?” Abigail leaned slightly forward, but Clara pulled her back against the seat-back.
“It’s a long story.”
Abigail raised her brows in challenge. “It’s a long trip to Leeds.”
Captain Stringham released a drawn-out sigh. “It would be best for everyone if you don’t know the particulars. In fact, I should warn you not to mention this,” he motioned around the carriage with his pistol, “to anyone. It would only put you in danger should any of my crew discover you aided me in leaving Portsmouth.”
Abigail tilted her head to the side. “How does one become a pirate?” She bit her bottom lip. “That is what you are, is it not?”
Captain Stringham shrugged his good shoulder. “It is not so difficult.”
“If you wanted to sail, why not join the navy?”
Captain Stringham laughed. “Where do you think most pirates learned to sail, miss? That honor goes to His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Although, some trained on merchant ships.” He sucked in his bottom lip, causing a short tuft of hair to push outward. “Too many men have been promised riches and never received them from both the navy and the merchant captains. Pirates are a very fair lot.” His cheek twitched slightly.
Abigail found herself fascinated by him. “How long have you been a pirate?”
“Six years.”
Her brow furrowed. “Does every pirate become a Captain in only six years?”
He winked at her and her face heated. Clara huffed next to her.
“No, only the special ones.” He raised a brow, conceit flowing off him. “I’m a natural leader. My mother always said if I should ever make it into Parliament, I could change the world.”
Abigail arched a brow. “But you chose piracy instead? I’m sure your mother is very proud.”
A shadow passed over his eyes and for a moment, Abigail regretted her comment.
He leaned back against the seat. “I am tired of talking.”
Clara leaned in close. “What are you doing, Abigail? He is not some gentleman you are speaking with at a dinner party. The man is a criminal.”
Captain Stringham cleared his throat, using his pistol to motion Clara away from Abigail. “No more talking, ladies. I don’t need you plotting an escape.”
Clara’s eyes followed the pistol, her lips pinching shut.
Abigail looked back out the window. What was wrong with her? She should be frightened, or at the least, apprehensive. After all, there was a pirate in their carriage leveling a pistol at them. But she was not. She felt, what? Concern? Interest? Curiosity? Intrigue? Why had he chosen their carriage? How had he been injured? What was he before he became a pirate?
She watched him from the corner of her eye. His lids drooped, his chin moving ever closer to his chest. But as soon as his eyes closed, they flew open and he wiggled about for a moment to wake himself up. Then the process started again.
The hours of silence stretched on and the sky turned to dark blue, while the horizon still showed lingering patches of purple and dark pinks. Scattered houses dotted the countryside. Abigail guessed they were nearly to a village.
A clatter brought Abigail’s attention back to the carriage.
Captain Stringham’s eyes were closed and his pistol rested on the floor.
Clara lurched forward and grasped the pistol, pointing it at the Captain, but he slept on.
When the carriage jerked as the wheels found a rut, he stirred and Clara let out scream. Then the sound of a gunshot thundered, and smoke filled the carriage.
Captain Stringham cried out, grasping at his leg.
“Clara! You shot him!” The panic she had not felt earlier with Captain Stringham suddenly seized Abigail as she felt the horses slow. Timmons had undoubtedly heard the shot.
Clara’s shaking hands dropped the pistol back to the floor, her eyes wide and full of tears.
The carriage pulled to a stop even though they were not yet in the village.
Abigail picked up the blanket and the pistol off the floor. "Lie back down and put this over you. And keep quiet.” She arranged the rug over Captain Stringham.
Placing the pistol in the compartment under her seat, Abigail straightened her dress. “I should not like Harry to know about any of this." She turned to Clara and Hannah. "Do not say a word. You must act as if nothing untoward has happened. We will let Timmons take care of everything."
Clara moved to speak but shut her mouth when she saw the set of Abigail’s jaw.
“And please pinch your cheeks, both of you. You look as if you have seen a spirit.” Abigail clasped her shaky hands in her lap.
The door opened and Harry poked his head in. “What was that noise?” He looked at each lady in turn.
Both Hannah and Clara looked to Abigail.
“Oh, it was nothing.” She waved at the smoke hovering about their heads.
Harry stared at her.
“My uncle Martindale placed a pistol in the compartment here in the squab.” She motioned with her hand to the compartment under the bench. “Clara was looking at and it went off when we hit that last rut. Isn’t that right, Clara?”
Clara nodded her head, her mouth set in a tight line.
Harry motioned them to leave the carriage. “Perhaps it would be best if I ensured everything was in order before we continue.”
Abigail shook her head, scowling at him. “There is no need. As you can see, we are well.” She heaved a sigh. “Please continue on to the inn. We are most fatigued from the trip.”
Harry looked at her through narrowed eyes.
Abigail folded her arms across her chest, her eyes n
arrowed as well. “Now, please.”
Harry nodded and shouted up to Timmons. “Miss Marleigh says everything is fine. We can continue on to the inn.”
Within moments the carriage was moving again. Abigail’s lips puffed out as the air in her lungs released.
Abigail watched out the window as the houses increased and the village came into view.
The carriage shook as Timmons jumped down from the driver’s box. He opened the door and leaned in, speaking in hushed tones. “What was the noise, Miss?”
“Where’s Harry?”
Timmons cast a look over his shoulder. “He’s gone inside with the first trunk, miss.”
Abigail nodded. "Timmons, I need you to promise you will not fly into a frenzy or inform my uncle of what I am about to show you."
Timmons leveled his gaze at her, which she returned with pursed lips and a raised brow.
He held her stare, but finally relented and nodded his head.
Abigail reached across the carriage and threw back the rug revealing only the Captain’s head. His eyes were closed, his face even paler than before.
Timmons’s eyes opened wide. “Fiend seize it, miss,” he whispered fiercely.
"You promised, Timmons."
His mouth shut, but she could see the muscles in his jaw working.
"I need your assistance getting him to a doctor. He is injured and I fear unconscious. He will not be of much help, I'm afraid."
Timmons’s hand opened and closed at his sides. Abigail could see his thoughts flitting across his face.
Had it been anyone else, she would worry he would go back on his word and tell her uncle. But Timmons had been with her family since her parents had first married. He had no love for her uncle and was loyal first to Abigail.
"Miss Marleigh, what…" He shook his head, clearly unable to decide which question he wanted her to answer first.
"His name is Captain Stringham. We found him in the carriage after we had set off from Portsmouth. I did not put him out sooner, because of his injured shoulder.”
“And the pistol he had pointed at us,” Clara said, cutting in quietly.
Timmons’s eyes went even wider, a feat Abigail had not thought possible.
Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1) Page 2
