by Gini Rifkin
****
While Hargis was at work, Walker prowled the immediate vicinity, scrounging for wood and anything else they could burn for fuel.
The process was slow and painful. Simple activities, once taken for granted, took on the dimension of major accomplishments leaving his self-image near as damaged as his body. He couldn’t abide being weak and dependent, it made him feel less of a man.
His outer wounds were healing cleanly, adding three new scars to his collection. But his insides were slower to mend. He’d finally quit urinating blood, thanks to the mysterious concoctions Hargis insisted he drink. Yet while the hours seemed to drag on, the days were flying by. How soon until he was fit to travel?
He tossed a piece of planking into the cart. When he became too downhearted, Hargis cajoled or bullied him out of the doldrums. His friend also countermanded any delusions of grandeur. Yesterday, he proclaimed himself ready to return to London, but Hargis insisted it was too soon. Adamant and overconfident, he’d challenged Hargis to a mock battle. Thoughts of an immediate departure were quickly reversed. But ready or not, he must leave soon.
Back at the shack, he unloaded the burnable material into a box in the corner. He’d failed Trelayne, had let her down, and it tore at his heart, pride, and conscience. His battered body was proof there was danger afoot, a condition he would gladly suffer again if it meant keeping her safe, keeping all eyes on him, but gut instinct told him this wasn’t the case. Grimsby and Lanteen were responsible for this mayhem and murder, he felt it in his broken bones, and now they would list him as dead and turn their attention elsewhere.
“How goes your day, Walker Garrison?’ Hargis greeted, coming home for the evening. “I got a surprise for you.”
Without explanation, he motioned Walker to the abandoned smokehouse behind their hut. When his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Walker saw something hanging from one of the meat hooks attached to the rafters. Close inspection revealed the wriggling object to be a man. He threw Hargis a questioning look.
“I found the lone survivor of the four men who attacked you. It was a hard choice which way to hang him,” Hargis growled, “by the feet or by the neck.”
The cutthroat, trussed like a Christmas goose, revolved upside down, and as he came around full circle, his gaze focused on Walker and his eyes widen in recognition.
“You…you’re dead,” he stuttered.
“Almost,” he countered, drawing closer, the urge for retaliation coursing through his body. “Who hired you to kill me?” he asked, his voice stone-cold, his hands balled into fists.
“Nobody,” the man whined.
“So the four of you were just walking along and it occurred to you it would be a damn good time beating me to a bloody pulp.”
“That’s it, gov’nor, exactly. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
"I’d say lying would come rather natural to a man who would take money for murder.”
“I think he needs encouragement,” Hargis said, starting a fire in the little woodstove. “I hear smoked English pig be very tasty.”
“We Yanks like nothing better,” Walker agreed, going along with the ploy. “Of course, the best meat is cooked long and slow. Why, it could take days to get it just right. Let me lend you a hand so we can close this place up and relax outside in the cool evening air.”
“Good idea, friend. I would rather be tending a red hot forge than be left in here when this fire takes hold.”
“Now wait a bloody minute,” the dangling man shrieked. “You can’t be doin’ this to one of the Queen’s citizens. You cut me down, you foreign devils.”
“Did you hear something?” Hargis asked, cupping one hand to his ear.
“Just a squealing pig-like sound,” Walker replied.
The room was small, the heat fierce, and sweat beaded off all three men as hickory smoke filled the confined area. Walker coughed, setting his ribs to burning and aching, and he and Hargis made for the door. Surprisingly, the man remained silent. Was this no-account actually willing to die rather than reveal his employer? This kind of loyalty, or more likely fear, said something for the man who had hired him.
“I’ll talk,” the rabble relented, his face red as a beet. “Cut me down, for God’s sake, cut me down.”
Hargis raised a questioning brow. At Walker’s nod, he produced a large knife and sliced sideways through the rope. With a thud and a curse, their prisoner dropped to the floor.
After closing down the stove, Hargis kicked and rolled the evil little man closer to the door where all three could breathe easier.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just untie me. Get me out of here.”
“Not yet,” Walker insisted. “Talk first. Then we’ll discuss your accommodations. Who hired the four of you to kill me?”
“Ah, sweet Jesus save me,” the fellow trembled and pleaded. “If I tell you he’ll kill me he will.”
“And I’ll kill you if you don’t tell,” Walker bluffed.
“It was Grimsby what hired us, Bartholomew Grimsby.”
“And for whom does Grimsby work?” Walker asked. A well-aimed prod with the toe of his boot helping matters along.
“He works for Lucien Lanteen. They transport goods and do a bit of smuggling, whatever will turn a profit. Legal or illegal, they don’t much care. And, they ain’t particular about eliminating whoever gets in their way.”
Finally, his suspicions were confirmed, but he felt no relief or satisfaction, rather the news revived his worst fears. He pictured Trelayne at Royston Hall, alone and at the mercy of Lucien with only Merrick and Wynona to keep watch over her.
“And….” Walker pressed, his voice rough with the anger building in his chest.
Hargis sighed, stepped to the stove, and stirred the coals back into flames.
“All right, all right. All the else I knows is Lucien received a recent shipment of opium. A large shipment and they be keepin’ it down here.”
“In Brighton?” Walker interrupted.
“No, no, just somewhere close to Brighton. A warehouse or an old inn. I can’t recall. I was never there meself. But Lanteen’s got a right regular scheme what includes marrying some girl. And there’s something else in the works as has not been revealed to the likes of me.”
Marriage… Was Lanteen mad enough to believe Trelayne would agree to marry him? What if Trelayne viewed Lucien in an entirely different light? She didn’t know he ruined peoples’ lives by selling smuggled drugs, nor did she know Lucien had been willing to kill him and injure her parents in order to prevent the merger of the shipping lines. She thought of him as a longtime friend and advisor, unaware he possessed a greedy, perverted, and most generally unhinged side to his nature.
He should have confided in her more readily. Trusted her to be sensible and mature. He had hesitated because he feared she wouldn’t believe him. Feared he might drive her into the arms of whoever had been responsible for all this madness, and now it looked as if may have done just that.
“What else?” he hollered, frantic at the thought of Trelayne being under Lucien’s control.
“Nothin’ else. That’s all.”
“I don’t believe you. Think harder. You must know more. I don’t care if it’s only idle gossip or speculation. Tell me everything.” Fists raised, he towered over the man.
“I’m tryin’ to think, really I am. All I remember is they stay at that inn or winery when they come down here and he’s obsessed with the lass, nearly mad for her. I don’t know another word. I swear. Except Mr. Lanteen likes gamblin’, good clothes, and seein’ things suffer.”
“I think the pig’s done squealing,” Hargis said, “but it’s your call.”
Walker turned away. “I agree, but we’ll have to keep him here a few more days until I’m fit to travel. If we turn him over to the Constable tonight, word may leak out I’m still alive, and I’d like to keep that quiet until I’m back in London. Thank you, Hargis.” He threw one arm across the big Norwegian’s sho
ulder. “You’re a man among men and a friend indeed. Come outside where we can finish making plans.”
“Hey. Wait a minute,” the Englishman cried. “You can’t just leave me here tied up.”
“Why not?” Hargis growled. “You be quiet and ponder you are lucky to be alive. If it were up to Hargis you would be standing before Odin for what you done to my friend. Remember, he is the nice one and he is leaving soon. Then you will have only me to decide if you live or die.”
Damping down the stove, they closed the smokehouse door, wedged a large board up against the latch, and left the man trussed and stewing in his own thoughts. When true darkness fell, Walker donned local costume to obscure his identity, and they went to town.
Along the docks, he located a ship from New Bedford. Arranging free passage to America for Hargis, he left a promissory note and letter with the Captain, and instructed Hargis to find Dr. Nathan Robinson when he made port. The letter advised Nate to honor the promissory note and treat Hargis with all due respect and assistance.
The arrangements completed, the temptation to seal the deal with a drink was too great to ignore. They slipped into a pub called the Pick and Shovel, a quarry men’s hang out. Walker kept to the shadows and watched in amusement as Hargis became involved in a wrestling contest. His friend took on every challenger, and beat all comers. In payment for the entertainment, the tavern-keeper gave Hargis complimentary ale, which he heartily consumed.
Hargis slammed down his current empty tankard and grinned. “Enough fighting. Now is time for loving.”
A pair of lovelies, impressed by Hargis’ strength, sidled up and vied for his attention. “Which one of us pleases you most?” the dark-haired girl asked, trying to force him to make a choice.
“I like you both,” he declared.
He picked one girl up under each arm, and amidst their shrieks of laughter, headed for the private backrooms of the establishment. Walker snorted in amusement and continued to lay low.
It would probably take two of them to satisfy the big Goliath.
When a third girl strolled his way, he smiled and shook his head. She ambled off to find a more willing prospect, and he passed off his lack of interest as a result of his injuries, but in his heart he knew the real reason was because he yearned for only one woman, and there could be no substitute.
Heaven only knew what Trelayne must think of him. He’d been gone nearly a month. Would she turn to Lanteen for comfort and amusement? Merrick indicated she’d led a rather sheltered existence, but a need for adventure and a willful spirit were a part of her too. He’d seen it in her eyes and felt it pulsing in her body when he kissed her wrist.
The more he brooded, the more restless he became. He should leave for London tonight, but the last train was gone.
Then he’d damn well go by horse. He glanced out the window. There was no moon to light the way, and it was threatening snow, or at least sleet. With a sharp wind blowing out of the north, the going would be treacherous for man and beast.
So what? He’d ridden in worse conditions, but over trails he knew well and only when he’d been of sound body. To suffer a re-injury due to poor judgment would only succeed in making matters worse. The reasonable thing to do was to wait a few more days, renew his vigor, and go north by rail as planned.
Logically, he knew this—emotionally he was unconvinced.
Once before, he’d been too late to save the woman he loved.
He couldn’t survive going through that again.
To build up his strength, he ordered a huge meal from the barmaid and ate every scrap. Then as the night slipped away, he waited with good humor for his friend.
Smiling from ear to ear, Hargis returned from his trysting and threw himself down onto the seat.
“I take it a good time was had by all,” Walker said.
Hargis, still as bright eyed and energetic as a young colt, nodded and ordered more ale.
“Does nothing wear out that hulking body of yours?”
“It would take more than two small English girls to tire Hargis out. I learned about love from big hearty Scandinavian women.”
For Walker, one small soft English girl would be more than enough to fill his desires.
Chapter Seventeen
Trelayne lay across her bed, starring up at the ceiling, absentmindedly toying with a lock of her hair. It was three days since the incident on the Romney Maiden, and the weather had turned damp and chilly. Tonight, angry clouds again filled the sky, the smell of snow was in the air, and her mood was equally as dismal.
Having acted in haste, she now regretted her decision at leisure. Tonight was The Bond Street Consortium Gala. She never should have agreed to go. She should have arranged to meet Lucien on more neutral ground for their heart-to-heart talk. But everything was arranged, it was too late now, and truly she wished to put their discussion behind her.
Lucien’s presence had become almost smothering. He seemed to know her every move, showing up at the most unlikely places.
The other day, he’d appeared at her dressmaker’s. Not the usual venue for a man to seek. Another time, they crossed paths near Father Woolsey’s priory. Lucien had insisted he was simply passing by. But passing by to what? The Vicarage was rurally located and not really on the way to anything of interest. Maybe, she should chance his ire, and simply refuse to go. He would be furious, of course, but would eventually recover from his disappointment. Besides, as she intended to break off their fabricated-relationship, what difference would it make in the long run?
Of course, since she was soon to break his heart, this was the last consideration she could show him. She guessed it was either lie to Lucien about being sick, or lie to Aunt Abigail as to where she was going tonight. When she had casually mentioned The Bond, her guardian had launched into a surprisingly puritanical lecture regarding the disreputable aspects of the establishment. An exposé on those who frequented such places had scathingly followed, but it piqued her interest rather than deterring her.
Ever since Walker’s absence, her aunt had become as overprotective as Mother and Father. It was tiresome being told what to do and when to do it. She felt ready to burst with an unknown energy, and even her nightmare, obviously a warning of some sort, didn’t cow her spirits.
Penelope understood. She knew how it felt to be intoxicated with curiosity about life—about men. How it felt to be filled with unstoppable passion, your soul seeking answers to questions of the heart. Penelope knew what it was like to yearn irrepressibly for someone.
Melancholy consumed her, and it was the elusive Captain Garrison’s fault. He’d ruined her for any other man. She had dared to gaze into his eyes, losing her sense of direction while wrapped in his embrace. Wanting someone so very much, and not being with him, was self-inflicted torture. Where in heaven’s name could he be? Unless he had done so by choice, it hardly seemed likely he could disappear so completely. Even the runners Merrick sent to Brighton couldn’t find him.
She reached for the gloves she now kept close at hand, grazing the leather along her temple, her cheek, her throat, all the while imagining it was Walker’s touch. But pretending wasn’t enough, she wanted the real thing.
Setting his gift aside, she gained her feet and paced the room, wringing her hands, her back stiff with concern and indecision. Then she made up her mind as to what to do, and it felt as if she’d been holding her breath and could once more breathe deeply. If by tomorrow, there was no news regarding Walker, she would insist Merrick take her to Brighton. And tonight, as planned, she would set the record straight with Lucien, severing all ties. She wished not to go at all, but knew he would keep hounding her until they settled the matter. Surely she could put on a good face for just one evening. Although in truth, knowing she must wait until tomorrow to search for Walker left her straining at the leash, her nerves on edge, and her mood anything but gay.
A tapping noise sent her racing across the room. She jerked open the door.
“Mercy me,” Pe
nelope gasped. “You’re in a dither. I’ve obviously arrived just in time.”
Trelayne grabbed her friend’s arm, hustled her into the room, and closed the door.
“I’m going to do it,” she declared.
“Do it?”
“Oh, heaven’s no. Not that it. What I mean is I’ve definitely decided to accompany Lucien to The Bond.”
Penelope heaved a sigh of relief. “You had me terrified for a moment. Of late you’re too bold and daring for your own good. I can’t imagine what you will do next. Besides, if you do it, it must be with Captain Garrison.”
“As he’s still missing, I hardly think the occasion will arise any time soon. I’m worried about him. But perhaps I shouldn’t be. After all, we’ve not declared are feelings for one another, maybe it’s not my concern where he goes, or how long he stays away.”
“Oh, bunkum and balderdash.” Penelope blurted. “You’re in love with him.”
She stared at her friend, thinking to deny her statement, but she could no more deceive Pen than herself.
“Yes, oh yes, I am in love with him…desperately. But it’s unrequited and it’s breaking my heart. I thought to be giddy with happiness, aglow with joy, instead I’m miserable and lackluster at best.
“But unrequited love is supposed to be romantic.”
“Well, it isn’t, I assure you. It’s not at all like in the stories we read. It’s tearing me apart, I’m in emotional shreds.”
“Still you can’t be sure of his intentions. You’ve not spoken to him about such things, or given him a chance to profess his feelings.”
“You’re right, of course. And on the morrow I intend to remedy that situation by going in search of him, although I don’t know how I’m going to wait that long. Already this seems the longest night of my life. I was going to cancel, but if I don’t keep busy I shall be reduced to a sweet madness, never to recover. And I must resolve my issues with Lucien.”
