Jas glanced at Amethyst and she caught his thought —Clark should be all set by now. “I’m thinking we should discuss what we’ve seen before making a decision. Don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up by taking them back to your office just for a name.”
They’d probably already gotten a few children hopeful when they’d seen strangers walking through. Amethyst bit her lower lip. They had enough money; they should take them all. Jas could take half, and she and Clark could take the other.
“Let me die,” Samantha cackled. “Don’t make me suffer anymore. None of you care about me!”
The nurses blended together in a sheet of white: white robes, white face masks, white hats. The leather ties fastening her wrists and ankles to the bed cut into her skin, Blood made her left hand slick, but warm. She shouldn’t have any blood left. If only they would give her something to make a cut. All that blood could soak into their white and turn them into roses.
She’d seen one once. A nurse had fawned over it. Some gift from a boyfriend.
Samantha bit her tongue as hard as she could, metallic blood tickling, and spit at the nearest nurse.
The woman screamed and shoved a hunk of wood into her mouth so she couldn’t do it again.
“Stop that,” another nurse said. “She can’t eat with that in there.”
Food. All they cared about was her eating. I can starve if I want to!
Someone pulled the wood from her mouth and smashed gruel inside. Samantha inhaled —it had better go into her lungs —but another nurse slapped at her cheeks.
“You eat that! You haven’t eaten in two days. Eat or we’ll die.”
Gruel dribbled down Samantha’s chin as she laughed. The government would kill them if she died, despite their indifference of the torture she endured. These nurses only wanted to live, not make her life any better. Pathetic.
ampness crawled into the steamcoach. Amethyst tipped sideways to squint at the sky through the windows, but could see only clear blue, no clouds. The trees lining the road didn’t stir with wind.
Clark bounced his knee on the bench beside her. “I don’t like this.”
“You feel it, too?”
“The sense something bad is going to happen?”
He leaned over to touch his lips to the curve of her neck. “Yes. That.”
Could this be the sensation he’d endured all those years on the run? The obnoxious nagging that something foul would transpire. She tightened her arms around the slumbering baby. “What does it mean?”
Jas yawned from his side of the interior and stretched his legs. “What are you two blathering about? Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s a beautiful day and we’re back home.”
Clark draped one arm over Amethyst’s shoulders. “We have to be on the alert.”
Alert. Right. She had the pearl-handled derringer strapped to her thigh and a knife hidden in a sheath near her ankle. She could fight back.
The vehicle slowed at the gate with a puff of steam exhaled from the rear exhaust. Muffled voices came through the walls from the driver talking to the gate worker. Jas had given him a paper —Amethyst assumed it included his details for admission —when they’d first rented it in town.
Worry thickened in her belly and she shifted on the wooden seat. Nothing would go wrong. Jas and his workers would protect them until they could bring the notebooks and receipts to the public.
The coach halted with another puff of steam —she pictured it black and ashy like when they’d boarded —and the driver snapped the door for them. Jas exited, followed by Clark with the canvas bag they’d brought slung over his shoulder. Inside lay the incriminating information. The items should have been hot enough to burn through the beige cloth.
He reached up for Jolene and Amethyst paused. The baby stirred against her chest, pulling at the cameo pinned to her high collar. They should get back into the coach and drive. They should flee the plantation.
“Clark…”
He took her hand and pulled; her heels slid and she tumbled into his free arm. He held her against his chest, his suit jacket pressing against her lips, and kissed her forehead. “We’ll leave here soon. I promise. There are those who still like the royal family and we could use that backing.”
The bag slipped down his shoulder and she shifted it onto hers while accepting Jolene back. Flee, flee, flee.
“I feel it, too.” He cupped her face. “Something doesn’t feel right. Why aren’t the servants still around?”
Amethyst widened her eyes as she glanced around the plantation. Fans didn’t hum from indoors, and people didn’t pass by the bushes or work in the fields. Jas took the porch steps two at a time and pushed open the front door.
“Stay here.” Clark dropped one hand to his waist where he kept his pistol and followed Jas. No sounds drifted from within the mansion.
The driver had his head down as he counted bills Jas must have slipped him. Amethyst gripped the metal handle on the edge of the steamcoach to boost herself back in. It felt safer in there, with the thick dust and acrid paint. Someone had redone the white paint job, leaving streaks and drips. She tapped one of the drips with her fingernail.
“Loo.” Jolene reached toward the bench across.
Ice coated Amethyst, staining her breath, and hairs lifted across her body. A woman with blackened eyes and ooze around her mouth faced them. Water dripped off her wide-brimmed straw hat, the droplets disappearing before reaching the seat. A white dress clung to her body as though drenched.
“Hi,” Jolene burbled.
“I suppose this means you can see the dead, too,” Amethyst whispered.
“Go.” More dark green ooze sloshed from the woman’s mouth as she spoke.
Bile rose into Amethyst’s throat and she almost vomited.
“Go,” the ghost shrieked. “They’ll keep you here.
Jolene giggled and grabbed her knitted booties.
The coach door slammed and Amethyst jumped. The seat in front creaked as the driver repositioned himself. He must not have seen them re-enter. Amethyst reached for the partition to knock and let him know, when a gunshot pierced the silence. Birds took to the sky from the ceramic baths around the porch.
Amethyst stiffened, her fist raised midair. The ghost woman smirked, ooze shining around her pursed lips, and Jolene made a gasping, crying sound. Amethyst slapped her hand over her daughter’s mouth. “Hush.”
“You see? Dangerous.” The ghost rocked where she floated above the bench and clapped her hands. “The army’s here. They won’t let you go. The naughty, rancid army!”
Steam puffed out the brass exhaust pipe and the coach jerked forward; Amethyst’s head smacked into the wall.
The army shouldn’t have been at the plantation. “What do they want?”
“The prince, of course. What a naughty family the royals are.” The ghost tipped her head back with a gurgle that sent Amethyst gagging and vanished with a breeze that stank of wet wool.
Clark lifted his hands above his head and splayed his gloved fingers.
The man in the blue uniform of a soldier cocked his pistol and grinned, a black gap between his front teeth. Clark imagined the fresh bullet hole in the wall smoldering.
“Come now,” Clark drawled. “You really thought I would shoot at you gents?” He would have if they’d given him enough time to draw. The one soldier kept his weapon trained on Clark and the other grasped Jas by the arm.
“I’d like to know why you’re grabbing us here when this is my home and I haven’t gotten to see my mother yet.” Jas shook his arm, but the captor pulled a set of metal handcuffs from his jacket and clapped them over the prince’s wrists. The clicks echoed off the walls in the building’s stillness.
No servants. No kittens. They’d wandered the rooms before, much to Jolene’s cooing.
Jolene and Amethyst were still in the yard. Clark didn’t dare glance behind him lest the soldiers guess he and Jas weren’t alone.
“Who’re you?” The soldier with
the pistol nodded at Clark.
He needed a safe answer. One that wouldn’t get him arrested along with Jas, or questioned. “Don’t you recognize me?”
The soldier spit tobacco juice onto the hardwood floor. “You being smart?”
Clark sighed and shrugged, his hands still in the air. “I’m just a servant. Nobody special.”
Jas opened his mouth, but snapped his teeth together. “That’s Bob. You get my stuff yet?”
“Can I go get the luggage?” Clark shifted his stance as though putout with being detained from his work.
“Where is my mother?” Jas interrupted. “What is going on in here? You shoot at me and handcuff me, and I don’t get a by-your-leave?”
The soldier beside him chuckled. “Jonathan, got ‘em! They won’t cause us no trouble.”
Clark could. The men weren’t looking at him. He could pull his pistol and shoot them before they could react. That would only cause trouble, especially with his family outside and the Jonathan fellow in. He glided back against the wall so he would be sideways, able to face the newcomer but with a clean shot outdoors.
Protection of Amethyst and Jolene came first.
Footsteps sounded from the grand staircase and a young man in a blue suit rounded the corner. “Welcome home, Prince Dexter.”
Jas clenched his jaw. “Who is this? This isn’t your bloody home. Get out. Where’s my mother?”
The man unrolled a paper from within his jacket. “You are under arrest for treason against this country and all of its good people.”
“Where is my mother?” Jas shouted.
The man lifted one eyebrow. “She has been relocated to prison. Don’t worry, my wife is with her to see that all accommodations are befitting to a woman of her status.”
Jas lunged at him, and the two soldiers seized him by the shoulders to ram him into the wall. The thud of body against wood echoed in Clark’s ears. Jas wasn’t a fighter; he charmed his way with smiles and oiled words.
Get it together, Jas.
“I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Jonathan Montgomery, and I have been sent here to arrest you.” He refolded the paper. “I can read your more of the arrest warrant, but I think you need a moment to calm down.”
Jas bared his teeth. “I haven’t done anything treasonous.”
“That’s for the judge to decide.” Jonathan swung his gaze toward Clark. “Who is this?”
“His servant,” one of the guards said.
Clark bowed at the waist, thankful his clothes looked sharp but didn’t scream wealth. “If I may, I’ll get the luggage.” Servants were trained to keep up their task even in the face of change —like having the master arrested. At least, that was how the Treasures schooled their hired help.
“Yes, bring the luggage in and let the driver go. It was a hired coach, wasn’t it? Saw it from the lookout,” Jonathan added as if pressing on them the weight of spying.
“You don’t want word of this arrest getting out,” Jas growled. “You know what the people will do when they hear what you’ve done to my mother and me?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’m sorry to say this, but they’ll be thinking they never should have let you go free after the rebellion.”
“By the steam,” Jas roared.
Jonathan didn’t smirk or goad; despite his straight back and lifted chin, his apology seemed genuine. Clark walked backward from the hallway, his head bowed to appear less threatening.
“You need to calm down, sir.” Jonathan’s voice followed him outdoors. “The government is now in possession of your lands, property, and slaves. All servants have been dismissed, but are in containment until you are properly secured.”
“To the steam with that,” came Jas’s reply.
Clark turned on the porch to face an empty turn-around. Their three carpetbags lay in a heap in the gravel. He sauntered toward them while scanning the yard for Amethyst and Jolene. Had they gotten away in the coach? His wife had complained about the “bad” feeling.
She had the papers.
If they couldn’t get the government to see what the president had commissioned, then they would focus on getting the people riled. Now that the president had arrested Jas and his mother, they would have to fight for getting their names cleared.
Jonathan had mentioned the expulsion of royalty as a rebellion. If a rebellion had given the president power, then a new rebellion could expel him.
Amethyst peeped through the corner of the coach window at the driver as he sauntered into the hackney office. They might clean the interior —she’d heard of that going on in New Addison City —or they might take it back out for another service. The door to the office closed behind the driver and nothing shifted around the quiet wooden building.
“Keep quiet, Jolene.” Amethyst lifted the latch on the door and swung it open only enough to step down. The hem of her brown-and-black checkered skirt caught on her boot heel and she stumbled.
A man passed them in the street, but didn’t turn their way. Amethyst held the latch until the coach door shut to keep it from snapping. No one exited the hackney shop; other vehicles in the street didn’t slow. She straightened her blouse and headed to the wooden sidewalk.
She had enough money in the secret pocket of her bodice —Clark always insisted on those secret pockets, may the steam bless him —so she could afford a train ticket back to Hedlund. Clark would be safe; if he’d died, his ghost would have come to her. Amethyst closed her eyes as she inhaled. He took care of himself and she had to protect Jolene.
She had the papers. Her father would know what to do with them until Clark returned.
es.” Eric smiled across the table at the female reporter. Copper curls frizzed around her head from a pearl-encrusted barrette. Something about her reminded him of Judith when he’d first met her. Perhaps it was the wide gray eyes or the hopeful lips, the urge to make something of herself. In Judith’s case, it had been to escape the brothel and have her own house.
She had that now. He’d helped to give her that home.
This woman wanted to make a difference in the world through journalism.
“So you’re saying you found the antidote to the toxin in the river, but you’ve only tested it on mice.” Velda Smith tapped her automatic stylus against the open journal.
“I wouldn’t dare test it on people,” he said, “but I’ll gladly give it to anyone who is dying. I have full confidence it will expel the toxin. I cannot guarantee survival, as that will depend on how many of their organs have shut down.”
“Right. Mmhmm.” Velda tapped the stylus against her lip, leaving a black dot on her skin. “I’ll put this in the national news and send it to my contacts at the smaller presses. They’ll credit me, of course.” She grinned, her teeth crooked. “Thanks for this exclusive interview, Mr. Grisham. I appreciate it. I’m sure the ill and the government will be pounding down your door soon.”
“I’m not too sure about the government. They haven’t answered the telegrams I sent about confirming an antidote.” He stood so he could shake her hand. “I just want to save lives.”
She closed the journal and tucked the small, leather-bound book into the pocket of her blue dress. “I’m sure you will.”
Wind blew dust across the balcony of the senator’s mansion. Amethyst shifted her stance to lean against the railing. Far in the distance, past civilization, wooden structures rose up from the desert like a giant graveyard. The hertum mine there had dried up, like the one where Clark had lived, and the people had moved east toward a river where they could ship goods. Those houses filled with memories, watching a small city build up while dust and heat eroded what had once sustained life.
“I’m getting morbid,” she muttered.
“That’s not morbid.” Clara shimmered into existence beside her. “I need you to get Samantha.”
“What?” Amethyst curled her fist around the railing. “Do you know where Clark is? We haven’t heard from him.” No ghost wanted to tell her abou
t her husband. He had to be fine. Zachariah had escaped when the army first arrived and he’d made it to Jeremiah. Like Amethyst, he’d taken the train. Clark could do the same; he had money on him.
Clara Larkin floated closer. “Samantha was the other baby. I couldn’t save her. That’s the sister you must save.”
Amethyst narrowed her eyes. “Why do you suddenly want her rescued? You didn’t care before.” Wind blew unbound hair over her face, but Clara stayed motionless.
“It is time now. Your family deals out the cards and the president will retaliate. You must have Samantha before then. Don’t allow them to use her.”
He would retaliate… Amethyst shivered. “Where is she?”
“An asylum,” Clara Larkin hissed. “Where else do you hide someone who can foresee the future than amongst the insane? Get her out or she won’t be safe.”
Clara Larkin couldn’t care about safety. Amethyst had heard about those places; they didn’t treat anyone with kindness. “You don’t want them to use her to find her brother.”
Clara Larkin floated higher. “They won’t get him. They tried before, but they could see nothing. He had nothing of importance then. They gave up; they must have.”
“Why don’t you care about her? Why didn’t you ever try to help her?”
Clara flickered. “You cannot save everyone. Captain MacFarland will help you.”
“How do you know… you can’t save everyone?” Amethyst sighed at the empty space. “I still want to know about Clark!”
Glass shattered in the hallway. Eric stiffened at his desk, his pencil paused. More glass shattered from closer to his office, each sliver plinking the ground as if magnified by a loudspeaker.
“Hello?” He stood, the pencil slipping from his fingers. “What’s happening out there?”
The workers building his factory should have gone home for the night, and they were done with the east wing. No one should have been near him.
Wicked Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 3) Page 14
