Conquered by the Ghost

by Pippa Greathouse

  It shouldn’t be too difficult, next time.

  Ghost held her in his arms the rest of the night, unwilling to put her back to bed and leave her. The firelight played over her red curls, and he threaded his fingers through them, feeling their silkiness. She was still wrapped in his coat, just as she had been since he’d brought her back inside from the cold and dangerous night.

  He breathed heavily, thinking of the peril she’d put herself in. Suppose he hadn’t found her in time? Suppose they’d gotten to her first? Dear God. He had to get her out of here and take her somewhere safe. They knew she was here. He didn’t know how, but they knew.

  Tomorrow, he’d make the trip to make the final preparations. He held her in his arms when she wiggled to face the fire, and he wrapped his legs and arms around hers as if she were in a cocoon. He hoped she felt safe now.

  And he sent up a heartfelt prayer that he’d be able to keep her that way.

  A plot to kidnap the vicar…

  It was still early in the morning, when Tiny plopped another fifty-pound sack of grain on the rear of the coach and the springs groaned in protest. Smiley stood behind him, lifting boxes of provisions, mostly fresh vegetables for the kitchen. Much of what they needed for their possible journey aboard had been purchased and sent ahead to the ship. Still, they were running dangerously low on food supplies back home, thanks to a particularly ravenous member of the crew. Chubs could eat them all out of house and home.

  Turning his head back, Smiley sent a curse toward Woody, who was stashing one of his finds in the saddlebags on his old mare, Sweet. Like all the rest of them, she’d gained the nickname by her cranky disposition. The only person she let ride her was Woody.

  “Bloody fool,” Smiley groaned. “Not only are ye too good to ride on the coach with the rest of us scum,” Smiley yelled out, “but so is yer bloody flower.”

  “It ain’t a flower. It’s sticklewort, and it will come in handy after we eat yer rancid food. Chubs couldn’t get off the pot for nearly an hour last night after consuming yer beef stew. How come ye put that smelly cheese in everything these days?”

  Tiny nudged Smiley before giving a bit more information on the herb Woody had. “I heard the man he got it off tell Woody the plant’s a sure way to help a man get a lift in the lower region, if ye get my meaning. Ye don’t have a secret yearnin’ for sweet Althea, do ye?”

  The litany of cursing following from the gardener made even Smiley blush. He looked around at the people mulling around the area and prayed no one complained to the authorities. So much for blending in like Ghost ordered. “Hush yerself, old man. Good thing Ghost is off checkin’ on the ship. We’re supposed to be watchin’ our words, now that we have a lady at home to take care of.”

  Tiny patted the horses attached to the coach and whispered about the men’s plans to visit the alehouse. One of the animals eyed him, and the large man seem to get a silent message. “Yes, it slipped me mind, it did.”

  Looking back at the other two men, he said, “Speaking of the lady, think she’ll ever get over her pique with being left behind today? She was right mad.”

  “Who cares if she’s miffed?” Smiley demanded, before reaching in his pocket to make sure the stick of peppermint he bought Chloe was safe inside.

  Woody glanced at his little star shaped flowered plant and imagined Chloe’s face when he showed it to her. He could already see her wide, warm smile. In case the other men caught any hint of softness in him, he rudely clamped the leather bag holding it closed. “If Sassy Lady is going to make it as part of our crew, she needs to toughen up. Ghost said it weren’t safe for her to come along, and she bloody well ought to take his word for it.”

  “A wife needs to abide by what her man says,” Tiny agreed. “It’s like we said earlier, when Ghost and Chloe were having their fuss in the study.”

  “It weren’t no fuss,” Woody interrupted. “He was tanning her backside again. I’ve a mind to take Ghost aside and have a word. Sassy Lady’s fragile. He should try using his words instead of taking his hand to her.”

  Smiley rolled his eyes. “Talkin’ out of both sides of yer mouth, ye are. Either she needs to toughen up, or he needs to realize she’s fragile and be softer. Which is it?” He looked longingly toward the alehouse. “But yer right. A wife vows to love, honor and obey. God says so.”

  “How would ye know what God says, ye old coot?” Woody returned.

  Tiny, however, nodded. “We agreed we’d find the vicar and bring him home with us,” Tiny asked. “First, though, let’s step in the alehouse and have something to hold us for the long ride back.”

  Woody complained, but he didn’t think twice about joining the other two men. “Ain’t likely to find the vicar in an alehouse,”

  The smell of spirits greeted them when they stepped inside. Someone was singing off key and playing an old organ in the near corner. The wheezing from the pedals was almost louder than the organ, itself.

  Smiley recognized the man immediately. Giving a chuckle, he turned to Woody. “Don’t ye be so sure, gents.” He gestured his arm toward the man dressed in black, screeching out a Sunday hymn. “Let’s buy a drink for Vicar Williamson. While we were in the feed market, I heard he was in town visitin’ his sister. Perfect timin’, eh?”

  “Divine intervention,” Tiny chuckled. “I figure a few more pints and he can sleep it off in the coach on the way home.”

  The three men nodded agreement.

  “So ye agree they ought to be married first chance?” Woody asked the vicar after handing him a third beer. “Them being so in love and perfect for each other…”

  “You s-shay he puts up with her beast, even though he c-cain’t abide cats?” The vicar slurred his words, but his eyes were wide with wonder. “If that isn’t true love, gentlemen, I don’t know what is. Course they sh-should be wed. And you say evil men are menacing the lady?”

  “Aye, ‘tis true.” Smiley nodded gravely. “Think about it, sir. What if someone was trying to harm yer dear sister? Ye’d take care of her, but the vicar’s work pulls ye away often. Would ye sleep better at night knowin’ she had a husband to stand up for her? Sure, ye would. The same is true for our Chloe. A villain wouldna dare try harmin’ her if they knew she was our Ghost’s wife. Ain’t it the truth, men?”

  All the men nodded in unison.

  Tiny, looking around the room, said in a quiet voice, “Let’s talk in private, eh?”

  Woody nodded. He had watched the vicar consume a lot of beer and feared he might pass out at any moment. They needed him alert enough to marry Ghost and Chloe.

  “Oh, the thing about that,” the vicar said after draining his mug. “My sister expects I be home by afternoon. Big woman, my sis.” He motioned his hands to indicate a large girth. “Big…Godly woman, mind you.” He added quickly, “But meaner than a wet h-hen.” He shook his head vehemently. “Come visit on the morrow. Bring along your couple, and we can discuss the coming n-nup—nupsh—” He shook his head and gave up. “Wedding.”

  Tiny frowned, and Woody lost his patience and slammed his boney fist down on the table. “Ain’t no time to wait ‘til the morrow.”

  When others nearby started staring, Smiley cursed the gardener softly. “Woody? How we goin’ to talk him into coming back to the Hartwycke with us if ye scare the bastard off?”

  “Bastard?” The vicar’s head came up at that. “There’s a wee babe involved? Nobody said anything about s-s-shuch. Now, that makes the whole matter urgent.”

  “I say Tiny carries him to the coach like he did the sacks of grain,” Woody muttered, leaning toward the other two.

  “Ye don’t think people will take notice of us waylayin’ a vicar?” Tiny whispered as he sipped from his mug.

  “The man’s half-shot, he is,” Woody pronounced.

  “No, he ain’t. He’s more’n that,” Smiley countered.

  Tiny stared from one to the other. “He’s boryeyed.”

  “All the better. Everyone here’ll think h
e passed out.” Woody clamped his wooden teeth together. “Let’s get to it.”

  “What’s to stop him from bitching about us takin’ him against his will?” Smiley glared at the smaller man.

  Woody glared back while pulling something out of his pocket. It was a handkerchief Althea had given him, just that morning. “Hey, vicar, how’d that hymn ye was singin’ earlier go?”

  When the vicar, now quite muddled, threw back his head and began to sing at the top of his lungs, Woody stuffed the cloth between his teeth and gestured slightly to Tiny. And no one paid the least bit of attention to the three characters who helped the vicar stumble out of the room. None of them were bold enough to chance angering the large man, the scrawny fellow with the dilapidated hat, or the cantankerous man with the wooden leg.

  “What if he tries to jump out the coach while it’s movin’?” Smiley asked after they shoved the holy man inside on the floor.

  “What ails ye? I have to figure out all of it? Smiley, give me yer belt,” Woody demanded.

  Smiley glared but yanked off the leather holding his pants up and handed it to him. Woody tied it around the vicar’s ankles and elbowed Smiley in the side.

  “Hold up yer pants.”

  Smiley reached down and grabbed his drooping pants with one hand as he pulled himself up on to the coach with the other. Waiting for Woody to saddle and start for home, he finally threw up his hands and motioned for Tiny to put the horses into motion. “Well, leave the old fool here. We have a weddin’ to get to.”

  Woody stood, watching the coach move away, and grinned.

  About time for him to go back inside and have another pint of ale.

  Visitors to the alehouse…

  Gregory entered the alehouse with a deep sigh of disappointment on his lips. He’d been searching for weeks now. He’d left a distraught Arabella at home, promising to return to take her on the voyage, if at all possible. She’d lost a little weight, and he was worried about her. And up until now, he was having no luck at all in his search.

  He leaned against the counter as the barkeep approached, holding up a glass of ale.

  “Thanks. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about our young lady?”

  “Not me.” He leaned forward. “But those two blokes in the corner? Don’t turn. You can see them in the mirror. They’ve been asking lots of questions about a young lady. Call her a half-breed.”

  Gregory’s eyes rose to meet his, immediately. “Which two men?”

  “Next corner to the wall. Where they always sit. Been here several weeks now, off and on.”

  Gregory nodded, looking around the room casually. He swiveled in his seat and leaned back against the bar as he inadvertently studied the place.

  They were deep in conversation, but he recognized them instantly. Eventually turning back around, he gave the barkeep a nod and reached into his pocket for a gold coin, sliding it across the bar under his hand.

  It was then, he heard a familiar voice. It was hard to place at first, and he froze, listing to the American accent.

  “Good day to you, gentleman. I’m still trying to locate news on a young lady who was taken off the docks of Liverpool, several weeks ago. I understand she might have been seen in the Ainsley area?”

  The house became quiet, and Gregory didn’t move.

  “I see. Well, thanks to you.” His voice sounded put out.

  As Gregory turned, he saw the man leaving the house. He gave an almost imperceptible nod to the barkeep and casually turned, forcing himself to refrain from looking at the two men in the corner. The coin, he left on the counter.

  He made himself saunter as slowly as possible toward the door and feared, for a moment, he’d lost sight of the American. The gentleman was about to get into a coach, when Gregory caught up with him.

  “Halt! Please?”

  The man stopped in front of him, staring. Gregory narrowed his eyes and recognition dawned. “Emery Carlson,” he said.

  “And you are Captain Gregory Smythe. I remember now.”

  Gregory looked around him for signs of the two men who might be following, but all he saw was a cranky-looking old man wearing a tattered hat, approaching a mare that looked just as cranky. No threat there, he decided. He turned back. “Look, Mr. Carlson, is there somewhere we can go to talk? I need to speak with you.”

  The well-dressed man motioned him inside the coach, but Gregory shook his head. “I have my coach. I’ll follow.”

  “My office is three blocks away,” Carlson said quietly. “See you there.”

  A few minutes later, Gregory sat in the office, staring across at the man he’d met only briefly in New Orleans.

  “I’ve been to the alehouses—all of them, several times,” Carlson said, frowning, “No one wants to talk to an American, it seems. The last time we met, your ship had gone down in the waters outside the Carolinas. You didn’t say, but I hope it was insured.”

  Gregory nodded. “It was. And the last time we met, you were in New Orleans. What brought you here?”

  Carlson’s glance was rueful. “My company thought I did a good job investigating the affairs of Claude Picou. If you remember correctly, I was also looking for an Ezra Miller at the time. That’s why they sent me here. He supposedly had gone down with your ship,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “ However, it seems there have been some reports of his surfacing, now and again. Most people don’t even notice him. But I can’t give up until I know for sure whether he’s dead or alive.”

  “But you came in a few moments ago asking for information on a young girl.”

  Carlson leaned forward and opened his desk drawer. Out of it, he pulled the daily Gregory had studied frequently since Chloe’s disappearance.

  “You’ve obviously seen this,” Carlson observed.

  “Yes. Chloe Cates is my wife’s maid and close friend. And she was snatched right out from under our noses on the dock in Liverpool. There were two men there I believe I saw on the wharf that day. But I understand they’re looking for her, too. The question,” he said, frowning, “is who has her?”

  “Captain Smythe, let me tell you this. You may have seen more than anyone else. Who else did you see that day?”

  Only a coach, driven by two men. One very large man, and one other who I’ve been told might have a wooden leg.”

  Carlson’s eyes grew enormous. “Good God.” He rose from his chair and paced a moment and then grabbed his hat. “Come with me. I may know exactly where she is.”

  He ran toward the door, with Gregory close on his heels.

  “Leave your coach here. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

  Chapter 14

  The runaway…

  Chloe had a good mind not to speak to any of them. They’d been gone all morning long. They ruined her plans, of course. They were only supposed to be gone long enough to pick up supplies.

  She was in her bedroom when she heard it. Her ears rang as Smiley and Tiny came in singing some God-awful tune as they trooped in downstairs from the front entrance, past Chubs and into the drawing room. Chloe ran toward the top of the stairs and down, stopping halfway and staring with enormous eyes. If she was not mistaken, it was a hymn favored by Godly worshippers. Reaching the ground floor and rounding the corner, she prepared to give them both an ear full for their blasphemy. Words failed her at the sight of the two carrying in a third man.

  The lot of them were roaring drunk, she realized. So early in the day?

  The gentleman with them was masquerading as a vicar, dressed in dark, reverend attire. Oh, the shame, she thought. Despite having some white bit of linen between his teeth, the stranger seemed to be trying to sing along. His arms were flung wide around Tiny’s and Smiley’s shoulders, making him appear slouched because the vast height difference. His feet swung out in front of them. Smiley, on the other hand, was holding on to the vicar with his right arm and attempting to hold up his pants with the other.

  She stared in disbelief. They had gagged him? It was
then that she noticed the vicar’s ankles were tied together.

  “What have you done?” She rushed forward. “Is he a real vicar? Bloody hell!”

  “I bought ye a present, Miss Chloe. Now ye and Ghost can get married, today.” Tiny smiled over at Smiley as they dumped the vicar on a nearby chair.

  “What’s all this about ye bringing her a present, ye bastard, as if ye acted all by yer bloody self?” Smiley slurred his words, but his mind appeared quicker to pick up on the subtle clues of Chloe’s anger. “’Tis right, Chloe. It was all Tiny, here. I tried to tell him to mind his own business, but…”

  “Why are his feet tied together?” their mistress demanded. “I don’t see a blindfold, but that looks suspiciously like a gag in his mouth.”

  “I got ye a stick of peppermint,” Smiley groused at her. “See?” He pulled it from his pocket, but during the journey home, it had somehow shattered into over a hundred pieces. They fell through his beefy hands and littered the rug. “Well, hell.”

  The first thing to go, when Chloe reached the kidnapped vicar, was the gag. “This is all a misunderstanding, sir. My friends meant no real harm.”

  The vicar gave her a wink. “Oh, they told me all about you, lass. You must be the new mum.” He raised a finger in the air, as if about to make a point, but couldn’t quite remember what it was and frowned. “The shur…shursh—” His brow creased, and he tried again. “The Shursh of England…” A large grin followed as he nodded. “Yep—that one, prefers couples be married before having wee ones, they do…but!” He seemed to forget where he was headed with this conversation for a moment. He scowled. “‘Tis too late for that.”

  “I’m in good standing with the church, sir, at the moment,” she informed him, wondering what the penalty for murder was in the eyes of God. Finally, eyeing the two big men who were attempting to blend into the background, she stood up straight. Frustrated at her inability to untie him, she stood back. “Tell me, good sir, since your hands are not tied, why didn’t your free yourself?”