by Betty Bolte
Her steps faltered, and she raised a hand to her throat to prevent the thoughts from forming into spoken words.
"Emily? Are you all right?" Frank appeared at her side, his hand supporting her elbow in an instant. After a quick, appraising glance, he steered her to a pew reserved for the orphanage children and made her sit down. "What is the matter?"
Her thoughts spun in her head. She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths and not blurt her fears. Not here. Not in this crush of pious townspeople. They did not deserve to learn the man they believed upright and honest actually lived a duplicitous life. She couldn't let them discover the truth. It would ruin him.
A sudden thought formed in her mind, one she quickly acknowledged as the truth.
She was the only person in town who did not know her father ran the blockade and defied the king of England. That he not only stole from a king but did so in a time of war. Her heart stuttered at the recognition of her father's peril. This was the purpose behind the trip he took recently. Obviously, if these two men knew, before long the British would identify him. Then the arrest and ultimate hanging. Mere months after Elizabeth's death. While her brothers fought the same war elsewhere. Was this what John had hinted at that night on the street?
If her father died, she'd have lost both parents as well as her sister.
Panic threatened, ripping her in two like a blade through a tapestry. Her heart raced, shaking the lace edging her cuffs and her neckline. She must pull herself together and not let this overwhelm her. Surely her father wouldn't risk leaving her alone, living in a city besieged by the enemy. She must know for certain before she confronted her father with her suspicions. But how? First she needed the answers she sought, the evidence to prove him innocent.
Or guilty, a little voice nagged.
She straightened her shoulders. Only one place came to mind.
His shop.
She needed the ledgers. She knew how much it took to provide for the household, and if the accounts didn't measure up, she'd ask Father for an explanation. That seemed reasonable. She'd go to the office and look at his records. Of course, in order to avoid upsetting him if she was wrong, she'd do so without his knowledge. A quick glimpse at the ledger would settle the matter once and for all. The men may have been wrong, misinformed.
Or correct and her father could die.
"Emily?" Frank's gray eyes centered on hers. "What is ailing you?"
She smiled her biggest smile. "I need a favor."
* * *
"I can't believe you want me to sneak you over to your father's shop without his knowledge." Frank sank down onto the pew. He glanced at her, then the few stragglers leaving the church. "I declare, it's beyond me how you managed to convince me. I must have lost my mind."
"Hush now." Emily scanned the room. "Someone may hear you and alert Father so that he'd race home from wherever he went."
Shards of light filtered through the windows, emphasizing the mellow hues of the pine pews and floors. The last strains of the organ died into silence, enabling the sweet music of the birds to waft into the sanctuary.
"I suppose we may as well leave now and be done with this foolish errand." But Frank's legs didn't listen to his brain's insistence to stand. Resolved to put action to his words, he braced his hands on his knees in preparation of standing. "Come, we really must go."
Sighing, Emily rose gracefully, smoothing her hands down her long, shimmering skirts directly before his face. Beneath her skirts hid the woman he desired more than anyone in his life. The tightening in his breeches spurred his brain into action, and he quickly stood. Ignoring the slight tremble resulting from checking the need rushing through him, he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it while keeping his eyes locked with hers.
"What was that for?"
Relief flooded through him at the longing in her voice. He was glad to see desire in her eyes. Though, God forgive him, her father would likely chide him for his weakness, especially risking a kiss within the church walls. But he promised to keep her safe, no matter.
"I'm falling in love with you, my dear," he said slowly. "Is that quite all right with you?"
Her eyes flew open. Not quite the reaction he hoped for. He had not expected to see shock.
"Oh, Frank, no."
"No?" Did he hear her right?
"This is unexpected."
"Unexpected?" She couldn't tell that his feelings deepened each moment he spent with her?
She scrutinized him, her eyes softening as he continued to look at her quizzically.
"Not here." She took his hands in hers and squeezed them lightly. "Let's talk after we get home, all right? We'll have more privacy. It will be easier."
"What will be easier?" Was she breaking off their relationship, the one they hadn't even truly begun?
He started to ask, to pursue this enigma, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Turning, he came face to face with his nemesis, John Bradley. The man who attacked both Emily and his son. And stole his house. His hands clenched and he moved to shield Emily. A slow smirk grew on the man's face, causing Frank's back to tense and his chin to raise. "Major."
"Captain. Miss Emily." John nodded once to acknowledge Emily. "Did you enjoy the sermon?"
"As much as usual," Emily said slowly.
Frank darted a look at her, noting the strain in her expression. "Reverend Edwards provided a thought-provoking message on restraint."
"Yes, of course." John's smirk grew into a grin. "I'm sure he'll miss this quaint church as much as the rest of the town."
"What is your meaning?" A chill spread through Frank at the cold smile on John's face. The British continued to strip the city of everything of value, including the treasured bells of St. Michael's already on their way to London. Nobody understood exactly why they'd even been taken but efforts were underway to try to recover them. "Why would any of us miss our church?"
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of tragic news, but I thought you would already know, given your job." John paused, and folded his arms, studying Frank's face. "Are you quite certain you wish for me to tell you both? Or should we step out privately, Frank, man to man?"
"Major, pray share what news you refer to." Emily stepped closer to Frank, and rested a hand on the crook of his arm, as though she intended to restrain him from what he desperately wanted to do. "You have my full attention. I must know."
John nodded to her, his smile shifting into a leer. "Why, for you, Miss Emily, I'd do nearly anything to make you happy."
Frank wanted to smash a fist into the bastard's grinning mouth. His arm muscle jumped as he flexed his hand, Emily's hand tightening on his arm at the movement. This was neither the time nor place to seek retribution for his acts. How dare he act so condescending after he'd split her lip and scared Tommy? "Major, please come to the point."
"If you insist. It's just that General Leslie has decided to burn all of Charles Town as we pull our troops out. You may want to gather what you can in the meantime should you wish to salvage anything."
The bastard had the utter audacity to smile as he spoke, laughter in his eyes.
"What utter nonsense!" Frank raised his fist and shook it in the major's face. "The people will not let that happen."
John laughed outright. "Try and stop us." He tipped his hat and walked away.
Emily held onto his arm, preventing him from following the taunting bastard. He frowned down at her, anger blazing through him.
"What will you do?" Emily asked.
"Spread the alarm and prevent such an insane tragedy from occurring." Frank knew what he had to do. "I need to send word to General Greene. Come. We can stop at the printing office on our way to your father's shop."
* * *
Sitting on the hard wood chair in front of the mahogany desk at the back of her father's shop, Emily turned the closely written ledger page full of item descriptions, dates of import or export, quantities, and dollar amounts. Out of sight from passersby, she could still see th
e front of the store, where Frank paced to and fro between the windows flanking the door. They'd stopped long enough at the printing office for Frank to instruct Sawyer on a new ad to place in the paper, then he'd walked with her to the export shop. Despite being the Sabbath, the urgency of the secret message demanded action. Frank insisted a paper be released on the morrow to have time to avert the British intent. Emily's instincts tingled, alerting her to a change, a portent of misfortune, perhaps. She must hurry.
Over the years she occasionally helped maintain the lists of merchandise passing through the store. Saw the variety of goods and the frequency with which items flowed in and out. The experience formed part of the foundation on which she had hoped to start her own shop after she convinced her father to help her rent the space and acquire the necessary materials. By proving her abilities with the ledgers, she'd have the tools to persuade him to champion her ambition. In the meantime, the register before her did not balance. She scoured the pages, fingering a bent corner of one sheet while staring at the precise handwriting. Detailed accounts of each item lined several pages.
She glanced up when Frank shifted his posture at the front window. "Relax. Father's gone off on some secret voyage. He won't be back for several days, maybe longer."
Frank scowled at her. "You should not be here yourself. I still cannot believe I let you talk me into this."
"It's not unheard of for me to help with the books." She turned the page, puzzling over the feeling that whatever bothered her floated like a ghost before her eyes, albeit unseen.
"Perhaps before he restricted you to home, church, and the sewing circle."
She darted a look at him. "You knew?"
"Of course. He told me."
A surge of annoyance flitted through Emily, and she returned her attention to the store's books. "A few more moments, then we'll go."
She paused, skimming the interior of the store, contemplating the sense of a mismatch between what she read and what she saw. Shelves lined the walls, fairly groaning under the weight of the goods they supported. Wooden crates and barrels of all sizes filled the shelves and cluttered the floor. A beautiful set of elaborately carved ivory tusks held pride of place on a high shelf with a wide assortment of colored bottles, statuettes, stuffed animals, and bolts of fabric.
Suddenly it struck her. The list of imported items in the ledger did not reflect the contents of the shelves. When had they arrived? Indeed, many more items occupied the store than were included on the list.
At least legally.
Apprehension settled between her shoulder blades.
The door jerked open, and Sawyer filled its opening, his breath coming quick and harsh. Scowling, he motioned to Frank. "Captain Thomson, you must hurry to the office. Please!"
"Sawyer? What are you doing here?" Frank moved quickly toward his apprentice.
"Sir, please, you must come."
"What's the matter, boy? Spit it out." Frank fastened his cape around his shoulders, preparing to follow the boy back to the office.
"The soldiers are nosing about the plates for tomorrow's edition," Sawyer said. "I didn't know what else to do but come find you."
"You did right, boy. But—" Frank glanced at Emily, an unspoken question hovering in the air.
"I'll be fine." Emily detected concern and uncertainty in his eyes. She shooed him out the door with a wave. "I'll stay put, I promise. Now go."
With a raised brow, he hurried after Sawyer, though he glanced back at her as he passed the display window.
Alone, Emily stared at the book on the polished desk. The sheets contained finely written characters, meticulously executed, as though the writer created a work of art rather than a business accounting ledger with its typical scrawl. Page after page contained details of shipments, their date of arrival, the number of crates or containers included, and their general contents. Here sat proof that her father engaged in privateering.
When the door burst open, she didn't look up, expecting Frank to have returned after handling the intruding soldiers.
"Well, well." A razor-sharp voice sliced the air. "Look who we have."
Fear shot through her, and she raised her eyes to see the turncoat standing in the door, one hand on his pistol. Fiddlesticks. Surely John did not think she was dangerous. How ridiculous. Though she did have cause to fear him. The memory of him attacking her in the market rose in her mind, the sound of Tommy's cries echoing in her ears. Keeping John calm must take priority if she was to escape this confrontation without further injury.
"Major Bradley." She rose from her seat, staying behind the desk. His hand gripped the handle of his firearm. When he moistened his lips with his tongue, she gripped the edge of the desk and watched with growing alarm as his eyes roved her body. She kept her voice steady with all her self-control. "Is there aught I can do for you?"
"I'm sure, Miss Sullivan." He strode toward her as he spoke, dropping his hand from his weapon in order to grasp her fingers as he reached her side. "However, this is not a social visit."
"I do not understand, sir." She had no choice but to allow him to retain her hand despite the warning bells ringing in her ears. She hoped he would not repeat the violence he had inflicted on her previously. She also hoped Frank returned very soon to even the odds.
"Your father permits you to work here?" John's eyes took in the open ledger on the desk. "You handle the books?"
What could she say? Her father had no idea she snooped in his financial records on this day. Further, he would be appalled to find her in this part of town alone, though she adhered to her promise and hadn't ventured out by herself. She'd welcome her father's sudden appearance right about now. And where was Frank?
The soldiers. Perhaps they detained him and now more came to arrest her father. They must suspect him of treason. She must prevent the British from apprehending her father as it appeared he dabbled in activities they deemed illegal. Though she also wanted answers from him, she stood her ground. Her duty was clear: protect her family, as her father protected her. Her father's health and welfare remained at stake, and being older he would not fare well in prison. She squared her chin. This sorry excuse for a man dare not arrest a lady.
"I ensure the books are in order for the upcoming week's business," she said, bravado echoing in her voice. Not a lie, per se, but not the truth either. "Is there a problem?"
John nodded, a lascivious grin spreading across his mouth. "Then you'll need to come with me, my love." His grip on her hand tightened painfully.
"I'm afraid that's not possible, as I am expected home." His love indeed! She refrained from challenging his claim. But did he feel the tremor racing through her as he gripped her hand? "My father would not be pleased if I keep him waiting."
"Your father is welcome to join you then. I'll send word to him. Where did you say he is?" He pulled her with him as he started for the door.
"Where are we going? What is this about?" She resisted with all her strength but to no avail. She dragged her feet, wishing he would stop.
"Your father works as a privateer, an offense not tolerated by King George." Ice formed in his eyes as he gazed at her. "Nor by me. Taking you to the Provost will surely flush him out." Without another word he hauled her along beside him.
He intended to throw her in the basement dungeon of the Old Exchange, with its vermin and disease. Terror snaked through her.
"No! Don't do this!" She slapped at his hand with her free one, futilely attempting to loosen the iron grip. "Unhand me!"
For response, he clapped an arm around her waist and dragged her from the store, onto the street, and shoved her at another soldier standing there. The startled man easily subdued her flailing arms and secured her hands behind her with a length of rope. "Don't fight, miss. It only makes the ropes tighter."
"Stop!" She did not have the strength to fight two brawny men as they hurried her down the street. When they turned the corner, she saw the Old Exchange hunkered at the end of the thoroughfare, its basem
ent windows barred, a pair of stern soldiers standing guard before the steps leading down to the door. "No!"
Frantic at the thought of being locked up in the dark, musty, rat-infested building along the waterfront, she fought against the restraints. As promised, the ropes tightened, searing pain preceding the coppery scent of blood as the rough fibers bit into her tender skin. Still she fought. At one point she managed to twist away from the soldier and turned to flee in the direction from which they'd come. Her mind filled with the thought of Frank. He would help her, save her from this horrific nightmare. What had she done? Her brazen flaunting of the restrictions her father imposed to protect her had landed her in the soup kettle this time.
Looking up Broad Street, she saw Frank stop and stare at her. Unmoving. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he see she'd been arrested? "Frank!"
Strong hands grabbed her from behind, dragging her toward the prison.
Chapter 16
The massive door to the Old Exchange banged shut at the far end of the street as Frank raced toward it. Dirk Reynolds stopped midstride when Frank ran past him. Uncaring what anyone thought, Frank kept his eyes on the door and the two men flanking the heavy wood barrier. One guard, seeing Frank's approach, stepped in front of the door, rifle aimed at him as he skidded to a stop. The second guard lowered his gun into position.
"Captain, turn around and walk away." The first guard used his rifle muzzle to suggest Frank change direction while the other guard aimed steadily at Frank's chest.
Right now Emily may be tortured or beaten in that hole. The bloody bastard likely had his hands on her as well. Feeling ill, Frank took a step, then another.
"I must see her," he said, advancing.
Two rifles trained on him with each step. He peered at the two men, finally recognizing them.
"Captain, go home."
"David, you know me. I saw them take her in there not two minutes ago." He addressed the first guard, raising his hands in submission. "I must know why."
