Bianca slammed against the horsehair carriage cushion, giving a soft grunt before screaming at Nicole. “Just what do you think you’re doing? I will not be treated like this!”
Nicole ignored her as she glanced over her shoulder at the four men who had reached the path where the carriage had been. She realized they were quite far from any house, dead center in the park, and she doubted if anyone would even hear a scream.
Bianca, holding tightly onto her parasol handle, managed to twist around and look at what Nicole kept glancing at, but the four men did not frighten her. Her first thought was how dare such a rabble enter a gentleman’s park. One of the men waved his arm, motioning for the others to follow him as he pursued the fleeing carriage. The men were awkward on their horses, holding onto the saddles as well as the reins, and they did not lift themselves in the posting manner but hit the saddle again and again with teeth-jarring hardness.
Looking back at Nicole, Bianca began to be frightened, too, finally realizing the men were after them. “Can’t you make that nag go any faster?” she screamed, holding onto the sides of the carriage. But it wasn’t made for speed.
The men, hanging on for dear life atop their slow, clumsy horses, realized the women were getting away. The one in the striped shirt drew a pistol from his wide belt and fired a shot that sailed over the carriage and went right past the horse’s left ear.
The gelding reared, and the carriage rammed into its legs as it stopped abruptly, with Nicole pulling back hard on the reins. Bianca screamed once again and cowered in the corner of the carriage with her arm thrown over her face, as Nicole stood up in the carriage, her legs wide apart as she steadied herself, one hand on each rein. “Quiet, boy!” she commanded, and the horse gradually calmed, but its eyes were wild. Tying the reins to the front rail of the carriage, Nicole stepped down and went to the horse, running her hands along its neck, speaking softly in French as she placed her cheek against its nose.
“Look at that, mate. She ain’t scared of the bleedin’ animal at all.”
Nicole looked up at the four men surrounding the carriage.
“You sure can handle a horse, little lady,” said one of the other men. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”
“And her just a little thing, too. It’s gonna be a real pleasure to take you with us.”
“Wait a minute,” commanded the man in the striped shirt, obviously the leader. “How do we know it’s her? What about that one?” He pointed to Bianca, who still cowered in a corner of the carriage, making an unsuccessful attempt to disappear into the cushion. Her face was white, terror draining the blood away.
Nicole stood quietly, holding the horse’s head in her hands. To her, this was all a repeat of the horror she had known in France, and she knew enough to be quiet and look for a way to escape.
“That’s her,” said one of the men, pointing at Nicole. “I can tell a lady when I see one.”
“Which one of you is Bianca Maleson?” demanded the man in the striped shirt. He had a strong jaw covered with several days’ growth of beard.
So it was a kidnapping, Nicole thought. All the women had to do was prove that Bianca’s father was not wealthy enough to pay a ransom.
“She is,” Bianca said and sat up straight, her plump arm pointing rigidly at Nicole. “She’s the bleedin’ lady. I just works for her.”
“What’d I tell you?” said one of the men. “She don’t talk like no lady. I told you this one here’s the lady.”
Nicole stood very still, her back straight, her chin high, watching Bianca, whose eyes danced with triumph. She knew there was nothing she could do or say now; the men would take her away. Of course, when they learned she was a penniless French refugee, they would release her, since they would have no hope of obtaining a ransom.
“That’s it, then, little lady,” one of the men said. “You’re to come with us. And I hope you got more sense than to give us any trouble.”
Nicole could only shake her head mutely.
The man extended his hand down to her, and she took it, slipped her foot into the stirrup beside his, and was quickly in the saddle in front of him, with both of her feet hanging down one side of the horse.
“She’s a looker, ain’t she?” the man said. “No wonder he wants her brought to him. You know, I knew she was a lady as soon as I seen her. You can always tell a lady by the way she moves.” He smiled in satisfaction at his knowledge. He held one hairy arm around Nicole’s waist and awkwardly reined the horse away from the still carriage.
Bianca sat perfectly still for several minutes, staring after them. She was glad, of course, that her sharp wit had let her escape from the men, but it made her angry that the stupid men couldn’t see that she was the lady. When the park was silent again, she began to look about her. She was stranded, alone. She could not drive the carriage, so how was she to get home? The only way was to walk. As her heel touched the gravel and the rocks bit into her flesh through the thin leather slippers, she cursed Nicole for causing her such pain. On the long, painful walk home, she cursed Nicole repeatedly and was so angry when she finally arrived home that she completely forgot about the kidnapping. Only later, after she and her father had shared a seven-course supper, did she mention the abduction to him. Jacob Maleson, half asleep, said they’d release the girl, but he’d talk to the authorities in the morning. Bianca made her way up to her bedroom, dreading having to find another maid. They were such an ungrateful lot.
The ground floor of the inn was one long room with stone walls that made it cool and dark inside. There were several long trestle tables set about the room. The four kidnappers sat on the benches at one table. Before them were thick stoneware bowls filled with a coarsely chopped beef stew and tall mugs of cool ale. The men sat gingerly on the hard benches. A day spent on horseback was a new experience, and they were paying for it now with their soreness.
“I don’t trust her, that’s all I’m sayin’,” said one of the men. “She’s too bleedin’ quiet. She looks all innocence with them big eyes, but I say she’s plannin’ somethin’. And that somethin’ is gonna get us in trouble.”
The other three men listened to him, frowns on their faces.
The first man continued. “You know what he’s like. I ain’t gonna risk losin’ her. All I want is to get her to America, to him, just like he ordered, and I don’t want nothin’ goin’ wrong.”
The man in the striped shirt took a long drink of ale. “Joe’s right. Any lady can handle a horse like she did ain’t gonna be afraid of tryin’ to escape. Anybody want to volunteer to watch her all night?”
The men groaned, feeling their sore muscles. They would have considered tying up their prisoner, but their orders about that had been very strict. They were not to harm her in any way.
“Joe, you remember that time the doc took them stitches in your chest?”
Joe nodded, puzzled.
“Remember that white stuff he gave you to make you sleep? Think you could get some?”
Joe looked around at the other patrons of the inn. They ranged from a couple of gutter rats to a well-heeled gentleman alone in a corner. Joe knew he could buy anything from such a group. “I think I can get some,” he said.
Sitting quietly on the edge of the bed in the dirty little upstairs room, Nicole looked at her surroundings. She’d already been to the window and had discovered there was a drainpipe outside and a storage shed roof just below the window. Later, when it was darker and the yard was quieter, maybe she could risk trying to escape. Of course, she could tell the men her true identity, but it was a little early yet as they were only a few hours away from Bianca’s home. She wondered how Bianca had gotten home, how many hours it had taken her if she’d had to walk. Then it would take Mr. Maleson some time to get to the county sheriff and send out alarms and searches for her. No, it was too soon yet to reveal herself to the men. Tonight she would try to escape, and if that failed she would tell them in the morning of their mistake. Then they would release
her. Please, God, she prayed, let them not be angry.
As the door opened, she looked up at the four men entering the little room.
“We brought you somethin’ to drink. Real chocolate from South America. You know, one of us could of been on the voyage what brought this here.”
Sailors! she thought as she took the mug. Why hadn’t she realized it before? That’s why they were so awkward on the horses, why their clothes smelled so strange.
As she drank the delicious chocolate, she began to relax, the warmth and creaminess seeping through her and making her realize how tired she was. Trying to concentrate on her plan of escape, her thoughts kept drifting, floating away. She looked up at the men as they hovered over her, watching her anxiously like giant, grizzled babysitters, and she wanted to reassure them for some reason. Smiling, she closed her eyes and let herself drift away into sleep.
The next twenty-four hours were lost to Nicole. She was vaguely aware of being carried about, handled as if she were a baby. Sometimes, she sensed someone was worried about her, and she tried to smile and say she was fine, but the words just wouldn’t seem to surface. She dreamed constantly, remembering her parents’ chateau, her swing under the willow tree in the garden, smiling at some of the happy times spent at the miller’s house with her grandfather. She lay quietly in a hammock, gently swaying on a hot, close day.
When she slowly opened her eyes, the swaying hammock of the dream did not go away. But instead of the trees above her was a row of slats. Odd, she thought, someone must have built a platform above the hammock, and she idly wondered what it was for.
“So, you’re awake! I told those sailors they gave you too much of the opium. It’s a wonder you ever woke up at all. Trust a man to do everything wrong. Here, I’ve made you some coffee. It’s good and hot.”
Turning, Nicole looked up as a woman placed a large hand behind her back and practically lifted her from the bed. She wasn’t in a garden at all but in a bare little room. Perhaps the drug made it seem to sway. No wonder she had dreamed she was in a hammock. “Where are we? Who are you?” she managed to ask as she gulped the hot, strong coffee.
“You’re still groggy, aren’t you? I’m Janie, and I was hired by Mr. Armstrong to take care of you.”
Nicole looked up sharply. The name Armstrong meant something to her, but she couldn’t remember what. As the black coffee began to clear her senses, she looked at Janie. She was a tall, big-boned woman with a broad face, her cheeks looking to be permanently pink, reminding Nicole of a nursemaid she’d once had. Janie exuded an air of confidence and common sense, a feeling of safety and serenity.
“Who is Mr. Armstrong?”
Janie took the empty cup away and refilled it. “They surely did give you too much of that sleeping stuff. Mr. Armstrong. Clayton Armstrong. Remember now? The man you’re supposed to marry.”
Nicole blinked rapidly, drank more coffee from the pot set on a little brass charcoal brazier, and began to remember everything. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. I’m not Bianca Maleson, nor am I engaged to Mr. Armstrong.”
“You’re not—” Janie began, sitting down on the lower bed of the bunk beds. “Honey, I think you’d better tell me the whole story.”
When Nicole had finished, she laughed. “So, you see, I’m sure the men will release me once they hear the whole story.”
Janie was silent.
“Won’t they?”
“There’s more to this than you know,” Janie said. “For one thing, we’re twelve hours out to sea, on our way to America.”
Chapter 2
STUNNED, NICOLE LOOKED AT THE ROOM AROUND HER. A ship! It was bare, with oak walls, floor, and ceiling, and against one wall were two bunk beds. There was very little space from the bed to the other wall, which was bare except for a round porthole. A door was at one end of the room, and the other end was piled high with boxes and trunks held securely with ropes fastened to the wall. A low cabinet was in one corner, the brazier on top of it. Suddenly, Nicole realized that the rocking was the motion of a ship on a calm sea. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would anyone want to kidnap me—or Bianca, rather—to America?”
Janie went to one of the trunks and opened the lid, withdrawing a little leather portfolio tied with ribbon. “I think you’d better read this.”
Puzzled, Nicole opened the packet. There were two sheets of paper inside, covered with a bold, strong handwriting. She began to read.
My dearest Bianca,
I hope by now Janie has explained everything to you. I also hope you will not be too angry at my unorthodox methods of bringing you to me. I know what a kind and dutiful daughter you are and I know how much you worry about your father’s health. I was willing to wait for you while he was so very ill, but now I can wait no longer.
I have chosen a packet boat for your passage to America since they are faster than any other. Janie and Amos have been instructed to purchase all the food you need for the journey as well as the makings of a new wardrobe since this haste has deprived you of your own. She is an excellent seamstress.
Even though I have you on your way to me, I do not trust that nothing will go awry. Therefore, I have instructed the captain to marry us by proxy. Then, even if your father did find you before you reached me, you would still be mine. I know I am being high-handed about this but you must forgive me and remember that I do it because I love you and am so lonely without you.
When next I see you, you will be my wife. I count the hours.
All my love,
Clay
Nicole held the letter for several moments, feeling that she was prying into something very personal and private that she should not see. She smiled slightly. She’d always heard that Americans were quite unromantic, but this man had gone through an elaborate kidnapping scheme to bring the woman he loved to him.
She looked up at Janie. “He seems like a very nice man, one who is obviously very much in love. I envy Bianca. Who is Amos?”
“Clay sent him with me to help protect you, but there was an illness on the passage over.” She looked away, not wanting to remember the time when five people had died. “Amos didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicole said as she stood. “I must find the captain and straighten this out.” Catching sight of herself in the mirror over the corner cabinet, she paused. Her hair was a mess, tumbling about her face in short, fat, corkscrew curls. “Do you know where I could find a comb?”
“Sit down and I’ll fix it.”
Gladly, Nicole sat down. “Is he always so…so impetuous?”
“Who? Oh, you mean Clay.” Janie smiled fondly. “I don’t know if he’s impetuous as much as arrogant. He’s used to getting what he wants. I told him when he concocted this whole scheme that it would go wrong, but he just laughed at me. Now here we are in the middle of the ocean together. It’s going to be me laughin’ when Clay sees you.”
She turned Nicole’s head and tilted her face to the light. “On second thought, I don’t think any man’d laugh at you,” she said, taking her first good look at Nicole. The big eyes were striking, but Janie thought that what would intrigue a man most was her mouth. It wasn’t very wide, but the lips were full and deep pink. What was so unusual was that her upper lip was larger than her lower. It was an extraordinary combination, one that Janie guessed would fascinate men.
Blushing lightly, Nicole turned away. “But of course I won’t meet Mr. Armstrong. I need to return to England. I have a cousin who has asked me to be a partner with her in a dress shop. I have saved nearly all the money I need.”
“I hope we can go back for your sake. But I don’t like those men up there.” Janie nodded her head toward the ceiling. “I told Clay I didn’t like them, but he wouldn’t listen. He is the stubbornnest man ever created.”
Nicole glanced at the letter on the bed. “A man in love surely can be forgiven for some things.”
“Humph!” Janie snorted. “You can say that, but you’ve never had to
deal with him.”
Leaving the cabin and climbing the narrow stairs to the main deck, Nicole felt the soft sea air blow through her hair, and she smiled into the breeze. Pausing, she was aware of several men staring at her. The sailors watched her avidly, and she pulled her shawl close about her. She knew her thin linen dress must be clinging to her, and she suddenly had the feeling that she was standing nude before the men.
“What is it ye be wantin’, little lady?” one of the men asked, his eyes going up and down her body.
Concentrating on not letting her feet take a step backward, she answered, “I’d like to see the captain.”
“And I’m sure he’d like to see you.”
She ignored the laughter of the men around her as she followed the sailor to a door at the front of the ship, where he gave a curt knock. When the captain bellowed for them to come in, the sailor opened the door and half shoved Nicole inside, closing the door behind her.
After her eyes took a moment to adjust, she saw that the cabin was twice as big as the one she and Janie shared. There was a large window on one side, but the glass was so filthy that little sunlight came through. A dirty, rumpled bed was under the window, and in the middle of the room was a big, heavy table bolted to the floor, covered with rolled and flat maps and charts.
As a rat ran across the floor, she gasped. A low rumble of laughter made her look toward a dark corner to the man sitting there, his face dark with unshaved whiskers, his clothes rumpled, and one hand holding a bottle of rum.
“I was told you were a bleedin’ lady. You better get used to the rats on this ship, the two-legged as well as the four-legged kind.”
“Are you the captain?” she asked, stepping forward.
“I am. If you can call a mail packet a ship, then I’m her captain.”
Counterfeit Lady Page 2
