The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “If I promise t’ come back and visit ye again, will ye let me go?” Ralph asked them. “Miss Tavistock will sit with ye fer a mite while I fetch her a hack t’ carry ’er home. Ye dinna want poor old Ralph t’ lose ’is position now, do ye?”

  The children finally reluctantly agreed that Ralph must go, but only if he promised to come back for a visit very soon. Ralph still had to peel Bella off his leg, however, and hand her to Gabrielle, who, feeling like second best, tried to divert the child till Ralph could make good his escape. Gabrielle was delighted that the children had taken to Ralph, but she was a little nervous about his promise to return for another visit. Since she would be returning to Cornwall, he’d have to come on his own. She hoped he had been sincere, or else the children would be very disappointed. She imagined that they desperately craved a man’s attention and influence in their lives.

  Gabrielle petted Bella and stroked her beautiful golden hair till the little girl’s bottom lip quit quivering. She said good-bye to each of them in turn—Will, Robby, Danus, and Bella—and finally moved to the door, confident that Ralph would have found a hack by then and that they would be able to leave immediately for Charlotte Square. Her mind was already racing ahead to her next task, which would not be so pleasant as the one she’d just concluded. She must tell the Murrays about her false engagement.

  She was also thinking about what Will had told her, that Zach owned the women’s shelter. She’d made a promise to herself to allow Zach the initiative in their relationship from then on, and had also vowed to curb her rampant curiosity. Therefore Gabrielle knew she wouldn’t ask Zach anything about the shelter. There was no harm done, however, in indulging in her own speculations. Was the mystery girl an inmate of the shelter, or perhaps Mr. Blake’s daughter?

  Tying her bonnet, Mrs. Tuttle came out from behind the curtain and bade Gabrielle good-bye as well, and Gabrielle left feeling much relieved about the family and their circumstances. She knew she’d so far made only temporary improvements in their living conditions, but she was going to speak with Sir George about the Tuttles and hopefully arouse his sympathies and solicit his help to find Mrs. Tuttle better employment, in the country, perhaps. She realized that he might not be much in sympathy with her once she had made her confession, but surely he could put such resentments aside to consider a genuine case of charity.

  Gabrielle knew Lady Grace was a bit ambivalent and squeamish about directly helping the poor, but even she, if she met the deserving Tuttles, would certainly change her policy of noninvolvement.

  Thinking hard all the while, Gabrielle left the apartment and the building and stood outside in the square. She did not see Ralph anywhere, but she did see a hack waiting just a few yards away with the passenger door standing open and a piebald horse tethered to the back of it. The extra horse was unusual, though probably perfectly explainable.

  She wondered why Ralph didn’t have the driver pull up in front of the Tuttles’ building, but perhaps he’d encountered a recalcitrant driver who chose to park his coach precisely where he pleased. She also thought it odd that Ralph wasn’t standing outside the vehicle, prepared in his usual way to help her board. Perhaps he’d grown tired of waiting for her and had decided to sit down.

  She shrugged her shoulders and walked to the open door of the coach and, head down, gathered and lifted her skirts to step inside. “Well, now, Ralph, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I rather think you enjoyed—”

  Gabrielle had sat down and closed the door behind her before she realized that the man sitting opposite her wasn’t Ralph. He was a tall, wiry man, grubbily dressed, with intense blue eyes and a two-day beard. Where had she seen him before? But she had no time to ponder the matter before the coach began to move. “Oh, you must excuse me, sir! Tell the driver to stop! I thought the coach was for me. My servant—”

  “’Tis fer you, miss,” said the man. “And if’n ye care fer that servant of yers, or fer Wickham fer that matter, ye’d better not scream ner try t’ leap out the coach. Jest sit still.”

  Gabrielle’s heart was gripped with icy dread. Now she recognized the man. Like that other time, he smelled of liquor and tobacco, and looked as if he hadn’t slept, shaved, or bathed for days. He’d kept her from falling down after Will had yanked her purse away and run off with it. He’d offered to find her a hack, and she’d refused him, chasing after her purse instead.

  “Don’t say you hold a grudge against me, sir, for refusing your assistance the other day? Or is this the hack you wanted to fetch me, only a bit late?” She tried to sound light and unafraid, but she was really very alarmed. She didn’t dare make a dash for the door and fling herself out, as the man had made threats against Zach and Ralph.

  “This ain’t no joke,” he said in grim tones that did nothing to diminish Gabrielle’s growing fear.

  “What have you done with Ralph?” she demanded to know. “And why do you mention Wickham as if you mean to do him harm?”

  The coach had trundled slowly through a narrow street that led away from the square, but now, on the main thoroughfare, it moved much more swiftly. Gabrielle couldn’t imagine where the man was taking her. She couldn’t imagine, either, how she’d somehow got herself deep in the suds again.

  “Ralph’s a hearty bloke. He’ll come ’round.”

  Gabrielle was filled with indignation. “I suppose that means you clouted him over the head while he wasn’t looking. How very brave of you!”

  The man raised his brows. “A sassy lass, ain’t ye? Ye dinna expect me to play fisticuffs with such a giant, now did ye?”

  “What about Zach? Have you hurt him, as well?”

  The man’s jaw tightened as he turned and stared out of the carriage window. They were descending the Mound now, headed either for New Town or the open country. “I’d sure as hell like t’ hurt ’im.”

  The anger in the man’s voice sent a chill up Gabrielle’s spine. “Why? Who are you? What has Zach ever done to hurt you?”

  He turned back, his blue eyes glinting pale and silvery. “Me name’s Douglas McKeen. Does the name ring a bell?”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “Should it?”

  Douglas shrugged. “No, he’d have hid it all from ye, I suspect. Wickham’s got me wife at his damned shelter, and I canna get near ’er. She belongs with me, not with the high-and-mighty likes o’ him!”

  Good heavens, could this man possibly be husband to the woman she’d seen with Zach in his carriage? “Who is your wife, sir? Why would Zach have taken her into the shelter in the first place? What… er… sort of shelter is it?”

  The man eyed her, cautiously speculative. “Are ye tryin’ t’ tell me, miss, that ye dinna know nothin’? Dinna ye even know ‘bout the shelter and what it’s fer? I thought you and Wickham was friendly-like?”

  Gabrielle flushed. “Indeed, I don’t wonder that you are surprised, but I assure you I know less about this shelter than you do. And I know nothing about your wife.”

  The man gave a bark of rude laughter. “Poor little princess! Thrown over fer a scurvy little chit like me Kate!”

  “Kate?”

  “Aye, and her ‘bout t’ burst with child.”

  Gabrielle shook her head confusedly. With child? The woman was pregnant? Her mouth was dry, her nerves frazzled. She glanced out of the window and noticed that they were indeed turning in a northerly direction instead of toward New Town. Her hands felt clammy. She twined her fingers tightly together, but hid them in the full folds of her mantle so McKeen wouldn’t see the evidence of her fear. Trying to appear haughty, she lifted her chin. “What you say intrigues me, I admit. But before another word is spoken, I demand that you tell me where we’re going and what you intend to do with me once we arrive.”

  “Ye’re in no position t’ demand anything, princess,” drawled the man, giving her a slow, scathing once-over. “But I’ll tell ye this much. We’re goin’ to a little cottage used by a southern gent who comes up fer holidays and hunting. Locked up and deserted, fer now
.”

  “Then how—?”

  “I’ll be puttin’ you in the loft above the stable, and there ye’ll stay till Wickham does exactly as I tell ’im to.”

  “And that is?”

  “Give me Kate back.”

  “I’m to be used as a sort of barter, then?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why do you need a hostage? Why doesn’t Kate come back to you of her own accord?”

  “He’s filled her head with nonsense, that’s why! He’s dazzled ’er with ’is pretty airs and ways, and she dinna know what’s right ner wrong, no more.”

  Gabrielle swallowed with difficulty. “Are you inferring that he’s made her fall in love with him?”

  “What do ye think? You saw the two o’ them laughin’ and talkin’ the other day.”

  Gabrielle flinched.

  He smiled grimly. “Aye, I saw ye hidin’ and waitin’ in the alley. I saw yer tears whilst they drove off together! Like two cooin’ doves, they were! Tell me ye dinna think it’s true what I’m sayin’!”

  “I didn’t know your Kate was with child. I only caught a snatch of her. I misunderstood the situation. There’s another explanation besides the one you’re so set on! Zach would never willingly lure a pregnant woman away from her husband.” Gabrielle tried to sound indignant, even while her own heart was filled with doubt. There were so many unanswered questions! “And, as owner of this shelter, which I assume exists for the benefit of needy women, he wouldn’t abuse his position to take advantage of Kate, or any woman, for that matter.”

  “Ye think he’s a blessed saint, do ye?” he sneered.

  Gabrielle did not reply. Douglas McKeen was obviously unhappy with Zach. More to the point, he was jealous. He continued to gaze at her balefully as he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flask. This he lifted to his lips, never taking his eyes off her, and took a long swig.

  “A little early in the day for liquor, isn’t it?”

  He grimaced, wiped his chin with the back of his wrist, then put the flask away. He curled his lips into a smirk. “Medicinal.”

  “And what pain do you suffer, sir?” she taunted him, then wished she hadn’t. She ought to mind her tongue. She’d no idea what this man was capable of.

  “Wickham’s what pains me, princess,” he told her. “But I’ve got ’im over a barrel now, what with you in wraps.”

  “What’s to keep me from screaming when the driver stops the hack?”

  “Sold me da’s watch. Paid the driver well. And he’s no fool. ’E’d be just as guilty as me if the police got wise. Now shut up. I’m gettin’ tired of listenin’ to yer proper Sassenach gibberish and all yer infernal questions.” He leaned back against the shabby squabs of the coach and turned his gaze to the window.

  Gabrielle watched him for a minute, then the realization of what had probably happened to Kate struck her forcefully. She spoke without thinking. “She ran away! Kate left you, didn’t she?”

  She saw how his jaw tightened with anger. “I said shut up.”

  Why couldn’t she keep quiet? Why was she so impelled to antagonize him? But, as always, she was hungry for the truth. “She ran away because of your drinking.”

  With a suddenness that stunned her, he lurched forward, his face within inches of hers. He’d pulled back one hand as if to strike her. His eyes were startling pinpoints of blue wrath, his teeth clenched together in a fierce grimace. “I tol’ ye t’ shut up!” he ground out with slow deliberation, enunciating and emphasizing each word. “Shut up or else I’ll shut ye up in me own way!”

  Gabrielle shrunk back in her seat, ready at last to still her willful tongue. She had never been hit by a man in her life. From what she remembered of her father, he’d been a gentle man, and he’d treated her and her sister, Beth, and her mother as if they were precious works of art, to be treasured and handled with care. Just so was the way Alex treated Beth, and the way Zach had always treated her, too. Being threatened with violence was something foreign to Gabrielle, something more frightening than anything else. And degrading. Just as degrading as the treatment she’d endured at Mother Henn’s whorehouse.

  But it must be hell itself to be beaten by someone who supposedly loved you. Now she knew exactly why Kate left Douglas.

  Gabrielle watched him as he took another drink. His thoughts were cankerous, eating his soul like worms on a corpse. She could see how the liquor fed his sense of illusage, self-pity, and envious hate. It was the liquor that made him ugly. It was the liquor that made Douglas McKeen the villain he was … and the loser.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zach had left Charlotte Square that morning, just before the usual breakfast hour. He wasn’t avoiding Gabby. On the contrary, he truly meant to speak to her, to unravel the complicated weave of their relationship. He’d lain awake half the night thinking about her, about their love, about his own misgivings. He was ready to talk, ready to face the bogeys, those nebulous fears that had been haunting him for eleven years. But first he wanted to pay one more visit to Kate. She’d helped him make sense of things the other day, and he could use another dose of her insightful, down-to-earth logic.

  It was a warm day for January. Snow was melting in steady rivulets off the roofs. The atmosphere was still and heavy with expectation. Zach recognized the signs. It was the lull before the storm. Iron-gray clouds were brewing off the coast. Soon the wind would pick up, blowing the moisture inland.

  Much to his dismay, when Zach arrived at the shelter things were at sixes and sevens. Mrs. Stark had taken a sudden notion to do a New Year’s cleaning of the place, from ceiling to floor and everything washable in between. Charlie had answered the door as usual, then stood alongside Zach, observing in companionable commiseration the chaos that surrounded them. His sympathetic expression and slightly rueful smile told Zach that he understood completely how out of place a man might feel amidst so much domestic hustle-bustle.

  Like a lieutenant in the army, Mrs. Stark had recruited every able-bodied female in the house and put her to work. All the rugs were up, undoubtedly well beaten, and now pegged on the drying line outside the window to be aired. The windows themselves were denuded of their usual cheery curtains and being wiped to squeaky transparency. Furniture was being polished, floors and walls scrubbed, fireplaces swept. The place was redolent with soap, beeswax, and the fresh, cool air breezing in from the open window by the drying line. Disturbed from nooks and crannies, dust motes floated in the thin sunshine that filled the room.

  Many of the women were humming, too, as they went about their chores, each their own tune. The place thrummed like a hive of musical bees.

  “Gawd!” Zach muttered. “Where’s Blake?”

  Charlie angled his head toward the door.

  “Gone out, has he?”

  Charlie nodded and sighed.

  “Can’t say I blame him. No place to sit in comfort and peace in the entire apartment, I daresay. But you’re stuck here, eh, Charlie?”

  Another nod, another sigh.

  Zach clapped him on the back. “You’re indispensable, old fellow. We really ought to get another man about the place to help out, give you a little holiday now and again. Do you ever just leave and stretch your legs, so to speak, Charlie?”

  Charlie shrugged, gave a tentative half-nod, looked glum.

  “Not often enough, I’ll wager. And when you do go out you feel as though you’re leaving the place unprotected, even with all those locks.” Zach gestured toward the fortress-like chains and bolts on the door.

  Charlie shifted his gaze, as if embarrassed to be so well understood.

  Zach shook his head. “I’m sorry, Charlie. It should have occurred to me that you’d begin to feel like a prisoner with so many people depending on you.”

  Charlie suddenly looked troubled, lifting his hands in an impotent gesture, as if he wished for once to be able to explain in a babble of words.

  “I know,” said Zach, instantly recognizing Charlie’s frustration
. “You don’t want me to think you’re unhappy. You enjoy your work here.”

  Much relieved, Charlie gave an emphatic nod.

  “But you could use a holiday,” Zach said decisively. “I’ll have a chat with Blake to see about hiring another man to cover your duties while you’re absent.”

  Charlie agreed with this, but again looked concerned.

  “Don’t worry,” Zach reassured him. “We’ll be very careful about who we hire for the position. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our lasses, would we?”

  Charlie smiled at Zach, then, benignly, at the lasses, some of whom were covertly sliding appreciative glances in Zach’s direction. If he happened to catch one of them looking at him, Zach smiled, saying a friendly “good morning” to those who persistently stared. Admiration embarrassed Zach and always took him by surprise. Besides, he’d no time for such nonsense. He was looking for Kate. He didn’t suppose Mrs. Stark had given Kate anything strenuous to do, as she was too near delivering those twins.

  “Speaking of the lasses, where’s our most pregnant one? Where’s Kate?”

  Charlie curled a forefinger at Zach, bidding him to follow. He led him to the kitchen, then turned and left.

  Kate stood at the scrubbed preparation table that stood in the middle of the room. The table was powdered with flour that settled in the nicks and nubs of its uneven, rough, wood surface. She was kneading a large mound of yeasty-smelling bread dough. Her hair was tucked beneath a muslin scarf, which was knotted neatly at the nape of her neck. She had on a voluminous apron, loosely tied behind her and covered in the front with flour. To accommodate her stomach, she stood well back from the table, her arms just reaching her task. Her brows were knitted in concentration. She wasn’t even aware that he was watching her.