by Danice Allen
Instantly on the defensive, McKeen said gruffly, “All men drink.”
This was the sore spot. This was where Zach knew he’d run into resistance, where Douglas would balk and deny. But he had to say it. “Yes, McKeen, most men drink, and women, too. For some, however, the liquor becomes an addiction, a crutch. It works on them like a poison, bringing out the worst.”
“I’m not addicted to anythin’, Wickham,” snarled McKeen. “I dinna need no crutch!”
“We’re willing to help you, Douglas. If you come to the shelter, we can—”
“Ha!” McKeen spat on the ground to show just what he thought of Zach’s offer of help. “I’m not one o’ yer moonyeyed womenfolk, swept off ’er silly-arsed feet by the pretty likes o’ you, and shut up and preached to by some mawkish Quaker! And ye’ve not fooled me, Wickham! I know ye’re jest sayin’ these things t’ justify keepin’ me wife. Ye’re in love with ’er yerself, and ye dinna want t’ let ’er go!”
Zach sighed. “That’s a lie, as well you know. I’m not in love with Kate.”
McKeen smiled, the rancorous smirk of a desperate man. With sinister sweetness, he said, “Are ye in love with the little blond princess I’ve got locked up in the loft yonder, then?”
Disbelief and rage gripped Zach’s heart like a vise. His gaze darted to the loft where Gabby was incarcerated in its airless, cramped, dark interior. He’d thought McKeen would have put her inside the cottage. He squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy, gripped in empathetic terror. Zach couldn’t imagine anything more horrible. God, poor Gabby. Zach opened his eyes, locking his gaze with McKeen’s. Hostility pulsed between them. “Let her out.”
“But ye dinna bring Kate t’ exchange.”
“Did you really think I would? And I didn’t bring Kate not only because it would be dangerous for her and the babies, but because I didn’t want her to know to what low methods you have resorted in trying to achieve your own selfish ends.”
“’Tis not low to want yer wife back.”
“Let Gabby out now, McKeen, or I’ll fetch her myself.”
McKeen pulled a pistol from his back trouser pocket and aimed it straight at Zach’s heart. “Oh, will ye? Rather I think it might be a good notion t’ put ye up there with ’er till ye think better o’ yer meddlesome ways. Mayhap a few hours in that scurvy little rat’s hole, so like me own garret back in Auld Reekie, will change yer way o’ thinkin’ t’ be more like mine. Then the two o’ us can go back t’ that blasted shelter t’gether and fetch me Kate. Now move, Wickham. Straight up the ladder wi’ ye, or I’ll blast a hole right through yer chest.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gabrielle’s hip was sore from lying on her side, but she couldn’t very well turn on her back because Douglas had tied her hands behind her with a length of rope. It would be rather painful to put all her weight on her arms and hands, especially since her fingers were already going numb from lack of circulation. Besides, her feet were tied together, too, and she was a little afraid that she’d end up like some poor turtle, flat on her back on that narrow bed and unable to remedy the situation.
As for lying on her front, her face would be pushed into the bed ticking, which had a sweaty, earthy odor clinging to it, most probably accumulated over time from all the hardworking fellows who had collapsed there in exhausted sleep. In an unexpected show of consideration, Douglas had thrown a scratchy, damp-smelling woolen blanket over her which Gabrielle feared was infested with horse fleas. But with that as a buffer against the frigid air that permeated the tiny loft apartment, and her warm mantle, boots, and mittens, she seemed in no immediate danger of freezing.
Not so considerate of Douglas was the gag he’d fit between Gabrielle’s teeth and tied snugly behind her head. The rough cloth bit into the sides of her mouth and made her jaw ache. As they were out in the middle of nowhere, Gabrielle couldn’t understand why Douglas felt it expedient to gag her. As well, she couldn’t believe that in that short space of forty-eight hours she’d managed to twice find herself trussed like a chicken! It was making her extremely cross.
As the afternoon dragged by, the room got darker and darker. There was only one window in the tiny chamber, and it had been boarded up from the outside. The only indication that it was still daylight came from a crack in the corner of the ceiling where a splinter of thin sunshine shone through. Gabrielle kept her eye on that bit of pale gloaming, figuratively hanging on to its friendly light for moral support. Surely Zach would come before the room had gone completely dark.
She hated the darkness. Ever since she’d been lost in that tin mine as a child, Gabrielle had disliked having to snuff her candle at night before snuggling under the covers. Most often she’d stir up the fire, leave her bed curtains open, and drift off to sleep watching the tiny flames lick at the cinders of a shrunken log, the golden embers blinking like sleepy cats’ eyes.
The wind was building up, too. It pushed against the barn, wailing and lowing like a lost calf looking for its mother. The mournful sound fretted at her, making her all the more anxious and worried, not that Zach wouldn’t come for her—she knew he would—but wondering what would happen between Douglas and Zach when he did come.
Knowing Zach, he’d not bring Kate with him. He’d face Douglas alone. Douglas would be angry, and they’d fight. She didn’t know whether Douglas’s consistent drinking from the moment he’d picked her up outside the Tuttles’ till now would help or hinder Zach. Although excess drinking could slow a man’s reflexes and befuddle his thinking, Gabrielle was well aware that it could also lend him foolhardy courage and make him violent and vicious.
The time for speculation was soon to be over, because she heard Zach’s voice calling her. Her heart leaped with joy. As if just knowing he was nearby might give her extra strength, she strained at the ropes that tied her hands and feet. Realizing the futility of that, however, she quickly settled again and listened.
Douglas was talking. Their voices were raised, so she was able to hear the whole conversation between them, losing only an occasional word under the howl of the wind. Just as she’d expected, Zach had not brought Kate. She was proud of him for not giving in to Douglas’s blackmail tactics. Zach apparently was even willing to help Douglas to sobriety. But Douglas would have nothing of it. He had produced a gun. Now they were climbing the ladder, and unless Zach did something foolish, soon he’d be joining her in the loft.
Gabrielle held her breath. She knew it would rankle Zach to be held at gun point, but she prayed fervently that he’d do as Douglas told him. She didn’t want Zach to end up face down in the hay with a bullet in his back. The very image this possibility conjured up filled Gabrielle with unspeakable terror.
The bolt lifted, and the door creaked open. There was a flood of gray light, Zach’s tall figure outlined against it for an instant, then a jerky step forward as if he’d been pushed. The door slammed shut, the bolt scraped into place, and she could hear McKeen climbing down the ladder. She was alone with Zach.
“Gabby?”
Zach’s eyes had obviously not adjusted to the darkness. Unable to call to him, she wriggled about on the bed till he heard her movements and turned to peer at her through the gloom.
“Gawd!” he muttered vehemently beneath his breath as he sprang forward and kneeled beside the bed. “The bloody bastard! What’s he done to you?” Gabrielle found herself in the ludicrous position of trying to smile around the gag, wanting to reassure him that though she had been made extremely uncomfortable, she wasn’t harmed.
Zach started with her feet, untying the ropes with impatient tugs, then her hands, and finally the gag. He helped her sit up, then massaged life back into her hands while she rubbed her aching jaw.
“Why didn’t you take off the gag first, Zach?” she wondered aloud.
“Because, sweeting, with the gag off, I’d not have been able to stop myself from kissing you, and I have a horror of kissing trussed-up females! Shut up, because I’m going to kiss you now!”
S
till on his knees, Zach pulled Gabrielle into his arms and kissed her bruised mouth, knocking off his hat in the process. The pain of it was blissful. Then he just held her close. Gabrielle never felt so safe or so happy as when she was in Zach’s arms. It didn’t matter where they were, or what horrid mess she’d got them into, as long as they were together.
Presently he pushed her away slightly and squinted to look at her. His golden eyes appeared pale gray in color, transmuted to the shadowy mist of a waning eventide. The night was gathering swiftly now. In just a few moments, the loft would be pitch black. But, as she’d told Bella on Christmas Eve, Zach was Gabrielle’s bit of sunshine, and with him she wasn’t afraid of the dark.
Zach’s fingers were firm on her shoulders. “Tell me the truth, Gabby. Did he touch you? In any way, did he… hurt you?”
“He only tied me up, which isn’t a bit comfortable, but he didn’t hurt me.”
“I thought he might have—” He didn’t finish.
“You thought he might have beaten me, like he beat Kate?”.
“How do you know about Kate?”
“Mr. McKeen, while being rather confused at the moment between the right and wrong way to get back his wife, is not uncommunicative.”
Zach sat back on his heels, his hands sliding down to rest on his thighs. “You know about the shelter, then?”
“Yes.” She gave a rueful smile, lost no doubt in the darkness. “I’ve learned a lot about you from strangers in the last couple of days. How long have you been running the shelter?”
“For about three years.”
“Why Edinburgh? Why not London?”
He hesitated. She could imagine his lips pursing, considering his answer. He sighed. “Well, you might as well know all.” Then almost to himself, he said, “I vowed to tell all.” In a louder voice, “There’s another in London. And in Liverpool.”
“So that’s where you’ve been going all these years on your long absences from Pencarrow? You’ve been visiting your shelters, checking up on the management of them, I presume?”
“Exactly.”
Gabrielle gave a little laugh. “And in St. Teath and round about Bodmin Moor, people said you’d gone off to lose yourself in dissipation and debauchery! You must have known they were saying such ghastly things about you. Why did you never set them straight?”
“You mean, why didn’t I tell people about the shelters? I suppose because I didn’t think it was any of their business.”
“But you never even told me, Zach!” cried Gabrielle, unwilling to be put off with such an elusive answer. “You always used to tell me everything!”
“Not everything, Gabby. Some things are best not discussed, particularly with impressionable young girls with clean, fresh minds and hearts. Why disillusion you and sully your innocence?”
Gabrielle leaned forward and put her hands on each side of Zach’s face. “But secrecy can lead to appalling misunderstandings! I thought Kate was your mistress or—worse still—your bride-to-be!” She felt his lips turn up in a smile. She slid her thumbs into the laugh lines that bracketed his mouth.
“No, Gabby. Kate is just a friend.”
“McKeen doesn’t think so.”
Zach’s smile fell away. “He’s a jealous fool. I pity him, but I know how he feels.” There was a pause. Gabrielle waited for him to continue. This was a promising beginning. She was about to brazenly prompt him to elucidate when he returned to the original topic. “I never told anyone—not even you—about the shelters because, I suppose, I was a little embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? You don’t mean—?”
“No, I don’t mean I was embarrassed about being criticized for fraternizing with so-called fallen women, though I’m sure some people would think it degrading. I was embarrassed to think that people might look on me as some sort of attention-craving philanthropist. I wanted neither criticism nor praise for what I was doing. I just wanted to do it. The shelters exist for the benefit of women who need help restarting their lives, and I draw satisfaction from their successes without having to discuss it with anybody other than my administrators and other workers at the shelter.”
“Like Mr. Blake?”
“Yes. There are other anonymous people, you know, who make contributions to the shelters—some of them on a regular basis. Maybe they feel as I do, that, in a way, something would be taken away from the merit of it if I told my friends and family about the shelters. And I suppose it was selfish of me to want to protect my good feelings by keeping mum. But I’m a selfish man.”
“I’m selfish, too, so you see we’re destined to be together.” Gabrielle had said it teasingly, but she meant it with her whole heart.
Zach turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. “As I told you last night, sweeting, we have to talk. I have lots of things I must tell you, so you’ll understand why I’ve been so—” He stopped abruptly, and Gabrielle could feel a slight tremor go through him.
“What’s wrong, Zach?”
“Nothing … Lord, it’s just so damned stuffy in here!”
“How can you say so? It’s positively icy!”
He caught her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face, standing up. “It can be cold, but the air can still be stale, musty-smelling… Like an old cellar, or a crypt, or a cave… You know what I mean?”
He was pacing the floor. She could just make out his tall figure going back and forth, back and forth. “I admit it does seem a little close in here, and smelly. But there are so many gaps between the boards, plenty of cold air is getting through. Especially in this wind.”
“He’s boarded up the window. We can’t even open a window!”
“Who would want to?” She gave a little laugh, but Zach did not reply or respond in any way. He just kept pacing. “Zach, shouldn’t you stand still or come sit by me? You’re going to trip in the dark—catch your boot on a nail or something—and fall down.”
“I can’t sit still. We have to think of a way out of here.” His voice was brittle with tension.
“You know there’s no way out of here. You know we’re going to have to wait till Mr. KcKeen is good and ready to let us out. He’s hoping to change your mind about Kate.”
“There’s a storm brewing. We could be holed up here till spring!”
There was panic in Zach’s voice. He was usually so calm and capable, unflappable even in the face of the most frightening possibilities. Why was this time different? But then she remembered another time… He’d panicked at Mother Henn’s. She’d been questioning him about his past. He’d felt pressured, hemmed in. Later she’d concluded that Zach had had a reaction to that clout she’d given him over the head, coupled with the stress of fending off her persistent questions. But this time she wasn’t pressuring him. He seemed ready to talk. So why was he so distraught?
She realized suddenly that he was no longer pacing. He was standing stock-still. She stood up and went to him, finding him leaning against the opposite wall. He was shaking. Every inch of him was shaking.
“Zach? What’s wrong?” She ran a hand up his arm, along his shoulder. She pressed her palm against his cheek. He was sweating. Her other hand rested on his chest. Through his thick redingote she could feel his rapid breathing—silent, shallow intakes and outflows of air. His arms were limp at his sides.
He did not speak. He was trembling so violently that she didn’t suppose he’d dare try to speak even if he could. But she didn’t think he could. He was having some sort of a phobic episode like the one he’d had at Mother Henn’s—only worse—and she instinctively knew that the best thing she could do to help him through it was to hold him. She thought she knew, too, why he had panicked. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who still suffered from that nightmarish day in the Pencarrow tin mine. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him, holding him tighter than she’d ever held anyone. She whispered soothing words. And she waited.
It took much longer than it had taken that time at
Mother Henn’s, but gradually Gabrielle could feel the tension easing out of Zach. He stopped shaking. His breathing slowed and grew deeper. His arms came up and wrapped around her shoulders.
“I’ve got to sit down, Gabby.” His tone was that of a weary man, as if he’d just tramped over the highest of the Pentland Hills. His long, strong legs began to buckle at the knees.
“Here, Zach? Why don’t we—”
“I can’t make it to the bed just yet. Give me a moment, please.”
So Gabrielle sank with him to the floor. He leaned his back against the wall and drew her between his updrawn legs, fitting her neatly against him. Still they clung to each other, and presently he gave a great huge sigh.
“I was hoping to leave this to the last.”
“What do you mean,Zach?”
“I’ve hid this from everyone for so long.”
“You have a phobia.”
“Yes. And it makes me feel like a coward. I can’t control it. I—”
“That’s why you’re such a glutton for fresh air, always opening windows. You panic in close quarters. You can’t stand to be penned in, cut off from easy access to the outside.”
He sighed again. “Exactly. And if I lose control, as I did today, afterward I feel weak as a kitten.”
“These episodes of panic happen to you because of that time when I was lost in the tin mine, don’t they?”
Zach did not reply.
“Don’t protect me from the truth, Zach. It was because you and I and Alex were almost buried under all that earth. It’s my fault you have a phobia.”
“No! It’s my fault because if it hadn’t been for my irresponsibility, that tin mine would have been boarded up. And you’d not have been looking for knackers, either, but I insisted on letting you listen in on one of Pye Thatcher’s drolleries. Beth said you were too young. She was right. I was wrong.”
“Oh, Zach. I hope you aren’t still blaming yourself for all that! It was so long ago.”
