by Jo Ann Brown
“No, Maris! Maris gone!”
Arthur froze at the child’s panicked words.
“Oh, no!” Lady Belinda swayed on her feet. “My warning is too late. He has found her.”
“He?”
“Lord Litchfield!”
“What are you talking about?” Arthur clamped his mouth closed when Lady Belinda swooned, dropping toward the terrace. He caught her before she could strike her head on the stones. Looking from her limp form to the little boy waiting impatiently in the doorway, he promised he would express his apologies to the lady later. For now...
He shoved Lady Belinda into Ellington’s arms. “See that she is taken somewhere to lie down while she recovers.”
“But, Trelawney—”
He did not wait to hear what else the man had to say. Scooping up the little boy, he pelted him with questions. With every word the boy spoke, Arthur’s fear grew, until it crashed over him like storm waves upon the shore.
A man shouting at Maris and dragging her to a door.
A carriage waiting just outside.
Another man flinging her into it.
“Pray for Maris?” Bertie asked, pressing his cheek to Arthur’s.
“Yes, Bertie. Pray Maris will be here soon.”
And uninjured, he added silently.
Taking time to leave the boy with Carrie, along with a hasty explanation that left her as pale as Lady Belinda, Arthur ran to the stable. He called for a horse, urging the stable boy to move at top speed. While he waited, he talked to the servants there, asking if they had seen Litchfield’s carriage and where it had gone.
South across the moor. There was only one road wide enough for a carriage in that direction.
Getting a description of the vehicle, which was distinctive with the red edging on its doors and windows, he swung into the saddle and turned the horse toward the gate. Litchfield had a head start, but a horse was faster than a carriage. If it did not turn off the road, he had a chance to catch it.
God, please help me get there before something more happens to her.
Chapter Sixteen
Pain crashed through Maris’s head, and a moan slipped from her lips. Lord Litchfield had smiled as he struck her as they neared a city along the south coast of Cornwall. She had already guessed it was Penzance, so there was no need for him to knock her unconscious.
The floor beneath her shifted, but she did not hear the horses’ hooves on the road. So why was the carriage still moving?
“Ye wakin’ up, dearie?” asked a scratchy voice that sounded as if the speaker had not had anything to drink in too long.
“Who...?” The single word sent another cacophony of pain along her skull.
“Slowly, dearie. Make haste slowly.”
It was good advice, and Maris heeded it. Talking was too much. Could she open her eyes? She tried and failed. She waited while she counted to twenty, then attempted again what should be easy.
Her eyelids rose, but it did not make any difference. The air was ebony, without a hint of light. Was she blind?
Did she ask that question aloud? Because the scratchy voice—a woman’s, she realized now—said, “Even if ye had a cat’s eyes to look through the dark down here, there be nothin’ t’see except us poor souls.”
Soft sobs came from the darkness.
“Who...?” She refused to give in to the pain. “Who else is here?”
“All of us who have been sent here t’be sent away.”
Maris tried to unscramble the bizarre answer, which made no sense to her. Had Lord Litchfield’s blow unsettled her mind?
She had to sit up. The motion beneath her was sending water through her clothes. Where was she? When she put her hand up to find a wall to steady herself, she recognized the horizontal curve of the boards beside her. She had touched similar ones during her tour with the children of Captain Nesbitt’s ship.
What was she doing aboard a ship?
Before she could ask, a woman cried out, “My daughter! My daughter! My dearest child!”
“What happened to your child?” Maris asked. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw at least a dozen women in the hold.
One crawled to where Maris sat and pushed her face close. Her hair was a matted tangle, and her clothes were tattered and smelled like an open sewer.
“They took her from me,” the woman cried. “I had her with me, and they took her and sent her back to Lord Warrick’s minin’ village.”
Maris could not hide her astonishment as she asked, “A little girl? Taken from the mining village?”
The distraught woman pressed her filthy apron to her face. Through the thin fabric, she wailed, “She be all I got left. My poor baby!”
Such a simple explanation for a mystery that had unsettled everyone at Cothaire, as well as Lord Warrick. As soon as she found her way out of this horrid place, Maris would return to Mr. Miller’s house and share the truth with Arthur.
“I am sorry,” Maris said. “I have children I care for deeply, too.”
“I wanted to bring my child with me. How could I leave her behind forever?”
“Forever?” she asked, suddenly fearful of the direction of her own thoughts. A ship. Filthy women. A child left behind forever. That added up to...the nightmare that had haunted her after Lord Bellemore’s threats. Being sent far from England to a penal colony on the other side of the world.
“There be no comin’ back from bein’ transported,” the woman with the scratchy voice said. “Ye may be sentenced for seven years, but how will ye pay t’get back here? Once gone, always gone.”
A chorus of agreement came from the cramped hold, and a woman who had not spoken before said, “It may be better than what we are leavin’ here. I plan t’find me a fine young man who will treat me better than my husband did when he left me t’take the blame for his sellin’ stolen stuff for his mates. Fourteen years I am banished from England, but they be fourteen years I don’t have t’see his ugly face. I escaped a certain death, and I will take any chance for life.” She leaned forward, her foul breath puffing into Maris’s face. “How many years did ye get?”
“None!” Panic made her voice squeak. She took a steadying breath. “I am not guilty of a crime.”
Laughter rang through the hold. Even the woman who lamented about her lost child laughed.
“Ye are not standin’ in front of the justice, dearie. Ye can tell us the truth. No sense pretendin’ t’be innocent now.”
“But I am telling the truth!” She pushed herself to her feet, taking care not to hit her head on the low rafters. “I was never arrested. I never was brought before the justice of the peace. I was never convicted of a crime, because I never committed one! I should not be here. I need to get off this ship.”
Jeers and hisses were aimed at her until a voice at the far end of the hold spoke.
“Heed her,” the woman said. “She could be speakin’ the truth. Listen t’her. Talks like a fine lady.”
“Bah,” argued the woman with the scratchy voice. “We got caught and convicted. Life isn’t fair, but no sense pleadin’ innocent now. And fine ladies do crimes, too.”
The other woman said, “Shut yer chops, ye old crone! Ye know ye don’t need t’be a criminal t’be sent off on this ship to the end of the earth. Captain Evans be willin’ t’transport anyone for a price. Ye are not the first, m’girl, and ye will not be the last.”
“But how is that possible?” Maris sank to the floor, ignoring the water that soaked her gown. “How can people just disappear?”
“Others know, but why would they admit they have paid the captain t’take care of their problem of gettin’ rid of an unwanted wife, or a daughter who is just another mouth to feed?”
She put her hands over her face. Lord Litchfield had told her he wanted her gone from England so she had no chance to tell his betrothed what type of man he truly was. She had thought he was lying, as he had often, but for once he had told the truth.
“Where are we boun
d?” she asked in little more than a whisper.
“Van Diemen’s Land.”
She surrendered to tears. Her nightmare was coming true. Van Diemen’s Land was in the distant reaches of the southern Pacific. If she survived the journey—and she knew many did not—she would be condemned to hard labor and horrible conditions that killed many more. That did not seem as horrible as knowing she would never see Arthur again, never be able to tell him of her lies and ask for his forgiveness, as she had asked God’s. She would never again sing with the children and lead them in a jubilant dance.
From overhead, she heard running footsteps and shouted orders. The crew was getting ready to cast off. Once they did, she would never be able to return to the ones she loved.
Lord Litchfield had tried to destroy her life once before. This time, it seemed he had succeeded.
* * *
Feeling his horse straining beneath him, Arthur rode along the darkened street. He saw St. Michael’s Mount in the bay, its great house at the top of the island’s steep hill. He looked up every alley he passed and down onto the piers where ships waited to catch the tide.
He had not once seen Litchfield’s carriage ahead of him, but he kept going. There were no signs of it turning off the main road on the nearly nine miles across the breadth of Cornwall. Following the curve of the bay, he slowed when he saw an elegant carriage near a pier where a ship was getting ready to sail.
The carriage looked as out of place as a saddle on a sow. As the ship beside it rocked, lights on the deck flashed over it, revealing the red stripes on its doors.
Arthur swung down from his horse and scanned the area. Seeing some men lounging, half-asleep, against some barrels, he walked to them. A quick question, and a few coins from his hands to theirs, and they were ready to answer his queries and follow his orders. He sent one boy running for the harbormaster, and another was directed to watch over his horse.
To the others, burly men he was glad could be bought to be on his side, Arthur said, “Keep that carriage from leaving!”
He did not wait to see how the dock rats managed that. He knew they would, because he had promised them a very generous additional payment if they did as he requested.
Instead, he charged along the pier to where a plank granted access to the ship the men had pointed out to him. As he thought of what they had witnessed, he raced up the plank. Shouts came from behind him, and he saw the coachee stepping out of the box as the dock rats blocked the carriage’s departure.
A burly sailor stepped from the shadows as soon as Arthur reached the top of the plank.
Arthur did not give him a chance to speak. Instead, he demanded, “Where is your captain?”
“He is busy.”
Again borrowing the self-important tone he despised in other aristocrats, he said, “Tell him that Lord Trelawney is busy, too. Get him now.”
“Y-y-yes, my lord.” The man touched his forelock, bowed his head, and scurried away like a young boy caught stealing a pie.
Even more quickly than Arthur expected, a silhouette he surmised was the master of the ship came across the deck, pulling on his salt-stained jacket. He was of average height, but his cool gaze sizing up Arthur warned he was of more than average intelligence. A man to be reckoned with.
Lord, I ask You to put the right words on my lips as I stand here before a man who has no reason to help me. Help me save Maris from whatever is happening here.
“I am Captain Evans, my lord,” the man said. “How may I assist you in the short time before we must sail?”
Arthur did his best to hide his distaste with how Evans managed to mix obsequiousness and arrogance in the same sentence. Now was not the time to start a quarrel.
“Do you have passengers on this ship?” He allowed condescension to seep into his voice, suggesting he considered it a poor excuse for a vessel.
“Not exactly paying passengers, but we do have people aboard.”
“Send one of your men to find Miss Maris Oliver, whom I believe is among them.”
Evans looked everywhere but at him. Arthur doubted he had ever seen a guiltier face, but he waited for the man to speak. “Miss Maris Oliver?” The captain scratched his chin. “I don’t recall such a name, my lord, among my passengers.”
“Try harder.”
“My lord, I must ask you to go ashore. We will be sailing—”
“Are you certain of that?”
Evans’s eyes narrowed, but whatever he had been about to snarl at Arthur went unsaid as shouts came from the dock. The captain looked past him. His face paled, but he gamely retorted, “What happens among those on shore has nothing to do with us. We will be sailing—”
“After he allows it.” Arthur hooked a thumb over his shoulder as the harbormaster strode toward the ship. “I understand he has received word all may not be as stated on your customs forms. The government frowns on improperly filled out forms, especially in a time of war, when it has many expenses.”
The captain gulped, and the sailors who had gathered around to listen shifted nervously. “An inspection could take days.”
“While you must feed your passengers and lose time on your voyage.” Arthur folded his arms in front of him. “Think hard, Captain, before you answer my next question. Do you have Miss Maris Oliver aboard this ship?”
* * *
A lock rattled, and Maris looked to the right. A small light seemed as bright as the sun. The glow seemed to explode through the hold as the door opened and a man carrying a lantern entered.
She raised her arm to protect her eyes, but dropped it when she heard a voice call, “Maris! Are you here?”
Jumping to her feet, she cried, “Arthur!” She blinked, desperate to see him through the glare.
Hands stretched out to grasp her by the waist. Instant recognition raced through her. Arthur’s hands! She let them bring her to where he stood with two men. Leaning on his strength, she let him guide her out of the hold. He pulled her to him. Not caring that many eyes were on them, she returned his kiss with all the love in her heart. She prayed everything she found difficult to say was conveyed in that kiss.
His fingers framed her face as he raised his head. A soft smile curved his lips.
“You came,” she breathed as she drank in the sight of him, windblown and filthy from the ride across Cornwall.
“Bertie got your message and brought it to me.”
“God bless that child.”
“Yes, God bless him, as Bertie has blessed us tonight.”
At his words, Maris turned to look into the hold. She called to the woman who had had her own child abducted. “What is your daughter’s name?”
“Fawna,” she shouted. “Because she is my little dear.”
“I promise I will make sure she is taken care of and never forgets how her mother loves her.”
“Thank you, miss.” The woman’s sobs burst through the shadows again.
The door closed, locking the women inside until the ship was too far out at sea for them to escape. As Arthur hurried Maris up from the bowels of the ship, she heard voices behind other locked doors and realized there were scores of people being transported. She thought about the woman who was grateful for another chance at life, and she prayed the journey to Van Diemen’s Land would be easy.
Her steps were unsteady even after they reached the deck. When she stumbled as her toe caught on a warped board, Arthur lifted her into his arms. She rested her head on his strong shoulder, thrilled to be this near to him. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his scent, masculine and intoxicating.
The sound of vile curses opened Maris’s eyes. She stared, speechless, at Lord Litchfield on his belly on the dock, a ragged man’s boot against his spine. Other rough-looking men encircled the two.
Arthur set her on her feet and asked if she could stand. She nodded, unable to utter a single word. He walked to a man who wore a shirt half falling out of his breeches, after being routed from bed. In amazement, she listened to Arthur ask the harb
ormaster to take Lord Litchfield into custody.
“But he is a peer, my lord,” argued the man, glancing at Lord Litchfield.
“I will alert the necessary authorities, and they will come to retrieve him so he can be brought before the House of Lords on charges of kidnapping and whatever else is deemed appropriate.” When the harbormaster began to protest again, Arthur said, “Miss Oliver has endured a terrible trauma. I could not bear it if she has to be in her abductor’s company any longer.” He flashed her a smile.
Maris’s lips twitched in return. She had doubted she would ever smile again, but Arthur’s gentle teasing eased the pain of her invisible wounds. The bruises that ached along her skull and ribs would heal more slowly.
When the harbormaster agreed at last, Arthur ordered the men surrounding Lord Litchfield to take him to where he could be locked up. Lord Litchfield cursed as he was jerked to his feet.
Arthur walked over to him, and in a quiet voice chilling in its intensity, said, “Be grateful, Litchfield, that I am a forgiving man. Don’t think I was not tempted to have you take Maris’s place on that ship. It is better your crimes are made public so you cannot try something diabolical again.”
“She lies!” Lord Litchfield screamed. “Don’t believe a word she says. She was kicked out of Bellemore’s house because of her lies.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because it is the truth. Go ahead, Trelawney. Ask her! Ask her how she was sent away in disgrace.”
Maris clasped her hands over her mouth to silence her moan.
Arthur turned to her. “He is lying, isn’t he?”
Her tears blurred Arthur’s beloved face and the triumph on Lord Litchfield’s, but she said, “Not about that, he isn’t. Lord Bellemore did send me away. I will not be false about that any longer. Nor will I be silent about Lord Litchfield’s attempt to rape me and then blame me for the crime. He persuaded Lord Bellemore to believe his lies, which drove me away from the only home I had. For a while, even I began to believe it was my fault he attacked me.”
Arthur stepped slowly toward her as Lord Litchfield was dragged away. “You know you are not at fault, don’t you? If someone treated my sisters so coarsely, I would never rest until justice was done. But you were alone, weren’t you?”
