by Susan Lodge
“I know you are there, and believe me if you do not convey my message you will be in grave trouble. I have important matters to discuss with Admiral Cookson and you would not want to be a party to delaying them.”
Jane heard the movement of a departing figure, and felt a little better. Someone would soon explain everything to her and then she could quell the sick knot of apprehension that was growing inside her.
The wait was short and her pulse quickened as she heard the footsteps return. Angry that she should be left without the dignity of her clothes, she climbed back into the bed and pulled the sheet up around her. She heard the click of a key and watched the door handle turn. Two figures entered, and her heart stopped as she looked into the evil face of a smiling Crosby and a tall bear of a man wearing a bemused expression.
***
Jane’s mind was racing as she forced the fear from her face. “I knew something evil was lurking around here. Now that you have uncovered yourself from whatever hole you were hiding in, perhaps you would get me the owner of this establishment.”
Crosby walked over and stopped by the side of her bed, his smile like an evil beacon lighting his features. He signalled to his scruffy accomplice. “Ned, help her up.”
Crosby’s companion grasped her wrist and effortlessly tugged her out of the bed until she was standing on her toes opposite him. He let her go abruptly and she grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.
What was Crosby doing here? Had Captain Marston let the maniac free and simply sailed away? Her insides curled with fear. “What have you done with Celine?”
Crosby’s eyes glittered. “I imagine she has deserted you like the rest of your protectors.” He turned to his accomplice with a theatrical wave of his hand.
“Now, Ned, let me introduce you to Jane Charlesworth. A woman – an odious woman. One who thinks she can act like a man, rule men, ridicule them even.”
He paused and folded his arms, his eyes full of loathing as they wandered over Jane’s body, protected only by the white cotton of her nightclothes.
“However we know she’s just an evil little bitch, who needs taming for her own good. Those bold brown eyes and dirty mouth won’t help her now.” He reached across and his bony fingers started unbuttoning the bodice of her nightdress. As she raised her hands to defend herself, they were caught by Ned who pulled them behind her back, leaving her helpless.
Crosby pulled the white cotton apart.
Jane heard the breathing of the man holding her wrists quicken, as he looked down over her shoulder at the sight of her breasts.
“See, my friend – she is just a woman after all,” Crosby sneered, taking a step back from her.
Jane struggled to breathe as her whole body convulsed in fear. Please God, not again. That terrible day of Pennington’s assault flooded back.
Crosby watched her for a moment, savouring her humiliation. “Definitely a woman, Ned.”
“Can I have her now?” Ned’s voice pleaded. Bile surged up into Jane’s mouth.
Crosby ignored him as his eyes continued to wander over his captive. “You’re a woman, and like all women you do as you are told. You see, I am in charge of looking after you for now, so you better start showing a bit of respect.” Pure hatred radiated from his eyes. “Do you understand?”
She managed the word, “Yes.” Her reply was a hoarse whisper.
Crosby leaned closer, his eyes gleamed, clearly excited by prolonging her terror.
“Yes, sir,” he prompted.
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly. Compliance was her wisest move; there was no possibility of overpowering them in her weakened physical state.
Crosby gave a triumphant smirk. “Your body disgusts me,” he spat out.
Through her fear Jane realised with growing astonishment that his intention was not to rape her, but to humiliate her.
Crosby nodded to Ned to release her, and as he did so she attempted to pull the torn nightdress about her.
“Leave it, bitch, I will tell you when you can cover your evil little body.”
Jane stood praying he would end this before her self-control broke.
Crosby took a step towards her and pushed the remains of the nightdress roughly off her shoulders so it pooled around her hips, leaving her torso bare. Despite the warm night, a violent shiver tore through her. Again her fear made Crosby’s eyes glow brighter.
“Now kneel at my feet.”
God help me! Jane, sick with terror, cautiously lowered herself to her knees.
He reached down and pressed her head down towards his feet.
“Now kiss my boots.”
Fighting back the humiliation, she did as she was told – she had no strength to resist.
Crosby stepped back, lifted her chin up with his boot and then pushed her roughly, spilling her onto her back. He then smiled down at her and viciously kicked her low in the stomach. His smile turned into a harsh laugh as she let out a scream of pain, curling her body to protect a further blow.
“Touché, whore. This is only the start of my retribution for your disrespect on board the ship. No nice captain to protect you now.”
Crosby then motioned a disappointed Ned to the door and followed him. He stopped and turned as he reached for the handle.
“I will be back, bitch, with a few friends of mine who will require your services. Meanwhile, Ned will be just outside your door.”
Jane crawled to her bed after they left and pulled the nightgown back around her with shaking hands. Her whole body trembled as the pain and confusion gave way to uncontrollable sobbing.
Chapter Thirteen
Hours later, Jane was still huddled on the bed with the covers wrapped around her, reeling from Crosby’s visit. A single candle burned on the tray containing the untouched meal that had been delivered a while ago. The thought of food had rebelled against the churning terror in her stomach. With a sigh she finally reached over and picked up the bread and a few green olives from the plate. She must eat to keep her strength up and her mind alert. Chewing purposefully, she tried to think rationally about the strange events of the last days.
First she had somehow managed to fall on deck knocking herself out. Then she had been nursed back to health by a woman who had told her the Serena had sailed and that she was in a safe house owned by her father’s trusted friend. Then she had encountered a vicious visit from Crosby, whose prisoner she now seemed to have become.
Captain Marston may have deserted her, being ruled by his blessed orders, but Celine would definitely have not left her. She would not have sailed off leaving her injured in a strange country. Unless, of course, she had been prevented from coming ashore.
And where did Crosby fit in? She remembered the captain’s words when she had suggested he was a spy, after he had assaulted Celine. He had said, by the very nature of their work spies need to fit in, make friends, make people trust them They do not look or do anything to draw attention to themselves.
Hah! So much for his theory. Why had he not listened to her, the conceited man? She snatched up the pitcher from the tray and poured herself a cup of water.
Yet, nothing fitted. She drained the cup and then paced the darkened room trying to clear her thoughts.
If Admiral Cookson was involved in all this – why all the secrecy? She was on her way to him willingly, ordered there in fact to decode a document. There was no need for him to abduct her from the ship.
She had deduced from Crosby and his sidekick’s remarks that they were waiting to deliver her somewhere and she feared it wasn’t going to be back to Valetta. So someone must desperately want to prevent her seeing the document she was brought here to unravel.
She shivered. However terrible her situation was at present, she felt it was soon to get a whole lot worse. She would not wait meekly to meet her fate. There had to be a way out of here.
The windows were locked and even if she could smash the glass, the drop to the ground was long and sheer. Earlier she had observed guards wanderi
ng around and she presumed they would be patrolling through the night. Escape seemed an impossible task.
The rhythmic snore of the giant Ned confirmed he had installed himself outside her locked door. He was not very bright, she recalled, so perhaps she could outwit him. If only she had a weapon of some kind. She did a long, slow evaluation of the room. There was nothing, except… She stepped towards the fireplace and emptied the logs from their container. Picking up the scuttle she weighed it experimentally in her hand and headed for the door.
Tapping it lightly, she addressed the giant. “Please could you open the door? I am in need of some water.”
She heard the chair scrape as he shifted.
“Pipe down, lady, I ain’t your maid. You can wait till morning.”
Jane feigned a helpless simper. “Please, Ned, I have such a thirst and my pitcher toppled over earlier.”
A few seconds of silence followed and her spirits lifted at his hesitation.
“This door ain’t being opened until morning. I have my orders – now shut up.”
Jane persisted. “Are you frightened of me, Ned?”
He snorted with laughter. “You should be the one who is frightened, little lady.”
“Oh I am, believe me. You are so strong, Ned. I could not be any sort of threat to you. But you must realise that I am an important woman; a very wealthy woman, in fact. If you help me I could make you a rich man.” She made a face at the door as she forced the next words out. “And I could do with a strong man like you to take care of me.”
Ned was silent and again Jane felt a flicker of hope, until his ugly laugh came through the door. “Mr. Crosby said I was to ignore you if you started to try to tempt me with your lies. I will be paid handsomely when you’re delivered. And you, my lady, have nothing – not even your clothes,” he added with a lurid snigger.
Jane shrank back from the door. Perhaps he was not quite as stupid as he looked. The giant’s chair scraped again and the heavy breathing returned.
She sat hugging her knees in the faint glow of the candle which had now burned down low. Soon she would be in complete darkness – unless. Fuelled with a new idea she brought the candle to the door then returned for the sheets from her bed.
Silently she stuffed the material against the crack along the base of the door, set the candle to it, and waited for a few moments until it began to smoulder.
“Ned! Ned! For the love of God, get me out, there is a fire.” She coughed, theatrically.
She heard him rise and swear as the smoke filtered underneath the door. She gasped again, only half acting now. “I am choking, Ned, get me out now for pity’s sake.”
“I will get help,” he shouted back.
“Noooo!” Her plea of anguish was almost genuine now as she tied a length of the sheeting around her nose and mouth. “It will be too late, and if I die they will not pay you, Ned – they will kill you.”
The thought of the loss of his reward seemed to reel him into action. The key rustled and the door crashed open. Jane waited until Ned rushed in, then stepped from behind the door, and with all her strength, brought the metal scuttle down against the side of his head. He tottered for a second and then fell forward like a giant oak. Protecting herself with the bedcover she dragged the smouldering sheets into the fireplace and threw the contents of the water pitcher on them.
Quickly returning to Ned, she plucked a knife from his waistband. Then throwing off the bedcover, she knelt down and began to remove the giant’s trousers and shirt.
***
Jane’s nose curled in distaste at her newly fashioned outfit. The shirt came down to her calves and the trousers, which she had shortened with the knife, smelt of something she really didn’t want to dwell on. His shoes were enormous and no use at all, so she had hastily bound her feet in strips of sheeting.
Stepping out on to the landing she locked the door behind her. Her ears pricked up at the stirrings of movement from the staircase to her right. Turning in the opposite direction, she made her way along the passage, down a flight of stone steps, through a door and out in to the night. Then she ran.
***
Adam headed down the steps of the Commissioner’s residence, thinking over his uncomfortable interview. Cookson was not convinced that Jane was alive, even after he had explained Celine’s observations regarding the dress. But now there was some doubt, so he had agreed to Adam’s request that he stay in port another day to give him time to pursue his enquiries. Someone on his ship knew what really happened and he was determined to find who it was.
Cookson had also agreed to tighten patrols around the island without alerting anyone to the fact that they suspected Jane might still be alive. They had both agreed it might be beneficial to keep their suspicions to themselves. Whoever was responsible might lower their guard if they thought their plan had succeeded and they had convinced the authorities that Jane Charlesworth had drowned.
He looked around the bustling streets for Celine and swore under his breath. Against his instructions she had wandered off. Blast these women, why did they never do as they were told? He wondered uneasily whether she had got herself into any trouble, but then again she appeared to be the type of woman that knew how to look after herself. No doubt he would find her back at the ship. He strode down the road towards the harbour, deep in thought. He had to find out what had happened to Jane, he was entirely responsible for not delivering her safely. He needed to find her and show her he was not an incompetent fool. Those dark, challenging eyes and soft impertinent mouth haunted him constantly. Damn those Admiralty orders that compelled him to take the woman on board in the first place. She had no right to invade his ship, and certainly no right to invade his heart.
***
Celine studied the white stone building at the base of the valley. She had followed Crosby and his escort to the secluded house an hour ago and she knew it was sheer stupidity to go any farther without help. The building was guarded outside by at least two men who constantly patrolled the immediate surroundings.
The olive-skinned youth back at the hamlet had gladly accepted her coins and the note to deliver to Captain Marston. She prayed the Serena had not yet sailed and the boy would keep his word. At the inn back at the hamlet, Crosby’s escort had left him with a new companion. This latest one had no military uniform and the manner between them did not convey that Crosby was in any way a prisoner. They appeared more as acquaintances on equal footing.
Her attention wandered back to the house – it seemed peaceful – no one had arrived or left since Crosby and his companion. Leaving her ill-tempered donkey safely secured at the top of the hill, she crept closer down the incline and settled herself halfway down the hill, shielded by the vegetation. As the day wore on, Celine began to think that Crosby had bought his freedom and that Jane was not connected with his presence here at all.
Then she saw it! A figure at an upstairs window.
A silhouette of a woman cast by the evening sunshine. She could not be sure but it was enough to raise her hopes. The room stood out because the shutters were open although the windows were secured. The rest of the rooms on the upper level were shuttered, indicating they were not in use. Her heart started racing with renewed hope; she had always believed Jane was alive, but if she was inside the house, what was that snake Crosby doing with her? She shuddered at the thought of her friend at Crosby’s mercy. She had watched whilst the man had destroyed her mother’s life. She would not stand by and let him do the same to Jane. The authorities, it seemed, had let him go but she would not. Somehow she would make him pay for his treachery.
There was still a light or two flickering in the house as daylight melted away. She would wait until the early hours when all were asleep, and then venture nearer. Perhaps the guards would get sloppy, take a nap. All she needed was a chance to slip inside the building.
***
At dawn, Adam’s worries had increased. Celine had not returned and Jane’s disappearance was still a mystery. He f
eared that whoever had taken her, if that was the case, would have spirited her off the island by now. Malta was small and full of harbours and inlets giving plenty of cover for any vessel to come and go without detection. He had sent his own jolly boats out to survey the coastline but nothing untoward had been sighted. He paced the quayside watching the replenishment of the ship’s stores. He was preparing the Serena to sail. But Adam, although anxious to rejoin the action with the fleet, could not bear to leave Malta without knowing Jane’s fate.
And where was Celine? He frowned; if she was not back soon he would have to leave without her as well. He turned back towards the town. With Jane gone, he felt duty bound to help Celine He would ask Cookson to look out for her and find her suitable employment if she turned up after he had sailed.
“Captain Marston! Are you Captain Marston?”
Adam looked down at the boy who had appeared at his side, and gave him a curt nod.
“Here, this is for you.”
A note was pressed into his hand and the messenger turned to run.
Adam’s hand shot out like an arrow and secured the boy. “Not so fast,” he growled as he held the lithe body by his collar, whilst he scrutinised the message. It was from Celine – what in hell’s name was she doing following Crosby? He should have been on a berth back to England by now.
His brows met as he reread the note, ignoring the protesting bundle at his side.
Were Harrow’s men disobeying the command to deport Crosby to England – or was it that the command had not been given by Harrow? He knew Celine had powerful reason to distrust Crosby but he hoped she hadn’t jumped to conclusions by linking him with Jane’s disappearance. Then he remembered Celine had been the one to cast doubt on Jane’s death in the first place. She was a shrewd woman. A spark of hope ignited in his chest at her message. He pondered his choices and then, finally setting the boy back on his feet, he tossed him a few coins to elicit his services. Together they headed towards the Commissioner’s office.
***
That evening, bathed in soft moonlight, the Serena edged away from Valetta harbour. Adam watched from his vantage point in the secluded cove around from the bay. Cookson had finally agreed to his suggestions. He wanted whoever was behind Crosby’s release to think that their plan had worked. His orders were to sail and for all intents and purposes, he had. Only Cookson and Samuel Grant, now in command of the Serena, knew he had not sailed. Grant had been instructed to keep a close vigil on the crew and Adam’s absence secret for as long as possible. Adam was still not convinced that Crosby was a spy, but more an opportunist. There was someone on board his ship who was far more dangerous than Crosby. Celine had a powerful reason for hating Crosby and he hoped she wasn’t reckless enough to confront the man without help.
