Payton struggled against the ropes and tried to spit the rag from her mouth. She could taste dirt and filth. If only she could free herself. She looked from her uncle to her aunt, and her stomach churned. His red nose reminded her of the man who used to feed her father’s dogs when he was away in town. She had been warned to stay away from the man. He had been taken with too much drink, and she recognized the same trait in her uncle.
He plucked at her leather jacket and then removed the rag. “She can muck out stalls. The breeches’ll be good for that.”
She exercised her jaw until the muscles relaxed the slightest bit. Sore and tired, she tried to force her mouth to work. “What did you do with Winter? Is she all right?”
“She brought a pretty penny at auction this mornin’. You won’t be needin’ a mount like her now, will ya?”
He sold Winter? He had no right. Winter belonged to her, to Jonathan. “My husband will be searching for me. He’ll find you.”
His hands danced before her face and came, at last, to rest on a pistol at his side. “He won’t want to be arguin’ with me, little miss. If he takes it into his head to fight, I’ll put him under the ground with one shot. If you care about that man, you should be prayin’ he keeps his distance.”
She had been praying since she was taken from Kent. Praying Jonathan would find her, praying he would be safe, praying God would see to it her uncle left her alone.
“After she eats, put the rag back in her mouth.” He barked orders like she imagined a military man might.
“You don’t expect me to be feedin’ her! You can do it yourself. I ain’t your servant, Edgar.”
He backhanded the woman, and she landed with a plop on her rump. “You’ll do as you’re told or you’ll be muckin’ the stalls and the pretty miss here’ll be the new mistress of my house. You get my meanin’?” His laugh filled the room and then he was gone.
Payton understood all too well. She shriveled against the chair and closed her eyes.
“I don’t know what he ’spects me to feed you, but I guess you’ll have to eat somethin’.” She fished around an old barrel and pulled out an apple and a piece of cheese with a bit of mold on the edges.
Payton shook her head. “Just water, please. I’m not particularly hungry.”
“Well then, if the old man asks, you tell him I offered. I don’t care if you starve to death. You’ve already been more trouble than you’re worth. Don’t know how much he ’spects to get fer ya, but it ain’t enough in my book.”
* * *
“Has no one seen her, then?” Jonathan paced the floor of the stable, his boots bruising the straw with each step. He slammed his gloves on the table, and his face broiled hotter every minute. He could almost picture his scar raised and red, reminding him how he got it in the first place.
“No, sir. Her riding clothes are gone and so is Winter. They never returned.”
He stopped pacing, faced Mr. Kenny and exhaled sharply. “If she had been thrown, Winter would have come back to the stable.”
“Yessir. Should I saddle Storm again, Mr. Lambrick?”
“No. Let him rest. Saddle Templar.” He retrieved his gloves and donned his jacket once again. “I’ll make a complete turn about the property. Don’t expect me until late. If she should return, keep her here. Don’t let her go out hunting for me. Understood?”
“Certainly. But wouldn’t you like me to ride with you?”
He took in Kenny’s demeanor. The man had seen many years managing the stables. His hands were gnarled with experience and the skin was pulled tight across his swollen joints. His steps had grown slow and, although he did the master’s bidding without complaint, Jonathan recognized he was in pain. “No, but I thank you for the offer.”
Mrs. Brewster entered the stable, surprising him. She stepped forward, and he soaked in the compassion from behind the tired old eyes. He hadn’t realized how his staff had aged. Once Payton was found, he would have to make arrangements for younger servants to do the heavy work at Kent Hall while preserving the present staff’s dignity.
“Sir,” Mrs. Brewster said, “she would not have left of her own accord. I know Pay—Mrs. Lambrick. She has a heart for you and no one else.”
He thought for a moment, patting her hand, and searched for an answer. “So you think I am remembering Alithea?”
“Are you not?”
“No, I am not.” He leaned down and pecked her cheek. “But I appreciate your caring.” One day he would find a way to repay all of her kindnesses to him since he had been a child at her kitchen table. For now, he had to ride.
Mr. Kenny clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, no one would dare harm Mrs. Lambrick. No one would be so foolhardy, sir.”
“I have no doubt you are right.” He tried to smile, but a twisted grimace was all he could muster and his insides churned with fear for her.
* * *
Payton strained to adjust her eyes to the dark room they’d thrown her into. A storage room? What good would it do for her uncle and aunt to have kidnapped her? What might they do for a living? A shudder rippled through her. She’d heard of girls disappearing. What happened to them? She had to find a way out of here.
Twisting for a better view, she scanned the shelves above her head. Tins and boxes of food lined the straight boards and a crock of something greasy rested on the floor next to her pallet. An iron hook hung over the wooden candle holder, and she thought perhaps she could use it as a weapon if necessary. Mouse and spider droppings speckled the bottom shelf, where a flour sack jammed against the wall. Her stomach growled, and she reached for a piece of bread off one of the platters, but she couldn’t lift her hand high enough with the restraints tugging down. She licked her lips and sagged onto the pallet once again. Pulling up her feet, she leaned her arms against her knees until her chin came to rest on the back of her hands. How would she escape this place?
A door banged shut in the other room, and she heard voices.
“Things has changed.”
The woman’s husky voice chimed in. “What do you mean? Ain’t the captain o’ the ship going to buy her now?”
“He says he don’t want no trouble. I can’t get no one to take ’er off our hands. So we’re goin’ ta make the master pay for her.”
“You think he will?”
Her uncle’s voice overpowered the woman he said was her aunt, and Payton cringed. “Shut up! If he don’t, I’ll just throw ’er in the sea. No one’ll be the wiser.”
More foul words and a loud smack. The woman sniffled. “What was that for?”
“Ya feed the brat?”
She heard what she thought was the woman scuffling over the floor toward the door leading into the pantry. “I give ’er a crumb o’ bread. That’s good enough. We don’t have no extra to be handin’ out like a charity.” More smarmy comments.
“If we don’t keep ’er healthy, she’ll tell Lambrick and he’ll be huntin’ us down when this is over. We need ta get the money and head for the northland. He’ll not think to look there.”
“Shh.”
“Don’t shush me, woman.”
“She might hear. Keep yer voice down. You don’t want him comin’ after us. Maybe he’ll pay and leave us be.”
Footsteps to the door. A thin thread of light blossomed as the door cracked open. Payton closed her eyes, leaned against the shelf and feigned sleep. Let them think she hadn’t heard. “Nah. She’s sleepin’ all right. I’m goin’ to the inn and sendin’ Bob
by with the letter. He’ll leave it for Lambrick and we’ll see what he does.”
“Has he any idea where we live?”
“None.”
The woman’s voice sounded anxious. “What if he doesn’t want ’er back? After all, he didn’t marry for love or money.”
“He better want ’er back or she’s a dead woman. She may be a dead woman anyway. If there’s any chance he could connect us to her... The man has a temper. I heard from a lady he was the one killed his first wife. That fancy lady he’s always with is the woman’s sister. She figured she’d be the new mistress of Kent ’til this chit come along. Interestin’ prospect, what?”
The woman started laughing. “Well then, we take the money and save ’im the effort with wife number two and the fancy lady can have ’im after all.”
Payton shivered. What if they were right and Jonathan did perceive this as a way out of the marriage? But he couldn’t have been acting. He loved her. She pulled the flour sack they had given her about her shoulders and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
Jonathan rounded the stable in time to spy a man in a brown cape jump on his horse and ride away as though evil himself trailed him. He quickened his pace where outside the door Clarisse held an envelope. “What did that man want?”
She held out her hand. “A letter, sir. Addressed to you.”
He tore the envelope open.
She ain’t worth much money, is what I often said. But if you don’t pay it, she’ll be nothing but dead. You got two days to leave five thousand pounds in the poor box at St. Peter’s Church in Colchester at exactly six o’clock in the evening. If anyone comes with you, she dies. Once the money is in the box, turn around and look for the large horse chestnut tree. Do not look back at the church. There you will find directions to the young miss. Do exactly as this letter says or she dies.
Jonathan reread the letter until it was nothing more than a crumpled mess. He then strode through the door. Just inside, he slammed his hand on the wooden table and sent the bowl of flowers sailing over the floor. Mrs. Brewster struggled to catch the large silver urn but missed.
“Emily!”
“Right behind you, dearie.”
“I’ll be in my room for the remainder of the evening. Tell Mr. Kenny to have my mount ready first thing in the morning.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“I’m planning to get Payton back if I have to turn Colchester upside down.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No. They want money to tell me, but if I pay them, I’ll never see her again. They won’t let her live.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I will hunt them down like the dogs they are and kill them. And they know it.”
Chapter 12
Weary of feeling sorry for herself, Payton pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin and enjoyed an unusual moment of confidence. She had heard the woman mention Colchester earlier. That wasn’t a long ride from Kent Park. Would she be able to find her way home before they realized she was gone?
She gazed past the metal hook and noticed a small table filled with tools. If only she could locate a knife, a saw or any other instrument to cut herself loose. She scooted on her rump across the floor and in front of the table. Whenever she tried to reach out, the ropes around her ankles pulled tighter, like a noose. Pushing up on her knees as far as she could before the pain became unbearable, she spied only a file and some wooden boxes atop the table. She stretched up but couldn’t quite reach. Within seconds the ropes had tightened around her ankles and cut against her skin. Still, just a bit more and she would be able to bring down the file. She nudged the table. Nudged it again. She heard the file scraping closer to the edge. Another bump with her shoulder.
One more shove and down it came with a thud, the point barely missing her leg.
Her hands shook as they closed over it, and she returned to the other side of the room by inching her way along. I can do this.
Once on the dirty straw she leaned against the wall to support her shoulder and provide her feet a break from the pain. She wedged the file behind her hands and commenced to grate the rough edge against the ropes on her wrists. The ropes on her ankles tightened again and she winced. Pain shot through her until she cried out, tears flowing.
“Hey, in there. Keep it down. Ain’t no one out here wants ta hear ya cryin’.”
She gasped. Would they hear her sawing? Taking more care, she began again, one scrape at a time. Too often she missed the rope and rubbed her skin raw. Warm and sticky blood coursed over her. She sucked in her breath. Don’t cry out.
Hours passed, and she continued to work a few minutes and then give her hand a break. But the throbbing overwhelmed her so she knew if she didn’t continue, she never would be able to finish. Footsteps growing fainter and a door closing told her both her captors had vacated the building. She seized the opportunity to cry out until the rope on her wrists gave way.
Releasing her ankles was much easier. They immediately popped loose and she stretched her legs. How good it felt. She stared at the rope burns around her ankles and wrists and gagged. Blood spattered her feet, her hands and the straw around her. Knowing she might only have minutes until they returned, she opened the door slowly, stared into the other room, saw no one and slipped across the floor. She palmed a piece of bread from the table and moved to the door. A quick peek out the window told her they were nowhere in sight.
When she rounded the corner and saw Edgar and his wife, her heart rate spiraled. In an instant, they looked in her direction and she ran until there was no breath left in her body. A glance behind showed her they had not been able to keep up with her or hadn’t recognized it as her in the first place. She slowed for a minute, bent at the waist, hands on her knees, the air coming in slow, deep gasps.
“Hey there, boy.” A constable shouted at her and she spun on her foot and fled. Jumping onto a cart headed in the opposite direction, she snuggled into the straw and sighed. Perhaps they were headed toward Kent Park. She would know soon enough.
* * *
She had fallen asleep and it was now pitch-black. She smelled the sea. Could she be near the coast? Raising her head, she looked in time to see a sloop anchored off the water. As she raised her head to get a better idea of her surroundings, the driver of the cart shrieked at her, and she dropped over the side onto the road.
Where could she hide? The ship. If she hid on board until assured they hadn’t followed her, she might be able to catch a ride back to Kent Park. The danger of such a plan frightened her. Perhaps a church. They would hide her until they could send her home. But what if they didn’t believe her story? The ship was still her best choice. No one would search for her there.
Tired and hungry, she fled in the dark until she was alongside the ship’s gangway. No one in attendance convinced her it was safe to sneak aboard. She padded softly over the wet boards, leaving behind a trail of blood, but she didn’t care. She wanted safety and this seemed a logical option. Her feet burned and her hands, rubbed raw from the cutting, stung. She shrank from the cold, but managed to snatch a dirty cap from the deck. Her heart filled her chest with throbs she couldn’t control. A quick glance around took her to a fold of canvas. Shivering from the cold, she tucked her hair under the cap, crawled under, and in no time at all, she slept.
* * *
Jonathan’s heart pressed into his chest. Would whoever had taken Payton make good on the threat and kill her? His noble stand crumbled as he thought of her alone, wondering why he didn’t save her. He would pay. Whatever they wanted. All they had to do was just bring Payton back. He wasted no more time considering what they might do.
Th
e next morning Jonathan waited in the office to speak with his solicitor and arrange for the money. The man wasn’t overpaid, that was certain. The frugal appearance of the office said he either took care with money or was outright stingy. He had known Joseph Worley for nine years and knew he wasn’t stingy.
With hand already extended, Worley entered the room. “Mr. Lambrick, what brings you to Colchester?”
Jonathan explained the best he could, though his voice rose and fell in sharp gasps that left him choking for more air. Just thinking about Payton’s safety sent coils of pain stretching through him.
“And what makes you think they’ll return her even if you pay?”
His hands formed fists on his thighs. “The person must know me and if he does, he also understands I will kill him if she is hurt in any way.” Forgive me, Lord, but I have to find Payton...alive.
“As your counsel, I must say, I cannot be certain we will be able to have this readied for your time schedule.”
Jonathan reached across the desk and grabbed Worley by his waistcoat, twisting the brocade fabric into a knot. “Make no mistake. You will have the money I need—on time.”
* * *
“See here, Cap’n. We got us a stowaway.” The sail lifted and exposed Payton. She scuttled back on her haunches and folded her arms over her face. “A boy, sir. What’ll we do with ’im?”
“Haul him over the side. We’ll find out how well he swims.” The captain laughed aloud, leaving no doubt he meant business.
“No! Please! I can’t swim.” Payton’s hands clutched at the filthy swabbie who’d hauled her up.
The captain strolled over and clipped Payton under the chin while the man in the worn striped shirt looked on and smiled. “Well, you can’t very well work off your stay. You’re too scrawny for a cabin boy.”
Thank You, God. They think I’m a boy. “I—I’ll just leave. Let me go, please.” She spun on her heel for a quick retreat.
But the captain was too quick. He stepped closer and recognition crossed his face. He reached out and yanked at the front of her jacket.
Bride by Necessity (9781460333907) Page 12
