A smell stung her nostrils as she fought with him.
Then the captain turned her over to the man with the smelly shirt and no tooth in front. Another man, younger, joined them.
“Please. I’m not who you think. The name is Payton Whittard...Lambrick.”
The captain spoke before the others. “See here. I told Whittard I wanted no part of this plan. Why did he send you here?” Three sets of eyes stared at her, waiting for an answer.
She struggled to make sense of his words. He knew Uncle Edgar? “He didn’t send me, sir. I needed somewhere safe to go and hide until I could return home. If you’ll just let me leave, I’ll find a way back. But, please, don’t take me back to Whittard’s cottage.”
The man raked her from head to toe. “I must say, you are a bit weak but with the right clothes and attention, you might make a fine addition for the crew to enjoy.”
She gasped. “Who are you?”
The other man licked his lips and hissed through a great gap in his teeth. “He’s the captain, missy. Captain Jeremiah Dooley.”
“Then, sir, I take you for a gentleman.”
The three men roared louder than lions, each of them grinning wide. The captain slapped his knee. “A gentleman? Did you hear that, boys?”
Payton gazed around the men and saw movement. She realized the sloop rocked on the water. They were already out to sea.
Suddenly she felt the wedge of bread coming up her throat. She turned her head and relieved herself.
* * *
Jonathan’s long strides brought him close to St. Peter’s Church. He looked around for any sign of Payton but kept to the task at hand. Bring her back alive. Five thousand pounds or no five thousand pounds, Payton must be returned to him. Too late he had realized how much she meant to him. He should have protected her long before this.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he recognized a man. He did. Edgar Whittard doing his best to blend into the evening bustle of people in the throes of shopping and selling; Jonathan turned for a better look. The man had disappeared into the crowd. If he was the man behind the ransom, Jonathan would see to it he soon breathed his last.
For now, he entered the church and headed for the poor box. Inside, he placed the satchel of pound notes. He retraced his steps outside and strode straight to the back of the building. Slipping inside, he made his way slowly through the dark to the front, where he waited in a small vestibule for the mangy dog who had Payton.
Minutes passed, and no one entered. When he thought perhaps this had been a fool’s errand, he heard heavy footsteps. He opened the door a crack and watched. As Edgar Whittard forced open the poor box, Jonathan overpowered him. “Where is Payton?”
“Don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”
With his arm wrapped about Edgar’s neck, he tightened his grip until the man’s eyes bulged. “You’ll tell me now or I’ll break your neck.”
“Don’t know. Don’t know,” he croaked the words. “Let go and I’ll tell ya what I heard.”
Jonathan loosened his grip just a mite, barely enough for Whittard to take shallow breaths. “Go on. Tell me!”
“I seen her...come into town disguised like a man on a great...beast of a horse. Ridin’ like the wind. She met up with this woman...fancy lady. I overheard them talkin’. They planned to get money from the master of Kent...they said.” Whittard pulled at Jonathan’s hands, and Jonathan loosened the tension slightly. Air rushed through Whittard’s lips. “Back off. I can’t breathe.”
Jonathan lessened the grasp around Whittard’s throat, though he longed to continue to squeeze. “Don’t try anything.”
“Payton was sailing on a ship for Dorset and the other lady was gettin’ the money and then meetin’ up with her somewhere on the southern coast of the county. They didn’t know I was listenin’ but I was and I figured ta get the money before they did. So I watched the church and beat ’em in here. That’s the truth. All I know.”
“You’re lying!”
“My wife be dead if I’m lyin’. The girl’s no good, I tell ya. She and the high fallutin’ lady, Newcome or some name like that, are just out fer yer money.”
Jonathan released him. Not again. How could he have been fooled again? No. She wouldn’t do what her uncle claimed. He might believe Anne could be a party to this. She’d do anything to get her hands on the money needed to improve Newbury, but not Payton. She loved him. He was sure. And he...loved her.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell ya more about her, but I don’t know nothin’.”
“Ahh, so noble. Yet you would have taken my money quickly enough.”
“I admit. I would that. My wife and me’ve seen hard times. I was hopin’ to have Payton come work for us, that’s all. If you want to find out what happened to my niece, you should talk to that fancy woman if she’s still in town.”
“I intend to do just that.” As he retrieved the satchel, Whittard whirled for escape. Before Jonathan could stop him, Whittard ran through the church and out the back.
In a few minutes, he was back on Templar and tearing through Colchester. Passing the docks, he stopped and sighed. A sloop sliced through the waves. To take a trip with Payton on that magnificent ship, leaving England behind. England and all the misery he’d grown to know as his intimate companion. Right now, he wanted nothing more than home; hopefully, Payton would be waiting there.
* * *
Payton’s eyes welled with tears. Here she sat, the men staring at her. She scrambled to her feet and planted her hands on her hips, but the swaying of the ship sent her back to the rail, where she retched until her stomach calmed. All day she wondered what they would finally do with her. Now, the captain eyed her with cold determination.
“She needs to leave.” The captain shouted orders, and Payton shivered against the cold.
“What’ll we do? Throw her over?”
“You idiot! Not in this water. She’d freeze as soon as she hit.”
“So? What’s it t’us?”
Captain Dooley rubbed his chin and stared at her as if she were a prize turkey. She clutched her arms across her chest and stumbled back.
“T’would solve the problem. No, we can’t. Her folks’ll hunt us down. I’m not one looking for trouble. I’ve enough chasing me. We’ll just turn around and drop her over the side.”
She took a step back, but the rail stopped her. “What are you going to do? You said I’d freeze in the water!”
“Not what I would be disposed to do, pretty miss, if you stayed aboard.” His eyes twinkled, and she sucked back a shaky breath. “I s’pose there’s a bit of that gentleman in me, after all. You’ll have but a short swim.”
She quivered under the leather jacket and longed to collapse onto the deck and cry, but she wouldn’t allow them the pleasure of her fear.
“You can’t throw me over.”
“You would rather stay and be entertainment for my men?”
Dear God. Help me out of here. I will do whatever You say, but please, help me find my way home. Payton drew up and brushed at her clothes. “Very well. Jonah did it, so shall I.”
Captain Dooley held out his hand. “We’ll take you as close as we can, but I’ll not drop anchor. You’ll have a ways to swim.” He tossed a cloak to her and insisted she warm as much as possible before the plunge. “Let me fetch you a bite to eat for strength. The best I can do, miss. I won’t find myself in trouble for your running off.”
Chapter 13
How could he rest when Payton was in danger? God, I know I’ve not been a praying man, but I need You with me. I must find her. This isn’t her fault and she deserves better. Keep her safe. And please help me.
Templar pulled alongside the stable and Jonathan jumped to the ground before the animal fully stopped. “Any sign of Payton?”
/> “No, sir. None.”
“Take care of Templar.”
“You haven’t found her, either, sir?”
“No.” He kicked at a rock on the ground and knew he would never rest until he found Payton. “Get Storm ready. I’ll leave again in two hours.” He hated to ride his best horses so hard, but what choice did he have? Templar and Storm were the strongest horseflesh in the county.
Thus far the key to all of Payton’s troubles had been Edgar Whittard. Had Anne truly been involved also? He would learn the truth. One way or the other. He had to learn what happened to her.
* * *
Swirling, dirty water filled her ears, her eyes and her mouth as she fought to stay afloat. Her teeth clacked together so hard, she was afraid they might break. Not much farther. The captain had been as good as his word and had brought the sloop around as closely as possible. She had been in the water less than ten minutes with naught but a piece of wood to keep her from sinking. She spied faint lights and heard the noise of a busy dock. Would she be safe coming out of the water in this part of town? No choice. The need to get warm, and fast, spurred her on.
Jonathan. She wanted Jonathan. He could not have been part of this. Of that she was sure. But who might assist her, believe her story? The church? Could she find her way to the church before Edgar found her? She wished she’d chosen the church earlier.
Cold, dark water continued to tug at her legs and arms and pulled at her heavy, wet clothes. In an instant, the chill overcame her and she bobbed under as everything grew black.
* * *
Voices flowed in and out of her head. A woman’s voice, a man’s. She tried to speak, but the words drifted and distorted through her senses.
“Where are you from, dearie? Can we fetch family for ya’?”
The man’s voice floated on more brutal terms. “Maybe she’s a runaway. A kid. How about if she works for us? Could give you a break from time to time, Emma.”
Payton coughed up water and pulled herself to a sitting position. “I have family in town,” she lied. “I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yerself.” The woman, draped in scraps that barely covered her ample body, watched as the man walked away. He had a proper hat on his head, but his jacket, frayed and dirty, was at least two sizes too small.
In a threatening voice, he shouted over his shoulder, “Back to work, Emma Jean. I don’t pay you to sit on yer arse.”
“Here.” Emma offered a piece of something brown to Payton and she accepted it warily, hunger the deciding factor. “You should find your folks. If he comes back and you’re still here...”
“Thank you.” She ate the doughy substance and surveyed her surroundings for any sign of familiarity. The poorest part of town winked at her like a beacon. After walking for little more than half an hour, she recognized her uncle’s street. A carriage, unlikely in this area, rumbled over the cobblestones, leaving the avenue. When it drew near her, she heard a woman’s voice. “Payton? Is that you? Driver, stop!” Anne Newbury leaned from the carriage.
“Miss Newbury. Oh, Anne. Please help me.” Within seconds, Payton leaned against double cushions and had a robe tucked about her. “Please take me home.”
Anne patted her hand. “You can’t go home like this. Driver, back to Newbury immediately.” Payton watched a rusty stain coil about Anne’s white glove.
“Are you all right? Did you harm yourself?” Payton asked.
“Nothing for you to worry about, dear. Get some sleep if you can.”
Payton’s eyes closed. “But I want Jonathan.”
“Tomorrow, after we’ve taken care to make you strong. Right now, you need sleep and Newbury is closer than Kent. I’ll see that Jonathan gets word.”
* * *
Storm’s hooves crackled against the frosty leaves as horse and rider pounded the open highway to Colchester. Jonathan, after being talked into some hot broth and a short rest before departing, was refreshed enough to see this to the end. Storm snorted and reared when they jumped a fallen branch in the road, but Jonathan held tight. Absolutely no way had Payton been involved in this blackmail. This smelled of Edgar Whittard. Was he bright enough to plan such an intricate plot by himself? Or had Whittard found help? Surely not Anne. Not after the history of the families, yet, she seemed the only likely one who might have had a part in Payton’s abduction. He didn’t want to believe it.
The sun had set quickly and it grew more difficult to see the way.
“Whoa, boy. We’re all right. Easy now.” If only he could convince himself of the same advice. Whoa, boy, yourself. It’s all going to be all right. Take it an hour at a time until you discover her whereabouts. With heart hammering, his chest ached with each bout of puffing and panting in the rush to discover Payton. Now atop Storm, he couldn’t relax a measure.
Stars soon sparkled in a clear sky, creating an easier journey than would have been expected. As Jonathan drew near Colchester, he saw the first faint light of dawn appear on the horizon. Reining Storm in, he guided them slowly toward the center of town. After asking around, he discovered Edgar’s dwelling situated five streets closer to the docks.
Once next to the entrance of the run-down shamble of a cottage, he leaped off the horse’s back and landed hard on his knee. Bending to rub it, he stared at the door to the Whittards’.
Tethering Storm, he spun on his heel and determined how to approach Whittard. In spite of the pain, he covered the walk in two strides. Planting himself firmly in front, he pounded on the door, not caring whether he disturbed the owners on either side. Nothing. When he rapped again, the door gave under his hand and he pressed forward.
“Whittard?” He entered, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. He tripped over something on the floor and bent to see what it was. “Man! What happened to you?” He nudged the man’s body. Fat legs stuck into the room. An old woman in worse condition lay sprawled across the floor. Finally cheated the wrong man, no doubt. Or perhaps the wrong woman?
With the possibility of Anne’s involvement, Jonathan hurriedly let himself out and retrieved Storm’s reins. With a groan, he hoisted his leg over the animal’s back and headed out of town, straight to Newbury.
* * *
Payton leaned against Anne as they both wobbled up the stairs.
“Lynette! Bring fresh linens. And hurry, foolish girl!”
Anne’s words were harsh. She obviously didn’t care a whit about the servants. Perhaps she worried about Payton. Perhaps not.
“We’ll have you settled soon. Trust me, Payton. I shall take care of you.”
Within the hour, Payton snuggled into a bed with warm, soft covers that slipped against her like a second skin; the maidservant hovered for any sign of a request. Payton gazed into the frightened face and said, “Thank you for your care. You’ve been so kind.”
The girl’s eyes bugged as she curtseyed and bobbed unnaturally in a manner Payton assumed she must do on a daily basis. “Well, I... Thank you...miss. You need anything, just ring the bell, and I’ll come runnin’.”
She barely spoke the words before Payton’s eyes closed. “The name is...Mrs. Lambrick, Lynette.”
Later, when the door opened quietly, she heard, “I think she’s awake, mum.”
“You are not paid to think, Lynette.”
Payton struggled through the fog of heavy sleep and wondered at Anne’s disagreeable nature. She hated seeing that side of her but assumed it was out of concern. “Anne, thank you for all your help, but I want to go back to Kent.”
“Nonsense. You’re in no condition. Here now, my physician came while you were sleeping. He left this powder for you. He said you would sleep the sleep of the dead. No arguing. Take it at once.” Anne took a glass from the stand, filled it with water and added the powder. “You will sleep most of the morning and then, if you’re well, I’ll tak
e you home.”
Payton accepted the glass and finished most of it. “Thank you. Jonathan and I both thank you.”
“I’ll bring up a tray in a few minutes if you’re still awake. No one else shall care for you from now on.”
“But Lynette is goodness itself.”
Anne shook her head. “I am family, dear. I’ll see to your needs.”
Payton’s sleep came quickly but with distress. She awoke time and again to the sound of anxious noises. Jonathan? Did she hear his deep, warm voice? “Jonathan? Is that you?”
She couldn’t fight her sleep-filled eyes.
* * *
Jonathan broached no nonsense. “But why would she leave?”
“I told you, Jonathan. I met Mr. Whittard at a carriage stop. He acted so strangely. Then, he divulged Payton’s plan to try and secure enough money to run away. He said the entire plot with him started as her idea. She did not want to have to stay at Kent. I have no way of knowing how she contacted him. A woman plotting a man’s demise is foreign to my nature. She was to pay Whittard half of what she collected. Such betrayal, Jonathan.”
He rose and moved to the fireplace mantle, where he stood a long while before speaking. “The time has come for you to know about Alithea.”
“Alithea? We were speaking of Payton Whittard. Jonathan, why do you frown so, and why are you bringing up my dead sister?”
Why indeed? Did he believe all women contrived to plot against him? Alithea? Payton? He stared long at Anne’s face, her features unyielding. He could trust no one. “You need to be made aware of what happened the night Alithea ran away.”
“Jonathan, I know what happened.”
He drew his chair closer to her. “No, but before this day is over, you will. Perhaps then, we can be completely open with one another.”
* * *
Payton stumbled to the top of the stairs. When she leaned against the rail, it wobbled under her hand. Jonathan had been correct in saying that Newbury needed a man’s attention. And his money.
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