by Henke, Shirl
Derrick had torn open the ties holding the packets and could see that one was his letters to Beth, but the other packet was letters sent by her to him in London. “Why did he not want us to communicate?” he said more to himself than to the sheriff as he tore open the first of her letters.
“It was not the baron, m’lord. ” Now Bosley's face grew quite red. “After I received these, I felt duty bound to go to Wharton Hall and question the staff. It seems the baron only wanted to read them, then pass them on after he learned the contents... Several of the servants accused the former countess of holding back the letters.”
Bella's jealousy. Yes, it made tragic sense, he supposed. If he and Beth were gone, she could wed Bertie and once more resume what she believed to be her rightful place. He thanked the sheriff for performing his duty so well and dismissed him after making it clear that the baron and former countess had attacked his wife,who was an innocent victim in their conspiracy. Apologizing profusely for ever suspecting Lady Elizabeth of wrongdoing, Bosley departed.
Derrick sat down to read her letters. How lonely she had been. He'd exiled her, then seemed to desert her with callous disregard for her feelings. Her appeals had begun earnestly, much as his had—and much as his had, her letters took on sharper tones each time there was no response. But was he reading too much between the lines when he dared to hope that she wanted to be his wife and looked forward to the birth of their child? The only way to find out was to speak with her, to offer her the freedom to leave him and their daughter if she wished to do so...and then pray she would stay.
Slowly he approached her quarters, his heart hammering in his chest so loudly that he feared she would hear it over his knock on her door. When she did not answer, he turned the knob and pushed the heavy oak panel open. She was not in the small sitting room. Years of instinct told him that she was not in the bedroom either. But a small envelope with his name on it sat propped against the candlestick on the table in plain sight.
A feeling of intense foreboding swept over him as he tore it open and extracted the letter, reading:
My Dearest Derrick,
Please forgive my taking the coward's way out, hut it seemed easier. I possess the courage to write what 1 could never say directly to your face, for I know your stubborn sense of duty would force you to bid me stay when we both know it is best that I leave. I have become even more of an embarrassment to you than I was in London. Bertie and Annabella's deaths will fuel the gossip mills across the nation and I shall be at the heart of it. Please believe that I intended no harm to either of them. The servants will verify what went on just prior to Vittoria’s birth. I am taking her with me since I cannot bear to be parted from her. She will only grow up to be a wanton hoyden like her mother. If I had borne your heir, I do not know if I would have possessed the courage to leave him behind. Perhaps 'tis an omen, that I did not have to make such a painful decision, for I surely would have stayed rather than lose my child. Now you may have a dutiful English wife from a noble family, a woman who will make you happy as I could not. There is nothing to stand in the way of that happiness now.
Beth
She had added a postscript, explaining that she had sent for Constance and her nursemaid and begged Derrick to allow Tilda to continue to care for his niece now that the little girl would be his ward.
As always, puss, I have completely misunderstood and underestimated you.
How long could she have been gone? Frantically, he tore down the stairs, yelling for Mistress Widlow to assemble the entire staff. In moments, he knew that she had not been seen since the preceding evening, having instructed Donita to bring a tray to her quarters at half past six. The maid tearfully confessed under his daunting interrogation that her mistress had set out for Bowness, the nearest small port, so that she could arrange passage to Liverpool, where Blackthorne Shipping had offices.
* * * *
The small seaport was just beginning to show signs of life when she reached the waterfront. She'd driven by the light of a full moon until it set, then fed Vittoria and dozed in the carriage until sunrise. Feeling unutterably weary and sad, she surveyed the small coastal trawlers bobbing in the tiny harbor. The smells of ocean brine, fish and early morning fog were familiar, reminding her fleetingly of Naples.
But she must not think of that, for to do so would bring memories of Derrick and she could not bear it. She had taken only the jewelry she owned, leaving behind all the Jamison heirlooms for his new bride, including her wedding ring. If the money she had brought along was not sufficient, she hoped the glitter of an opal brooch would be impressive enough to convince a simple fisherman to make the long passage south.
As a safety precaution, she carried not only her old stiletto from Naples but also the small Parker pocket pistol that had been a gift from her brother Rob when she'd left Savannah. A woman alone with an infant would be at best a curiosity and a scandal, but at worst she might attract thieves or rapists. Because this was a small, hardworking community, she doubted there would be trouble. Percy remained close by her side after she climbed from the carriage. The village shacks were rundown and dirty, reeking of fresh fish and old poverty.
She did not see the tall shadow of the figure following at a discreet distance. He observed as she approached the lone fisherman sitting at the bow of an old craft that looked not at all seaworthy. Blessing the good fortune that had sent her his way, he waited until the man told her what he had been paid to say. Beth turned and headed for a large deserted-looking shack standing some distance from the rest.
Having been informed not to knock but simply to enter and call upstairs, she cautiously opened the creaking door and stepped inside. He did the same from the rear, blinking his bright green eyes until they became accustomed to the dim light.
“Hello,” Beth called up the rickety stairs. The place was filthy, with thick dust and cobwebs everywhere. If not for the candle on the desk, she'd think the fisherman had misinformed her. The pistol hidden in her cloak pocket gave her a measure of confidence, but she knew that she could do little to defend herself while holding Vittoria. Just as she took a step toward the table to place her daughter on it and instruct Percy to guard her, the dog began to growl.
“Tie the beast to that post, else I'll be forced to kill him,” Liam Quinn said conversationally as he stepped out from a hallway of the old warehouse. He sighted in on Percy with one of the ornately engraved Neapolitan Miquelet-lock pistols he had carried as a corsair. Another of the deadly weapons was in his left hand, pointed at Vittoria.
“The baron is dead, Quinn,” she managed in a far calmer voice than she felt. “He cannot pay you, nor can Annabella. She's dead, too.”
He shrugged, drawing slowly closer, then stopping far enough back so the dog could not get a running jump at him. “Alas, a pity, that. I would have been paid double. Now I shall just have to settle for the price Kasseim promised me. Perhaps I'll get a bonus for bringing him your girl child. He can have her trained to be a much more proper odalisque than you.”
Beth fought the surge of nausea that swamped her at the mention of such a fate for her innocent daughter. Think! You have a pistol and a dagger. Get Vittoria out of the line of fire.
She commanded Percy to sit and stay, then laid her baby on the floor by his side. ”I have nothing with which to tie him,” she said in what she hoped was the dull voice of defeat, starting to move away from them.
“Not so fast, sweeting. Stay close by your little one's side just as a good mother should always do...you are a good mother, are you not?” he asked as he tossed a length of rope at her feet.
“My husband will pay you more than Kasseim,” she bargained. Quinn was without principles, but not without sense.
He laughed aloud. “The earl would hoist me by my balls if given the chance. He does have the devil's own luck. Have you any idea how many attempts on his life have failed since his dear cousin finally learned he was in Naples?”
“You're afraid of him.” Perhaps anger
would cause him to become careless. But Quinn only watched her closely, seeing that the knots fastened to the dog's collar were secure. She was three steps from Vittoria. This might be her best opportunity for a shot without endangering her daughter.
“I would have liked nothing better than to kill another Englishman, most particularly an earl, but a duel in London would not have been...expedient. This is the better revenge—taking his woman from him. I have been waiting and watching you since winter's chill. Imagine my delight when you rode off with your babe and no man to protect you. Your earl's servants kept a close leash on you until now.
“He was the lover you pined for when first we met, was he not?” Quinn studied her for a moment, then said, “I thought so. If I had killed him, a swift version of English justice would have been meted out to an Irishman.”
“If you had succeeded in killing my husband, I would have been the one to mete out justice,” she said through gritted teeth, reaching into the pocket of her cloak.
He suddenly shifted his attention from the dog to her. “Remove whatever weapons you have hidden on your person and toss them on the floor. I know better than to repeat the mistake of my hapless crew members.” His left hand leveled a pistol directly on the baby.
“This is all I have,” she said, throwing the pistol on the floor. “Take me, but leave my daughter here. Kasseim won't want her.” She was certain he would refuse, but she needed to get close enough to him to pull the dagger from her garter. “I'll do anything you wish,” she said in a low husky voice as she took a step nearer.
“I do believe you will at that,” he replied with a leer. “And the tiny colleen will insure your good behavior. Pick her up and walk quietly with me. My ship is waiting just the other side of the harbor.”
* * * *
Derrick arrived in Bowness by early morning. Please,God, let me be in time, he prayed as he had never before prayed until his desperate ride from London. The village people were not forthcoming to a stranger. At first he was met with only sullen stares and bare deference for his rank.
“Please, I beg you, if you've seen anything at all, tell me. All I wish is to see my family safe,” he urged one small woman, frailly thin with shoulders stooped by a harsh life and four small ones borne before she'd reached the age of twenty and widowhood.
”Ye might speak t' Pike. 'E's an old un, too old t' fish, but he gets up ‘fore t' sun 'n' mends nets fer t' others.”
Pike was a gnarled old salt whose body bore testimony to the harshness of wind, sun and cruel winter's chill. His rheumy eyes measured the earl as Derrick described his wife and explained that she had their infant daughter and a King Charles spaniel with her. He did not like the crafty glint in the old man's eyes. To save time he pulled a sack of coins from his belt and shook it, then tossed it at Pike.
The fisherman hefted the sack and opened it, then grunted in satisfaction. “I thought a bleedin' earl'd 'ave more blunt 'n' a damn paddy,” he said with a cackle.
Derrick could not restrain himself. He seized the old sailor by his frayed shirt collar, choking him. “There was an Irishman after her?” he roared.
“Aye, big un 'e was, w' ‘air red as sunset,” Pike answered.
Quinn! “What did he do with her? Tell me everything or I'll kill you, and you won't die quickly.”
The threat was all the more fearsome for the sudden softness of the earl's voice. Pike explained what Quinn had paid him to do and directed him to the deserted warehouse, pleading that he knew nothing more.
It had been but half an hour since she'd vanished into the old building. Derrick's mount skidded on the rocky ground as he leaped from the saddle and pushed to the door. He could hear furious barking coming from inside. He jerked the Ferguson breech-loader from his saddle, holding the rifle ready as he entered. Percy strained against the heavy rope securing him to a support post in the center of the room.
After checking to be certain no one was about, he approached the dog, whose neck was bleeding from his futile attempt to break free of the restraint. Patting Percy's head, he spoke soothingly to calm the frantic animal as he cut the rope. “Percival, you leather-loving flea bag, if you can lead me to her, I will gladly allow you to chew every pair of boots I own, even buy you Hoby’s cobbler shop on Piccadilly!”
The spaniel took off in a dead run after his mistress. Derrick followed on horseback, searching the horizon for signs of Beth, his heart hammering with sheer terror. What if Percy made a mistake? What could be over the rise...except Quinn's ship! He kicked the gelding into a hard gallop and bypassed the dog. If the Irishman called for help from his crew...it did not bear thinking of.
Quinn heard the sounds of hoofbeats clattering up the opposite side of the hill, then the barking of that infernal dog. He should have shot it back in the village but feared the noise might have brought attention to them. Shoving Beth to the ground, he commanded, “Stay down and hold the colleen or I’ll be forced to harm her.”
Beth did as he bid, hunching over Vittoria while at the same time reaching beneath her skirt to the dagger concealed in her garter. She recognized Percy's loud barking echoing over the barren landscape yet dared not hope as her eyes scanned the horizon, but there he was—Derrick! She watched her husband rein in his horse and raise his rifle to fire at Quinn's tall figure, but the Irishman was quick for a man of his size. As Derrick's shot whizzed by him, he dived to the ground, seizing the baby and knocking Beth down beside him.
“Drop the rifle and the pistols in your sash, Englishman! ” he yelled as Beth crawled toward him with the dagger hidden in her hand.
Derrick could see his daughter's small body in Quinn's big hands and tossed aside the breech-loader as Percy came racing past him. Quinn's attention was diverted to the approaching dog, and he fired one of his Miguelet-lock pistols but missed. Cursing, he withdrew another pistol from his sash and fired again. Percy went down as Beth leaped upon Quinn, grabbing for Vittoria, who was wailing loudly now as they struggled.
Unable to get a clear shot, Derrick rode toward them, one of his powerful stubby-barreled Clark pistols ready to fire at the first opening. He jumped from the horse, but Quinn maintained his hold on the screaming baby. “Shoot me and I'll throw her against the rocks ‘ere I go down,” he said.
Beth stilled at once, the dagger in her hand clutched tightly, knowing she could not inflict sufficient damage quickly enough to keep Quinn from doing as he said.
Derrick tossed both of his pistols to the ground. “You ran like a coward in London. Surely one mere Englishman does not frighten you ...or do l? “'he taunted, steeling himself to focus past the baby's cries and Beth's chalk-white face.
Quinn appeared to consider for a moment. They were near enough to the inlet for the shots to have carried. Selim would come to investigate. “I always welcome the opportunity to kill an Englishman,” he said with a roar of laughter, slipping an ugly curved blade with a serrated edge from his belt.
“Derrick, no!” Beth had seen how weakened his condition was when he'd collapsed at the Hall. Quinn would kill him with merciless glee and it was all her fault.
“Take Vittoria and stay back,” Derrick instructed Beth as he slipped his dagger from his boot, ready to face the Irishman.
“Come, take your colleen,” Quinn purred to Beth, his eyes never leaving Derrick.
She walked around Quinn from the back to reach out for her daughter. If she could only place the baby on the ground, then she could attack him from behind with one of her husband's pistols. But as she felt the precious weight in her hands, the Irishman spun away from her, closing with Derrick. The men began circling each other, taut as big cats ready to pounce. Beth hurried to find a safe hiding place for the baby behind a rocky outcrop a dozen yards away. Then she returned, watching for an opening in which to seize one of the discarded pistols and use it.
“Fate cheated me out of my pleasure when I captured her, but I intend to enjoy your lady on the long voyage back to Algiers, your lordship. Then 'twill be Kas
seim's turn. She should have let him take her, not made a fool of him, drugging him. That way, perhaps he would have forgotten her,” Quinn taunted as Derrick's blade nicked his long arm, and he glided backward as if stalling for time.
“You're a privy-mouthed bastard, even for an Irish mercenary,” Derrick gritted out, stunned by Quinn's unwitting revelation. Why had Beth not told him the truth about them? The bitter answer to his question came instantly: You would not have believed her if she had.
Beth was startled by the corsair's confession, wondering if Derrick believed him but far more concerned that the shock of Quinn's announcement would give him another advantage over her husband, who was gradually weakening. Could the Irishman see it? As she edged very carefully around the men to where her husband's discarded pistols lay, Beth watched the contest, her breath catching each time Quinn's blade came close to Derrick.
Derrick was tiring and he knew it. He sensed more than saw Beth moving to get his pistols and thanked God that she was a sensible American, taught to handle weapons, not an English drawing-room miss who would not have the faintest notion of how to kill a man.
Quinn's reach gave him several inches' advantage over Derrick, but the Englishman had survived by speed and cunning for many years. He knew a trick or two himself. He waited until Beth reached his pistols and scooped them up, checking the primer pans to see that they would still fire after being dropped on the rocky ground. When Quinn shifted his blade for an instant, repositioning himself, Derrick glanced at Beth. The Irishman took the bait and pivoted away on the ball of one foot, certain Beth was coming at his back.
