The Traitor's Club: Ford

by Laura Landon

  Ford shook his head. No, they weren’t imagining a loss. He’d seen the steady decrease in profits over the past two years himself. Something was definitely off-kilter.

  Finally, at nearly three in the afternoon, he closed the ledgers and replaced them in the wooden cabinet where Callie kept them.

  “Are you ready to leave?” he asked, noticing she was also stacking her papers and putting everything in a drawer in her desk.

  “Yes. In fact, I think we may have kept William waiting.”

  Ford helped Lady Calinda lock the office, then walked with her to the carriage that waited patiently at the corner. He assisted Callie up the carriage step, then followed her.

  Just as his own foot settled on the step, he stopped. A fierce contradiction overtook him as he tried to return the brilliant smile Lady Calinda turned toward him. But words wouldn’t form, and his face wouldn’t work as a fiery bolt slammed into his left shoulder. It took him a second to register the muffled pop he heard.

  “Go!” he yelled as he threw himself into the carriage.

  “Ford?” Callie’s voice faded in and out as the carriage lurched forward. “Was that a gunshot?”

  Ford couldn’t answer. The pain was too great. He struggled to remain upright, but the burning made movement almost impossible.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  “Shoulder,” he gasped. “42 Sutter Street. Take me to . . . 42 Sutter Street.”

  Callie yelled out the address, and William answered that he’d heard her. Then she slid from the side of the carriage where she’d been sitting to where he was half lying across the opposite seat. “I have to remove your coat, Captain. I must see where you’re injured.”

  Ford tried to help her but the pain was worsening, and he’d lost enough blood that he feared he’d lose consciousness.

  Finally, he was at least half out of his coat, and she’d removed his cravat. “This is going to hurt,” she said, then pressed his cravat against the wound.

  Ford clenched his teeth to prevent his crying out, but all that it accomplished was to turn his bellow of pain into a muffled moan.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it hurts, but I have to stop the bleeding.”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” he lied.

  “I’m glad, Captain, because it’s going to hurt worse when I press harder.”

  And it did.

  . . .

  Callie nearly cried out in relief when the carriage slowed, then stopped. The conveyance rocked when William jumped to the ground. Callie turned when the carriage door opened and found herself looking into the face of surely the second-most handsome man in all creation . . . next to Ford, of course.

  “Help me get him into the house,” the man ordered William.

  William took Ford’s feet while the stranger locked his arms beneath Ford’s upper body, then together they carried him into the house and placed him on a table in a small dining area. The stranger’s first move was to reach behind him to a side table and pour a generous amount of amber liquid into a glass. He held the glass to Ford’s lips and let him drink. When Ford finished swallowing almost half of the liquid from the glass, the stranger lowered Ford back to the table.

  “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Captain?”

  Callie thought Ford attempted to put a smile on his face, but a stabbing of pain turned the smile to a grimace.

  “I needed a reason to . . . visit you, and . . . this was the . . . only excuse I could . . . think of.”

  “Hell,” Ford’s friend answered. He removed Ford’s coat and threw it in the corner, then tore the shirt from Ford’s body. The man turned his head until his gaze locked with hers. “I’ll need water,” he said as an order. “And any clean cloths you can find in the cupboards. The kitchen is down the hall and to your right.”

  Callie turned to do the stranger’s bidding, but William’s voice stopped her. “I’ll go, my lady.”

  Ford’s friend’s eyebrow’s shot up. “My apologies, my lady.”

  Callie nodded in response. “What else do you need?” she asked.

  “Make the captain drink more,” he said, glancing at the glass on the table.

  Callie held the glass to Ford’s lips and encouraged him to drink.

  “You can call my . . . rude friend Hugh, Callie.”

  “It’s a pleasure . . . Hugh.”

  “Likewise, my lady.”

  Callie reached for Ford’s hand and held it. His eyes were filled with such intense pain that it sucked the air from her lungs.

  This was her fault. If she hadn’t asked for Ford’s help, this wouldn’t have happened. The questions he’d asked on the docks had no doubt alerted the thieves, and now they wanted him dead.

  “Help me turn him over so I can see how large a hole someone put in his back,” Hugh ordered.

  Ford was shirtless, and Callie had no choice but to place her hands on his exposed flesh.

  “The lady possibly saved your life, my friend,” Hugh said after he examined the jagged wound on Ford’s shoulder. “You could have bled to death had she not stopped the bleeding.”

  Ford gave Callie’s fingers a weak squeeze.

  Thankfully, William entered the room with water and cloths, and Callie wiped the blood from Ford’s back while Hugh filled the glass with more liquor and held it to Ford’s lips. Ford drank greedily, knowing that liquor was the only thing that would help dull what his friend was about to do to him.

  “Get the area as clean as you can,” Hugh ordered, then turned to William. “There’s a bedroom on the opposite side of the house. Strip the sheets and blankets from the bed and bring a pillow or two.”

  William rushed from the room.

  “I need some supplies. I’ll return in a moment,” Hugh said as he turned from the table where Ford lay. “Get as much whiskey down him as you can.”

  Ford’s friend was gone before she could answer.

  “I’m sorry,” Callie whispered when she was alone with Ford. “I didn’t—”

  “This isn’t your . . . fault. Don’t blame . . . yourself.”

  Callie swiped at the tears that spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, then she held the glass to Ford’s lips as he drank. When William returned, he helped her place a pillow beneath Ford’s head, then covered him with a thin blanket.

  Perspiration glistened on Ford’s forehead, and Callie wiped it away with a damp cloth. She reached for the glass of liquor again and held it to his lips. He was taking his last swallow when his friend came back.

  “Are you a doctor?” Callie asked when the man Ford had called Hugh placed a tray of instruments on the table beside Ford.

  The man laughed. “Hardly. I simply enjoy inflicting pain.”

  The two words Ford spoke as an answer were slurred, so Callie wasn’t sure she understood what he’d said, but she knew it wasn’t something she wanted to hear repeated.

  When Hugh was ready, he placed his hand on Ford’s uninjured shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want more whiskey, friend?”

  Ford shook his head. “Just get this . . . over with.”

  Hugh’s fingers tightened again on Ford’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, then he reached for an instrument from his tray.

  “I’d like to say this is going to hurt me more than it is you, but . . .”

  Hugh dug for the bullet that was lodged in Ford’s shoulder while Ford’s pain-filled moan echoed through the room. And as the day moved into evening, Callie never once left Ford’s side.

  CHAPTER 9

  Callie sat in a chair at Ford’s bedside and held his hand. Even though it was only yesterday that he’d been shot, she thought it could have been only a few minutes ago. She would never forget the shocked look on his face when the bullet tore through his flesh. She’d never felt so helpless—or terrified—in her life.

  Much had happened over the past twenty-four hours. She’d discovered that the man who’d dug the bullet from Ford’s shoulder was a fellow
officer, Lieutenant Hugh Wythers. They were unmistakably close friends, and even though Lieutenant Wythers had made light of Ford’s wound and tried to convince Callie that it was nothing more than a scratch, it was obvious the lieutenant was concerned about Ford’s condition.

  The fact that he came to check on Ford so often to make certain he hadn’t developed a fever told her as much.

  Callie couldn’t stay with Ford and allowed William to drive her home once she was reasonably assured he’d be alright. Still, she paced her bedroom the entire night. She was terrified that when she arrived this morning, she’d find Ford burning with a raging fever. Or worse, find that he’d died.

  She’d stepped to the ground before the carriage had come to a complete stop, then raced up the walk to Lieutenant Wythers’ townhouse. She ran up the stairs to the bedroom where they’d moved Ford last night and opened the door. She was so relieved to learn that he hadn’t developed a fever that she couldn’t stop the rivers of tears from spilling down her cheeks.

  She’d stayed as late as she dared the night before and made the excuse that she was unwell so her mother would pardon her from attending the function with Nora. Then, this morning, she’d met her grandfather at breakfast before any of the family had risen for the day and made him promise not to go near the shipping office today.

  He said he’d do as she asked, but in return he expected her to tell him why. He informed her he’d known something was wrong for months and expected her to tell him what it was.

  Callie promised that she would in time, and she intended to keep her promise. Just not today. Not until she knew more. Not until she could prove who had shot Ford.

  Things had more than escalated. They’d turned deadly. Whoever was stealing from the shipping company showed they were capable of murder.

  Callie intended to stay with Ford throughout the day. She wouldn’t leave until it was time to check on the admiral. She rose to rinse a cloth in cool water and placed it on Ford’s forehead. The door opened, and she cast a look over her shoulder to see Hugh Wythers entering the room.

  “I brought you some tea, my lady,” he said, setting down a tea tray piled prettily with pastries. “You need to eat. The staff says you’ve hardly eaten a thing.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I’m—”

  “Please, call me Hugh, and at least have a cup of tea,” he said, bringing over the tea tray.

  Callie finished wiping Ford’s forehead, then poured two cups of tea. She handed the lieutenant a cup before she sat down with her own. The cup had a heft and design that spoke more of a bachelor’s choice than something she would expect to find in a lady’s drawing room. She took a sip, then lifted her gaze. “How did you and Captain Remington become acquainted?”

  Lieutenant Wythers smiled. “I feel as if we’ve always known each other. We both have a connection to Society, and when we joined Her Majesty’s dragoons, Ford and I, along with Jeb Danvers and Caleb Parker, were selected to do special projects for the army.”

  “You were selected as spies,” Callie said, somehow knowing that’s what Ford had been.

  The lieutenant lifted the corners of his mouth to form a heart-stopping smile. “Yes, we were spies, although we call it our traitor’s club.”

  “Traitors? Why a club of traitors?”

  “Because in our line of work we were often forced to feign disloyalty to England. To declare ourselves in such a way that we would be seen as traitors to the Queen. We therefore became a band of traitors.”

  “I see,” Callie said.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

  Callie turned her attention from Ford and concentrated on Lieutenant Hugh Wythers.

  “What was Ford doing that got him shot?”

  Callie placed her teacup on the table beside her and clasped her hands in her lap. “He was helping me.”

  A frown furrowed Hugh’s forehead. “Go on.”

  “My grandfather is the Marquess of Brougham. He might be better known to you as Admiral Barclave.”

  “The Admiral Barclave?”

  “Yes.” Callie couldn’t stop a smile from forming on her face. “The Admiral Barclave. Because of my grandfather’s heroism during the war, he was awarded half interest in the Crown’s Shipping Company. Her Majesty owns the other half of the company.”

  She turned her gaze to check on Ford, then turned back to the lieutenant. “I help my grandfather run the office, and—”

  “You, my lady?”

  “Yes. It’s something the admiral asked me to do and something I found I enjoyed. I keep the ledgers and help compile and arrange the shipping orders. We have two clipper ships that sail to China with textiles, copper, and tin, and return with cargoes of tea, and a third ship—not a clipper—that sails to the West Indies.”

  Callie tightened her fingers in her lap. “A little more than a year ago, the company profits began diminishing. At first it wasn’t by much, and I wasn’t concerned. But over time . . .”

  “Someone is stealing from you, and you hired Ford to help you discover who.”

  “Actually, Captain Remington volunteered to help.”

  “I see.”

  Callie heard a note of skepticism in Hugh’s voice, but it made no sense, and she chose to ignore it. She cleared her throat as she cast a gaze to where Ford lay unconscious on the bed. “We were leaving the shipping office for the day. Ford . . . that is, Captain Remington, had spoken to several people on the docks, including the captain of one of the clipper ships owned by the company.”

  Callie stopped. She swallowed past the lump in her throat but found it difficult to continue.

  Hugh rose from his chair. “Evidently Ford asked the right person the wrong question and got a bullet as an answer.”

  “Yes.” Callie rose and rinsed a cloth in the water again, then placed it on Ford’s forehead. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t—”

  “Unless you pulled the trigger, Lady Calinda, and shot Ford yourself, none of this is your fault.”

  The words could have been spoken by Ford. He would have told her the same—that his getting shot wasn’t her fault. But that didn’t erase the guilt she felt. She was about to tell Ford’s friend that very thing, but a slight movement from the bed interrupted her. Callie placed her hands on Ford’s back to keep him from moving too much.

  “Lie still, Ford,” she whispered. “Don’t move.”

  “Callie?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Are you . . . all right?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Yes, Ford. I’m fine.”

  “Hugh?”

  “Right here, Captain.”

  Lieutenant Wythers stepped close to the bed with a glass in his hand. “Here, drink some of this.”

  “What—”

  “Just drink.” He held the glass to Ford’s lips, and he drank.

  “Does the admiral . . . know?” Ford asked when he’d lowered his head to the pillow.

  Callie sat beside him on the bed. When he could see her clearly, she shook her head. “I told him you’d suffered an accident and were recuperating. He knows something’s wrong because I made him promise not to go to the docks today, but I couldn’t tell him. I’m afraid of what he might do.”

  “That’s . . . wise.”

  The lieutenant stood close. “Can I get you anything, Ford?”

  “No. I’m just so . . . tired.”

  “Then you need to sleep,” Callie said. “I must check on the admiral in a short while, but I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  Ford closed his eyes and took several harsh breaths. “Bring the ledgers and . . . bills of . . . lading when you . . . come.”

  Callie reached out and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over Ford’s forehead. “I will. You rest now.”

  It was only a few moments before Ford’s breathing slowed and he was asleep.

  “I’ll have one of the staff come to sit with him when you’re ready to leave, my lady.” Lieutenant Wythers stepped cl
oser to the bed. He placed his hand on Ford’s forehead as if to check for fever, then smiled when he lifted it. “Let my staff know if there’s anything else you require.”

  Ford’s friend was going to leave her alone with Ford, as if he knew she needed time to be with him. Callie hoped her eyes communicated how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness.

  “My men will also be at your disposal when you leave to see the admiral. I don’t want you to go alone.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. But I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  The smile on Lieutenant Wythers’ face made him even more handsome than before, if that was possible.

  “Nothing you can ask is an imposition.”

  Callie looked at the lieutenant. “I feel I should know you, Lieutenant. Have we met before? You remind me of someone, but I can’t recall who.”

  He shook his head. “I would remember if we had met, my lady. But perhaps you are acquainted with my father, the Marquess of Bentingham. Or my brother, the Earl of Shelton. It’s said we look a great deal alike.”

  Callie tried not to show her surprise but failed.

  “I see you are acquainted with one or both of them. Or at least you have heard about them. Not many in Society have not. Which is why you can understand when I say that nothing is an imposition.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Hugh,” he corrected. “Or Lieutenant. Never my lord.”

  “Yes . . . Hugh.”

  He smiled again. “Call when you’re ready to leave and I’ll have my men bring the carriage ’round.”

  With that, the lieutenant was gone. And Callie was left marveling at how Ford had come to know the son of one of the wealthiest, most influential men in all of England.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ford opened his eyes a slit, just enough to see that it was still light outside. That meant he hadn’t slept away the entire day. Only part of it. He turned his head hoping to see Callie sitting in the chair beside his bed, but instead he saw Hugh.

  “I’m glad to see you finally woke,” Hugh said, rising from the chair.

  “Has Callie gone?”

  “She went to check on the admiral. She said she’d return as soon as she could.”