Silence Is Golden

by Sara Ackerman

  “It’s so dark. Are we still in the carriage?” Squinting her eyes, she attempted to see about her, but a narrow band of cloth covered her eyes.

  His mocking voice sent a slither of fear down her spine. “No, we are not still in the carriage.”

  The coarse rasp of rope chafed her wrists, and all about was cold and dank.

  He tricked me, most likely with his candy confection. Whatever drug he used had been masked by the almond flavoring. Her instinct had been to shun his offering, and she should have heeded its warning. Though she wanted to panic, she focused on remaining calm. “Where are we?”

  “In the hull of a ship heading to France. This was where you wanted to go all along, wasn’t it?”

  “Y-yes. How did you know?”

  “Others have secrets, too. While you flirted and agonized about what to do with Coombes, I was there in the shadows listening. I heard every word you said—your talk with your aunt, your little tête-à-tête with Coombes in the library. Each and every hope, fear, and desire. I was willing to overlook your infatuation with Coombes and take you as wife, but when I heard you and Coombes in the gazebo and you agreed to give yourself to him, I was resolved to be done with you.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” Horrible stories of women taken by cutthroat villains ran through her head, and she shivered. She had read enough novels to know how their stories ended, those poor women who were ravaged and abused. For the first time, she feared for her safety. “Are you going to—” Panic lodged in her throat. She could not continue. If I get out of here alive, I am never reading another one of those books again.

  “What? Am I going to force myself on you?” He laughed a hollow, mirthless sound. “As if I would touch you after Coombes already has. It’s not me you have to be worried about anymore.” He pulled the rope tighter about her wrists. She winced when he grabbed her face in his hands to press a brutal kiss to her unyielding lips. Surprise and loathing coursed through her body, and the urge to vomit was overwhelming, yet he released her and spit on the ground. “We’re through.” His boot heels clicking on the wooden deck marched farther and farther away until they were but a terrifying echo clamoring inside her head. Sweeping terror wracked her body as she sat alone and in the dark.

  The Devil had come to collect his due.

  Chapter 18

  “Fetch Lord Atwood! I’ve found him!”

  Retreating footsteps thudded an awful echo in Alfred’s head, and a bright light shone in his eyes. He recoiled and flinched. Pain lanced through his head, and he groaned. Someone knelt beside him and rolled him over, and the agony worsened.

  “Despite someone’s best efforts, you’re alive, though the bump on your head is going to be tender for a while.” His unknown rescuer pulled on his arms. “Looks like some rope burns will require attention, too.”

  God, his head hurt. Couldn’t this idiot shut up? He was wounded and needed quiet, not incessant yelling by a loud-mouthed buffoon. He tried to rub his head but was stopped by a tight tug at his wrists. The tightness eased, and his hands were freed.

  So, the babbling slack-jawed moron knows enough to untie me, even if he is unable to grasp the concept of a head wound’s need for silence.

  Wincing, he looked at his rescuer.

  “Am I glad to see you, Coombes,” the man said. “We’ve been looking for you for almost two days.”

  “Lord Stanton?” I must have a severe head wound. The last time I saw Lord Stanton, we were in Scotland, and I’m certain I am not there.

  “You’re not in Scotland, Coombes, but in an old gazebo on Lord Atwood’s property.”

  He struggled to rise. “Did I speak aloud?” When a wave of nausea roiled his stomach, he moaned and fell back, willing the spinning to stop.

  “Aye, along with a few other choice words, but as you are injured, I will not call you out for the remarks you made about my intellect or my inability to grasp simple concepts.”

  He winced. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Had I been in my right mind I never would have insulted you or implied—”

  “Save it, Coombes. I’m not interested in your apologies.” Stanton eased his arms around Alfred’s shoulders and helped him to rise.

  “What are you doing here?” His knees shook and the earth spun, but he did not lose his balance or the remnants of his last meal, however long ago it had been.

  “After receiving your letter almost three weeks ago, I penned the note to Lord Atwood, but my wife insisted we travel to Hasselworth. She was frantic for her sister’s safety, and since she is in a delicate condition, I did not want her anxiety to cause any harm to her or the child.”

  “Congratulations, my lord.”

  “Call me Tavis. We’ll be brothers before too long.”

  “Brothers?” I wish this confusion would pass. He was not himself, and it irked him to sound so addled.

  He stumbled and would have fallen, but Tavis anchored him to his side while he regained his equilibrium. It was compromised at once when delicate arms embraced him, and he almost fell onto his back.

  “You foolish, foolish man. Where have you been?”

  “Lady Atwood?” The lady was pale, and lines of worry bracketed her eyes and mouth. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks, and she took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and blotted her face. “We have been so worried.” She embraced him again. Distress emanated in palpable waves from her body, and a new sensation warred with his confusion—fear.

  “Alfred, my boy,” Lord Atwood said, joining his wife. “Good to see you. Everyone was concerned you were a goner.” He clapped him hard on the back, sending fresh waves of pain careening through his head.

  He clutched his temples. “What is going on?”

  Tavis said, “Let’s go back to the house and have the doctor check his head. We can tell him what happened.”

  He staggered to the gazebo’s entrance and clutched the doorframe for support. “Where is Evie?”

  Even in his confused state, he did not miss the worried glances passing between Lord and Lady Atwood.

  Atwood took him by the arm. “Come on, son.” With the fog of pain receding, he noticed his host’s altered appearance. His once ruddy, jovial face was haggard and gray, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

  Mumbling his consent, Alfred and their little party returned to the house. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, half-listening to the conversation around him.

  “How did you find him, Stanton?” Atwood asked.

  “Pure luck. Had I not seen the drag marks in the mud, I never would have ventured so deep into the woods. It’s fortunate this portion of woods is so dense, otherwise the tracks would have been washed away in all this rain.”

  “Why did Newgate choose the gazebo? Nobody has used the old building in years. I’d all but forgotten about it. How did he know about it?”

  Newgate. It was always Newgate. His name alone had been enough to jar his memory, reminding him who had been waiting for him in his room after his walk. Newgate’s sneering face was the last thing he had seen before being struck on the head.

  “Evie and I went there the day he attacked me. He must have followed us to the gazebo and heard us talking. I imagine he followed me back to the house and waited until I returned to my room. He was enraged.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you,” Lady Diane tutted, grabbing his arm when he faltered over the uneven stones paving the front walk. She steadied him and steered him through the front door and into the parlor, where she sat him in front of a small fire. She and Lord Stanton left the room to fetch the doctor, and he leaned forward, grateful for the warmth after spending the last several days in a damp gazebo. “He has her, doesn’t he?”

  “It’s as we feared. She’s gone. At first, we concluded you had taken her away. Given our earlier conversation, I speculated you two had eloped, but when we found Newgate had disappeared also, we suspected something more sinister.”

  “Why did you assume I had left
?”

  “Your luggage was missing.”

  “What changed your mind? Besides the fact Newgate had also left.”

  “A maid found your luggage stashed in the cellars, and Gerard found the candelabra in the dustbin.”

  “Ah.” He touched his skull and winced. “The candelabra.”

  “Once we found the candelabra, we knew she had been taken and foul mischief had been done to you.”

  Evie. The pain in his head clashed with consuming fear, and he had to tell himself anxiety and nerves would not locate her. He needed a calm, cool head.

  “What’s been done to locate her?”

  Atwood shook his head and sighed, slumping into a chair near his own. “Nothing, and it’s not for lack of effort.”

  “What? Why have you not sent out a search party or contacted the magistrate? You know how Newgate is. If he is in league with the smuggler, he will show no mercy.”

  “Calm yourself, son. Our immediate concern was her safety, but as her luggage and clothing were missing, we had no reason to believe she was taken by force.”

  “Regardless, you and I both know he has taken her to Southampton, though why she wished to leave with him confounds me.”

  “It did us, too, until we came upon a reasonable cause.”

  “What?”

  “You. Remember, before retiring to your rooms, you told me she would come to you? She must have gone to your rooms, discovered your absence, and decided to follow. As near as we can guess, Newgate was lying in wait for her and offered his service as escort to Southampton. Knowing you were keen to be away to the Americas and your ship was leaving from there, she must have agreed with the hopes of locating you before you sailed.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “I don’t follow. How can it be your fault? You were attacked and unconscious for the better part of a day and a half.”

  “Had I been honest with her instead of attempting to manipulate her into caring for me, she would have been reassured of my affections. She would have known I’d not leave her, and she’d still be safe.”

  “You can’t blame yourself—”

  “But I can, and I must find her.” He rose, his footing still precarious, and the room spun around him. Cursing his fragile state, he sank back down in his chair and put his head in his hands.

  “Sit. Rest. There is time.”

  “She has been gone for almost two days. Who knows what harm has already come to her? If I wait any longer, she will be lost forever!” He pushed himself out of the chair and staggered to the door. The pain in his head worsened, his vision blackened, and his muscles went limp. He slumped. Atwood hoisted him up and propped him against the wall.

  “Come. Let me take you upstairs. You need to be seen by the doctor. He shall be here as soon as he attends to some business on the estate.” He opened the door and bellowed down the hall, “Gerard! Help me with young Alfred here! He needs to be abed!”

  “Don’t worry, Gerard,” Tavis said, his deep bass coming ever nearer. “I’ll assist his lordship.”

  Another set of arms slung about Alfred’s shoulders, and he was strung up between the two men like a ham on a spit. His arms dangled like limp stalks of grain on either shoulder, and his head touched his chest. If he hadn’t been tired and in pain, he might have mustered the strength to be embarrassed at being so weak, but as it was, he was grateful for the support.

  The two men half-dragged, half-carried him up the stairs and into his old room. They plopped him on the bed, and he sank into the soft mattress. Though his eyes wished to close, he forced them open and struggled to rise from the bed. “I need to find her. I must go before it’s too late.”

  Firm hands pushed him back on the bed, and his remaining strength vanished. “I must go to her,” he mumbled, his lids closing as sleep cocooned him from the turmoil his awakening had brought.

  “You’ve not told him yet?” Tavis asked, though his voice sounded distant and tinny, as though coming from through a tunnel.

  “And cause him further injury? No, it’s best he not know, at least until the doctor arrives.”

  “Know what?” he slurred. “Tell me. You owe me.”

  There was a pause, a long hesitation, but Atwood did respond. “Because of the rain, the river has swollen its banks and destroyed the bridge leading out of town. The townspeople have had to relocate to Atwood Manor, the highest spot in the area. They, along with the manor residents, are trapped here until the waters recede.”

  No! His Evie, gone, while he was marooned on the other side of a vast chasm of water. An ocean may have separated them, for he was no closer to finding her than had she traveled to the opposite side of the world. There was more he wished to know, but the swirling darkness of pain breached his own barriers and creeping unconsciousness swept away his resolve. In spite of strong resistance, he closed his eyes and slept.

  Chapter 19

  “Good. You’re awake.”

  A rustle of skirts alerted his attention to his visitor, but it was the impatient green eyes staring at him which had him rubbing his own in confusion. Though these were a different color than Evie’s, the shape and the flashing impatience coming from this woman’s jeweled depths were identical.

  “Lady Stanton?”

  “Yes, Mr. Coombes.” She sighed as if his obvious statement caused her great irritation. “You’ll need sharper wits if you’re going to rescue my sister.”

  “Rescue your sister?” He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, and thanked her when she placed several large pillows behind his back.

  “You know her. A spoiled blonde who’s a destructive force of nature in satin slippers?”

  He bristled. “There is no need for sarcasm, my lady. I am aware of who your sister is.”

  “You could have fooled me. For someone who is soon to wed my sister, you are slow to go to her rescue.”

  “I was injured,” he replied, anger replacing his former confusion.

  She waved her hands as if his near-death experience was of little consequence. “The doctor has been and gone while you slept and has declared you fit enough, so I ask, are you going to rescue her, or aren’t you?”

  He didn’t remember Lady Stanton being so aggressive or so ill-tempered on his previous encounters with her, and he concluded her delicate condition had something to do with her changed personality. He decided it was best to answer and avoid further irritating her. “I had intended to, but I was told there is no way out of town.”

  “You’re a smart man, Mr. Coombes. There has to be another way.” She paced the length of the room, the muted candlelight catching the golden tints amongst her mane of thick red hair. He had forgotten how vibrant she was, yet another trait she and her sister shared.

  His head still hurt, though it was now more of a dull ache instead of an incessant roar, and her demands to use his brain did nothing but exacerbate his pounding temples. Still, he offered a solution. “Maybe I could go on horseback?” Cognition still took some effort, so he took offense when she ridiculed his idea.

  “A horse, Mr. Coombes? The bridge is out, and the river has swollen its banks. No horse will get you across without shying away in panic and dumping you in the raging currents. You’ll drown, and then what will become of my sister?”

  “No, I won’t.” The fog enveloping him in its misty depths lifted, and a sliver of an idea formed.

  She stopped her frantic pacing in front of the bed. “You won’t what?”

  “Drown. I’m a good swimmer.”

  “You? A man who was bested by Lord Newgate is in no physical shape to swim and be good at it, too.” She looked him over, a tiny frown of disappointment marring her face. “You are the last man who should go and rescue my sister. There’s more scholar than hero about you.”

  “I was taken by surprise and hit with a silver candelabra!” he yelled. “I charge anyone, even your pistol-wielding barbaric husband, to withstand such an attack.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he took severa
l unsteady steps by the edge of the bed. He grabbed onto the bed post and swayed, doing his best to appear heroic and formidable. “Your jabs at my intellect I can accept, given the recent blow to my head. However, I must ask you to cease your aspersions regarding my abilities to defend myself or your sister. I am confident I can find her and guide her to safety.”

  “So you do have the mettle to marry her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She twirled an errant red curl in her fingers, and shrugged a green-silk-clad shoulder, looking anything but chagrined. “She’s challenging and always has been. She will need someone who is strong enough to curb her impulses without dampening her spirit. I needed to know you could do so.”

  “I’m pleased you find me acceptable, though I question the wisdom of your timing. You are as impatient and impertinent as your sister.”

  Instead of taking offense, a wide smile graced her face for the first time since he had awakened to find her staring at him. She laughed. “You’ll do.”

  “I need to leave. Is it true the doctor came?”

  “He did, several hours past. You’ve been asleep more than half a day.”

  “It is imperative I leave straight away.” He searched the room for his coat and struggled into the sleeves. “Tell your uncle I will bring her home as soon as I am able.”

  “Mr. Coombes…”

  He wobbled in the doorway and raised a hand to silence her. “There’s no time to be wasted!”

  “Perhaps you should tuck in your shirt and put on your boots before storming off? I find boots ever so useful when making a grand exit.”

  A wiggle of his toes confirmed he wore neither boots nor hosiery, and his shirt hung in loose folds above his knees. He was without cravat, too, and the laces of his shirt gaped open, exposing his neck and chest. His dignity all but gone, he grasped the edges of his shirt and pulled the fabric together. A delighted giggle, muffled at once, assaulted his ears. If he weren’t mistaken, his future sister-in-law was enjoying herself at his expense. He lifted his nose in the air. “Are you laughing at me, madam?”