Not Quite a Duchess: A Sweet Victorian Gothic Historical Romance (The Boston Heiresses Book 1)

by Ava Rose

  The bed above her creaked when it received his weight and she silently let out the breath she was holding. For a moment, she’d thought that he’d found her. He stretched on the bed. It didn’t take long before she heard the rough sound of a snore.

  Dear God! She was trapped.

  The bar had emptied when Pen and Marguerite arrived and he pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It was not so late; just past nine o’clock. Three men sat at the bar drinking while two more were playing cards at a table in the corner.

  “Do you see them?” he asked Marguerite in a low voice.

  “The three at the bar,” she whispered. “The bald one on the left is William Singer.”

  He clenched his jaw to control his rising choler. “I’ll handle it from here. Go back to your room and wait for my wife and me. We’ll find you when we can.”

  Now that the girl had assisted them, he did not trust she would be safe. He was glad Anna had offered to bring her back with them to Boston.

  There was an empty stool beside the man supposed to be William Singer and Pen made himself comfortable on it. "Whiskey," he said to the barmaid. She gave him a flirtatious smile before pouring the drink.

  "Whiskey is not the only thing we serve here, sir," she said, giving him a suggestive grin.

  Ah, this would likely be Little Lily.

  Pen pretended to take a sip of his drink and then turned to William Singer. "Arnold, is that you?" He clapped the man on the back.

  Singer started and gave him a look more drunken than surprised.

  "Huh?"

  "It's me, Ashford. Don't you remember me?"

  "No..." the man muttered.

  Pen shrugged casually. "Oh, I don't blame you. It was a long time ago." Then he clapped the man on the back again. "Good to see you, old pal." To the barmaid, he said aloud, "Serve my friend another round. In fact, I am buying for everyone in this room!"

  Singer and his fellow thugs began to cheer. "I still don't remember you, but I like you," he slurred, returning Pen's clap on his back.

  Since the men were not paying for their ale, they drank greedily and it did not take long for one of them to slump over the table, drooling and mumbling nonsense. When no one was looking, Pen poured his whiskey into Singer's ale and asked the barmaid for more.

  "So tell me, Arnold. What are you doing in this place?"

  Singer stretched his lips and cheeks to form a stupid smile, baring crooked teeth. "Singer... Singer...is me."

  "Oh!" Pen feigned innocence then laughed out loud. "I must be truly mistaken." He waved his hand about like he was drunk. "So what are you doing here, my friend?"

  “Business…” He gulped down the rest of his spiked ale and pushed the mug toward the barmaid to refill. “Very…profitable business.” He stumbled over the word profitable, clearly well intoxicated.

  “What sort of business? I am looking to make some money myself. Maybe we could work together, eh?”

  “Ahhhh…good idea…” He leaned very close, inconveniencing Pen with his bad breath. “There are some ladies we want to collect.” He stressed collect as if it were code for something, “And then ask their families for ransom. It was my idea…we…we…could force the ladies to marry us, but I reasoned ransom will be better. Hmm?”

  “Yes, my friend.”

  “So, a couple of days ago…I…err…was hired to collect a lady in Boston. The man who hired me married her, but she is refusing to give him the money he wants. Now he wants…me—” he pointed at his chest, “—to get rid of her.”

  At the moment of that revelation, Pen understood what true fear really was.

  ***

  Once she was sure the man above her was soundly sleeping, Anna shifted from under the bed, careful not to make a sound. He had been snoring for a while now. On her hands and knees, she began to crawl in the direction of the door, dodging the dirty clothes in her path.

  The bed creaked as he turned and she quickly flattened herself on the floor. Like a cold claw around her throat, uncertainty choked her. He could wake up and find her. She waited for her nerves to calm and to also give him time to settle back into sleep. Once he was snoring again, she continued her perilous crawl to the door.

  When she reached the door, she straightened but remained on her knees. Standing and risking her shoes making any sound against the wooden floor was not an option. Her hand shook as she reached for the door handle. She turned it and it made a small sound.

  “Hmmm?”

  Her head snapped in the direction of the bed, eyes wide, throat dry, and heart thumping. He was still asleep, thankfully. With her gaze trained on him, she pulled the door and shuffled out of the room, then shut it behind her with an inevitable click. Anna jumped to her feet and began to run.

  When she realized no one was following her, she slowed down and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Perhaps Pen was right and luck did exist, after all.

  Her breathing slowed and she regained some of her composure. She had two options: either return to her room where Pen expected she’d be, or go downstairs and try to find him. She straightened her skirts, and set off down the stairs.

  She made for the bar and found him sitting and drinking with a rough-looking group of men. The room was empty save for Pen and his three companions, a barmaid behind the counter, and a gentleman sitting at a corner table gathering cards. He looked like he was readying to leave. She waited by the door, watching Pen talk to the drunk man beside him; she could hardly make out his words.

  “Excuse me.”

  Her head snapped up to find the gentleman who had been gathering cards in front of her. She stared at him confusedly.

  “May I pass, please?”

  It registered that she was blocking the doorway. “Oh, pardon me.” She stepped into the room and he walked past her. She found a table not far from Pen and sat. It would make no sense if she walked up to them and interrupted. It looked as though he was getting good information from the drunk man.

  Suddenly, Pen grabbed the man’s shirt front. “Where is she?”

  “Get yer hands off me,” the drunk man slurred, trying to slap Pen’s hand away.

  “Where is she!” Pen shook him.

  The man freed himself from Pen’s grasp and tried to punch him but missed. He swung again and connected with Pen’s jaw. Anna winced. It took but a fraction of a moment for Pen to recover and he pulled his arm back and let fly, knocking the man to the ground. There he straddled him.

  “Where is she?”

  The man did not answer. He only struggled to get Pen off him. The thug on the second stool chose that moment to emerge from his stupor and came to his companion’s rescue. He caught Pen from behind, drunkenly trying to pull him up. There was no way Anna could sit and watch so she jumped in, climbing onto the back of the man holding Pen and pulling at his hair.

  The scuffle occupied everyone and they failed to notice the third man who had been slumped on the counter stagger to his feet and begin gathering up a chair.

  Anna was no match for the man she had attacked; he was large and strong. He threw her off without much effort. She fell to the floor and that was when she noticed the man with the chair. His progress was slow, but his gaze was fixed on Pen’s head. She glanced wildly around, noticing a glass jug on one of the tables. She moved with a speed she could never have believed herself capable of before today. Just as the man raised the chair, the jug connected with the back of his head, sending him crashing to the floor, chair and all.

  The noise distracted the others and Pen struggled out from underneath the pile of bodies and drew a revolver. The man Anna had clouted was out cold. The second man raised his arms in a gesture of surrender and slowly backed away toward the door, When he was close enough to the exit, he took to his heels, leaving behind Anna, Pen, and the man he’d originally been questioning.

  Pointing the revolver at the man’s head, Pen told him to stand up. If someone walked into this room now, they would all have some explaining to do
.

  “Pen,” she said, “we need to leave.”

  He looked about before gesturing toward a door behind the counter. “There is a room back there.”

  It was then that Anna realized the barmaid was nowhere to be found. It was no surprise, however. If Anna had been in her position, she would have run away, too. With the gun pointed at his back, the man was directed behind the counter into what proved to be a large storeroom. Pen forced the man to sit on the lone chair, and Anna closed the door to keep out prying eyes.

  "Here." Pen handed Anna the revolver while he bound the prisoner’s hands behind the chair with a handy length of rope from one of the shelves.

  Pen looked as if he’d been pushed to his limit. He was clearly teetering on the edge. It distressed her to see him this way.

  He took back the gun and the interrogation recommenced. "Where is Lady Elizabeth Armstrong-Leeds?"

  "I don't know," the man whimpered. One of his injured eyes had closed over and was beginning to turn purple.

  "Let me give you your options, Singer..."

  Anna’s mouth opened. This was William Singer? The man for whom Van Daal had betrayed her family. The man at Libby's fake wedding. Oh, this scoundrel deserved whatever was coming to him!

  "...you can tell us the truth or you can keep it to yourself. It doesn't matter what you choose, you are not leaving this room a free man. If you don't tell us, however, the police will get it out of you one way or the other."

  The room fell silent as they waited for a response. He must have realized his freedom was finally over because eventually, he began to speak, albeit in a sullen tone.

  "Anthony Hart asked me to kill her because she will not cooperate. If she dies, he can present marriage papers and claim her fortune."

  A shiver of horror ran through her.

  So that was why Libby's name had been struck through.

  "The names on the paper you kept hidden in a drawer in your room upstairs. Are they all people you've been hired to kill?" Anna asked. Pen shot her a confused look, which she returned with a look that said not now.

  "No, she is the only one to be killed. The rest are supposed to be kept captive."

  At that moment they heard a tiny whimper. There was someone else in the room. Someone hiding. Pen reached into his coat and pulled out a second gun. What on earth? She thought, with not a small measure of astonishment, that he’d certainly come prepared for battle. She took the second gun, a Colt, from him, and confidently cocked the hammer.

  It was no secret around town that she was good with firearms and she'd won many a challenge against gentlemen trying to prove their superiority.

  Cautiously, she searched corners and any conceivable hiding place until she reached a stack of wooden crates near the back of the room. Behind it, she found the barmaid.

  She began to lower the Colt, until the girl crawled out and Pen barked, “That's Little Lily.”

  Anna's arm rose straight back up. "Get over there near Singer," she ordered. The girl crawled across the floor, but Anna refused to feel sorry for her. She was in on the plan to capture the ladies and that made her a criminal, too.

  She handed Pen back the gun and found another length of rope. This one she used to bind Lily’s arms and legs.

  Once she had been secured, Pen handed her back the gun, and they returned their attention to William Singer.

  "Where are you keeping her?"

  "The Blue Chapel," Singer responded, his head bowed in resignation. "There is a crypt beneath."

  Anna's heart began to pound so hard she could barely hear any more. There was only one thought in her head now and it was a prayer. A prayer for Libby to be all right. A prayer for her friend to hold on just a little bit longer.

  We’re coming, Libby. Please be alive.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rushing out of the inn with Anna's hand in his was a blur. They raced across the road, dodging carriage traffic, to reach the chapel. The storm that had earlier ravaged the town had retreated, but bone-chilling drizzle and a thick fog were left behind as sentry; to obstruct the weary traveler's vision and beat down their resolve with chilling precision.

  Yes, nature was kind that way.

  But Penforth and Anna together, were formidable opponents. They pushed through the shrouding fog and darkness to reach Elizabeth.

  The minister obviously didn’t expect them back, and he answered the door without checking first to see who was on the other side. When Mr. Anders saw them, he tried to close the heavy doors but Pen wedged himself through the gap and caught the man by the collar. “Oh, no you don’t,” he commanded.

  The Blue Chapel’s days of collecting bribes, arranging unfavorable weddings and assisting in kidnappings, were over.

  “This is a holy place,” the minister blustered. “You cannot come in here and threaten a man of God.” Pen pushed him onto one of the pew benches.

  “A man of God who holds a woman prisoner in his church,” Pen spat. He tried to resist pointing the gun at him. No matter what this place had been turned into, it was still hallowed ground and he respected that.

  There were no ropes in sight, so Pen took his handkerchief and bound it with two of Anna’s. It wasn’t ideal but was long enough to bind the man’s hands in front of him. Pen had him slide his arms through the gap at the back of the pew first, so that he couldn’t run away once bound.

  “We’ve been told Elizabeth Armstrong-Leeds is here. Tell us where to find the crypt.”

  Mr. Anders remained tight-lipped. He turned his face to the side like a petulant child.

  “Fine. If she is in this building, we will find her. But mark my words, you will not be leaving this place a free man.”

  They found a door on the right side by the transept, opened it, and ran down a dark narrow hallway to a set of steps leading downward. Were these the crypts Singer had told them about? Only one way to find out.

  At the base of the stairs, a wooden arched door stood between them and the other side. It had no handle, only a keyhole.

  “The key must be with Mr. Anders,” Anna suggested.

  “Stay here. I’ll get the key from him.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to waste any more time. Libby might be on the other side of this. I can open it.”

  Before he could say anything, she reached into her hair and retrieved a hairpin. Pen watched in astonishment as she maneuvered the pin and unlocked the door with the precision of a thief. As a matter of fact, not every thief was in possession of such a skill.

  “Perhaps I should not ask where you learned how to do that,” he said.

  She grinned with a level of ferocity that caused his heart to beat faster. “I played with my father’s clocks instead of learning to sew and paint, so they would lock the clocks away or place them in high places where I couldn’t reach. One of our serving girls taught me to do this and with a lot of practice, I learned to open different kinds of locks.”

  Just then, the lock gave way and she pushed open the door. Pen shook his head. She was full of surprises. From saving his life—which he needed to thank her for later—to opening locks as easily as a jewel thief. Anna was a brilliant woman. He wished he’d had the courage to own his feelings a lot earlier.

  The chamber was dark, dank, and made him very uncomfortable. The dead obviously rested here. It was no place to hold a live person.

  He blinked several times to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness and was able to make out the shadow of a candlestick on a small side table near the door. Anna was already there and she had found a match because the place suddenly brightened.

  Pen took the candle holder from her after she’d lit several candles in their sconces, and took her hand in his. Slowly, they made their way through the chamber, and near the end, saw the form of a person slumped in a chair.

  “Oh, my God, Libby?” Anna gasped and hurried toward the figure.

  It was his sister. And she was alive. He almost sank to his knees with relief when the
figure lifted her head and stared at them. He set the candlestick on the floor and went to her. Anna was already loosening the ropes binding his sister’s hands, so he got to work on her ankles.

  “Took you long enough,” Libby rasped. She was clearly trying for bravado, but he could hear the quiver of relief in her words. “Do you know how dark and lonely this place is?”

  She was going to be all right. The spirit in her had not been doused by her captivity. But her face was bruised and the corner of her lip was crusted with dried blood.

  Pen’s jaw clenched. Every person involved in hurting his sister would pay. He would not rest until they were found and brought to justice.

  “If you only knew what we went through to find you,” Anna said.

  “I knew you would come,” Libby whispered. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  Anna wrapped Libby into her embrace once she was freed. “I am so sorry, Libby. We took far too long to find you.”

  His sister held on to Anna tightly. “No, Anna. I am sorry. This is all my fault. I was careless and stupid.”

  “Let’s not talk about it now.” Anna smoothed a lock of Libby’s dirty hair off her cheek, and Pen was struck by her capacity for care. “Let’s get you out of here. Are you able to stand?”

  She nodded and Anna helped her to her feet. That was when Libby finally acknowledged Pen. “Hello, brother,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. Anna was smothering me.”

  Anna let out an amused chuckle as he folded Libby into his arms. “You’re safe now, sister. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Libby suddenly stiffened in his arms. “Mary,” she exclaimed. “How is Mary?”

  “She is fine and at home waiting for your return. As is Mother.”

  She sighed with relief. “I was so worried about her.”

  The backs of his eyes stung and he blinked hard. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore,” he assured her. “Let’s go home.”

  “Not so fast!” The new voice behind them was sharp and accusatory. He turned to find Mr. Anders pointing a gun at them. With Pen’s own handkerchief still dangling from one of the man’s wrists. Oh, for the love of God!