Crescent City Courtship (21 page)

John suddenly felt much better. This time he sat up slowly to avoid upsetting his head or his stomach. He still felt as if his brains might explode at any moment, but at least the room no longer spun. “What have you done with Abigail Neal?” He stared at Crapaud with loathing as John’s friends shoved the man into a chair.

“You mean the Nieland girl?” The man sneered. “Ask your pa.”

John glanced at Professor Laniere. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Prof’s expression stilled. “I hadn’t considered that she might be under an assumed name.” He walked around to stand behind Crapaud. “Is there something going on here besides smuggling?”

“I ain’t telling you anything else until I know what’s in it for me.”

John had always thought of Crapaud as inarticulate and therefore not quite bright. Now he realized his father would never hire an agent who didn’t possess a certain amount of diabolical cunning. “I’ll make sure you’re rewarded,” he said, trying to prevent his tension from bleeding into his voice. One had to maintain a position of strength to influence this sort of man.

Crapaud didn’t look impressed. “I happen to know every dime you possess depends on your pa’s income. If he goes down, you go down.” He shrugged. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Professor Laniere suddenly clamped the muscle at the side of Crapaud’s neck, near the collar bone. Crapaud yelped and Prof said silkily, “
You’ll
have to do better than that if you want to avoid life in prison for kidnapping, extortion and slave trading. I imagine we can unearth a conviction for murder as well, if we look a little harder.”

“Ow! Let go—All right, I’ll talk. But I don’t know where the girl is by now. When I left, Braddock—the elder one,” he added with a contemptuous glance at John “—was trying to get out of her what she’d said to the red-headed gal.”

Prof sent a warning look at John, who was getting ready
to launch himself off the table at the scoundrel. “The red-headed girl would be Tess?”

“Yeah.”

“Where were you having this fascinating conversation?” Prof wandered around to Crapaud’s side, his hands clasped behind his back as if they had all day. But John could see the tension tightening the corners of the doctor’s mouth.

“The company owns a warehouse on the New Levee. We took her there.”

“I see. I’m sure they’re gone by now, but—Girard, take Ramage with you and see what you can find. Come back here to report.” The two young men rushed out, leaving Weichmann protesting that he “wanted in on the fun,” but Prof gestured for him to be quiet. “I may need you here. Patience. Crapaud, I want to know where Braddock is likely to have taken Miss Neal—Nieland.”

Crapaud’s ugly face scrunched. He paused. “Maybe a pardon?”

There was a thick, waiting silence in the examination room. John could literally feel every beat of his heart in the pulse of blood through his battered face. He watched Crapaud’s still, crafty expression.
Please, Lord, give the professor wisdom. I want Abigail back. I want her safe.
He didn’t give a flip whether she was an heiress or a seamstress in a sail loft. He just wanted another chance to tell her he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her.

“I don’t have the authority to issue pardons,” Prof said finally.

“I know where she is, Prof!” John slid off the table, heedless of bruised ribs and aching head. The mental picture of Abigail seated at a window overlooking the New
Orleans harbor, stitching grommets into a sail across her lap, had lit up his brain with sudden insight into his father’s likely actions. When Phillip Braddock was cornered, he’d take to the sea. Appleton had told him tale after tale of his father as a young man, sailing off to the far corners of the world whenever the responsibilities of being husband and father got to be too much.

There were signs of it all over the house. John’s chemistry set brought from Paris. The furniture from Egypt. The dining room chandelier from Germany. The Chinese silks for Lisette’s dresses and the teas his mother loved so much. Only recently had he begun to slow down, when he’d taken on Crapaud as his agent.

John stalked toward the prisoner. “He took her to one of the ships, didn’t he? That’s the only place he could put her where no one could find her. We’d have searched all over the city and she’d be halfway to China.” He snatched Crapaud by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet, heedless of his own screaming muscles. “Which one? Which ship is she on?”

“Hey!” Crapaud tried to wriggle free. “That’s no way to treat a man who’s just trying to help.”

“I’ll help you!” John shook him.

“Braddock.” Prof set a hand on his shoulder. “Gently. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Through a red haze John looked up at the professor, blinked and slowly released Crapaud, who sank back into his chair. Clenching his fists John scowled at the prisoner. “Where is she?”

“All right.” Crapaud gulped. “The
China Doll
. That’s the one he had ready to sail in the morning.”

John looked at the professor, triumphant. “Can we send
Weichmann and the Sears boys to search the others in port? Just in case he’s lying?”

Prof nodded. “That’s an excellent suggestion.”

John looked at the other three students. “That would be the
White Pearl
and the
Dancing Dutchman
.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Go.”

Weichmann ran, leaving John and Dr. Laniere to haul Crapaud back to his storage room prison. They locked him in, instructed Crutch to guard the door, and headed for the levee. John limped along beside the professor, thinking it was high time he started carrying a gun or at least a walking stick. A man never knew when he was going have to play knight-errant.

A
bigail had no idea how long she had been left bound and gagged in the hold of the ship as it rocked gently at its moorings. Perhaps hours. She slept for a while and woke up astonished at her body’s ability to relax when fear had her mind in a vise. She lay encased in the warmth of the rug—at least she could be grateful not to be cold and wet. She had managed to wriggle to the edge, so that the top of her head was in the open and she could breathe freely through her nose, but could go no farther. The buckle of her shoe had caught on a strand of the rug and because her hands were tied, she could not free herself.

Realizing the discomfort of her stomach was actually hunger, she listened for activity in other parts of the ship. She hoped someone would bring her something to eat soon. Random screeches of chains and the bangs of hatches opening and closing alternated with the voices of sailors preparing to set sail. The growl of hunger turned to the acid of terror. Phillip Braddock wasn’t going to be interested in feeding a woman who refused to cave in to his demands. He was more likely to make shark bait out of her.

But the fact that he’d stuffed her down here, hiding her even from the sailors, told her he had some use for her. Where was he planning to take her? His ships went all over the world. Once they sailed into the Gulf of Mexico, John would never find her.

Sudden despair overcame the optimism with which she’d forced herself to pray since the Toad had thrown her into that carriage. Had God abandoned her after all?

A few minutes of helpless and perfectly useless tears, which served only to clog her head and make her eyes puffy, left her spent. And determined not to give up. The ship’s hold was darker than she’d imagined a place could be, but she closed her eyes anyway. She might be alone, but in her helplessness she knew God’s presence in a powerful and sustaining way.

She didn’t know how much longer she lay there before a shaft of light pierced the darkness. Her eyes flew open, and she tried to scream against the gag but only succeeded in straining her throat muscles. Ineffectually she struggled in the suffocating binding of the rug. Footsteps descended the ladder behind her head. Was someone coming to release her? Or was it one of Braddock’s men?

Oh, Lord Jesus, please, please, please. I’m here…

“Abigail?”

John!
she screamed inside her head.
I’m here!

“I can’t see anything below the stairs, Prof. I’m going on down.”

“I’ll take the other deck,” answered Professor Laniere. “She could be anywhere. Look inside every barrel, every chest. There’s no telling where he put her.”

“Maybe we should’ve looked for him first. Made him tell us what he did with her.” John sounded anxious, frustrated.

The very fact that he’d come looking for her sent waves of joy coursing through Abigail in spite of her discomfort. Again she screamed against the rag between her teeth. Maybe a slight sound had issued from her sore throat.

Facing upward, Abigail couldn’t see John, but his footsteps had stopped near the bottom of the ladder. The lamplight swayed wildly back and forth across Abigail’s forehead, making her eyes water.

“Abigail? Are you down here somewhere? Sweetheart, can you make some kind of noise so I’ll know where you are?”

Sobbing silently, she gave a great sniff through her nose.

And the light poured across her face as John lunged toward her. “The rug! Oh, God, thank You!” He set the lamp down and laid his hands on the top of her head, petting her hair and laying his cheek against her forehead. “Be still, beloved, I’m going to get you out of here. Hold on, I love you, don’t cry…”

It seemed to take him forever to untie the ropes around the rug—his hands shook so he couldn’t manage the knots at first—and unroll her from her soft, warm prison. When she finally saw his face, her eyes widened in horror. He looked as if he’d been in a bar brawl. His nose was swollen and slightly off-center, and a series of stitches held his upper lip together. But as he regained his composure, he managed to unknot the gag.

“Are you hurt?” He worked on the ropes around her wrists. “What did he do to you?”

“I’m all right, just scared and hungry.” The cotton texture of her lips and tongue made the words awkward. “John, I love you.” She began to cry again. The tears seemed to proceed from a bottomless well of relief and terror. “I love you so much.”

“Shh. Shh.” He kissed her gently in deference to his broken mouth, and some of his natural humor asserted itself. “Jiminy, you’re salty.” When she laughed, he kissed her again and went back to work on her wrists. “Never mind, I’ll have you free in just a minute.”

“I’m already free.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Praise God, we’re both free.”

“I think you should definitely go home to Mobile.” Abigail held Tess’s eyes steadily across the Lanieres’ breakfast table. “You’ve waited far too long.”

It was Tuesday morning, and the two of them lingered over coffee while Camilla hustled the children together for school. Baby Meg sat in Abigail’s lap, sucking her thumb and shaking a rattle made of spools strung on a length of yarn.

Tess looked away from the baby’s sweet face. She had only consented to stay overnight because John had convinced her Abigail shouldn’t sleep alone last night—trauma and all that. But Abigail suspected that deep down, Tess wanted someone to convince her that she was done with life in the District, as Abigail was. It had just taken her a little longer to come to the sticking point.

“Abby, not everybody deserves a happy ending like you.” Tess’s voice was low, embarrassed. “They’re not going to welcome me with open arms, you know. I was a selfish brat and took everything my father would give me before I left. I offended everybody who loved me, and—and I’d had another baby before the one who died in October. He’s growing up with another family.”

Abigail brushed her hand across the top of the baby’s soft head. “Well, you won’t know unless you go find out. You start by apologizing and asking forgiveness.”

Tess’s eyes flashed to Abigail’s face. “Who forgives like that? It’s too much to ask!”

“God forgives like that!” Abigail insisted. “You remind me a lot of the prodigal in Jesus’s story. His father was waiting for him to come back. Saw him from a long way off and
ran
to get him!” She smiled. “That’s you and me. We were both a long way off and needed to come home.”

Tess didn’t look convinced. “You never did what I’ve done. People did evil things to you, and you stayed pure.”

Abigail sighed. “Oh, Tess. If you just knew how bitter and angry I was for so long. How I hated John Braddock for having everything I wanted.”

“That didn’t last long,” Tess said wryly. “You were drooling over him the minute he took off that fancy coat and flexed his muscles.”

“I was not!” Abigail hid her face in Meg’s neck, blowing against her skin to make the baby giggle. She peeked and met Tess’s laughing eyes. “But I admit he makes my knees weak now. Even with ten stitches holding his face together.”

Tess laughed. “Looks like the stitches got him the day off from school. I see a couple of black-and-blue eyes peering through the window.” She rose and went through the clinic to open the back door. “Come in, Sir Lancelot. Guinevere’s dying to see you.”

John followed Tess back into the kitchen. He pulled off his hat and coat and tossed them at a coat rack in the corner. His bruised eyes were on Abigail. “Tess, Meg looks like she needs her nappy changed.”

Tess rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen two people more in need of a chaperone than you. But I won’t tell if you won’t.” She took the baby from Abigail’s lap. “Come on, sweetums, let’s go see what your mama’s doing.” She
sashayed toward the hallway leading to the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in five minutes!”

Abigail smiled but instantly lost track of anything but John, who lifted her to her feet and gathered her close. She nestled her cheek against his wool coat, relishing the feel of his arms around her, the masculine smell of outdoors and strong soap. “Good morning,” she murmured. “I was hoping you would come by.”

“Prof told me I could sleep in this morning—in fact, he told me he’d suspend me if I showed my face before Wednesday—said I’d scare the patients if I came in the wards looking like this.” He tipped up her chin and studied her face as if she were a rare and precious treasure. “Do I scare you?”

She couldn’t help laughing. Besides the stitched lip and the shiner, his handsome nose now had a distinct sideways bend at the arch. “You make me want to stand on the table and dance.”

“The dignified Miss Neal? I’d like to see it.”

“Miss Nieland,” she reminded him, sobering. She looked down at the waistcoat button she was twisting. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

John stilled her hand, covering it with his. “I understand why you did. And I’m sorry for all the tragedy my father’s actions caused you.” He hesitated. “In a lot of ways, we’re going to have to start over getting to know one another.”

Abigail pressed closer to him. “What’s going to happen to your father?”

“He’s been arrested and charged with trafficking in illegal narcotics. There’s no telling what else they’ll find in the investigation. My mother—” He swallowed. “My mother’s taking it very hard. No matter what, she loves him. Abigail, I hate this for her and for Lisette.”

“I know,” Abigail whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“And I don’t know how I’m going to finish school, with this hanging over my head. I suppose I shouldn’t worry, but I…”

When he didn’t finish, she looked up at him. “What?”

He looked a bit sheepish. “I don’t have any business even thinking about it. But there’s this beautiful woman I would like to court…and I’m afraid she won’t even look at the penniless son of a convicted felon.”

“Well…” Abigail’s already-racing heart began to gallop. “Perhaps if you reminded her that you have a most outstanding academic record at the most prestigious medical college in the South, and that you stand to become a very rich and sought-after surgeon, she might consent to listen to your suit.”

“Perhaps.” A smile tugged at John’s ruined mouth. “Do you think it would help to offer my services as a dissection lab assistant? I mean, supposing she decides to continue with her own medical degree?”

“I can think of nothing more romantic than a midnight tryst in the morgue.” Abigail giggled. “And I’m fairly positive she means to continue her medical school adventure. What a waste to throw away all that effort!”

John pounced and kissed her, letting out a small yelp of pain at the pressure on his lip. He let her go reluctantly. “Drat.” He fingered the cut. “How long does it take for these things to heal?”

“Probably longer if you keep opening it like that.” She pushed at his chest. “Tess will be back in a minute. You sit there—” she pointed at the bench on the opposite side of the table—” and I’ll sit here.” Slipping out of his arms, she seated herself, primly clasping her hands in her lap.

For a moment he stared at her, smiling, eyes on fire. “Oh, all right. If you’re going to be all proper.” He reached across the table, palms up, and she laid her hands in his. “What about your father? Are you going to try to contact him?”

Abigail looked away. “I don’t know. He wounded me terribly. I don’t know that I need a father anymore.”

“Abigail.” John’s voice was tender. “Family matters.”

She stared at him fiercely. “
You’ll
be my family. Tess is my family. Even Camilla and Prof. Not a man who tried to get rid of me for his own convenience.”

“We’re both going to have to practice forgiveness.” John kissed her hand. “I will if you will.”

She smiled at him, a fresh wave of tenderness and gratitude washing over her. “That’s a bargain, Dr. Braddock.”