Dark Shadows (18 page)

In just a few short days, Jacob believed America’s fate would be decided. Her growing standing with the rest of the world would now be tested, such was the looming threat of a dissolution of the United States. An old saying of his father’s came back to haunt him: “Those who stand idle in elections cannot declare protestations at an unfavourable outcome.”

Jacob dismissed America’s political wrangle and turned his thoughts to matters even more pressing. He looked at his watch. He still had time to speak to the two women, make arrangements for them, and get to Hendry and Belle in time for luncheon.      

            Isaac marched towards Jacob with a thunderous scowl on his face. Jacob had never seen the mild-mannered man look so angry. He put his thoughts aside, walked towards him, and whispered in his ear, “Not here. I’ll hear whatever you have to say in private. No need for the men to listen in.”

In the wardroom, Jacob poured them each a shot of rum. Isaac’s face was red with rage; he looked as though he needed the rum.

“Isaac, out with it. What did the women tell you? Jesus, you look like you want to beat the shit out of someone.”

Isaac drank his shot in one and slammed it on the table. “We were right. God damn it, but if I could find that whoring madam, I’d kill her with my bare hands. These girls were abducted from London – London! The young girl is family to an Earl.

“They were both lifted off the street, different places but by the same two men. I’m betting they were those two bastards we caught last night trying to burn the women in the salon.”

“Dear God,” Jacob said, shocked. “How were they abducted?”

“They were drugged – chloroform, probably – and then tied up, gagged, and carted off to Liverpool along with eight other women. They were kept in a room underneath the stable. They don’t know for how long – it could have been days, weeks – but that’s not the worst of it. It seems that all the women in that place were taken captive at some time or another. Jacob, those two women in your stateroom witnessed murder. They were subjected to torture. Jesus Christ. It begs belief!”

Jacob swore. He poured another rum shot for each of them and pushed his fingers through his hair. His hands were shaking, and he was filled with guilt. He’d think about Madame du Pont later. His priority now was the well-being of the two girls. “How are they doing – physically, mentally?”

Isaac shrugged. “Physically, they’ll both be fine. Mentally – what do you think? The older one has a bad burn on her hand, and her head is still swollen, although it has gone down some since last night. She’s bruised black and blue down one side of her face, and I’m bettin’ someone hit her. She won’t talk – but those green eyes, Jacob … I felt as though I was being pulled into them. She never said a word the whole time I was with them.”

“Nothing? But you asked her where she wanted to go?” Jacob asked.

“I did, but like I said, she didn’t open her mouth. I never heard one word from her. The youngster’s named Julia, and she did the talking for both of them.”

“And the woman … Do you think her head injury is serious?”

“I reckon the stitches I put in last night will have to stay in place for at least a week. She’s not fit enough to walk around the streets of Liverpool on her own; put it that way. She’s got a bad concussion and needs to be monitored. I think she’s still pretty much dazed, but we have to get her to talk so we can find out where to send her back to.”

Jacob watched Isaac pour another shot and noted that he seemed deeply affected by these turn of events and by the green-eyed woman. Jacob asked, “What happened to Julia when she was taken upstairs? Did she tell you anything about that?”

“Not much. She told me that she had not fought the man off, but he hurt her. She said du Pont threatened to kill them if they spoke about themselves or didn’t comply with the customers’ wishes. I swear I’ll kill that woman if I ever see her again.”

“Yes, you already said that. Why the hell did none of them speak up? Ask for refuge? Ask to be taken out of that place?”

“I don’t know. But you and me and every other blind fool who went there are guilty of ignoring them and of not asking the right questions, probably because they never gave us cause to.”

Jacob’s anger was growing, and most of it was directed at himself. “Well, now we know they didn’t say anything because they were being threatened by du Pont. Damn it, Isaac. I knew something was up with the older one. I should have gotten to her sooner. I had a feeling in my gut that she was scared.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Jacob said curtly. “What matters is that those women were held at gunpoint last night and those bastards were going to kill them to keep their mouths shut. I should have hanged the one we caught instead of tying him to a damn tree. Jesus, I’ll never get over this – not unless I find the man that escaped, rip his balls off, and shove them up du Pont’s ass!”

“Jacob, we have to make sure that whore mistress doesn’t get away with this.”

“I’m with you there, but first we have to make it right and get the women back to their families. I’ll go now and try to get the other one to talk. We can get them both on a train to London – and we’ll make sure they’re escorted.”

Jacob’s mind was spinning. He was desperate to find out the woman’s name, but he had to concentrate on practical matters first. He said, “Did Julia give you an address?”

“She did.”

“Okay. Get a telegram to her family and order one of the men to look into trains. And send Jansen to get the local coppers here too. They need to know everything we know about du Pont’s criminal activities – and they damn well better catch her before she makes a run for it. Her man too, the bastard that got away last night.”

“You got it,” Isaac said.

Jacob pondered a moment longer and then added, “We have to make this right.”

Chapter Thirty

Mercy was deep in her own thoughts. She was free. Madame Du Pont could not hurt her anymore. Julia had been promised safe passage home this very day. She had given the doctor her family name and told him where they lived in London, and she was repeatedly told that arrangements would be in hand before the end of the morning. Julia was going home to the loving arms of her family.
She
, on the other hand, was going to rot in hell.

When the doctor came, Mercy had held her tongue, preferring to listen to Julia’s long story instead of telling her own. The doctor had been shocked, Mercy believed. She’d seen disgust and anger in his eyes, and she now began to wonder if the man she’d killed had also been ignorant of the truth. Would he have pitied her had she told him that she was a prisoner? Would he have left her alone, maybe even helped her escape? Had she taken a life when all that life had wanted was what he’d paid for? She was racked with guilt. At this moment, she could not speak or listen to anything other than her own recriminations.

She stared out of the porthole, hiding her shame from Julia. Julia had done herself proud, Mercy thought now. She’d imparted every piece of information, every memory, and every detail of the torture and murder they had both witnessed in Madame du Pont’s house of horrors. She had left some details to the imagination regarding her rape. She had thanked God and his angels, telling the doctor quite simply that the man had hurt her, but he had not damaged her soul. God had turned off her mind to his actions, and she had therefore not involved herself in the ordeal.

Julia’s bravery and maturity were still new to Mercy. She had not seen this side of the girl’s character before. Julia had shed a few tears, which she wiped away with annoyance, but Mercy took that as a good sign. The poor girl might still be in shock and unable to comprehend what had happened to her. She could wake up tomorrow or the day after, fully realising the extent of the horrors she had lived through. But today she was revealing a serenity and dignity well beyond her years. Mercy wanted to scream. Why couldn’t she have been like Julia? She was going to be scarred for life and live with nightmares and guilt until the day she died.

She watched Julia eat a hearty breakfast, but she couldn’t think about eating. Her stomach was knotted, and waves of nausea threatened to spill over. She could barely talk. She was afraid to talk. She was filth, a murderess and arsonist.

No one back home would believe what she’d done. There, she couldn’t even bring herself to kill the rats that scurried across the floor in her grandma’s house. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Yet here she sat in a grand cabin with blood on her hands and with the guilt of knowing she had snubbed out a life, or lives, like candles.

She could not speak as Julia had, for she was not a victim. She could not talk about the fire, for she had set it. She could not bring herself to utter the name Carver, for she was terrified that by giving it, she too would be sent home.

Home? No, not home. She fought the very idea of it. She could never go back to her grandparents’ house – ever. She would rather wander the streets of Liverpool until she died or was killed.

She thought about her impending marriage. She hated Big Joe more than ever, yet he was not the guilty party. Her grandparents had sold her to him with no regard for her feelings, and that made
them
guilty in her eyes. They had done it to survive, to feed the family, to buy her new garments, and to make their lives easier, but they were just as bad as the slave traders she had heard about, living in distant lands. They were almost as bad as Madame du Pont!

This terrible ordeal had taught her more about life than she could have ever imagined. The world was a cruel place, where money had the power to buy people, enslave them, and kill them on a whim. She had seen this with her own eyes. She’d been bought and paid for like the whores at the du Pont manor, but Big Joe would not receive his merchandise. She would rather slit her own throat in a Liverpool back street than give herself to him. And best her family and Southwark thought her dead, for then the deal would be off. As for her grandparents – well, they would have to deal with the consequences of their actions.

The stateroom’s door rattled with a loud knock. Julia stopped eating. Mercy stared unswervingly at the door, wondering who would enter. Fear once again crept up on her. Coppers could be lurking outside. They would take her away in chains. Someone might have witnessed her appalling deeds.

Fear would live with her for the rest of her days. Fear of the unknown, the constant worry that death would result from a wrong word or action. Fear of ever walking out alone. Fear of Madame du Pont finding her, taking her to some dark place, and slitting her throat. Peace, Mercy knew at that moment, would come only after she was sure that, Eddie, Sam, and Madame du Pont were dead.

Mercy heard a second knock. It was a gentle, unthreatening tap. She looked down the length of the table. There were breads and cold cuts. The maps had been removed. Flowers had been brought and placed in a crystal vase right in the centre. Whoever had ordered these kind offerings brought by the doctor might be on the other side of the door.

Mercy whispered in Julia’s ear, “It may be the nice doctor, Julia. And he was nice, wasn’t he?”

Julia nodded without taking her eyes from the door.

“Come in,” Mercy said with a soft tremble in her voice. Her heartbeat quickened, and she prayed.

Jacob took a hesitant step inside the room. He stood just inside the door, hat in hand and with no intention of moving closer. He looked at the woman and the girl, and his heart melted. His eyes met the woman’s, and he couldn’t tear them away. He tried to focus on Julia, but his eyes automatically slid back to those green eyes.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered, even more so bathed in the mid-morning light pouring through the open porthole. She was dressed in a dark blue gown which would have looked ordinary on anyone else. She, on the other hand, with those green sparkling eyes and flowing hair, was like a rare, exquisite doll. Her bandage had been removed, and the stitches at the centre of the swollen area were visible just beneath her hairline. Jacob’s heartbeat quickened, and he attempted to calm it. He had questions and needed answers.

Mercy looked at the stranger, and grainy images surfaced in her mind. There were dark, blurred outlines and flames dancing, but his face was also there. She was back in the bedroom, being pulled from underneath the bed. She was thrown over a shoulder. In the misty images that followed, she remembered his face again, outside on the grassy verge. He’d saved her. She remembered now. She’d seen him for just a split second before he hauled her out of the room.

She studied him more closely and waited for him to speak. He seemed as tongue-tied as she was. Her fear drained away, for as she watched him, all she could see and sense were kind eyes and concern. He stood tall and was broad-shouldered. He was handsome, she caught herself thinking. He was mesmerising her with deep brown eyes that were locked on her own. How could a man be so perfectly formed?

“Good morning, ladies. I’m sure glad to see y’all looking better. My name is Jacob – Jacob Stone. Welcome to the
Christina
—”

“What are you going to do with us? Why are we on this ship?” Mercy interrupted him, afraid he’d read her mind. Jacob smiled, and Mercy noticed his perfect white teeth. Her words had come out the wrong way. They had sounded abrupt and ungrateful. “I’m – I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir,” she stuttered.