Picture Perfect (27 page)

Chapter 14

‘
In here,’ one of the men said, bringing Annabel out of her useless reverie, the man in the boat wasn’t Jack, if it had been he would have tried to rescue her, she was sure of that, after all he couldn’t prosecute her for stealing old masters if she had been kidnapped. She tried to ignore the small voice inside her which pointed out that although Jack had accused her of the crime he had taken no steps to have her arrested, quite the opposite in fact. She found herself being hustled inside a small cabin whose only features were a bunk with a couple of blankets and a small porthole, Annabel studiously avoided looking at it until the man had departed, locking the door behind him, then she rushed over and peered out.

She could just make out a murky shoreline and a wide stretch of water and she guessed they were on the river Thames, somewhere downstream of London. She didn’t know what good the information would do her, but it was a relief to have some idea of where she was. She eyed the bunk dubiously, she had no intention of sleeping, but she sat down on it and waited.

After a while she heard the splash of oars and the boat rocked as more people climbed aboard, then a chink of light outlined the cabin door as a lantern was lit on the deck. She tried to peer out of the keyhole but the angle was wrong and she could see no one. She could hear the squeak of a pulley and canvas in the breeze accompanied by several sets of footsteps, but all she could see was another door facing her across the gangway.

‘Who are you?’ she heard her chief kidnapper ask suddenly, and all other sounds of action stopped.

‘John sent me,’ someone said easily, ‘to keep an eye on you.’ Annabel felt her heart leap, it was Jack, she was sure of it, she would know his voice anywhere, his was the one voice she longed to hear most in the world and unbelievably there he was, on board the boat. She was about to call out to him, to let him know she was there, but then she remembered his carefully laid traps to catch the art thief, he might be setting a trap here too and she didn’t want to spring it.

‘It’s John’s boat, Rollings,’ one of the other men said, ‘Looks like he don’t really trust you with it.’

‘John owes me,’ Rollings muttered, but he did not contest Jack’s right to be there. Annabel let out the breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding, Jack was on board, he would save her and everything would be all right. She perched expectantly on the bunk and waited, and waited, the moon came up and a little cold light filtered through the dirty porthole into the cabin but still Jack didn’t come. A cold fear settled insidiously around Annabel’s heart, what if Jack was not playing an elaborate game with her kidnappers, what if he really were part of the plan to abduct her and hold her for ransom? He’d certainly been accepted quickly enough by Rollings and his men. She tried to shake the thought off but it held on tenaciously. She waited some more.

At some point she must have slept despite her best intentions, exhausted by her ordeal. She was awoken by the sound of voices outside her cabin and found she was lying awkwardly on top of the blankets on her bunk, cold and uncomfortable with her clothing twisted around her as if she had twisted and turned in her sleep. Cool morning light came through the porthole and between chinks in the boards. Forgetting her aches Annabel rushed to look outside. The welcome and unmistakable sight of the tower of London greeted her eyes, now if only the boat would stop and moor here she might have a chance, if she broke the glass in the porthole, of attracting someone’s attention and being rescued. She looked around hastily for her reticule and then remembered she had dropped it last night when she swung it at Rollings, but she had her boots, the heels, she hoped, would be hard enough to break the glass.

‘But like you said, she’s a little vixen,’ she heard Jack’s voice say suddenly, from just outside her door and she whirled round. ‘Why should I risk having my eyes scratched out just to give the girl breakfast?’

‘Are you afraid of a wench?’ Rollings asked, he sounded bad tempered and as if he hadn’t got much sleep, Annabel wasn’t sure if that would make things better or worse for her. ‘This might be John’s boat, but he ain’t here – now get on with the job.’

‘All right, give us her breakfast,’ Jack said, his tone surly, ‘but I’m not leaving her in there with any cutlery, she’d use it to stab the next person who came in, I’ll watch her eat and I’ll make sure I take everything away afterwards.’ The key turned in the lock, Jack stepped through the door and shut it behind him.

Annabel had thought she would throw herself into his arms the moment they were alone, but the look on his face froze her where she was, he looked cold and distant and her doubts about his allegiance returned tenfold. ‘Here’s your breakfast,’ he said and thrust a bowl of something towards her. After a moment Annabel took it from him, hoping her fingers would brush his and that the touch would somehow tell her whose side he was on, but Jack seemed to read her mind, he neatly evaded contact and she took the bowl, setting it down on the bed, quite unable to face food. ‘Eat it,’ Jack growled, Annabel had never seen him like this, so cold and aloof, and he had certainly never spoken so roughly to her before, he was behaving like a common criminal but she decided to give him one last chance.

‘Are you part of this plot to kidnap me?’ she asked him quietly, she saw him flinch at the question but he didn’t hesitate in his reply.

‘Of course,’ he said his tone full of contempt. Annabel felt as though he’d slapped her, she even recoiled a step.

‘How could you?’ she demanded, forgetting to keep her voice low. ‘I thought you were respectable, I thought you caught criminals rather than consorted with them, I trusted you!’

His eyes widened at that last but he tried to cover it with a shrug, ‘That just made everything easier,’ he said.

‘You are the most despicable, vile man I have ever met!’ she said, disappointment in him tumbling over her like a tidal wave. ‘To think I would have…’ she changed direction abruptly. ‘Why did you do it?’

Jack gave a laugh which sounded rather forced. ‘Lord Beresford is a very rich man; I did it for a share of the money.’

‘You’ll never get away with this,’ she warned him, ‘I know who you are and I know the name of the man who was following me, you’ll never be able to show your face in England again, my father has connections with the admiralty, they’ll hunt you down, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.’

Abruptly the door opened and Rollings came in. ‘None of us are going to prison, the admiralty won’t know where to start,’ he smiled nastily, ‘they won’t have a clue. Now I want you to write a note.’

Rollings had heard everything she’d been saying, Annabel realized, she wished she’d thought to include a few choice insults about the ringleader of the gang. ‘I’m not writing anything for you,’ she said contemptuously. Rollings moved so fast she barely had time to react, on moment he was standing in front of her holding out writing materials, the next he had twisted her left arm painfully behind her back and had forced her to the floor.

‘Write,’ he said and involuntarily Annabel let a half sob escape, but the next thing she knew Jack had knelt by her side.

‘I’ll hold her,’ he said, ‘you can make sure she does it properly.’ Rollings grunted an agreement, perhaps he thought it befitted his status to have someone else provide the brawn, Annabel didn’t know, whatever the reason she felt nothing but relief when he let her go and Jack put his arm around her, holding her securely, but almost as if he wanted to give her strength rather than for the purposes of restraint. Rollings proceeded to dictate a short letter in which she stated that she was being held hostage and begged for her ransom to be paid and then he had her sign it your affectionate and devoted daughter Hannah.

‘I don’t know why you want me to write this,’ Annabel said contemptuously, a flowery end to the letter was hardly going to influence Lord Beresford over the decision of whether or not to pay the money Rollings demanded.

‘To prove you’re alive…at the moment,’ Rollings said. ‘When he sees your writing -’

‘But,’ Annabel began but Jack gave her hand a sudden sharp squeeze and she stopped, she had been going to say that Lord Beresford didn’t know her writing, so the letter could not possibly act as proof, but perhaps Jack was right, pointing out the flaws in his plan to a vicious criminal might not be the best of ideas.

‘- he’ll know we’ve got you.’ Rollings seemed not to have noticed her interruption and she felt Jack let out a silent sigh of relief. Wordlessly Rollings gathered up the note and the writing things, he seemed determined to leave her with nothing she could possibly use as a weapon, although what she could do with a bottle of ink other than throw it in someone’s eyes, momentarily blinding him, Annabel did not know. ‘Stay with her until she’d finished with that,’ he ordered Jack, glancing at the bowl of stone cold porridge lying disregarded on the bunk, then, at last, he left.

For a moment longer Annabel savoured the feeling of Jack holding her in his arms and could almost believe that he was here to save her, then he released her and stood up. ‘You need to eat that,’ he said softly, ‘I don’t know when you’ll next be given food and you need to keep your strength up. He was right, but Annabel glared at him while she picked up the bowl and spoon. How dare he admit to being part of the ring of kidnappers one moment and the next hold her as if she were the most precious thing in the world? She longed to trust him but he had admitted his part in the crime and she would be foolish in the extreme to follow her heart.

While she ate she heard the sounds of feet on the aft deck, followed by splashing. ‘Untie the painter,’ a voice ordered and Rollings added ‘Be here just after sunset, I’ll be waiting.’ She glanced involuntarily at Jack, it sounded as though at least two of the men had left the boat, surely this was the time to try and escape. Jack put his finger to his lips but made no other move and she inwardly chided herself for being unable to let go of the belief that Jack was here to help her.

‘
Pull up the anchor and hoist the sails,’ she heard another voice call and it was followed by the sounds of action the steady clink of a chain being wound up, the patter of feet and the wind snapping at the canvas. Jack was at her side in an instant.

‘
We haven’t got much time,’ he whispered fiercely into her ear, ‘they’ll only be distracted for a moment and these walls are paper thin, everything can be heard from outside, I heard you crying last night even though you were doing your best to hide it.’

‘
I didn’t cry last night!’ in her indignation Annabel stepped back from him, he looked at her steadily.

‘
You must have been crying in your sleep then,’ he said, ‘but the important thing is I’m on your side, I would never betray you and I promise I will get you out of here alive, do you believe me?’

It was as if a great weight had been lifted off her heart, she had been right to trust him, to believe he was here to save her, to give him her heart. ‘Oh, yes!’ she said ‘But…’ she had been about to ask him what his plan was but there was a footfall outside and before she could say another word Jack snatched her up in his arms and kissed her on and on until she felt she would break with the sheer beauty of it.

‘
Finish your breakfast,’ he said when he released her at last, his tone was cold and hard but his eyes told a different story and he looked at her with what she was sure could only be love. Reluctantly, because at that moment nothing could have seemed a greater contrast to Jack’s kisses than cold porridge, she picked up her spoon and ate. ‘Good,’ Jack said so softly she was hardly sure she had heard him, then he collected her bowl and spoon and left.

The day passed tediously for Annabel, she was no longer terrified for her life because even though she had had no chance to ask Jack what his plan was for getting them safely off the boat, she had complete faith in him. At some point in the afternoon one of the other men brought her some bread and hard cheese which she ate ravenously, hoping that Jack would bring her her evening meal or better still that he would somehow take control of the boat before then. The only diversion she had was looking out of her little porthole and watching the fields pass as they sailed up river, but it was uncomfortable standing and peering out through the dirty glass and after a while she lay down on the bunk again.

She must have fallen asleep because she was woken by the sound of the key turning in the lock. She sat up hastily, not wanting to be caught at a disadvantage, and noticed that the light had dimmed, it must be early evening. Jack slipped through the door and she felt her face light up at the sight of him, he was carrying a bowl which steamed slightly and he set it down carefully on the bunk next to her. She wanted to tell him how glad she was to see him, but she knew now how thin the walls were and she kept silent.

‘Eat this up,’ Jack said and she waited for a moment, sensing he wanted to say more, but when he didn’t speak she began spooning up the fish stew, to her relief it tasted far better than the food she had been given so far, but she ate slowly, wanting to prolong the time she had with Jack and give him a chance to speak should there be a diversion on deck. The last rays of sunset shone through the porthole and lit up Jack’s face, adding vivid colour and making him seem twice as real then she heard a voice from outside her cabin.