The Ransom (21 page)

He ordered the carriage brought to a stop farther down the street. It had been weeks since he’d heard her play the violin, and he hoped it would sooth his agitated mind. But after an hour, only the distant crash of waves and screech of a night heron sounded, and he headed home.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game with this wise lady—a dangerous game indeed. Yet he could not bring himself to stop.

♥♥♥

Rowan slid onto the bench in the back of The Three Crownes and nodded toward Captain Nichols sitting across from him. Why the man wanted to meet here, Rowan could only guess. ’Twas probably because card games continued unhindered from dusk to dawn and were now at full force around them, offering incentive for Rowan to continue his alliance with the Royal Navy officer. Not that he needed any. Rowan would do just about anything to continue gambling. Despite Juliana’s opinion to the contrary, he found he possessed a skill at certain games that far exceeded that of most men. One day soon, luck would sail into port, and he’d make enough money to not only help run his father’s business but keep the family in luxury.

Then he’d finally win the respect of his sister and all those who thought him nothing but a wastrel, a lazy drunk who was doomed to fail. Mayhap he didn’t have the aptitude for numbers like Juliana, but God had given him another equally important skill. And with Nichols’s allowance, Rowan would hone that skill until he could provide for his family and relieve Juliana of the pressures she placed upon herself. Then perchance the poor girl could relax and enjoy life. Faith, life was far too short to waste fretting over such inconsequential things. Both his parents had proven that. His mother, always in a fluster over the poor in the city, had caught one of their diseases and died. And now his father, who’d spent a lifetime building up his shipping business, lay dying before he could reap the benefits.

Rowan would not end up like that. He would help his sister, yes. But after that, he intended to spend what time he had on this earth pursuing the pleasures life offered. Then at least when he died, he’d have no regrets.

Nichols grinned, poured rum from a bottle into a cup, and slid it to Rowan.

“What is the meaning of life, Captain?” Rowan took a sip, curious as to the coxcomb’s response.

Nichols snorted as if the question were ridiculous. “To win, of course.”

Rowan nodded. “As you intend to do with my sister? And this Pirate Earl you seek?”

“Precisely.”

A barmaid sashayed past the table, carrying two mugs of ale and eyeing Rowan with approval. He winked at her, eliciting a smile before she continued on her way. The snap of cards, whisper of bets, and feminine coos and giggles permeated the dimly-lit room in which velvet-upholstered chairs perched across a somewhat-clean wooden floor. Sea breezes whisked through open windows, stirring lanterns on tables and chandeliers hanging from rafters, creating waves of light and shadow over the scene. Just as the lantern on Rowan’s table was doing to the captain—making him look sinister one minute and harmless the next.

But Rowan knew the man was anything but harmless.

“You know what to do?” Nichols asked, sipping his drink.

Rowan nodded. “The ship is due to sail into port on the morrow. I’ve already given the customs agent the money.”

“And he won’t allow it to be unloaded until the next day?”

“That’s what he said.” Rowan sat back, impatient.

Nichols gave a malicious grin. “Good. Then spread the word by the docks, and I’ll do the same.”

Rowan nodded. An easy enough task. Pirates loved hearing about free booty, especially a fortune in pearls. Unusual guilt caused him to shift in his seat. “I have your word the pearls will not be stolen.”

At this Nichols laughed. “Stolen? Forsooth! I assure you, the only thing that will be stolen is the Pirate Earl’s freedom.”

Rowan hoped he was right. But what choice did he have? He extended his open palm to receive his due, longing for his conversation with the annoying Navy captain to be at an end.

Nichols eyed it with disdain. “What of the other matter?”

“Never fear. I’m questioning all of Lord Munthrope’s friends.” Rowan held up his same hand as Nichols began to protest. “I’m doing it discreetly. And I’m following him when I can. Nothing yet, but I’ll inform you of my findings.”

Card games called to him from all around like wanton lovers. “Now, if you please?” He held out his hand once again.

Scowling, Nichols pulled a leather pouch from inside his coat and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy
chink
, the musical sound causing Rowan’s heart to leap. Downing the remainder of his drink, he grabbed the money and stood. The sooner he found a game of cards, the sooner his luck would turn.

What did he care whether the Pirate Earl would be hanging from Execution Dock by the end of the week?

♥♥♥

Juliana hadn’t been able to sleep in a week. Not since she’d last seen Lord Munthrope. Visions of the dandified lord invaded her mind: images of his rapid reflexes, the way he grabbed the thief’s wrist and flipped him around with minimal effort, then subdued him and took his knife within seconds. It had all happened so fast, Juliana could recall only flashes. Where would a man of his breeding and lavish, lethargic lifestyle acquire such reflexes, such courage, such ability? She could make no sense of it, and her mind refused to put it to rest.

Tossing aside her coverlet, she rose and stood by the window. A breeze burdened with humidity, barely fluttered the cotton curtains as she gazed out over the sleeping city. Mayhap there was more to Lord Munthrope than he presented. His father had once been a pirate, after all. A very feared and successful pirate until he met God one day in the crumbling church that sat behind the orphanage. Reverend Buchan, the man who ran the church at the time and who later started the orphanage, became good friends with the wayward pirate, teaching him the things of God until he gave up his vile ways and became a missionary. She had wanted to ask Lord Munthrope more about his father, but for once, the bold question had remained behind propriety’s doors. Especially after the mention of him had caused Munthrope to frown so deeply. Though he seemed not to have acquired his father’s religious fervor, could a bit of that tainted pirate blood be flowing through Munthrope’s veins?

A vision of him gliding through the Milson home in a dainty whirl of lace and silk, his high-pitched laugh cackling over her ears, and then of him sobbing in the carriage on the way home, invaded her nonsensical thoughts. Nay. No pirate blood at all. She chuckled and shook her head. Seems the son was nothing like his father.

Gathering flint and steel, she lit a candle. The light flickered over the dark wood of her violin, causing her fingers to itch to pick it up and play a soothing tune. The sweet tones of Jean-Baptiste Lully or Heinrich Schütz would do much to calm her restless nerves, regardless of the fact that it was considered uncouth for a lady to play the instrument. But it was well past midnight, and she didn’t wish to rob anyone of the sleep that seemed to evade her.

After donning her robe, she took the candle and slipped from her chamber. She’d not had time to see her father all day, having spent hours doing paperwork and going over the business with Mr. Abbot. They had another shipment due tomorrow, and in the meantime, they needed to fill up the
Esther’s Dowry
with enough goods to make it worth the trip to the American colonies and then back across the pond. Since they had recently lost two customers, Mr. Abbot was having some difficulty signing on new merchants.

But Juliana didn’t want to think of that now. Instead, as she made her way down the dark hall, she silently prayed she would find her father much improved.

Yet when she entered his chamber, her prayers fell like so much dust to the floor. Miss Ellie, ever vigilant, sat slumped in a chair by his bed, snoring lightly. Her father, sweat beading on his face, seemed to have sunk deeper into the mattress, as if he had a rent in his hold and was slowly sinking into the sea. His face was dull and listless, his arms naught but bones and withered skin. A drop of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Stomach convulsing, Juliana sat on the bed beside him and slipped her hand into his limp, fevered one and bowed her head.
Please God. Heal him. Deliver him from this affliction
. As much as she enjoyed her independence and not being castigated by the man at every turn, she wanted no harm to come to him. He was her father, and she loved him. Besides, the sooner he took back control of the business, the better for them all. “Please Lord. I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll give more money to the poor, spend more time with the orphans, find a way to help Abilene. Just please heal my father.”

In answer, the man coughed—a ragged sound that scraped across Juliana’s heart. He opened one eye and peered at her with disinterest as if he were dreaming. Then fire stormed across his face. “Come to finish me off, Daughter?” he rasped out.

“Don’t be silly, Father. I’ve come to check on you and to appeal to the Almighty for your health.”

He jerked his hand from hers and coughed again. Blood spilled from his lips. Gathering a cloth, Juliana attempted to wipe it, but he pushed her away. “’Tis the Almighty who cursed me with a flighty wife, a wastrel son, and a greedy daughter. Now he’s stealing my life from me.” A coughing fit ensued as he appeared to struggle for each breath.

Miss Ellie jerked awake and darted to his side, her sleepy eyes meeting Juliana’s.

“Don’t be silly, Father. God doesn’t make people sick. He makes people well. And you will get well, you’ll see.”

Ellie took the rag from Juliana and wiped his mouth. “There, there. Miss Juliana is right. You will be up on your feet in no time.”

His listless eyes found the lady’s maid and remained upon her as if she were a nest and he a bird returning from a long flight.
A tiny smile peeked from the corner of his lips as Ellie proceeded to wash out the cloth and dab it over his forehead and cheeks.

“You’re the only one who cares about me,” he mumbled.

“Now, you know that’s not true, Mr. Dutton. Juliana is ’ere to check on you. She loves you.”

One glance toward Juliana and he started coughing again, this time violently, spewing phlegm and accusations that she was stealing his business and poisoning him.

Finally unable to bear the heartache, Juliana rose, deciding her presence did more harm than good.

“I’m sorry, miss. He’s been delirious with fever all day. I don’t know why ’e’d say sich things.”

“It’s all right, Ellie. He’s never had a fondness for me. Please let me know if there is any change.”

“Shall I come up for your morning toilet?”

“Nay, stay with him Ellie. I can manage for now.”

Taking the candle, she made her way down the stairs to her father’s study, where she hoped to get some work done before the sun rose. An unusual chill slithered around her. She glanced over the dark foyer as a strong sense of foreboding weighed the air.

The front door flew open and in walked Rowan, or rather, in stumbled Rowan in a brandy-drenched haze.

“Ah, sisssster dear.” He held his arms wide for an embrace.

She stepped aside in disgust. His arms struck air, and he spun around. “I didn’t ’xpect you to be up at … at …” He fumbled to draw a pocket watch from his coat.

“’Tis three in the morning, Rowan,” Juliana huffed in frustration. “And I thought you’d learned your lesson about gambling.”

“Gambling, pshaw!” Grabbing the lapels of his jerkin, he attempted to adjust them but nearly fell over. “’Tis invessssting, says I, do you take me?”

Juliana closed the door before the neighbors saw her brother’s disgusting display.

“I was meeting a friend, if you please.” He spoke into the darkness, then whirled to find her behind him. He winked. “A friend of yours, dear sister.” Brandy fumes enveloped her, stinging her nose and eyes.

“We shall discuss this in the morning. Let’s get you to bed.” Easing her shoulder beneath his arm, she held his waist and dragged him toward the stairs.

He raised a finger in the air. “Captain William Nichols.”

She knew she shouldn’t speak to her brother in his condition, but that name ignited a fire of angst within her. She spun him around. “Rowan, you are not to associate with that man! He is
not
my friend. He is
not
your friend. And I do not want him in this house, do you understand?”

His glassy eyes flew over her face as if seeking a place to land. “Humph. He’s my friend, and I’ll see him when I want.” He adjusted his skewed brown periwig, his eyes pointing upward as if searching for the hairpiece. “Infernal thing.” He tore it from his head.

“Please, Rowan. I beg you. Keep your distance from Nichols. For me?”

“I cannot, sissster. We are in business together. A very lucrative business for me, I might add.” He patted his pocket, where a jingling sound emerged.

Anger followed by fear stormed through her. “He’s a Post-Captain in his Majesty’s navy. What business could you possibly have with him?”

Grabbing the banister, Rowan sank to the bottom step. “Are we having another earthquake?”