The Ransom (45 page)

Especially ones who had broken her heart.

♥♥♥

A month later
. . .

Sunlight angled over Juliana, warming her skin, and bursting a collage of bright colors behind her closed eyelids. She drew a deep breath, inhaling the sweet vanilla fragrance of her mother’s heliotrope. One final time. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she shoved them back. She’d spent enough time crying during the last month to fill Kingston Harbor.
But no more. ’Twas time to stop pitying herself and move on. Alone. Not one of her friends had come to call. Not one had sent a post expressing sympathy for her situation. There’d been no invitations to teas or parties or games of ruff or cricket.

She was utterly and completely alone.

“Miss, Abbot and I are ready.” Ellie’s voice drew her gaze to the maid standing by the open French doors, a look of abject misery on her plump features.

Juliana stood, taking in the beauty of her mother’s garden one last time, implanting it on her memory. How she hated to leave it in someone else’s care. Would they tend to it well? Would they honor her mother’s memory by keeping the plants she loved alive? Mayhap ’twas best not to think of such things. Juliana didn’t need a garden to remember her mother. The wonderful lady would always occupy a huge part of her heart.

“Very well.” She followed Ellie into the main parlor, now absent all its furniture save an old sideboard Juliana had been unable to sell. Their footsteps ran hollow across the tile of the empty room.

“I can’t believe they won’t allow you to keep the ’ouse, miss.”

“’Tis the rules, foolish though they may be, Ellie.” With the timing of her father’s death making Rowan the legal heir, and then his pre-conviction of piracy on the evidence of two merchantmen whose ships he’d plundered, the Jamaican Council had ordered all of Rowan’s property seized by the Crown.

“Pure thievery,” Ellie grumbled.

“I quite agree.” Abbot stood by the door, suitcases in hand.

“’Tis for the best,” Juliana said. “How would I maintain the estate, pay a staff? Feed us? It would all eventually fall into disrepair, and I couldn’t stand to watch that.”

“But at least you would have a roof over your head, miss.”

“I’ll have a roof. Thanks be to Eunice and Isaac Tucker.” Juliana opened the door, ushering in a stream of sunshine that defied her dark mood. “The orphanage is a fitting place for me—an orphan.”

“Don’t say sich things, miss.” Ellie touched her arm, eyes glassy.

“’Tis true enough, Ellie.” Though Juliana hated to burden Eunice with yet another mouth to feed. But the money from the sale of her furniture, cookware, and most of her clothing would help out with expenses for a while. Plus, not having found a willing buyer, she still had her ship, the
Ransom
. Perchance she wouldn’t end up like Abilene.

At least not yet.

Ellie batted a tear away and tucked hair inside her mobcap. “We thank you jist the same, miss, for gettin’ Mr. Abbot and me new positions. And ones for Cook and Mr. Pell.”

“I pray you will be very happy at the Braidwin’s home. They are good people.” Juliana took one last glance around the stark foyer, sifting through memories of happier times.

A roar thundered down the street. She hadn’t time to consider it before the ground jolted as if a spring had released and everything shook. Then it was gone.

“Seems the island is as unhappy at your misfortune as we are.” Abbot frowned.

“If so, I pray it would shower wealth upon me instead of dust.” She quipped, brushing dirt from her bodice.

“Miss.” Abbot’s voice drew her gaze back to him. “I thought you should know that the word about town is that Lord Munthrope or the Pirate Earl, or whoever the man claims to be, is to be hanged on the morrow at Gallows Point.”

Something sharp speared Juliana’s heart. She had tried so hard not to think of Alex this past month. Though, in truth, her efforts had failed. Why did the man—the pirate, the rogue--the
liar
—still have such a hold on her heart?

“Thank you, Abbot.”

Miss Ellie’s eyes pooled, and she flew into Juliana’s arms. “I will miss you so much, miss.”

“And I, you.” Juliana gripped her as tears slid down her cheeks. “But we shall see each other again.”

“Indeed, we shall.” Abbot bent to pick up Juliana’s valise, but she stayed his hand, wiping her moist cheeks. “No need, Abbot. You are no longer my servant. I must grow accustomed to carrying my own things.”

He nodded, and the three of them left the home they’d lived in for more than four years.

After a tearful goodbye, Juliana started down the street toward the Buchan orphanage. In one hand she carried her valise, which held everything she had left in the world: two gowns, underthings, her hairbrush, pins, mirror, and her Bible. And in her other hand, she held her violin case. She could have easily sold the instrument, but found she couldn’t part with the only thing left that soothed her soul. Afternoon sun torched the air, heating the ground in waves of humidity until perspiration slid down her back and her rapid pace slowed to a slog.

And still, she thought of Alex.

She’d not seen him since Nichols had stolen her from the
Vanity
. Too angry with him and too preoccupied with her own survival, she’d avoided facing the man. The last look he’d given her—of assurance and love—was forever imprinted on her mind like engraving on stone. It tortured her during the day and woke her in sweaty dreams at night. Tomorrow, he would die. Mayhap then the memories would cease.

Mayhap then she would be rid of the Pirate Earl forever.

Somehow, she doubted it. Somehow, her feet passed the avenue on which the orphanage was located and kept going down High Street toward Marshallsea Prison.

Mayhap if she spoke to him—asked him about the orphanage—his admission of guilt would seal the tomb on her traitorous passions. Then she would see him for the scoundrel he was.

And she could get on with what was left of her miserable life.

Chapter 35

A darkness Juliana could feel invaded her soul. With each step she took into the confines of Marshallsea Prison, the sweet scent of goodness, mercy, and light was shoved away by the fetid odor of hopelessness, death, and excrement. Men materialized from shadows into dim lantern light and gripped iron bars, some gaping at her in misery, others possessing enough life in them to whistle and beg her to come hence and give them a kiss.

Among other things.

Nausea gurgled in her stomach, threatening to dislodge the dry toast and jam she’d consumed at her noonday meal.

The guard who escorted her shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ye, miss.”

She nodded. She could handle it. As long as the bars kept the villains from following through with their promises. Ignoring the lewd taunts, she proceeded down the narrow hallway, bordered on her left by cells the size of wardrobes, and on her right by a stone barricade. High above the cells, tiny barred windows let in a modicum of light that was lost in the shadows below.

As the guard’s lantern advanced over the wall to her right, the stone seemed to move like waves upon the sea. Juliana slowed, staring at the odd sight, thinking she’d gone mad, when another shift of light revealed the wall wasn’t moving at all. Instead, waves of cockroaches fled like hell’s minions before the light. She shrieked.

Laughter raked over her as the prisoners continued their vulgarities.

“They won’t harm ye, lady. Good fer eating, says I,” one of them said.

Her stomach lurched into her throat, and she halted, drawing a breath to still her nerves. Bad idea. The stench overwhelmed her, and she began to cough. If only she had a hand free to cover her nose with her handkerchief, but she’d been unwilling to leave her valise and violin in the guard house.

“You all ri’, miss?” the guard said. “We kin go back.”

“Nay. Thank you.”

A rat scampered across her path. Suppressing a scream, she continued.

How could they keep human beings in such a place? No matter what these men had done, nothing deserved such barbarity.

They turned a corner and then another and finally halted before one of the cells.

“Pirate! Ye got a visitor.” The guard hooked the lantern on a ceiling beam and then retreated to sit on a crate a few yards away.

Juliana set down her valise and case and took a tentative step forward, peering into the shadows of the cell. The rapid beat of her heart betrayed her with a desperate yearning she could not explain. A yearning that turned into terror when he did not appear. Had he died in this filth and squalor? Had he already been taken to the gallows?

“Alex,” she breathed out, frantically searching for any sign of movement in the murky black.

He emerged from the darkness like a ship from a storm—a sturdy ship not easily sunk. All man and strength and courage. The whiskers lining his jaw and slight paleness to his skin were the only indication he’d been locked up for a month. Though he’d donned a shirt, it hung loosely about his hips, open at the neck where no cravat hid the crest of muscles beneath. His boots crunched over sand as he approached.

A flush of traitorous heat warmed her body.

“Came to say goodbye?” His lips quirked, but bitterness poisoned his tone.

“Nay.” She steeled her resolve. “I came to ask you something.”

“Ye kin ask
me
anythin’ ye want, lovely,” a man covered in grime shouted from a few cells down.

Ignoring him, Alex’s glance took in her valise and case. “If ’tis to carry milady’s suitcase, I fear I am otherwise engaged.”

His curt tone did much to squelch her sympathy for the man. “Don’t be a fool, Milord
Pirate
.”

“Milord? At last.” He snorted, studying her with those deep-blue eyes of his, the mockery within them transforming into an intensity that made her swallow. “You shouldn’t have come. ’Tis no place for a lady.”

“Tell me about the orphanage.”

Something flashed across his expression. Guilt? Sorrow? He shoved a hand through his hair and looked away. “So, that is the reason you haven’t come to see me. I assumed my sacrifice on your behalf would have warranted at least one visit before my neck is squeezed.”

Juliana lowered her gaze. She had not forgotten what he had given up to save her. Could not reconcile it with a man who would discard children like so much refuse. “I realize you chose not to fight on my account.” She swallowed and lifted her eyes to his. “And for that I am grateful. But one selfless deed does not cover a lifetime of wickedness.”

“’Tis a start.” He approached the bars, searching her eyes.

“Ah, give the man a chance, sweetheart!” a man shouted from down the hall.

Juliana drew a little closer and lowered her voice. “The type of man who would leave orphans to fend for themselves is not the type of man to trust with one’s heart.”

He frowned, shook the bars, then released them with a shove. “Who told you?”

“Captain Nichols.”

Alex’s eyes flashed fire.

“
You
should have been the one to tell me.” Juliana took another step forward. “Since you followed me around town, surely you knew how much I cared for the orphans. How much my mother had.”

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Alex stared at the dirt.

“How could you have done such a thing?” she demanded.

He lifted his eyes to hers, light from the lantern reflecting the angst within. “Reverend Buchan was a good friend of my father’s. When he died, I was sent to take his place. But—”

“You got bored,” she interrupted, her ire rising, “as you are so apt to do, is that it? Nothing to pillage or plunder, no women to ravish at the orphanage?”

A voice bellowed from another cell. “Aha, gents, ’tis the great Pirate Earl bein’ chastised by a proper lady!” Laughter ensued.

A look of contrition softened Alex’s features, and he grabbed the bars again. “It wasn’t like that.”

She should leave. She should grab her things and go. She had the answer she came for. This man was not to be trusted. He used people for his own needs and tossed them aside when they no longer suited his purpose. He was a pirate, after all, and deserved to die for his crimes.

But she couldn’t force her feet to move, couldn’t turn her gaze from his. Because she knew when she left, she’d never see him again. She lowered her voice. “Pray tell, what
was
it like then?”

“I wasn’t good for the children. I was a horrible preacher and a worse caregiver. The children got sick. One of them, a young lad of only seven named Peter …” His knuckles whitened around the bars. “I prayed and prayed. I did everything the Bible said to do. I beseeched God. I fasted. I used the name of Jesus. But still he died.” He hung his head. Strands of black hair shifted over his stubbled jaw.

“There was no reason for God to take him. No reason at all. He was just a boy. An innocent child. And I had failed him.
God
”—he spat the word—“had failed him.”