EscapeWithMe (20 page)

“I’ll be right back.” She went back inside the shop, her
brown flats crunching in the snow, and made a beeline for her desk near the
back door leading to the storage area. She was acquisition and bookkeeping, not
sales, so she didn’t need to be seen. Her phone was next to the keyboard and
she spotted the sticky note on her monitor about an eighteenth-century desk
being prepped for shipment to a buyer who had paid an outrageous sum.

How did Brian always get them to pay so much more than the
piece’s worth? She was of course delighted by their profits and she had chalked
up the inflated prices to good salesmanship and a certain exclusivity and
rarity to which antiques collectors succumbed. The desk, though, wasn’t
particularly beautiful or well preserved. It was likely a merchant’s desk
rather than a nobleman’s.

She went into the storage area. The desk was half-packed,
boarded up on three sides. Yes, this one. The drawers were sticky and some of
the original knobs had been lost. The buyer hadn’t even asked that they do any
touch-up. She reached for a drawer and pulled it open.

Inside were several plastic bags tightly packed with white
powder. Her mind went blank for a moment, and she stood there like an idiot.
She
was
an idiot. How had it been so long—a whole year—and she hadn’t
found this?

Another drawer was filled with the same, and another.

What should she do?

A noise behind her and Sam whipped around. Brian sighed with
disappointment. His hand went into his coat.

Sam grabbed the second towel and pressed it to her stomach.
She yelped at the pain, but she had the thought that she should slow the
bleeding. Her locket lay on the floor, and she remembered a conversation with
Mary.
That necklace is your life.

Cold water dripped down her shoulders and warm water dripped
from her eyes as she reached for the locket. She was forced to use both hands,
one to coax open the delicate spring ring clasp and the other to hold the jump
ring. Her fingers were difficult to control and fumbled for an insanely long
minute to squeeze open the clasp. Why hadn’t she put this thing on a simple
hook clasp?

God she hoped this worked.

She brought the chain around her neck and her fingers
blindly attempted to make the two ends kiss. Her face was starting to feel
cold. Her lips were tingling. Nausea was about to overwhelm her.

Contact. She released the clasp and the chain was whole
again. The pain receded immediately and she slid to the floor. The nausea was
still there and she fought to retain the contents of her stomach, to stay
conscious.

The latter was proving difficult.

Footsteps on the stairs. Mary, thank God. Sam opened her
eyes, but her vision was narrowing and keeping her eyelids up was too much. She
felt herself slipping away.

* * * * *

Sam jerked awake, like when dreaming of tripping on a crack
in the sidewalk. She was on the bed under the covers. Her hair, still damp, was
cool underneath her head.

“Oh thank the Lord.” Mary leaned over her. The maid’s eyes
were red and gleamed with new tears. Her hair was sorely tangled and her cap
barely clung to her head. “I thought you were dying a-and I didn’t know what to
do, miss. I thought I’d call a doctor but—”

“No, no doctors.” Sam really didn’t want one of those quacks
in here. She had bled enough for one day, thank you.

“But all that blood! It was all over the towels. I didn’t
see any cuts or…”

She attempted to sit up. “No one can know about this, Mary.”
And what would they say to anyone about it? That Sam had a secret gut wound
that disappeared if she put on a necklace? It sounded as if Mary didn’t find
the entry wound, which means it closed up fast, and though Mary was the only
person who had any idea how important the locket was, even she wouldn’t believe
the true source of the blood or that Sam was a time-traveler.

“Wh-what? Why?” Sam kept the blanket against her and swung
her feet off the bed. Damn, she felt good as new.

“Not even Ryder. Promise me, Mary.”

“But I don’t understand why he shouldn’t know that—”

Sam reached out and grasped the maid’s wringing hands. Mary
pressed her lips together. Her face was a mix of confusion and a desire to
help.

“Please, Mary. Don’t tell anyone.”

She nodded.

* * * * *

“We’re close,” MacKenzie reported. Ryder peered into the
distance, barely able to make out the shore. It was not yet dawn and persistent
clouds veiled the sliver of moon.

“How can you tell?”

“I know this bit of coast very well, sir. I could find my
way to shore in the darkest of nights if I had to.”

Ryder smiled. “And this isn’t one of those nights?”

“Well, it isn’t storming, sir.”

“Ah.” He chuckled and shouted down to Phillip that they
would be unloading soon. Now that Le Havre was far behind them and several
hours gained on the tenacious Mr. Webb, Ryder breathed easier. Of course, the
local riding officers could spot their ship anchoring offshore in the dead of
night but he would celebrate what victories he could.

“There.” MacKenzie pointed at the flash of a spout lantern.
Kelter was signaling that the coast was clear.

Ryder braced his hands on the rail of the ship. “Let’s bring
her in.”

MacKenzie called orders to the crew and the ship eased close
to the beach. They would load what they could onto the ship’s two tub-boats and
row the cargo to the shore. If Kelter had done his part, local men would arrive
with carts, the wheels wrapped with rags to muffle their passage and drawn by
horses with wrapped hooves. Once a cart was loaded, the cargo would be whisked
away into the night. The only question was how many men and carts had appeared
for the task.

He assisted Phillip and the crew with loading the first of
the tub-boats and then more cargo was brought above deck while they waited for
the boats to return. Though it was difficult to discern much of the activity on
the beach, Ryder could see many men and carts. The tub-boats returned and they
worked quickly to load them again.

Perhaps an hour passed before the hold was near empty. Ryder
prepared to go ashore with the last tub-boat.

Phillip gripped his shoulder. “Good luck to you, Ryder.”
They shook hands. His brother and MacKenzie would take the ship farther on to
Poole, where they would pay the proper tariffs on the remaining goods in their
hold and sell them legitimately. It was only a tenth of what they had purchased
in Le Havre.

After a quick word with MacKenzie and another handshake,
Ryder was on the last tub-boat and took an oar to help the crewman bring it
ashore. When they hit sand he jumped from the boat to pull it higher on the
beach. Two local men assisted.

“Lieutenant,” a familiar voice said in the darkness. Ryder
smiled and shook hands with Kelter. The man was grinning with glee.

“So joyous an occasion, Kelter?”

“Indeed, sir. I brought sixty strong backs, all familiar
with the old Roman roads, and none are afraid to wield a club.”

Ryder’s eyebrows shot up and he looked about at how quickly
the cargo was carried off. “Sixty? Well done, Kelter. I had wondered if it
would be necessary to weight some of the cargo and return another time to
retrieve it, but you are as reliable as ever, good man.” He patted his old
shipmate’s shoulder.

The man preened at the compliment.

“You had no trouble with the revenue station?”

Kelter laughed. “We lit signal fires among the heath in
Bourne to draw the riding officers away from Highcliff. They lit off like it
was Christmas. I only wish I could see them when they don’t find a ship trying
to land.”

The last tub-boat was unloaded with efficiency. It would be
another several days to London, but they would travel the green paths and old
roads rather than England’s highways. Ryder fit his hat upon his head and
settled into the last cart to accompany it inland.

“We still meeting near Hounslow Heath, sir?” Kelter asked.
The last tub-boat pushed off to return to the ship.

Ryder tipped his hat. “In three days’ time.” The farmer
driving the cart set his horses in motion.

* * * * *

Sam watched the passing countryside with contentment. It was
her first trip outside of London and though it was bumpy as
hell
, the
view was spectacular. Oliver had picked her up early in the morning and it was
several hours to Hounslow Heath where a sort of open market took place every
day. She pretended to be making the trip to buy whole cloth for a new wardrobe,
as though the ten dresses Ryder had purchased for her weren’t enough, but as
with every errand she made lately, she had an ulterior motive.

The last of their unmarked contraband had been sold at the
market and she had recorded the transactions. The rest of the illicit cargo had
likely arrived at the warehouse in London by now, where Ryder was overseeing
some of the distribution. She couldn’t wait to see him that evening because she
had both managed an excellent profit margin he would find impressive and also
worked up a fierce need to put her hands all over him. It’d be an excellent
stress reliever now that the riskiest legs of his journey were over.

At least until the next one.

Over the sounds of the coach’s wheels on the muddy lane and
the clip-clop of a pair of horses, she heard a shout in the distance. Not all
that unusual. The lane wasn’t that wide and they had pulled over a couple of
times during their trip to allow a cart or another carriage to pass. She braced
herself for the inevitable jostle but the coach came to a stop right in the
middle of the road.

“It’s Webb,” Oliver shouted down to her.

What? How had he found them out here? It was a major
“highway”, if you could call it that, but she was certain no one had seen her
leave the apartment. She had done the whole look-over-the-shoulder thing and
met Oliver a couple of blocks away.

“Come out of there, Mr. West.” Webb sounded pretty serious.
He had probably learned that Ryder’s ship had left port and that Ryder hadn’t
been in London for nearly a week, but neither fact was very damning. What had
set him off?

“He has a pistol, Miss Reed.” Oliver’s voice was quiet, but
she heard him all the same. Webb was getting desperate.

“
Now
, West!” he roared.

Oliver raised his voice as well. “He’s not in the coach, you
damn fool!”

Sam stuck her head out of the coach’s window. “This is
getting old, Mr. Webb.” The revenue officer sat astride a winded horse, as
though he hadn’t given it a break for many miles, and he was rather unkempt.
His boots, hose and breeches were splashed with mud. His face was red and he
looked to be in sore need of a bath. In one hand he held his reins and in the
other was a flintlock pistol.

He gnashed his teeth and lowered the gun. Sam could hear the
labored breathing of his horse. Webb then dismounted and tossed the reins onto
the horse’s saddle. The gun he kept, though pointed at the ground.

Webb gestured to Oliver with his empty hand. “Come down from
there.”

“You—you’ve got no right to stop us here or make me do
anything!”

Webb’s eyes widened and Sam knew he was close to losing it.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” she said. “Do as he says.” The driver
grumbled but descended from his perch. Webb had Oliver open up the coach and
assist her out of the cab. “I needed to stretch anyway. Now that we’re all
standing in mud, why are you here, Mr. Webb?”

He didn’t answer and boarded the coach. He searched the
compartments under the seats, which were mostly empty but for the remainders of
a basket of food she had shared with Oliver at midday. Webb’s gun hand was
always near the door, ready to raise his pistol if they came near.

“I really want an answer, Mr. Webb. What point is there in
not telling me?”

Webb glanced at her from inside the coach before opening up
the compartments beneath the opposing seat. “West’s ship docked in London but
without him or any goods, though I know from the port in Le Havre that the ship
was there. I…had it from one of his crewmen that West disembarked in Poole.”

Sam could guess what he meant when he said “had it from”.
She hoped the poor crewman wasn’t beaten too badly.

“So you’re on your way to Poole, you recognized Ryder’s
coach, and you decided to harass me at the point of a gun?”

Webb stopped at that. “I would never direct it at you, Miss
Reed.” He then closed the last compartment.

Alighting from the coach, he seemed calmer but then he saw
the trunk affixed to the back of the coach. Sam shot a look at Oliver, who knew
exactly what she feared.

The trunk was filled with bolts of whole cloth silk, bound
for the draper with the silly wig. Though she could claim it was her own
purchase from the open market where practically any goods could be bought,
cloth of that quality was unlikely to be found in Hounslow Heath and more
importantly, the ledger was buried at the bottom of the trunk.

She couldn’t let him find it. “How did you know Ryder’s
mother?”

Webb was startled by the question. “I…knew her in Poole. Her
family is from there, as well as the West family.” He groped the pistol in his
hand as though he would fire a bullet right between William West’s eyes. The
muscle in his jaw flexed.

“Did you know her before she married?”

“Yes.” He then shook his head as though waking. “I would
search this trunk before I continue on my way. Where is the key?”

In her handbag. “Did she love you too?”

He wouldn’t look at her. His voice was gruff. “She said as
much.”

“How do you know she was murdered?”

“They said she hung herself after she had her son, but I
know she wouldn’t have abandoned her child. Elaine would’ve loved him with all
her heart. That was her way.”