Lady Rogue (32 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

Garrick endured three sleepless nights, wanting to go
to Dawn, to tell her that he loved her, to ask her to marry him, but stubborn pride held him back.  Instinct told him that Dawn was not the wrong woman, that she was very right for him, could make him happy, but until now wariness and fear had counseled him.  He had to be absolutely certain he was doing the right thing.  Now he was.

Garrick walked to Pembrooke House, patting the diamond ring in his pocket that bounced against his chest as he walke
d.  He knocked at the door, flushed with pleasure to imagine the look he'd see on her face when he offered up his treasure.

"Yes...."  Douglass  opened the door  with his usu
ally bored expression.   "Mr. Seton, Sir."

"Is Miss Landon
in?" Placing his hat and cloak in the butler's  hands Garrick  moved  expectantly towards the staircase.

Douglass shook his h
ead.  "No Sir.  She's not in."

"Well, perhaps it is just as well.  I'll wait until she returns."  It would give him some time to collect his composure.  He was as nervous now a
s some schoolboy.   "In the meantime,  I have some questions for you, Douglass."   He had to put to rest the things that were bothering him.

"Yes....."
             

"Did
…...did Mrs. Pembrooke know about Miss Landon's past?" There was no use beating about the bush.He didn't want any walls lingering between he and Dawn and their happiness.

"I beg your pardon....."

"It's all right, Douglass.  I know the whole story."  Garrick smiled reassuringly.   "I want to know if Mrs. Pembrooke did."

Douglas
smiled fondly.  "Oh yes, but she didn't care. Right from the first.  You see,  she admired Dawn's honesty and spunk.  Thought of her like a daughter, if truth be told.  Took to her right away, she did.  Bought all of her hats."

"Her hats?"  Garrick listened as the butler related the story of that first meeting, when Dawn had kept
the woman from being robbed.             

"And so we bought her hats."  He made a face.  "They were ghastly
, and yet Madame used them as an excuse to get her here.  Against my advising, I might add.   I didn't want the tattered, ragged, beggerly creature about.  I was wary of anyone in her circumstances.  Didn't trust her a bit.” He paused, smiling. “But I was wrong.  She gave Madam a reason to live."  He flushed slightly.  "And me as well.  I think everyone here at Pembrooke House was in love with her."

So, no matter what Oliver thought, Dawn had
been perfectly honest with his aunt.  She had known all along just who and what Dawn was, but she hadn't let prejudice blind her.  Unlike himself.

The clock in the drawing room ticked and ticked
; as the pendulum swung back and forth.  Time seemed to drag on and yet there was no sign of Dawn’s return.  Garrick was growing impatient.  He was totally prepared to pour his heart out to the woman he loved, but first she must be present.

"Wh
ere is she?" he asked  Douglas at last. 

"That I don't quite  know, s
ir.  She went out a few days ago and hasn't returned."  The butler was fidgety, as if he too questioned her whereabouts. "Of course now I...I  wouldn't want to be prying.  It's not my place.  Besides, she often visited her friends in the East End.  One young woman was expecting a baby.  Perhaps she decided to stay."  It sounded logical, and yet there was a look of disquiet in his eyes that made Garrick apprehensive.

"You look worried."

"Well, it is rather puzzling, sir, what with young master Oliver moving his belongings in."  The butler studied the front of his coat, toying with a button.  "Of course Mrs. Pembrooke did once say that she hoped for a marriage between them."

A frightening premonition edged its way up Garrick's spine.  He fo
und it difficult to articulate his thoughts. "Ol...Oliver has been transferring his possessions?"  No wonder he had not shown his face at the office.

Garrick stormed up stairs.  Something strange was going on.  Pushing open the door to each and every bedroom
, he searched the house for any sign of the woman he loved.  In the last chamber he saw a pile of dresses, underwear, and shoes, heaped upon the bed as if waiting  to be disposed of.  The maid, whom he remembered all too well, was going through the articles of clothing, putting them into two piles.  She seemed to be laying claim to some of the garments, holding them up against her as if they suited her.

"Agnes!"

Agnes was startled by the harsh tone of voice.  She dropped one of the petticoats she held in her hand.  "I don't know anything!  I haven't done anything!"  By her very denial she looked guilty.

"Where is Miss Landon?"

"Miss Landon?"

"Don't speak the name as if you have never heard it  before," he shouted.  "Damn it, girl, tell me where she is."  Grasping he
r by the shoulders he held his gaze steady, searching her eyes and not liking at all what he read in their hazel depths.

"Terrorizing the servants, Gar?  That's not at all like you."  Dragging a trunk behind him, O
liver was climbing the stairs.

"Oliver!  What in the bloody hell is going on?" Garrick cast Oliver a bone-chilling stare.   He
asked with dangerous intent, "Where is Dawn?"             

Oliver
reached the landing, put the handle of the trunk down and reached in his pocket.  Holding forth the watch and a handkerchief, he smiled at Garrick.  "Yours.  I thought you'd want them back."

Garrick looked down at the watch and initialed handkerc
hief with a sick feeling churning inside his stomach.  "Ollie....."  He took the handkerchief, his face a mask of amazement.  He remembered the scene very vivdly.  The child had been so frightened and he had given her the handkerchief as a gift.   The little begger girl, the one he'd been searching so diligently for.  Dawn?  His frown deepened. "Oliver, what is going on.  Why are you moving in here?"

"This is my rightful home, Garrick."  Oliver folded his arms.  "You know yourself that a little pickpocket should never have cheat
ed me out of my rightful due."

Garrick swore violently.
  "What have you done, Ollie?"

Oliver didn't answer but his self-righteous expression told the story for him. 
Stubbornly he pursed his lips.

Garrick couldn't stem the murderous rage that consumed him.  There was a roaring in his ears and blindly
he hurled himself at Oliver who fell backward.  Together they rolled down the stairs to the bottom of the carpeted landing.  “You stupid bastard!  I'll kill you if you have done anything to harm her.”  A part of him was screaming in silent anguish.  It was his fault,
his
, not Ollie's.  He should never have told anyone about the docks.  He had given Oliver just the amunition he needed.

"I turned her in.  She's at Newgate where she belongs.  With that other young rogue you had arrested.  And I am justified in what I did.  You know it!  You know it!  Why, stealing was undoubtedly the least of her crimes.  I think she poison
ed Aunt Margaret and she....."

A well-aimed punch connected with Oliver's jaw.  "Ohhhhh!  No, Gar, don't hit me again."  Oliver rubbed at the injured part, his eyes wide with apprehensino.  "You said she was a
thief.  You told me the story.  Did you think I would just sit back and go about the hours while she had everything I wanted in her clutches?"

"My fault...." Garrick mumbled.  He should have come here sooner, taken her in his arms
and worshipped her.  Instead he had held back as if she weren't quite good enough for him.  What a pompous ass he'd been!  As if there could be any conditions to love. And now Dawn had been taken to Newgate!  That thought tore at his very soul.  She would think
he
turned her in.  Dear God!  And yet wasn't he just as responsible as Oliver?

Garrick raced to his curricle, calling Vinnie's name at the top of his lungs.  He h
ad to hurry--there was no time to lose.  He had to do everything in his power to free Dawn before it was too late.

PART THREE:  Surrender the Heart

On board the Sea Raven and London

“The heart has its reasons

Which reason does not know
.”

--Pascal,
Pensees,
IV

Chapter Forty-Seven

The icy December rains  swept down in
a silver curtain, drenching the city of London.  Thunder boomed and lightning pierced the sky with its fiery ribbons.  It was a furious rainstorm that pounded the decks of the ship waiting to sail. 
The Sea Raven
was its name.  A prison ship bound for a far away land as soon as the weather cleared.

It was cold.  Cold and penetratingly damp.  Dawn reached up to pull her threadbare blanket over her shivering body, only to be confused when her fingers came back empty.  A slatternly woman with eyes like a cat's dared her to
get it back.  "Come on!  Come on!" she taunted, holding her fists up.

"Keep it, " Dawn said through swollen lips, remembering a time she had foolishly fought for one of her possess
ions only to suffer a beating.

Looking through the grille of the wooden door she could see the shadow of the gaoler coming towards them
, but she didn't shout out, nor make accusations.  Let the woman keep the blanket if it was so important to her that she would steal.  Dawn didn't wish her any ill.  In truth, all of her fighting spirit had been taken from her.  She just didn't care any more.  Her green eyes held no sparkle, no fire. Hope was something she had long since discarded.

Dawn lay motionless, only vaguely aware of the chatter and the groans around her.  The first night aboard the prison ship she had  not been able to sleep.  She had huddled in the corner, unseeing, her inner self refusing to accept her monstrous fate. It was like a terrible nightmare from which she could not awake.  She had cursed Garrick, she had ranted at herself and all the while the shrieking voices of the prisoners echoed and re-echoed throughout the enclosu
re of the thick wooden walls like the howls of lost souls.             

Dawn's hair was matted, her garments dirty.  She thought that perhaps the lack of a mirror was a blessing after all.  Perhaps not seeing with her own eyes how low she had fallen might make it easier somehow.  And yet she was not as unfortunate as some.  So far she had not succumbed to the fever that had taken others. 
She still had a measure of health.  Some of the others were not so lucky.  There was ague, the pox and constant coughing.  A number of the prisoners were disturbed by the constant rocking of the ship and vomited their protest on the straw-covered floor. Dawn buried her face in her hands, trying to escape the stench.

"I can't bear it any more.  I can't.  I can't."  But she knew that she could and she would.  There was a flicker of stubborness in every human being that made them hold on
to life no matter how dismal.

She remembered that first day she had been taken to the ship.  She had been certain then that she could not survive
, and yet she had.  The fact that she was a new prisoner had caused quite a stir amongst those already imprisoend.  There were lewd remarks  and mocking laughter from the men as to her beauty.   The women regarded her with looks of envy, and Dawn's flesh had crawled with a sense of her danger.  The guard had brutally pushed the curious onlookers aside.

"Get back yer 'ags.  Move aside yer gaping bastards!  We got us another thief.  And this one proclaims to be a lady."  A thunderous cacophony of laughter had followed his remarks.  "Shut yer mouths!"  The guard had bowed politely.  "Course now if yer 'ave a few spare shillings ter pay I can make certain yer accommodations suit yer tas
tes.  Well...?"  He had waited expectantly.

"I have no
money.  Nothing of any value."

He had pushed her away from him.  "Then there is nothing I can do for yer.  Ye'll 'ave ter take yer chances wi' the others."  And she had, learning to elbow her way through the waving forest of arms for a crust of bread, wondering all the while what Margaret Pembrooke would say if she could see her now.  When a person was going hungry
, there was little time for manners.

A  sudde
n shrieking, snarling fight broke out among three of the women  over the ownership of a tattered piece of cloth.  They had no fear of the gaoler as they flew at each other. Still, when the  guard put the key in the lock to open the door, the prisoners scattered, like cockroaches disturbed by a sudden light.

"Argh......so we are privileged with a guest," one woman
said with a snicker.

"Is it meal time?  Oh, how I
relish the gruel yer gi' us."

"Aye, get back yer dogs!"  T
he guard growled testily.  He was a burly man with frizzled brown hair, a bulbous nose and a perpetual scowl.

"Mayhap he's going to take us for a walk."  The woman who had stolen
Dawn's blanket smiled sweetly.

"The only walk ye'll be granted is a hike up the gallows steps if ye don't shut yer mou
th!"

"Better the gallo
ws than this stinking hole!"

"Unappreciative yer be. Yer don't know how lucky yer be that ye've got a fine ship to take ye away.  Always a shortage of ships but this one is nearly seaworthy."  He guffawed.  "Hopefully it will get yer to
Botany Bay wi'out sinking.  Why, this is almost a palace compared to most."

A
palac
e Dawn thought. 
Hardly that
.  Conditions aboard the convict hulks were unspeakably horrible, with unwashed criminals, both men and women, packed together in closed quarters on all three decks. Oh, what she wouldn't have given for a walk on the deck, a breath of fresh air, or a bath. Things that were usually taken for granted now seemed a luxury to her.

Nor was there any hope of
escape. Many prisoners thought it would have been better to hang. At night, the hatches were screwed down and the prisoners left to fight among themselves in the wretched candlelight, then, when the tallow had run out, to suffer the claustrophobic darkness.

And yet in some ways she
had been granted some good fortune.  Usually newcomers were relegated to the lowest deck. If they had stamina and they didn't succumb to gaol fever,  they then progressed to the middle deck.  She had been housed in the second deck right from the beginning.  Even so it had been "hell on earth" as one prisoner had so aptly named it.  Violent attacks from fellow prisoners were commonplace, and even the slightest offense was punished by a whipping from the guards.  One had to be constantly wary;  no one could be trusted.  It was everyone for himself with no thought to kindness.  Whatever remained of innocence or honesty was certain to be lost in the dark depths of the prison ship.   Even death was not held sacred.  Like vultures the other prisoners fluttered about to see if the "stiff" had anything at all of value on him.

What made Dawn's existance on the ship even more precarious was the fact that she recognized a familiar face among the pris
oners: Black John Dunn.  His money for bribes had run out and he had been forced to take his punishment. Dawn hid her face during those rare moments when she was above board, fearing his retaliation.  She was fairly certain he would hold her responsible for his fate.  Black John was a man who always got even.

From above deck
the Dawn could hear a prisoner singing a bawdy song. Others joined in the chorus.  As if in protest to the discord, a large rat ran across the floor and disappeared under a pile of wood.  Dawn was used to rats.  There had been plenty  at Black John's tenement, but oh how she wished she had Shadow aboard with her now, just for protection. 

"Rats, filth and starvation," she whispered softly.  She would never be free.  Never feel the rain on her face or look at the sun.  Never hear the birds' songs in spring.  She w
ould be locked away forever. Even if she reached Botany Bay alive, she'd be forced to suffer such conditions.  Oh, to be out of here, to be free!

As if somehow intruding on her own thoughts, she heard
a man's voice whisper "freedom."  Whispering, the men  took up the chant. The whispers became a cry that was taken up by the women..

"The drunken sot o' a gaoler.  He forgot to screw down the hatch and lock the holds when 'e left.
It's our chance, yer blokes!"

"We're going ter break free!"

A prisoner's uprising.

"Perhaps we won't be going to
Botany Bay after all."

That thought jostled Dawn out of her lethargy. S
ince the first day she’d been incarcerated her head had begun to ache and now the pain intensified, making it impossible to think. Frantically she urged herself to calm, remembering how she had stood on deck  looking at the lights of London by night.  She had felt an aching desperation at the thought of leaving her homeland.  Now perhaps she would be able to stay if only she kept her wits.

Da
ys of poor food had made Dawn weak. Her knees trembled dangerously as she got to her feet and she prayed she would not faint.  Not now.  She had to get out of here, it was her only chance.  Holding on to a wooden crossbeam for support, hugging the side of the hulk, she fought to maintain her balance. She was pushed and shoved as the prisoners fought their way through the narrow hatchway. Then somehow she had made it to the upper deck.

All the prisoners were running to and fro,  stealing small boats and pushing them into the sea.  Others were jumping overboard.  The churning o
cean offered two alternatives--freedom or death.  Did she want to take the chance?  A gunshot behind her gave her no choice.  Pulling herself up, she was poised atop the railing for only an instant.  Then she was falling...... down, down, down, to be swallowed by the  icy waters. The turbulent sea tugged her under.  Her ears were filled with a roar as the darkness enveloped her.