Sweet Surrender (39 page)

They were in a rough neighborhood where the very worst criminals plied their trades.  Rafferty was a notorious figure, but no one intervened or questioned his situation.  Mr. Scott looked lethal and determined, his accomplices, too, and passersby scurried out of their path.

Rafferty sauntered at a leisurely pace, not wanting to enrage his captors, but also—in case he would be killed in the end—wanting to enjoy the view.

He escorted them to the warehouse where he’d left Miss Bennett.  It was basically a holding pen for ships conveying debtors and other miscreants to America and Australia.  The captives weren’t there under a court order and plenty of bribery money changed hands. 

They neared the gate, and the regular guard was sitting on his stool.  When he saw Rafferty’s predicament, he frowned and stood but took no evasive action.  He was a functionary and wouldn’t aid Rafferty or antagonize his companions.

"What is this place?"  Mr. Scott studied it with a good deal of scorn.

"It’s a…private facility." 

"What sort of private facility?"

"People like your mother use it to make others vanish."  Rafferty nodded to the guard.  "We have to speak with one of your prisoners.  Open up."

The man’s eyes widened with fear.  "It won’t be possible."

"Don’t quibble, you fool," Rafferty barked.  "This is Mr. Jackson Scott, brother to the earl of Milton.  Let the bloody man inside."

"You misunderstand," the guard hastily said.

Scott loomed in.  "What do I misunderstand?"

"They’re gone," the guard said.  "The ship sailed this morning at high tide."

"I’ll just see for myself," Scott seethed.

The guard pulled on the gate, and Scott and Dane raced through.  The others stayed with Rafferty, waiting.  In a few minutes, Scott and Dane dashed back.

"It’s empty,"  Mr. Scott said, stunned.  "The entire building is deserted." 

He came up to Rafferty so they were toe to toe.  They were equal in height, but Rafferty was broader across the shoulders.  In a fair fight, he probably could have bested the man, but at the moment, there was no chance.

"Miss Bennett is my fiancée," Scott fumed.

At the declaration, Rafferty was certain his imminent death was approaching.  Why, oh why, hadn’t he listened to Miss Bennett’s protestations of affection?  Yet he scowled and shook his head.

"That can’t be right.  You’re engaged to Susan Scott.  Your mother told me; she told Miss Bennett."

"My mother told Miss Bennett I was engaged to Susan?"

"I convinced her to forget about you, that you were marrying according to your station and would no longer be interested in her plight."

Now, it was Scott’s turn to curse.  "Dammit."

Mr. Dane interjected, "I bet Grace wasn’t happy to hear that.  How will you ever explain it to her, Jackson?"

"She’ll never forgive me," Scott glumly mused.

"You have to find her," Dane said.

"Yes, and Mr. Rafferty will assist me."  He leaned in, his malice intense, his threat clear.  "And if I
don’t
find her, Rafferty will gladly pay the price for all his sins."

"I was kind to her," Rafferty stated in his own defense.  "She’ll tell you I was."

"She’d better say you were an absolute saint because when I pluck her off that ship, there will be an extra space.  You’d be the perfect person to take her spot."

Rafferty gulped with alarm.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Grace sat on the deck, letting the sun warm her face.  She was determined to spend as much time as she could in the fresh air before she was told to climb down the ladder into the hatch.

There were several women with her, and while she dreamed of leaping up and jumping overboard, their ankles were roped together, and she was in the middle of the group. 

Escape was impossible. 

We might as well be African slaves
, she thought.  When they arrived at their destination, they would be sold into indenture as servants, but she refused to consider herself as anything but a prisoner.

She hadn’t been convicted in a court of law, but she’d been charged and found guilty all the same.  By Beatrice Scott.  With the reprehensible Mr. Rafferty as Beatrice’s blunt weapon of force.

She gazed around, assessing the dock, the shops and warehouses on the quay. 

They’d stopped in Dover to load cargo, but when the tide turned again, they’d hoist the sails and leave England forever.

She wanted to imprint every detail in her memory so she would never forget.  It seemed as if she’d died, as if she was invisible and viewing her surroundings with the sort of nostalgia a person in heaven would feel. 

She wondered where Michael was, if Beatrice had located him.  Where would they take him?  What would happen to the marvelous boy?

Grace still couldn’t comprehend Beatrice’s malice toward Michael.  Why be cruel to him?  Supposedly, Edward had been Beatrice’s favorite.  Why wouldn’t she welcome Michael?  Or at least grudgingly accept him?

It made no sense other than to realize that Beatrice was insane.

Had anyone noticed Grace was missing?  Perhaps she would become the subject of a ghost story at Milton Abbey.  The vanishing female!  There one moment and gone the next!  People would debate her fate for centuries.

She snorted with disgust.  No one at the Abbey would ever think of her again.  Most especially Jackson Scott.

"Oh, Jackson," she murmured to herself, "have you any idea what was done to me?"

A guard came by, poking at the prisoners with a stick, urging them to stand.  Reluctantly, she and her companions staggered to their feet.

"Must we go below?" Grace asked.

"Yes, you must."

"It’s so lovely out.  Can’t you give us a few more minutes?"

Her request angered him, and he snapped, "Go below, miss. 
All
of you go.  I won’t tell you again."

He shoved the woman at the end of the rope so she could lead the way, and they shuffled along.

They approached the hatch, and Grace glanced over her shoulder.  The guard was glaring at her, and she whipped away.  There was lust in his eyes, and it dawned on her that there were dangers on the voyage she hadn’t foreseen.

She had to remember to always stay with the other passengers, to never be caught alone, and she speculated about the captain.  Would he allow his sailors to interfere with the female captives?  Could a sailor take a woman out of the hold and make sport with her?

Grace shuddered with dread.  She had to keep her mouth shut and her head down, which were the exact types of behaviors she’d never been able to display.

The woman next to her stumbled, pulling the rope taut, causing everyone to jerk and lurch and fall.  Grace grabbed the ladder to steady herself. 

As she did, a commotion commenced down on the dock.

"No, you may not," a crew member barked.  He was the sentry on the gangplank, deciding who could board and who couldn’t. 

"I’m not asking permission," a man bellowed.  "I’m telling you that we’re coming up.  Get out of my way."

Grace froze.  For the briefest instant, she thought it had sounded like Jackson Scott.

"You’re hallucinating," she scolded.

Still, she craned her neck, hoping to discern who it was, but she was too far from the edge of the ship and couldn’t peek over the rail.

"I’ll call the captain!" the crew member shouted as furious footsteps pounded up the gangplank.  "I will.  I’m not joking!"

"Yes, by all means, summon your bloody captain!"

"He’ll have you strung up."

"I’d like to see him try!"

The booted strides grew closer and closer, the ship swaying as the advancing weight shifted it on the water. 

Then—her hallucination complete—Jackson Scott appeared.  He was no mirage, no illusion.  He was very, very real.

A pistol in one hand, a club in the other, he leapt onto the deck.

"I’m here for Miss Grace Bennett," he said.  "You’d better tell me she’s here, and that she’s safe and sound, or you’ve drawn your last breath."

Grace, who was always calm in a crisis, who was always composed through the very worst situations, who was never dizzy, never queasy, never off balance, who’d never swooned in her life…

Grace tipped to one side, then the other, and fainted dead away.

DC

Jackson hurried down the muddy street, heading for the town’s only decent hotel where he’d had Duncan take Grace after they’d removed her from the ship.

He hadn’t yet had a chance to speak with her.  The moment he’d seen her, lying unconscious on the deck, he’d thought she’d died.  He’d nearly dropped dead himself. 

Once he’d ascertained that she’d simply fainted, he hadn’t bothered rousing her.  He’d given her to Duncan to whisk away.  Jackson had remained at the harbor to deal with the captain and other passengers. 

The captain hadn’t put up any resistance.  He and his miserable crew were under arrest with Jackson eager to ensure they were prosecuted.  A fitting punishment might be their own transportation to Australia.

As to the passengers, most of them were like Grace, victims who had committed no crime except to be poor or outspoken or a trial to their parents.  There were plenty of women with children.  What was to be done with them? 

He couldn’t send them back to the villages from which they’d been wrongly seized, and he wasn’t running a charity that could support them all.

But it looked as if he’d be dispersing many of them among the various Scott family estates, finding them work and housing.  He couldn’t cut them loose with no money and nowhere to go. 

While he’d planned to penalize Mr. Rafferty for his role in Grace’s kidnapping, the man had proved himself indispensible in untangling the mess.  He was adept at questioning people, at quickly delving to the heart of each person’s circumstances, so Jackson hadn’t murdered him and had decided to hire him when they were through. 

If he was employed by Jackson, he wouldn’t be out engaging in mischief.  Plus, he was the only one who was thoroughly familiar with Beatrice’s actions.  Jackson needed him to return to the properties where Beatrice had inflicted so much harm, needed him to determine how Jackson could make amends.

Jackson saw the hotel up ahead, and he slowed to compose himself.  As he unraveled the chaos caused by his arrival, he would be trapped in Dover for several days or perhaps even several weeks. 

Now that he’d found Grace, he didn’t want to be parted from her ever again.  Yet with his mother telling her he was betrothed to Susan, she might not wish to stay with him.  He had to straighten out the muddle. 

He was going to propose, she was going to accept, and he would marry her the first second he was able.  He was desperate to bind her to him so completely that they could never be separated, and he wouldn’t take
no
for an answer.

They were marrying and that was that.

He walked inside, and before he could proceed to the desk to ask where Grace was located, he was distracted by male laughter.  He peered over to discover a taproom filled with travelers, sailors, and others who plied their trades along the wharf.

A raucous card game was in progress, with Duncan front and center.  He had accumulated quite a pile of coins from those who had stupidly agreed to gamble with him.  Duncan was a notorious cheat, but of course, his unsuspecting companions couldn’t know his true proclivities

Jackson’s aggravation spiraled.  He’d specifically told Duncan to watch over Grace until Jackson could come for her.  He marched over.

"Duncan."

"What?"  Duncan was so absorbed in the game that he didn’t glance up.

"Duncan!" Jackson repeated more firmly, and he tapped Duncan on the shoulder.

Duncan peeked up.  "I didn’t think you’d ever get here."

"Where is Grace?"

"Grace?"  Duncan scowled as if he’d forgotten who she was. 

"Why aren’t you with her?"

"She left."

"Left!  Where did she go?"

"To Milton Abbey—on the mail coach."

"Why would you let her go?"

"Have you tried to tell that stubborn woman anything?  She doesn’t listen.  Not to a man anyway.  And particularly not to me."

"Did she say why she went?"

"Well, let’s see."  He laid his cards on the table and counted the reasons on his fingers.  "She was disgusted with both of us, her life has been in shambles ever since she stumbled into the Abbey, you and I are a couple of blackguards and liars, and she wasn’t about to linger where another misfortune could befall her."

"What was your response?"

"That she was absolutely correct."

"So you told her she could leave?"

"No, I told her she
couldn’t
leave, but talking to her is like talking to a log.  She was anxious to check on Michael."