The Gift (4 page)

Lord, she was loud. Nathan strolled into the foyer just in time to see Sara rush up the steps to the second story. The crazed woman was actually muttering to herself.

A tall, willow-thin man Nathan assumed was one of the servants drew his attention then. The man looked ridiculous. He was dressed in a white knee-length nightshirt. He carried an ornately carved candlestick in one hand and a large crust of bread in the other. The servant lifted the candlestick above his head and started up the steps after Sara. Nathan clipped him on the back of his neck, reached over his head to take the candlestick out of his hand so it wouldn't make a clatter when it hit the floor, then dragged the servant into a dark alcove adjacent to the stairs. He stood next to the crumpled form a long minute while he listened to all the racket coming from above the stairs.

Sara would never make a proper thief. He could hear the doors being slammed shut and knew it was his bride making all the noise. She was going to wake the dead if she didn't quiet down. And what in God's name was she looking for?

A shrill scream rent the air. Nathan let out a weary sigh. He started toward the stairs to save the daft woman once again, then suddenly stopped when she appeared at the landing. She wasn't alone. Nathan moved back into the alcove and waited. He understood the reason for her errand. Sara had her arm around another woman's stooped shoulders and was assisting her down the stairs. He couldn't see the other woman's face, but he could tell from her slow, hesitant walk that she was either very feeble or in terrible pain.

"Please don't cry, Nora," Sara whispered. "Everything's going to be fine now. I'm going to take good care of you."

When the pair reached the foyer Sara took off her cloak, adjusted it around the other woman's shoulders, and then leaned forward to kiss her on her forehead.

"I knew you would come for me, Sara. I never doubted. I knew in my heart that you would find a way to help me."

Nora's voice cracked with emotion. She mopped at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her hands. Nathan noticed the dark bruises on her wrists. He recognized the marks. The old woman had obviously been tied up.

Sara reached up to adjust the pins in her aunt's hair. "Of course you knew I would come for you," she whispered. "I love you, Aunt Nora. I would never let anything happen to you. There," she added in as cheerful a tone of voice as she could manage, "your hair looks lovely again."

Nora grasped Sara's hand. "Whatever would I do without you, child?"

"That's a foolish worry," Sara answered. She kept her voice soothing, for she knew her aunt was in jeopardy of losing her control. Sara was actually in much the same condition. When she'd seen the bruises on her aunt's face and arms she'd wanted to weep.

"You came back to England because I asked you to," Sara reminded her. "I thought you would have a happy reunion with your sister, but I was wrong. This atrocity is all my fault, Nora. Besides, you must know you're never going to have to do without me."

"You're such a dear child," Nora answered.

Sara's hand shook when she reached for the door lock. "How did you find me?" Nora asked from behind.

"It doesn't matter now," Sara said. She worked the lock free and opened the door. "We're going to have all the time in the world to visit after we've boarded the ship. I'm taking you back home, Nora."

"Oh, I can't leave London just yet."

Sara turned around to look at her aunt. "What do you mean, you can't leave just yet? Everything's been arranged, Nora. I've booked passage with the last of my funds. Please don't shake your head at me. Now isn't the time to turn difficult. We have to leave tonight. It's too dangerous for you to stay here."

"Henry took my wedding band," Nora explained. She shook her head again. The silvery cluster of hair at the top of her head immediately sagged to one side. "I won't leave England without it. My Johnny, God rest his soul, gave me orders never to take it off the day we were wed fourteen years ago. I can't go home without my wedding band, Sara. It's too precious to me."

"Yes, we must find it," Sara agreed when her aunt started to weep again. She was alarmed by the wheeze in her aunt's voice, too. The dear woman was obviously having difficulty catching her breath. "Do you have any idea where Uncle Henry might have hidden it?"

"That's the true blasphemy," Nora answered. She leaned against the banister in an effort to ease the ache in her chest, then said, "Henry didn't bother to hide it. He's wearing it on his little finger. Sporting it like a trophy, he is. Now, if we could determine where your uncle is drinking tonight, we could fetch the band back."

Sara nodded. Her stomach started aching at the thought of what she was going to have to do. "I know where he is," she said. "Nicholas has been following him. Now, are you up to a short walk to the corner of the block? I didn't dare order the hack to wait out front for fear Uncle Henry would come home early."

"Of course I'm up to a walk," Nora answered. She moved away from the banister. Her gait was stiff as she slowly made her way to the door. "Heavens," she whispered. "If your mother could see me now, she'd die of shame. I'm about to take a walk in the dead of night dressed in my nightgown and a borrowed cloak."

Sara smiled. "We aren't going to tell my mother, though, are we?" She let out a gasp when she saw her aunt grimace. "You're in terrible pain, aren't you?"

"Nonsense," Nora scoffed. "I'm already feeling much better. Come along now," she ordered in a brisker tone. "We mustn't linger here, child." She clutched the rail and started down the steps. "It will take more than a Winchester to do me in."

Sara started to pull the door shut behind her, then changed her mind. "I believe I shall leave this door wide open in the hope that someone will come along and help himself to Uncle Henry's possessions. I dare not get my hopes up, though," she added. "There don't seem to be any villains on the streets tonight. On my walk over here I saw nary a one."

"Good Lord, Sara, you actually walked over here?" Aunt Nora asked, clearly appalled.

"I did," Sara answered. There was a hint of a boast in her voice. "I kept my guard up, of course, so you can quit your frown. I didn't have to use my parasol once to fend off anyone with ill intentions, either. Oh, heavens, I've left my lovely parasol in the window."

"Leave it be," her aunt ordered when Sara started back up the steps. "We're pressing our luck against the devil if we stay here much longer. Now give me your arm, dear. I'll hold onto you while we make this short walk. You really walked over here, Sara?"

Sara laughed. "To tell you the full truth, I do believe I ran most of the way. I was very frightened, Nora, but I made the journey without mishap. Do you know, I believe all this talk about our streets being so unsafe is just exaggeration."

The two ladies strolled arm in arm down the dark, narrow street, Sara's laughter trailing behind them. The hack was waiting for them at the corner. Sara was assisting her aunt inside the black vehicle when a hopeful assailant came rushing toward them. Nathan intervened by simply moving forward into the moonlight. The man took one look at him, did a hasty turnaround, and blended back into the shadows again.

Nathan thought the old woman might have gotten a look at him. She had glanced back over her shoulder just when he'd moved forward, but he decided her eyesight must have dimmed with age when she turned around again without shouting a warning to her niece.

Sara certainly hadn't noticed his presence. She had a heated discussion over the fare with the driver, finally agreed to his exorbitant fee, and then joined her aunt inside the vehicle. The hack was in motion when Nathan grabbed hold of the back rail and swung himself up on the ledge. The vehicle rocked from the added weight before picking up speed again.

Sara was certainly making her own kidnapping easy work. Nathan had heard her tell her aunt that they would be leaving London by ship. He therefore assumed their destination was the wharf. Then the hack veered off onto one of the side streets near the waterfront and came to an abrupt stop in front of one of the most notorious taverns in the city.

She was going after the damn wedding band, he supposed with a growl of irritation. Nathan jumped down from the ledge and moved into the light further behind the hack. He wanted the men loitering in front of the tavern to get a good look at him. He braced his legs apart for a fight, moved his right hand to the hilt of the coiled whip hooked to his belt, and scowled at the sizable group.

They noticed him. Three of the smaller ones edged their way back inside. The other four leaned back against the stone wall. Their gazes were directed on the ground.

The driver climbed down from his perch, received fresh instructions, and hurried inside. He came back outside a scant minute later, muttered that he'd best be getting a giant bonus for all the trouble he'd had to endure, and then climbed back up to his seat.

Another few minutes elapsed before the door of the tavern opened again. A sour-faced man with a grossly distended belly came outside. He was dressed in rumpled, soiled clothing that was ripe from wear. The stranger slicked his greasy hair back from his brow in a pitiful attempt at grooming as he swaggered over to the carriage.

"My employer, Henry Winchester, is too sotted to come outside," he announced. "We come to this part of town when we don't want to be noticed," he added. "I'm here in his stead, m'lady. Your driver said there be a woman in need of something, and I'm thinking I'm just the man you're needing."

The disgusting man scratched his groin while he eagerly waited for a reply to his offer.

The stench radiating from the foul-smelling man came in through the window. Sara almost gagged in reaction. She placed her perfumed hankerchief over her nose, turned to her aunt, and whispered, "Do you know this man?"

"I most certainly do," her aunt answered. "His name's Clifford Duggan, Sara, and he's the one who helped your uncle waylay me."

"Did he strike you?"

"Yes, dear, he did," Nora answered. "Several times, as a matter of fact."

The servant under discussion couldn't see inside the dark carriage. He leaned forward to get a better look at his prize.

Nathan walked over to the side of the carriage. His intent was to tear the man from aft to stern for daring to leer at his bride. He stopped when he saw the white-gloved fist fly through the open window and connect quite soundly with the side of the man's bulbous nose.

Clifford hadn't been prepared for the attack. He let out a howl of pain, staggered backwards, and tripped over his own feet. He landed with a thud on his knees. While he spewed one crude blasphemy after another he diligently tried to regain his feet.

Sara pressed her advantage. She threw the carriage door open, catching the villain in his midsection. The servant did a near somersault before landing in the gutter on his backside.

The men lounging against the wall hooted in appreciation of the spectacle they'd just witnessed. Sara ignored her audience as she climbed out of the carriage. She turned to hand her reticule to her aunt, took another minute to remove her gloves and pass those through the window to her aunt, too, and then finally gave her full attention to the man sprawled on the ground.

She was simply too infuriated to be afraid. She stood over her victim looking very like an avenging angel. Her voice shook with fury when she said, "If you ever mistreat a lady again, Clifford Duggan, I swear to God you'll die a slow, agonizing death."

"I ain't never mistreated a lady," Clifford whined. He was trying to catch his breath so he could pounce on her. "How would you be knowing my name?"

Nora leaned out the window. "You're a shameful liar, Clifford," she called out. "You're going to burn in hell for all your sins."

Clifford's eyes widened in astonishment. "How did you get out—"

Sara interrupted his question by giving him a sound kick. He turned his gaze back to her. His expression was insolent. "You think you got the meat to hurt me?" he sneered. He glanced back at the men leaning against the wall. In truth, the servant was more humiliated than injured by her paltry attack. The snickers echoing behind him stung far more than her little slap. "The only reason I ain't retaliating is because my employer will want to beat you good and sound afore he lets me have you."

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, Clifford?" Sara asked. "My husband is going to hear about this atrocity, and he will certainly retaliate. The marquess of St. James is feared by everyone, even ignorant pigs like you, Clifford. When I tell him what you've been up to he'll give you equal measure. The marquess does whatever I tell him to do just like that." She paused to snap her fingers for effect. "Oh, I can see I've gotten your full attention with that promise," she added with a nod when Clifford's expression changed. The man looked downright terrified. He had quit trying to regain his feet and was actually scooting backward on his backside.

Sara was inordinately pleased with herself. Her bluff had worked quite well. She didn't realize that Clifford had just gotten a good look at the giant standing a scant ten feet behind her. She thought she'd just put the fear of a St. James into the servant. "A man who strikes a lady is a true coward," she announced. "My husband kills cowards as easily as he would a bothersome gnat, and if you doubt me, just remember he is a St. James through and through."