Authors: The Conquest
“I never should have said it,” she said again, shaking her head. “It’s unfair as well as not true. Neither you or I can help what we are, can we? Though of course,” she added quickly, “you have no reason to regret your birth.”
“Nor do you,” he said.
She laughed. It wasn’t a merry sound.
He hesitated. He wanted to tell her that she was unique, lovely and bright, so enchanting it would be criminal for her ever to regret being on this earth, being here with him tonight. But he held his tongue. Telling her that might lead to telling her more, and the damnable thing was that he wasn’t free to do that.
When he’d seen her leave the company he’d made a hasty excuse so he could slip away and follow her into the darkness. He’d told himself it was to protect her from possible harm. Now he realized he had only to protect her from himself. His hands clenched hard as he sought words to comfort her without committing himself to anything but concern. He wasn’t free to propose more. He had obligations and his father’s expectations to consider and could never forget it. He could offer her pleasure, nothing else, and his principles forbade that. He was blocked every way. He couldn’t even
find a facile lie to speak now, when he most needed one.
They stood in the deepening evening, the waterfall plashing in the pool and the strains of faraway music the only sound between them. He rested on his crutches and still he towered over her, and the silence grew. Now she felt vulnerable. Not because of his height. But because she allowed herself to think of possibilities. Now, in the growing darkness, they seemed to be just a man and a woman in the darkness. They both knew it. The sudden knowledge and the tension it caused between them was as much a part of the moment as the sound of the rushing water.
He tilted his head to the side.
“If…”
he breathed softly, considering her.
In that moment she wished he wouldn’t be such a gentleman. He looked a stranger to her now that he was on his feet. She wished he’d act like one, one who desired her. Because she’d wanted him for so long and she wore the best gown she’d ever owned, and she’d never have a night like this again. Of course he couldn’t marry her. She couldn’t be his mistress either. But the thought tormented her because though she could never accept such a proposition, she wished she could. She admired him for never bringing up the subject, and almost hated him because he might never have thought of it. He sent her senses and her thoughts in a whirl. Only one thing was sure, she wanted him to want her too.
She silently urged him to. She couldn’t do more. However much she yearned to know what she’d be missing for the rest of her life, she’d rather lose the use of both
her
legs than reach out to him. He might recoil.
He might not. Either way, she could never face him again. But if he reached for her…?
He couldn’t hold her in his arms, of course, she thought quickly. He had to use his crutches. But he wouldn’t need them if he held onto her. She could uphold him, she longed to. He could hold her, kiss her, this one time, just this once, because they were alone, and they’d never be again. And who would ever know except the two of them?
She’d been kissed a few times, on the sly, by trickery or force by local lads and trifling men. More, since Mr. Gascoyne had died. She was a stranger to the village and a woman alone, and she never forgot it after those times. She never walked by herself now except in her own garden. She’d never wanted to be kissed by any man but one of her dream lovers until Drum had appeared. All these months trying not to wonder what those firm lips would feel like on hers. Was she about to find out at last? Would they be warm? Or cool as he was? Would he make her feel in reality the way she imagined? She needed to know just once, so she’d know what to dream about in the future.
She swayed, leaned toward him, and closed her eyes. And waited. It was all she dared do, and yet she felt her heart pounding louder than the sound of the waterfall. She waited.
“Well!” he said abruptly, moving back one hop on a crutch. “What would people think if they found us like this? Vauxhall is as notorious for its dark walks and the mischief men and women get up to in them as it is for anything else. Neither of us needs that kind of talk. We’d better look for the others, don’t you think?”
Her eyes opened. She felt as though he’d slapped
her. Her head went back as though he had. She didn’t hear the regret in his voice because of his words. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Do. Go! I mean, if I come with you it will make them think just what you said.”
“But you won’t be safe here alone. Let me take you back.”
“I’m safe,” she said, turning her head to stare at the waterfall she couldn’t see through the veil of tears in her own eyes. Her face was hot, she wondered if a person could actually die of shame, and knew she’d be the first to find out. “I can’t be far from the others, you found me easily enough.”
“I saw your gown, it’s such a distinctive color,” he said softly. “You strayed down the path and were easy to follow, you glowed like a rose petal at last light. But now it’s night, and not safe for a woman alone.”
“I can’t think it’s that dangerous,” she said, willing him to leave before he could see her face. “I’ll wait a few minutes and then join the party again, at the back of the line. But you go first. You have much more to lose than I do, after all, don’t you?”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!” he said, shocked.
“Go, and send Eric after me then,” she said, holding herself rigid.
“I’ll send Gilly and Damon,” he said. He swung his crutches and pivoted. He hesitated, then looked back over one shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ally. Sorrier than you know. But the problem is that I’m a gentleman, after all.”
All her shame at her presumption and pain because of the lack of his boiled up and made her forget her place. “No,” she said in a hard voice, “you are a nobleman, sir.
That
is the problem.”
He went still. Then he nodded, and swung off into the dark.
There was no need for explanations when Alexandria rejoined the party a few minutes later. The fireworks display had begun.
“I told you not to wander off!” Gilly scolded.
“I was on my way back when I saw you and Damon, wasn’t I?” Alexandria said. “Oh! Look! I’ve seen shooting stars, but I’ve never seen fireworks before. They’re amazing!”
The musicians played in time to the pyrotechnics, orchestrating each explosion of color. Even though Alexandria was confused and angry, she couldn’t help being overwhelmed and diverted. “Oh!” she finally said as what looked like a giant chrysanthemum exploded over them, dwarfing the vast night sky, making her clap her hands over her ears. “If I lived in London, I’d be here every night!”
“Then you’d have a long wait,” Gilly said, laughing. “They’re not shown every night.”
“I’ve never seen the like, have you?” she said, so excited she held hands clasped as though in prayer.
“Too often, in battle,” Drum said.
Alexandria’s shoulders leapt. He’d made no noise when he approached, crutches made less noise on the grass than footfalls did, or she’d been too rapt in the display to hear him. He stood behind her now.
“That’s why the men here tonight aren’t as thrilled as you women are,” he said. “The sounds, the smell of gunpowder, the air blue with it, it makes them remember too much.”
“But they came here,” Alexandria said.
“We’re often drawn to that which is dangerous.”
“I didn’t know you were in battle,” she said, wondering at the meaning of that oblique allusion.
“Oh, Drum served His Majesty everywhere,” Gilly said. “Battlefields as well as boudoirs, though he’ll deny it, of course.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Oh!” Lady Annabelle cried from Drum’s right side. “Look, three stars in one!”
That made Alexandria feel better, in a terrible way, because he could be as oblique as he wanted. Reality stood at his side.
The fireworks went on until Alexandria’s eyes were dazzled and her ears rang from the thunder and crash of the spectacular display. The air was thick with smoke when it was done, the candles and lamps seemed diminished. They were, not only by comparison to the pyrotechnics, but because they were burning down to their wicks. The night was ending. Harsh flares of torchlight lit the paths as lines of people began moving toward their carriages at the coaching stands, and others made their way toward the river again.
Now the night was filled with the sounds of people calling good-night to each other, their servants crying out for their coaches to come, and hired hackmen shouting their fares for those who hadn’t brought private carriages. Further along, by the shore, a small navy of boatmen maneuvered for position, and gentlemen carefully handed their ladies into the swaying bobbing crafts.
Alexandria queued up with the rest of those in Drum’s party who hadn’t taken coaches. Gilly and Da
mon were somewhere beside her, she couldn’t see much in the confusing press of people. They might be members of the Quality, but they pushed and shoved like commoners as they jockeyed for positions in line. Alexandria stood bemused, watching long lines of people being taken up and carried off in boats.
A breeze had sprung up. The pennants on the gaily striped poles snapped and fluttered. The boats rocked in the water as it lapped at their hulls. Alexandria could almost believe she
was
in some foreign land. Her excitement died as she remembered that for her this was one, and it would soon be as distant and unreachable as any nation across the sea for her. She’d removed her bonnet and was glad the freshening wind whisked her hair free from its bonds, grateful it blew in banners across her eyes so no one could see the tears that flowed down her cheeks, at last.
“Here’s your boat, my Lord Drummond,” someone called.
“Go ahead,” Drum’s voice said at her ear, and she felt his hand at her back, urging her forward.
She ducked her head to hide the evidence of her sadness, and stepped forward. The boatman’s hand grasped hers and she stepped down. He abruptly released his grip as she reached the boat, so she almost lost her footing.
“By God, man, have a care!” Drum said angrily. “I can take care of myself until she is seated. Help the lady now.”
Lady?
Alexandria’s head whipped around, looking for Lady Annabelle, shamed that she’d stepped into her place. But Drum must have meant her, because she didn’t see the lady, and after a moment’s hesitation the
boatman grasped her hand again and helped her to a seat in the swaying craft. Two men aided Drum. It wasn’t long before he gathered his crutches in one hand and lowered himself to the seat beside her.
The little boat shoved off.
“Where are the Ryders?” Alexandria asked, looking around.
“Devil if I know,” Drum said. “One minute they were there, the next, they weren’t. I don’t know where Eric got to either. We’re alone. Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “no one will think worse of you for going back without a chaperone. Even the highest sticklers won’t think I’d be able to get up to any nonsense in a boat, with three watermen at my side.”
“
I’m
not worried,” she said, as her initial spurt of joy at finding herself with him vanished.
He didn’t answer. The boat slid into the dark. Two men rowed, another stood behind them, looking back at the velvet night. The river was ablaze with light. The sight thrilled Alexandria so much she forgot her situation. The pier they’d left was outlined by torchlight, the other boats had lanterns swaying fore and aft, the houses along the river showed lighted windows. It was like a convention of stars that blotted out the stars, all reflected on the raven surface of the swiftly flowing river.
As they went on and the other boats began to disperse to all directions, the night grew darker. That was when Alexandria noticed their boat didn’t have a running light. She wondered how the boatmen could steer since she couldn’t see much even though her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. Drum obviously
saw more. After a few more minutes, he spoke again. But not to her.
“I’m Drummond, bound for the landing at Adam Street, near the Adelphi Wharves. That’s Blackfriar’s we just went under. Turn around, we’re headed wrong. This isn’t the way back,” he said in annoyance. “Where the devil do you think you’re going, man?”
The two men at the oars kept silent as they bent their backs. The man behind them swiftly knelt so his mouth was close to Drum’s right ear and Alexandria’s left one.
“Oh, I know who you are, my lord,” the man said softly. “And I know where you’re going. You don’t. But that’s how it should be. I have you now, my lord. That’s how it should be too.”
D
RUM SAT STILL AT
A
LEXANDRIA
’
S SIDE, BUT SHE
could feel how he tensed at the strange man’s words. She was afraid to even breathe in response to what he’d said. She hoped it was a joke, a bit of foolery on the part of some high-born, low-intellect acquaintance of Drum’s. She waited to hear his answering jest. What he said didn’t reassure her.
“You know who I am?” Drum said calmly. “Then you have the advantage of me, sir.”
“Indeed I do,” the man agreed. “In many ways tonight. Please take your pistol from your jacket pocket and fling it out in front of you.” His arm snaked out and his fingers encircled Alexandria’s neck. She couldn’t swallow, much less cry out. “I have Miss Gascoyne in an awkward position, my lord,” the man went on, his voice as tight as his grasp. “If you don’t instantly obey me I can make it less awkward for her, rather permanently, I’m afraid. It doesn’t matter to me, but it will to her. Come, I know you carry a pocket pis
tol. I know many things about you. It will do no good to lie or refuse.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Drum said. He reached into his pocket. Alexandria gagged, because the hand on her neck tightened. Drum’s hand froze as his head turned to her.
“Sorry,” the man said, loosening his grip on her throat a fraction, “but I don’t altogether trust you, Drummond, and I thought to make a point. I can snap her neck in a second, or slowly cut off her air. Or let her go. It’s entirely up to you now.”
Drum reached into his pocket again, pulled out a small pistol, and threw it so far they could hear it splash into the water. The rowers paused in their steady rhythm, then took it up again.
“A bit overzealous, but good,” the man said, letting go of Alexandria’s neck. Her hand flew to her throat.
“Now, be aware that there are three of us, all armed and able,” the man went on, “against only one of you, and a crippled one, at that. Oh, excuse me, Miss Gascoyne, two of you, but only one capable of offering resistance. You’re lovely, but hardly a threat. I hope I’ve made my point, my lord. Because I assure you letting go of her neck does not necessarily mean letting her go on with her life if you try any kind of stupid heroics now.”
Drum spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’ll do nothing to harm her, but of course you know that. Perhaps you can tell me how you came to be so knowledgeable, and why?”
“Certainly,” the man said, rising to his feet. He walked around to stand in front of them.
He was a heavyset, middle-aged man of medium
height, with gray hair, and he was properly dressed, if not like a gentleman of fashion. From what Alexandria could see of his face in the night, she’d swear she’d never seen him before. But she might have, because he was in no way remarkable. And he’d known her name.
“I’m Fitch,” he said, his eyes on Drum. “Frederick G. Fitch, of Three Crown Court. I see you don’t know me. Or perhaps you do. Your impassivity is another indication of your talent, isn’t it? The trait of a bored nobleman, which you pretend to be. It’s also the hallmark of a superior agent,” he said, his voice becoming harsher, “and that, as we know, is what you are. And Miss Gascoyne,” he said, with a mocking little bob of a bow. “How have you been?”
“You know me?” she asked.
“We’ve met, but of course you don’t remember. You had little interest in Louis’s friends, didn’t you? I made inquiries after you, though. Did he tell you? No? I’m not surprised. I found you healthy and attractive, virtuous, obedient, and well brought up. I wasn’t in the position of meeting many such women. I thought to take you off his hands. He was, however, always protective of his own interests. He rejected me out of hand. Much good it did him. You left as soon as he turned his back, and only returned when you were sure he was dying. If he’d have given you to me, he’d have profited. This way, only you did. But that’s over now, isn’t it? Because see what a poor choice you’ve made this time.”
“Miss Gascoyne has made no choice,” Drum said. “She found me after I’d been attacked and nursed me back to health. Now she’s visiting London and I tried to repay her by taking her to see the sights. We have no other connection.”
Fitch laughed. “Oh, indeed. And that’s why you were on your way to see her before you were shot, is it?”
“I wasn’t. I only detoured from the highway to take a rest from the road,” Drum said. “You shot me, I take it?”
Alexandria saw the man’s smile reflected in the moonlight—as well as the pistol he held in his gloved hand.
“Yes,” Fitch answered proudly, “and Miss Gascoyne would have been unable to do anything but lament if only you hadn’t turned in the saddle when you did.”
“May I ask why you shot at me?” Drum asked, as though they were discussing politics at a gentleman’s club, not being held at pistol point and rowed across inky waters to an unknown destination.
“Don’t humor me!” Fitch growled.
“I assure you I have no intention of doing so,” Drum said. “Obviously you feel I did you an injury, but for the life of me I can’t imagine what it could have been. I believe you’re in earnest and it
is
the life of me at question now. I simply don’t know why.”
“Now is not the time or place to discuss it,” Fitch snapped, with a glance at the rowers.
Alexandria felt Drum let out a breath and she relaxed a little herself. Now she only trembled. So the man didn’t mean to do anything to them just yet. Or maybe not at all. But he was one of Mr. Gascoyne’s friends? She rapidly reviewed them in her mind. There weren’t many. If she and the boys encountered any of his acquaintances by accident at the market or such, he’d had to introduce his family to them. But he’d done it hastily and with ill grace. Fewer still had come to
their cottage. She didn’t remember this man at all, but she could have met him years ago. The ones she remembered had been fusty old men with pale hands and shifting eyes, unused to children outside the schoolroom and less accustomed to young females. Mr. Gascoyne had encouraged her to avoid them and she’d been happy to obey.
She scanned the water to try to see where they were going. There were some lights on the opposite banks, but she didn’t know London. Drum did. She’d have to put her faith in him.
Drum was obviously thinking that too. “My companions will immediately miss me,” he said conversationally.
“So they will,” Fitch agreed. “For what good that does them. They certainly weren’t vigilant before; I don’t worry about them now. By the time they know you’re missing, then try to find out why, much less where you’ve gotten to, my work will be done. It was easier than I thought. I used the crowd to maneuver you into my hands. It was dark, there was confusion, I called your name and you stepped into my boat as nicely as you please. I hadn’t meant to net Miss Gascoyne too, but now I think she’ll have her uses. Now, I’ll ask you to be silent, if you please. There’ll be time for talk when we reach my destination.”
Well, that was something, Alexandria thought. But she didn’t like to think about her “uses” any more than she wanted to know what he meant about his work being “done.”
Alexandria’s spirits sank as they rowed deeper into a dark quiet area of warehouses and old houses and
abandoned commercial buildings. Now the only light was the stars and moon. She didn’t feel much better when their boat stopped in front of what looked like a blank wall thrown up against a riverbank. One of the rowers rose and groped along its front. She heard metal chink against metal as he finally found and grasped a heavy chain and padlock in one of his big hands. The boat rocked. The man dug in his pocket and fought for his balance as he fiddled with a key.
“Hurry,” Fitch hissed.
The other rower held up a bullseye lamp and raised the shutter. A sudden shaft of yellow light showed a door set in what had appeared to be a bricked-up wall. The first man inserted the key and pulled. The door croaked, then swung open to emptiness, a vast blackness. They’d come to what was obviously a water entrance to a house or warehouse from the days when Londoners had navigated their city by boat—a door probably forgotten now except by Fitch, to be used for his strange purposes. Alexandria shuddered, remembering how she’d spoken of such things only hours before, how excited and light-hearted she’d been about them then.
Now she wondered if her tomb lay beyond that door, or what other indignities she might find there. If she could swim, she’d have thrown herself off the boat long before this. Now that they’d arrived, she wondered if she should, even though she couldn’t swim. She felt Drum’s hand cover over hers in a fleeting touch of reassurance, as though he’d heard her thoughts.
“In,” Fitch ordered.
The rowers crouched, picked up the oars, and silently
maneuvered the boat through the door and into the darkness.
The air was dank and cold and close here. They were in some sort of room. The boat bumped against a landing and stopped. Someone secured it. It was dark and silent as the inside of a drum, the only sound the lapping of water at the bottom of the boat and against the strange dark shore they’d landed on. One of the rowers unshuttered another lantern. Now she could see, but Alexandria was no happier.
There was a flat landing space. The walls were black and so far back she couldn’t see them. The ceiling seemed as high as the vault of the night sky outside. There wasn’t much else she could see from the boat, and the place seemed as big as a playing field.
One of the men scrambled up a swaying mossy ladder to the landing. “Up,” Fitch said to Drum, gesturing with his pistol.
Alexandria had been afraid of suffering indignities, but she forgot her fears because of the one Drum had to suffer now. He obviously couldn’t get up the ladder to the landing with his crutches, he couldn’t even rise to his feet in the boat because he didn’t have room to get purchase. He tried, rose, staggered, then sat again.
“Try one trick, my lord,” Fitch hissed, “and I’ll treat myself to Miss Gascoyne before your eyes and then tend to you.”
Drum shrugged. “You want me to crawl up the stairs, then?”
“I’m not a petty man,” Fitch muttered. “Of course. Hake! Bring the gentleman up. Miss Gascoyne, may I assist you?”
Alexandria wanted to say she’d rather die, but she
discovered that wasn’t true at all. So she watched Fitch go up the ladder, then raised her head and took his hand. Picking up the hem of her skirt in her other hand, she carefully made her way up the slippery rungs of the ladder. Then she stood on the landing and was glad it was dark so she didn’t have to see Drum’s face as one of the burly men picked him up, threw him over his shoulder and, cursing about his weight, clambered up the stair with him. By the time Fitch had another lantern lit, Drum was leaning on his crutches and looking around as she was.
The place was even bigger than she’d thought. The ceiling was as high as a cathedral’s. They stood on a stone floor. There were crates stacked against the walls, but it would take stacks thick as a forest to fill up all the empty space. There were two staircases toward the back, on either side of the huge square room. They seemed to lead up to the next level, but thicker darkness lay at the top of them. Things had obviously been shipped to or from here, generations ago. Now, not even a sniff of what they had been remained because the stench of the place was only that of low tide.
“Good,” Fitch said, “very good. Hake, take the boat and wait for me outside by the stairs to the right, where I showed you. Lock the door after you. Go now.”
Hake nodded and went back to the boat. He pushed off and rowed to the door. When he got there Alexandria could barely make out his silhouette as he rose and drew the doors closed after him with a final thudding sound. Alexandria closed her eyes, wondering if she’d ever see the dark of night or light of day again.
“Now, Dubbin,” Fitch said to the other man, “have you made sure of his lordship? One never knows
what he has up his sleeves. You did inspect them?”
The man he’d called Dubbin grunted; it might have been laughter. “Aye, all. ’e’s naught in ’is pockets, and naught up ’is sleeves but ’is arms.”
“Good,” Fitch said. “Get us some chairs then, and we’ll see what his lordship has up his leg, shall we?”
Dubbin dragged two crates from the darkness and put them down near Fitch, close to the edge of the platform.
Fitch gestured toward the boxes. “Miss Gascoyne? Sorry I can’t offer better facilities. Do have a seat, though. I’ve some things to discuss with the earl now. My lord? Take a seat, and be so kind as to hand me your crutches, after you do.”
Alexandria sat gingerly on a box, her spine straight, her icy hands clasped in front of her. Drum swung over to a box, lowered himself to it, bent down, gathered his crutches, and handed them to Fitch…who took them in one hand and tossed them over the edge of the landing, into the water.
Alexandria gasped. Fitch couldn’t have made his intentions clearer. Drum was completely helpless now, and his captor had shown him it didn’t matter, because he’d never need to walk again.
“Now, Dubbin,” Fitch said, “see what the earl has under that wrapping on his leg.”
Dubbin knelt at Drum’s feet. He took a knife from his coat. Alexandria shivered, not because of the threat of violence, but because Drum had been stripped of his crutches, and now would be of his bandages. She’d thought Fitch couldn’t have made his intentions clearer a moment ago. Now he had.
Drum sat with his leg stretched out before him as
Dubbin made a cut in the bindings covering it. Dubbin unwound the cloth to expose a sturdy wooden splint, four stout slats of wood with wood screws holding them together, and a cord wrapped over them for more security. Dubbin ran his hands over and under it. “Naught,” he reported. “Wood and leg, ’tis all.”
Drum frowned, as though his leg pained him after Dubbin’s rough inspection.
“But the other leg?” Fitch asked. “Hand Dubbin the knife you carry in the top of your boot, my lord, or he’ll strip it from you.”
Drum bent, withdrew a small knife from his boot, and tossed it to Dubbin, who pocketed it.
“Now,” Fitch said with satisfaction, “Dubbin, pull the cords off his lordship’s splint and unfasten the wood screws. He won’t be needing it anymore.”