“Who’d believe me? Do I look like a lady?”
“And when ye get to the Colonies, what then?”
“Have ye ever known any bond servant who came back? They’d believe me even less there.”
“Hmmm.” He motioned the mute to release Leah’s head, and the two of them drew away to talk. Giles spoke in whispers too low for Leah to understand and Ben grunted.
Leah laid her cheek in the mud and waited, heart thudding, for them to decide what to do with her. The cold seeped up through her damp shift, and she began to shiver. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Out on the river she heard the chanting of boatmen and the rasp of their oars. A rat squeaked and scurried along the rotting wall.
“Well, bitch, it’s time.” The footman kicked her in the side, and she gasped. The other man laughed, a horrible strangled sound that made the hair at the back of Leah’s neck prickle.
“Dead women bring no silver to your pocket,” she argued.
“True enough,” he said. “We ain’t gonna toss ye in the Thames.” He laughed. “We’re takin’ ye to Mother.” He knelt and cut the binding that held her ankles together. “Ye can walk, can’t ye?”
Leah staggered up, swaying to catch her balance with her arms tied behind her. She couldn’t feel her hands. “I can walk,” she answered stubbornly.
“Mother will know what t’ do with ye,” Giles continued slyly. “A shapely drozel like yerself—ye’ll bring in a fine ’andful of coin every night, I wager.” He gave her a shove. “Get on with ye! That way! We ain’t got all night.”
Sensing that any disobedience would only put her in more danger, Leah did as she was told.
Her captors forced her up an incline and along a narrow twisting pathway beside what she thought must be warehouses. As the streets were nearly deserted, Leah knew that it was very late at night or very early in the morning. Occasionally a shadowy figure would pass them on foot, but the stranger would keep his face averted and stay close to the sides of the buildings.
The stones were rough and cold against Leah’s bare feet, and the night air was chill. They were still close enough to the Thames for the damp breeze to carry the smell of mud and decaying timber.
Giles led the way down an alley between overhanging houses. The space was too narrow for a horse and cart to pass, but still the paving stones were cut by a ditch of stagnant water.
Sounds of coughing and crying babies filtered through the dismal fog. Leah heard a dog barking and a pig grunting almost under her feet. She saw the dark shuffling form of the animal rooting at something in the ditch, and she stepped wide around it. The air smelled worse here than it had by the river. Leah’s stomach rebelled at the overpowering stench of too many people packed too closely together.
“’Ware,” came a shout followed immediately by laughter over their heads. A cascade of liquid poured down into the ditch, splashed Leah’s legs and filled her nostrils with the acrid scent of urine.
“’ Ware, yerself, ye old blowze!” Giles threatened. “I’ll wring yer skinny neck if ye pour shit on my ’ead again!”
The old woman cackled and slammed her wooden shutter. Another shutter banged open on the far side of the alley, and a man cursed down at them. Giles cursed back, and the mute made filthy motions with his hands.
A furry animal ran across Leah’s foot, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She started to the left and came down with her foot on something sharp. She winced as she felt blood trickle from her foot.
The footman shoved her again. “Keep goin’,” he warned.
They turned left into another alley, then right. Leah gave up trying to keep a sense of direction. They seemed to be walking deeper and deeper into a human anthill. Now and then, she could hear wheels and horses’ hooves on another street, but only those on foot could traverse the way they were taking. A man on horseback would have to duck to avoid hitting the overhanging houses above. The street was as dark as pitch; Leah knew that even in daytime little sunlight could penetrate such a maze.
As they rounded a corner, she saw the flare of lanterns and heard the raucous sound of voices. A woman’s high-pitched laughter rose above the rest, followed closely by a loud crashing.
“That’s Mother Witherberry’s fer ye,” Giles declared. “Always lively at Mother’s, they be.”
Leah’s breath caught in her throat as the three neared what was clearly a tavern catering to the lowest sort of scum. The footman took hold of her arm and dragged her through the sagging doorway.
“Greetings, Mother,” Giles shouted to a raw-cheeked woman in a dirty mobcap. “I brought ye some choice goods.”
“Did ye now?” Mother wiped a froth of ale from her mouth and strode toward them on dirty, splayed bare feet. She was nearly six feet tall, with shoulders like a drover and hands like shovels. Her pale blue eyes bugged out of her horsey face, and her jutting chin—broken long ago and healed crookedly—was sparsely covered with bristling black hairs. “Cuds bobs!” she exclaimed. “Ain’t ye just!”
Leah glanced around the low, smoke-filled room. Hard-faced men lounged against the wall and gathered around a long trencher table. One dull-eyed girl lay in the center of a table with her dirty yellow hair pinned to the scarred tabletop with a knife. The bodice of her cheap gown had been ripped away and a pair of dice balanced on her naked stomach. Two men eyed each other maliciously across her body. As Leah watched, one scooped up the dice and threw them again.
Another woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with the look of madness about her, ran her hands inside a sailor’s striped shirt and swiveled her hips from side to side in dubious time to the tune played by a drunken blind man near the fire. An earless, noseless man dandled a girl young enough to play with dolls on his knee. She shrieked with laughter and reached for the fatty joint of mutton on the tin plate in front of them. Leah noticed that her face and the front of her filthy shift were greasy with fat.
Catcalls rose from the men as they stared back at Leah with hungry eyes. This can’t be real, she thought. It’s a dream, and I’ll wake in Brandon’s arms on our soft feather bed. But she knew it was real. With every sense acute, she stood motionless, judging the distance to the table and the knife holding the blond wench’s hair.
Mother yanked Leah away from Giles’s grasp. “Sweet boy, to think of Mother with such a peach,” she said. “How much?”
The footman named a sum.
Mother threw back her head and roared. “Not fer me dear old father, rest his soul. Half that, and I’m givin’ away me business. I’ll die in the streets fer me kind heart.”
“Look at the tits on ’er,” the footman bargained. “She’s strong. She’ll earn more for ye in a week than these other sluts make in a month.”
“Strip off that gown!” a sailor urged. He rose off a bench and began to clap. “Let us judge what ye’re offerin’!”
“None o’ that!” Mother censured. “Watch yer tongue! This be a decent establishment fer ladies and gentlemen.” The crowd roared with laughter, and Giles nervously repeated his last offer.
“Take what ye kin get,” Mother said. “Not a penny more will ye get from Mother, not if I was to be burned in hell. Take it with my good will, or ask me more and try to get out of here alive with it!” Again, the onlookers cheered.
Giles glanced at the mute. He shrugged and backed toward the door. “Done,” Giles muttered.
Mother Witherberry crushed Leah against her huge sagging breasts in a monstrous bear hug, and Leah choked at the woman’s rank smell. “Please,” she began. “I’m nay—”
“No need to take on,” Mother said. “Ye’re welcome here as any of my children.” She leered into Leah’s face, showing broken, mossy teeth. “Be a good girl and do as Mother bids ye, and I’ll treat ye as tender as spring lamb. Isn’t that right, boys?”
Vile retorts filled the air and Leah blushed crimson, to the watchers’ delight.
“Upstairs, me girl,” Mother ordered sharply. “I’ll have a closer look at what I’ve paid good coin for. And ye!” She snapped her head around to stare at the footman. “Ye’ll want to buy a round for the house, now, won’t ye?”
“I’ve not seen any silver yet,” he protested.
“All in good time, all in good time.” Mother pushed Leah toward the staircase. “Up ye go, darlin’. Ye look fair froze. We’ll get ye some hot rum and tuck ye in between the sheets.”
“I’ll warm ’er for ye!” the sailor shouted.
Leah clutched the railing and put one foot in front of the other.
“Ye’ll love it here,” the big woman promised. “All my children loves Mother’s. And ye, sweet chick, will see only the finest of my gentlemen.”
“I’m no whore,” Leah whispered hoarsely.
“All women is whores,” Mother Witherberry rasped.
“I can pay a ransom. Whatever ye want,” Leah offered in desperation.
“Oh, I’ll get what I want,” Mother replied. “Mother always gets what she wants from her children. No need fer ye to talk o’ ransoms. Ye’ll make my fortune, darlin’. And Mother Witherberry didn’t get where she is by lettin’ no fortune slip through her fingers.”
Chapter 19
M
other Witherberry shoved Leah up three flights of narrow, twisting stairs and stopped before a heavy wooden door with an iron bolt. “All me new children goes in the red room,” Mother said with a cackle. She winked as she swung open the door.
A single candle burned in a holder attached to the far wall. The small room with peeling red paint was devoid of furniture. In a corner was a heap of rags.
“Where’s yer manners, Maggie?” Mother cried. “Up with ye and greet our guest like ye been taught.”
The rags stirred, and a red-haired girl sat up. Her eyes were red from weeping, and one eye was swollen shut. A scab marred the corner of her pretty mouth.
“Maggie’s one of my children.” Mother explained. “She’ll be a sister to ye, and tell ye what’s expected. Won’t ye, darlin’?”
Maggie sniffed and stared down at her dirty hands. “I’m hungry,” she said in a thin voice. “I ain’t had nothin’ to eat today. Ye promised I could have some bread.”
“And bread ye shall have, me pretty.” Mother pushed Leah toward the girl. “All them what works gets plenty of good food. I don’t stint on my children, I don’t.” She folded her arms across her sagging breasts. “Maggie’s been a bad girl, Peach. She weren’t nice to Mother’s gentlemen, so she’s stayin’ here in the red room ’til she mends her ways—ain’t thet so, Maggie?”
The girl stared at Leah.
Leah turned back toward the big woman. “I be a person of quality,” she insisted. “If it’s money ye want, I can give ye all ye ask for. I dinna belong here.”
Mother threw back her head and shrieked with laughter.
“I am with child,” Leah said. “And I’ll not whore for ye, nay if it means my life. My husband is a great lord. He’ll pay a fortune to get me back.”
Mother’s guffaws turned to snickers as tears of amusement streaked down her broken-veined cheeks. “Aye,” she jeered, “an’ I be His Royal Majesty, Prince George.” She wiped her running nose with a sweat-stained sleeve. “Ye’ll be a delight, ye will, Peach. As daft as a mummer!”
“She cares nothin’ fer yer babe,” Maggie whispered. “She’ll give ye somethin’ to wash it out.”
“And if it don’t work, it don’t matter,” Mother said. “Me gentlemen ain’t so particular. Big bellies don’t keep ’em from their pleasures.”
Leah stiffened and her chin snapped up. “I tell ye that I be none of this,” she said. “If ye dinna let me walk out of here, ye will live to regret it.”
“Threats now, is it?” Mother roared. “Threats agin’ her what means only yer best? Paah!” She hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and let it fly at Leah’s feet. “’Tis plain to Mother that ye need a few days here in me red room to think it over.” She glared fiercely at the red-haired girl. “Talk some sense into her, Maggie, or ’twill go the worst fer both of ye.” She waved a gnarled index finger missing the first joint. “Mother kin be kind to her children, or she kin be hard. The choice is yers, Peach—the choice is yers.” She slammed the door so hard the wood groaned as she went out.
Leah heard the iron bolt rammed home. She turned back to inspect her companion.
“Have ye got anythin’ to eat?” Maggie asked. Leah shook her head. “No? Damn the old sod. I hates her like poison. Ole witch.” She pulled a dirty blanket over her bare legs.
“Ye be a prisoner too?”
Maggie nodded. “Not fer long. Mother’s too tight to go without my earnin’ fer long. It ain’t the swivin’ I minds. Any jade what survives the street as long as me knows they’s times ye got to tip yer petticoat to fill yer gut. But I ain’t one to stand fer the nasty stuff, an’ that ole witch knows it.” She grinned, exposing pointy white teeth.
Leah’s stomach felt as though she’d swallowed a bucket of the Thames. The floor felt unsteady beneath her feet, and the pressure in her kidneys was growing stronger. “Be there . . .” she began. She looked around the room. “I have to . . .”
“There’s a bucket behind that barrel,” Maggie said. “Ye look wore out, poor chit. Drinkin’ water in that pitcher, but not a crumb of food.”
Leah covered her face with her hands. “It was true what I told her. I dinna belong here, and I’m not a whore.”
Maggie pursed her lips. “No, ye don’t sound like a London drab, and that’s a fact. But I ain’t no trug-moldie neither and here I be. I knew about Mother. I was warned enough times to stay clear, but I let a sailor with a pocketful of copper pennies whisper pretty words in me ear. He promised me roast beef and puddin’. Do what yer told and watch for yer chance to get away, is my best advice. It’s what I aim to do.”
Leah lowered herself to the floor before she fell.
“Ain’t no use claimin’ yer belly. Mother don’t give a hog’s trotter for yer brat.” Maggie looked around and lowered her voice. “But if ye stay here long enough fer it to be born, she takes them away. I don’t know if she throws the babes in the river or sells ’em, but I saw her take Meg’s babe a week ago. Meg cried fit to have the watch around our ears, but Mother did it anyway. Snatched it out of Meg’s arms, still wet from the birthin’.”
Leah shut her eyes and tried to gather the will to fight. Her fingers moved to her throat in an unconscious and futile attempt to find comfort from her necklace. She breathed deep, ignoring the fetid smell of the dusty room. “I will escape,” she said, more for her own ears than the other girl’s. “I’ll escape, and I’ll take ye with me, if ye want to go.”
“If words were pennies, beggars would eat sugar buns,” Maggie chided.
“Nay. I will do it,” Leah promised. “And I will make Mother rue the day she was born.”
It was late afternoon of the following day before Brandon and the accountant returned to London. The affairs at Moorland House were as muddled as the rest of the Kentington finances. They’d been forced to spend the night at the manor due to a broken carriage wheel, and Brandon had used the extra time well. It was plain that someone had been blatantly robbing his father, and cousin Charles’s name had occurred too often in the investigation to be a coincidence. Charles, Brandon decided, would have some hard questions to answer.
Upon arriving at Wescott House, Brandon went immediately to his and Leah’s chambers. He was disappointed to find her gone, a disappointment that turned to anger and shocked disbelief when his mother informed him that Leah had left him to return to America.
“What?” Brandon demanded. “What did you say?” He’d found his mother with her friend Lady Rondale in the small parlor off his mother’s rooms. The ladies were enjoying an afternoon of hot chocolate, sweetcakes, and—Brandon was sure—the latest London gossip.
Lady Kathryn’s blue and white cup trembled in her hand, and she flushed. “Brandon, no scenes, please. Remember our guest.” She indicated Lady Rondale, who smirked back at Brandon. “I’ve brought you up to have better manners,” Lady Kathryn admonished.
Brandon took two strides and overturned the delicate tea table with one swipe of his hand. Porcelain cups and saucers crashed to the floor, and the sugar tongs rolled under Lady Rondale’s petticoats. “Pardon, Lady Rondale,” he said coldly, “but you will excuse us. High tea is over. My mother and I have something of importance to discuss.”
Lady Kathryn gasped. “Brandon.”
A maid squeaked and began to twitter.
Lady Rondale rose to her feet, brushing at the spilled chocolate on her overskirt. “I never!” she declared. “I—I—”
“Out!” Brandon commanded. “Before I assist you.” He glared at the nearest servant. The man was on his hands and knees gathering up the sweet buns. “All of you—out!”
Eyes wide and mouth gaping, Lady Rondale fled from the room as though pursued by hordes of Tartars. Two footmen and three maids followed close on her heels.
Shaking with fury, Brandon whirled on his mother. “What have you done with my wife?”
“I? I’ve done nothing.”
Porcelain crunched under Brandon’s boot as he drew near her chair. “Where is she?”
“Brandon, you’re frightening me.” Lady Kathryn fluttered her lashes and raised her hands. “You can’t blame me if she realized how out of place she was here. She never—”
“My wife, Mother. My wife, and my unborn child.” His tone softened, but the blue eyes that stared into his mother’s were relentless. “I want them back. Now.”
“For God’s sake—”
“God has nothing to do with this, Mother. It smacks more of your hand—or the devil’s. Leah wouldn’t leave me like this, and if she wanted to, she wouldn’t know how to arrange passage on a ship. No honest captain would sell her a ticket without contacting me first.”
Lady Kathryn paled. “I can’t help that. She told me that she wanted to go home . . . that you had quarreled, and that you both realized how impossible the situation was.” Her mouth hardened. “She’s not worthy of you, Brandon—not worthy of the Wescott name.”
“Don’t attempt to judge Leah. You’ll make me say things I’d regret. She’s more of a lady than I deserve.”
“Nonsense. She’s an uncivilized—”
Brandon picked up a Chinese vase and hurled it onto the floor. It smashed into dozens of pieces.
“Brandon! Have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all.” He reached for a gold and white china shepherdess.
“No!” his mother shrieked. “Not that! Your father bought me that when you were born.”
He turned back to her, cradling the statue in his hands. “Things mean more to you than people, Mother. They always have. If I have to destroy your precious possessions to find out what you’ve done with my wife, I will.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“I’ve told you all I know,” she protested. “I can’t—Brandon!” The shepherdess crashed against the marble fireplace. Lady Kathryn began to weep as Brandon reached for an ivory figurine.
The door banged open and Charles charged into the room. “Whatever are you doing? The servants said you’d gone mad.”
Brandon threw the figurine to Charles and he caught it. “Welcome to the entertainment,” Brandon said. “Mother’s just about to tell me where Leah is.”
Charles flushed and went to his aunt, putting an arm around her shoulders. “A bit rough on her, aren’t you?” he said. “She was afraid you’d blame her. What do you think we’ve done—stuffed your precious wife up the chimney? It’s not your mother’s fault. I took her to the theater last night, and when we came home, Leah was gone, bag and baggage.”
“Not quite.” Brandon reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew Leah’s golden amulet. “I found this on her bedchamber floor. She wouldn’t have gone two steps without this necklace—not of her own will.”
“I swear to you,” Lady Kathryn said, sniffing loudly. “I don’t know where she is. I only know she’s gone.”
“I’m going to find her,” Brandon replied. “I’ve got a lot to try to make up for. And when I do get her back, there’ll be hell to pay if the two of you had anything to do with her disappearance.”
“You can’t talk to me like that,” Lady Kathryn snapped. “If you value your inheritance—”
“Leah is what’s important to me, not Father’s damned money. You can take my inheritance and the title and give it to Charles or send it to hell, for all I care.” Swearing, he stormed from the room.
Lady Kathryn began to cry again. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I knew it would be awful. I just knew it.”
“I’ll go after him,” Charles soothed. “Don’t worry. This will pass.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I should have told him—”
“You did exactly right. By now, her ship is at sea and we’re well rid of her.” Charles started for the door. “Don’t worry, aunt. I’ll keep him from doing anything rash.”
“I just don’t know. The girl really was impossible, but poor Brandon is so overwrought. He’s never talked to me like that before . . . never been disrespectful.”
Lady Kathryn looked around the room at her broken treasures and began to weep in earnest.
For Leah, the hours of imprisonment seemed like weeks. Without Maggie there, she knew she would have been on the brink of insanity. They slept on the flea-infested pile of blankets and straw, woke and talked, and slept again in almost total darkness. The red room was windowless, and when the single candle burned to a stub and went out, they had no other to replace it.
“Ye look dark as a gypsy,” Maggie ventured as they huddled close together. It was raining outside. They could hear the wind and torrents of rain beating at the loose boards of the house, but they couldn’t tell if it was day or night. “Are ye one of the gypsy folk? Can ye tell my fortune by my hand? A witch told me once I’d die by drowning—but I won’t, ’cause I’ll never set foot in a boat.”
“Nay,” Leah answered softly. She liked this tough English girl who’d offered her friendship and a share of her blanket without hesitation. “I be not gypsy.”
“Scot, then. I’ve a mind to see Scotland someday. They say it’s a fair land, with hills o’ heather. And ye don’t have to cross water to get t’ it. A priest told me so.”
“My father was Scot,” Leah admitted, “but my home is in America. I be Shawnee—what ye call an Indian.”
“Lidikins! Fer true? Ye’d not play fast and loose with me, would ye?”
Leah chuckled. “Nay. I like ye, Maggie. I’d nay poke fun at ye.”
“If I get away before ye, I’ll hunt out Davy the Watch. I’ll tell him Mother’s got ye locked away fer her rotten trade. Most authorities is in the pay of Mother, but not Davy. I seen him give her a knock with his staff one mornin’. If we do get away together, I’ll show ye where—” Maggie broke off. “Shhh. Do ye hear that?”
Footsteps came up the last flight of stairs and stopped outside the door.
“Who’s there?” Maggie called. “We’re hungry.”
The bolt rasped and the door swung open. Leah blinked at the sudden brightness of the candlelight. A cadaverous-looking man set a bucket on the floor in front of him. His arms were overlong and so thin you could see the veins standing out on them; his fingers were stained nearly black and extended with yellowed nails that curved downward like the claws of a bird.