Lady in the Mist (29 page)

She wanted to get home. She wanted to see Dominick and tell him he must be mistaken, or else Kendall had another accomplice. Either situation was possible. The paper from the study seemed incriminating, yet a number of people could have hidden it there, especially if—

Tabitha’s blood ran cold. Someone might have hidden it there because he suspected someone would search the study. Someone like Dominick.

The snake could have killed Dominick as easily as her. Maybe both of them were disposable, both of them a danger to the man at whom they should point their fingers.

Tabitha turned her thoughts over and over on the journey back to Seabourne. Never had the twenty miles felt so long, so dull, so stifling. She wanted to jump out of the wagon and run all the way home. When they reached her cottage by the sea, she went into the house just long enough to set down her bag before going into the garden and out the back gate.

She was halfway to the village before she thought better of her actions. Darkness had fallen at least a half hour ago. She couldn’t walk up to Mayor Kendall’s house and ask to see Dominick. All too likely, he was secured for the night. All of them might be asleep for the night. Her request would cause a disruption and unwanted attention.

Feet dragging, she turned back toward home.

She caught the scent a heartbeat before an arm coiled around her waist and cold steel pressed against her throat. “This is a reminder to mind your own affairs, midwife.”

Searing pain scored her shoulder. The arm released her. She reeled, fell to her knees on the sand, fumbled to find her kerchief to staunch the flow of blood oozing down her chest. It was merely a scratch. It wouldn’t kill her. If she remained conscious so the incoming tide didn’t drown her—

A rush of air swooped behind her. She ducked. Not fast enough to avoid the blow, but fast enough to roll away from the tide line before the second blow struck.

As darkness claimed her, she identified the smell from her garden, from Sally’s room, from the house of one of her patients.

31

______

“Can you swim?” Raleigh asked Donald Parks sometime after the evening dogwatch rang through the ship. “And when I say swim, I mean really manage to stay afloat in the water and move.”

“I grew up in Seabourne. My father made me learn.” Parks sounded weary, discouraged. “But what good is swimming if we’re stranded down here?”

“We won’t be for much longer. They—they’ll want to punish me before we up anchor.” Raleigh swallowed at the thought of that vicious cat-o’-nine-tails lacerating his back.

If a rope didn’t score his neck.

“That way all the hands can watch and know . . . They can see what happens to deserters.”

“But I’m not a hand.” Parks shifted in the dark. “I’m a prisoner.”

“They’ll make you a hand soon enough, and they’ll want you to see me punished. Pressed men are the most likely to desert, so they’ll want you to see what happens if you leave without their permission.” Raleigh snorted. “As if they ever grant permission to ordinary seamen. But you’re going to have to desert now or end up heaven only knows where.”

“Ha.” Parks didn’t sound amused. “I could end up heaven only knows where if I go over the side.”

“You could.” Raleigh rubbed his aching temples. Too little sleep, the blow to his head, and nearly no food or water for too long were taking their toll on his ability to think, to plan, to try at least one more time to get something right. “But I don’t think we’re all that far from shore. They got us here too quickly for distance, and the waves against the hull sound like shore breakers more than deeper-water waves.”

“They do,” Parks confirmed.

“And the few times they’ve opened the hatch,” Raleigh continued, “I’ve heard shore birds. But it could still be a mile or so. Can you manage that far?”

“If the tide is going in and not coming out.”

“If it’s going out . . .” Raleigh hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious.

Parks coughed. Or perhaps laughed. “I drown if it’s going out unless I can grab something to keep me afloat.”

“Maybe an oar. You might find an oar at hand if you’re near one of the boats.”

“And I could use it for a weapon if anyone tries to stop me.”

“Yes.”

But if he did strike another man with an oar and they caught him, he’d be lashed to the upright grating for flogging too.

Raleigh’s empty stomach churned. “It’s a big risk, Parks. Is it worth it?”

Parks remained silent for so long, Raleigh expected him to say no. Then the other man inhaled a loud, deep breath. “Yes, it’s worth it. But what about you? How will you get away?”

“I won’t,” Raleigh said. “When I got caught trying to desert, I made a bargain with the captain. I failed to fulfill it. I’ll never be trusted again.”

“I’m sorry.” Parks sounded as though he meant it.

“One thing, though, Parks.” Raleigh chose his words with care. “Please tell Tabitha the truth. I mean, please tell her that I helped you get away.”

“I’ll tell everyone.”

“No, just Tabitha. Let the others think I’m just . . . gone.”

“But your family.” Horror colored Parks’s voice. “Don’t you want your family to know where you are?”

“They’ll know.”

“But—”

“Quiet. Someone’s coming.”

A few moments later, the hatch opened and a marine stood in the opening, a lantern shining into the bread room. “Captain’ll see you, Trower.”

Parks stood as far as the low deck beams allowed. “What about me? I want to—”

“Sit down, sailor,” the marine barked. “If Captain wanted you, he’d have asked for you. Trower, on your feet.”

“Yes, sir.” Raleigh rose, head bent, shoulders slumped.

The marine moved aside. Raleigh stepped over the coaming and preceded him between rows of hammocks slung between the guns on this lower gun deck. Men slept in four-hour shifts. Neither the light nor the tramp of Raleigh’s and the marine’s booted feet seemed to disturb the men in their berths. They were too used to constant noise even in the middle of the night.

Raleigh had never gotten used to the noise. Only when completely exhausted had he slept. Perhaps he could use that as an excuse for his behavior, the agreement, the treachery.

God, let Tabitha forgive me so she can forgive others. Let her be happy.
The prayer rose in his head as he climbed the ladder to the main deck and trudged to the quarterdeck companionway.

Another marine stood post outside the captain’s door. He thumped the butt of his musket on the deck and called, “Trower’s here, sir.”

“Come in,” was the quiet response that sounded like a thunderclap to Raleigh.

And let Parks get home to his family. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for my failings.

If Raleigh hadn’t failed so miserably, Parks wouldn’t be there.

Sure he was about to be sick on the deck, Raleigh entered the captain’s cabin. The odors of tar, bilge water, and unwashed bodies diminished inside the main cabin, with its fine woods, soft furnishings, and cleanliness. The aroma of lemons wafted on the breeze puffing through the open stern windows. Raleigh took a long, calming breath, smelled his own stink, and choked.

“Do not befoul my carpet, Trower.” Captain Roscoe glowered at Raleigh from behind an unlit pipe. “You’re in enough trouble already.”

“Yes, sir.” Raleigh stared at the black-and-white squares painted on a length of canvas to form a carpet. “I failed. Now I’m a traitor to America.”

“Be thankful for that.” Roscoe turned jovial. “We’d hang you otherwise. As it is, you’ll just get a flogging. Forty lashings at noon tomorrow.”

Forty. Raleigh sank to his knees under the weight of the number. “It’ll kill me.”

“Not likely. Just lay you up for a week or two. Now get back below. You’ll be kept locked up until after you receive punishment.”

“Yes, sir.” Raleigh turned and fell into the companionway.

A marine hauled him up by the back of his coat and half dragged, half carried him back to the bread room.

When the hatch closed and the marine’s footfalls died away, Parks asked, “What happened?”

“Noon tomorrow,” was all Raleigh could say.

Dominick began to pound on his door the instant the first rooster crowed. He needed to go to Tabitha, discover if she’d arrived home yet, and go after her if she hadn’t. If he remained confined any longer like a prisoner who’d broken parole, he thought he might tear the door off its hinges with his bare hands.

A shouted protest rose from the floor below. The words were indistinct, the tone unmistakable.

“Let me out and you can go back to bed,” Dominick responded, emphasizing each word with a rap. “Please, Letty.”

Below stairs, a door slammed. Footsteps thudded on the steps. Then the blessed grate of a key turning in the lock sang in his ears.

Letty shoved open the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to get out.” He waved his arm around the tiny chamber. “It’s stifling in here.”

“So it is.” Letty clutched her dressing gown to her throat. “How do you manage to look so cool when you come out?”

“Breeding.” He grinned. “Or lots of canings to get the manner correct.”

“Humph.” Letty’s face twisted. “You’d think they could have gotten you some courtesy while they were at it. Don’t ever wake me up again, do you hear me? If you do, I’ll use a whip on you myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Dominick kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek. “You love me too much.”

“Humph,” she repeated to empty air.

Dominick was already slipping past her and racing down the steps. He slammed up the bar across the kitchen door with one hand and tugged on the handle with the other. Sweet, cool morning air blew into his face. He paused to take in a healthy gulp, then sprinted across the garden and out of the gate.

On his way out of the village, he chose to walk. Seeing him out early wouldn’t surprise anyone. He had been before, fetching eggs and fish and milk for Letty. But if he ran, they might think he was getting away while Kendall remained in Norfolk.

If Kendall was in Norfolk.

His leg muscles quivered with the need to bolt past the trees and onto the dunes. If she wasn’t home yet, he would sit in her garden and wait. He needed to know what she had discovered in Norfolk. Time was running out for meeting his uncle.

Once past the trees, he began to run again. The sand might as well have been snow. His feet sank and slowed him. Then he reached the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge and the going grew easier, his speed faster. He leaped over bits of driftwood and other debris the tide churned up. Pale streaks of sunlight reached across the sky, shimmering off the water—

And the face of the woman crumpled at the water’s edge.

Dominick dropped to his knees. His heart lodged in his throat, strangling his cry of dismay. Above him the gulls spun and shrieked. For several moments he couldn’t move. His outstretched hand hovered an inch from her throat, where he didn’t know if he would find a pulse at all.

“I’m not dead.” Her voice was rough and quiet, but not breathy.

“Thank God.” Dominick doubled over and pressed his cheek to hers. “I thought . . . But what’s wrong? Did you fall? Where are your servants?”

“Not . . . expecting me.”

“They should know. They should be going with you. They—oh, Tabitha, what hurts? Should I carry you?”

“No. No. I just fainted when I tried to get up. And my shoulder.” She shifted a bit and moaned. “It starts bleeding again if I move.”

“Bleeding? What’s wrong with your shoulder?” Dominick made himself straighten and slipped one hand beneath her head. The sand was damp, but he didn’t know if water or blood accounted for the moisture. “What should I do?”

Never had he felt more useless than he did at that moment. If his education and rank hadn’t prepared him to carve roasts and polish silver, it most certainly hadn’t prepared him to manage a wounded female. The thought flashed through his mind that this was why he wouldn’t survive in America as a free man. If he didn’t have money, he needed practical skills like knowing what to do in an emergency. And he didn’t have a bit of a notion on how to proceed.

From the sand, Tabitha chuckled, albeit hoarsely. “Dominick, you look like you’re going to swoon. Sit back and put your head between your knees.”

“It’s the blood.” He rose, walked to the water, and splashed cold Atlantic water on his face, then returned to kneel beside her. “I’m all right now. Tell me what to do.”

“If you can lift me, I think I can manage from there. It’s just . . . a scratch. And my head . . .”

“Just a scratch.” Dominick’s voice took on a brisk tone. “And a blow. How did you acquire these wounds?”

“The little matter of a knife and . . . I don’t know what. But later, please. I’m freezing.”

That was something he could manage. He pulled off his coat and tucked it around her. When he reached her left shoulder, he found the scratch, the stickiness of drying blood. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he discovered a swelling lump over her right ear.

“Better?” He gathered her, coat and all, into his arms and rose to his feet. “Mermaids don’t weigh much, I see.” He smiled down at her lovely face, so close to his, nestled against his shoulder.

She smiled back. “You Englishmen are stronger than you look.” Her eyes gazed into his, dull with pain despite the generous curve of her lips. “Will you take me home?”

“I’m not strong enough to stand here holding you all day.” He brushed his lips across hers. “And I want you in a condition to tell me what happened. You left for Norfolk yesterday morning and now I find you lying on the beach in Seabourne.” He started walking as he babbled. “If the sun hadn’t shone off your face, I’d have thought you were more flotsam.”

“I nearly was.” She closed her eyes. “Dominick—” A shudder raced through her and up his arms. “Do you have your knife with you?”

“Ye-es.” He drew her closer and wished her house weren’t another half mile away. “Why?”

“Someone tried to kill me.” She wrapped her uninjured arm around his neck. “No, not some—”

He tripped over driftwood, jarring them both.

“I’m so sorry.” The scarred skin on his back pulled taut. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I won’t—”

“Shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “It just . . . hurts a bit. But I don’t think it’s deep. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.”

“No, it’s just sticky.” He tried not to gag. “Is Patience there to help you clean it? I don’t think I should.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Patience will do well, though. You can guard us.” She grasped a handful of his hair as though it were a lifeline. “Dominick, it’s not Mayor Kendall. It’s Harlan Wilkins.”