Honeymoon from Hell IV (7 page)

Promptly passed out.

Chapter 6

Several hours, a twisted
ankle, sprained wrist, countless number of bruises and abrasions
and an incredibly sore back later…

“If he makes it through the night send
someone to get me in the morning,” the pudgy man that had been
passed out in the corner of the tavern when they’d arrived earlier,
said with a slur as he reached for the mug of ale that he’d
demanded as payment before he would give her his professional
opinion.

The three shots of whiskey that she had
to buy only covered dragging poor Robert up the stairs, dumping him
on the ratty old mattress after making sure that he wasn’t already
dead so that they wouldn’t have to waste their time or risk
throwing out their backs for a corpse. Then again, that was only
after she had to swear up and down that Robert wasn’t contagious,
which of course she did as soon as she’d managed to stumble into
town, chased off a group of boys who were ransacking through their
things since the coach driver and the passengers had apparently
decided to dump their belongings in the middle of the busy yard
where several coaches, and at least one or two horses, had trampled
their things into the mud and… other things that she really didn’t
want to think about, along with word that they were carrying the
plague.

After the warm welcome that they’d
received, which involved threats to get the law if they didn’t keep
going and a few rocks being thrown in their direction, she’d had
about as much nonsense as she could take. So, once she’d rationally
explained that Robert had food poisoning and that neither one of
them were a danger to the town and had accidentally bloodied the
lip of the constable, who’d foolishly grabbed her by the arm and
tried to force her out of town, she’d grabbed their things,
salvaged what she could and managed to find enough money to pay for
a room for the night and booze to make up for splitting the
constable’s lip and of course the town’s doctor’s fee, they’d been
shown to a room, Robert had been examined by the man who smelled
like he slept with the pigs and had been declared to be
alive.

For the moment at least, but he didn’t
hold out much hope that Robert would survive the night.

Well, that was the town drunk’s opinion
and since Robert’s color was looking better, he’d stopped trembling
and was now curled up on his side, lightly snoring and snuggling
with a stained, lumpy pillow, probably thinking it was her and
sighing with satisfaction and mumbling about her biscuits and jam,
which of course led her to believe that he was going to be just
fine.

She wasn’t exactly sure that she could
say the same about herself…

The dress that she was wearing was
ruined and the dresses that she’d packed probably were too, except
the two dresses the boys had managed to run off with those along
with her other pair of walking shoes, her best pair of stockings
and of course her purse. Most of Robert’s things had been ruined,
but he still had one complete suit, one of the small sketchpads
that he liked to carry with him so that he could draw designs
before he forgot them, walking shoes, a couple of pencil stubs and
the money that he always kept hidden in a secret compartment of his
bag for emergencies.

Everything else was gone, her purse,
his money clip and most importantly, the miniature portraits their
parents had commissioned of the boys and of them. One of the boys
or maybe even one of the men having one too many drinks downstairs
in the tavern had taken them, probably hoping to get something for
the silver cases. She could care less about the cases. They could
have them just as long as they gave her back the portraits and the
locks of hair that they’d taken from the boys.

Well, that and the man currently
mumbling about apple turnovers as he hugged the old pillow tighter.
At least he was fine for the moment, she told herself, deciding
that was enough for right now. She’d focus on taking care of him
and making him feel better and then…then she’d try to find a way to
pay to have two more miniatures made. It wouldn’t be cheap, but
she’d find a way to have them done.

She’d take in extra sewing, work down
at the tavern, the bakery, she’d give up her pin money for sweets,
make her dresses last a little longer, anything so that she could
re-capture those precious moments before they were lost
forever.

But first…

She sighed heavily as she looked at her
husband who was now murmuring sweet nothings into his pillow as he
snuggled it closer, and she would swear on this to her dying day,
giggled in his sleep a few seconds before the color once again
leeched from his face and he-

Rolled over and proved that his stomach
really was a bottomless pit.

*-*-*-*

“
Oh…
God
…,” Robert groaned manfully as he
rolled over and cracked one eye open to confirm that yes, yes he
was in fact laying on a cold wood floor.

Fully opening his eyes, he rolled over
onto his back with a pained grunt and tried to figure out why he
was sleeping on the floor instead of on a bed. He also wondered why
he was starving, sore and felt like every inch of his body had been
scrubbed raw. Then of course came the question of why he was naked
with only a sheet wrapped around his waist and a very angry
middle-aged woman standing over him with her arms crossed over her
flat chest as she tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, by his
head.

“Get out,” she snapped, that damn foot
of her never ceasing in its tapping.

And he would love nothing more than to
get the hell out of there, but there were just a few things
stopping him at the time, like…

“Where’s my wife?” he asked pleasantly
even as he shot her a look that told her exactly what would happen
if something had happened to Elizabeth. He grabbed hold of the
sheet covering his manhood to make sure that the rather angry
looking didn’t get a clear shot at it as he stood up, absently
looking around the small plain room that looked like it had
recently been scrubbed cleaned. The room was still dingy, but at
least now it smelled like fresh lemons and wax.

“She’s downstairs working off the rest
of your tab,” she said in a disapproving tone as she flicked one of
her hands towards the corner where his suit waited for
him.

“What do you mean she’s working off my
tab?” he snapped, grabbing his pants as he felt the old anger that
he’d worked so hard to destory trying to make its way back to the
surface, but he would never let resurface, not after Elizabeth came
into his life and changed everything.

Then again, if someone had hurt his
wife…

“She only had enough money to cover the
cost of the doctor and the room for one night. She had to work off
the rest,” the woman said firmly as she headed toward the door,
pausing only long enough to send him a scathing look as though this
were somehow all his fault and as much as he’d like to scream at
the woman and tell her that it wasn’t, something told him that it
was.

*-*-*-*

“They’re still waiting for their
breakfast,” Miss Bridgett, the owner’s sister and someone that was
probably going to give her nightmares for years, said with a
contemptuous smile that pretty much said it all.

She’d enjoyed every last minute of
misery that she’d inflicted upon Elizabeth in the last seventy-two
hours. Not that Elizabeth had ever believed that Miss Bridgett had
offered to allow her to work off most of the bill out of the
kindness of her heart, because she knew better. Well, that and the
fact that Miss Bridgett got a creepy little smile of satisfaction
on her face whenever she asked Elizabeth to do something. She
seemed to take great satisfaction in finding something wrong with
her work and ordering her to do it over again, but this time she
had better do it right.

“I’m bringing them out now,” she said,
using that same smile that she used to use on her parents when she
had to go along with something that she didn’t want to do just to
keep everyone happy as she grabbed two plates overflowing with
eggs, ham and biscuits and headed for the tavern where the same
group of men that had stayed up drinking whiskey and ale all night
and offered her a few coins to sit on their laps, were now nursing
hangovers and demanding food.

God, she was tired, but she was trying
not to think about that right now, because she still had to go make
sure that Robert was okay and try to get him to eat something. He
was looking a lot better than he had the night before and she
wanted him to keep looking that way, so she was doing every single
demeaning chore thrown her way so that her husband could get more
rest and she had a little more time to figure out who’d stolen the
rest of their things and come up with a plan to get them
back.

“You need to hurry up and finish the
dishes before you leave,” Miss Bridgett said, deciding to push it
and see just how much free labor she could get out of her before
Elizabeth finally had enough, woke Robert up and start the long
walk back home while she tried not to cry over how tired she
was.

God, she was exhausted.

She’d thought she understood the word
before, thanks to the babies and the schedule she’d made for
herself, but working for three days straight for a tyrant like Miss
Bridgett had helped her redefine the definition of the word
exhaustion. What she wouldn’t give for a nice exhausting day at
home where she was at least guaranteed three meals and a few
minutes of sleep here and there while she waited for one of her
sons to start screaming, making his hunger known, and seriously
terrifying her because she’d never seen children, babies really,
grow that fast or eat that much before.

Sometimes when she was able to fall
asleep, she’d have nightmares about how they were going to keep up
with the boys’ ferocious appetites. She used to worry about
Robert’s appetite sending them to the poor house, but his appetite
had nothing on the boys. It was terrifying and some days she wasn’t
sure that they’d make it through the day without the boys breaking
down the pantry door and eating everything they had in storage, but
thankfully Robert was an excellent carpenter and had fortified the
pantry door, ensuring that not even an army could break in
there.

She was always so scared that she could
never do enough to not only make up for the past, but to show
Robert that he hadn’t made a mistake when he’d brought her with
him. Even though American had come a long way since it had broken
free from England and had become known throughout Europe as the
land of opportunity, sometimes there was more opportunity for
families if the women and children stayed behind while the men
started lives for them here.

Robert worked so hard to put food on
their table and keep a roof over their head, she felt like she
wasn’t pulling her fair share if she wasn’t putting in just as many
hours as him and trying to find ways to earn her keep. She didn’t
want to be another burden for him, especially after everything that
she’d put him through when they were children. She just wanted to
make him happy and she was terrified that she was never going to be
able to do that.

Maybe she should take the boys and
return to England with James when it came time so that Robert could
have a real chance at building them a future here without her
getting in the way of his dreams. Leaving him would be the hardest
thing that she’d ever done, but if staying away for a year or two
gave him the chance that he needed to really establish himself here
and make a life for them then maybe that’s what she should
do.

It was the right thing to do, she told
herself, choking back the tears as she told herself that she was
just tired and that her heart wasn’t breaking in two.

She owed it to Robert to do
this.

She owed him a real chance.

Chapter 7

“Should I call the magistrate?” Mr.
Bridgett asked, shooting a nervous glance between Robert and the
large man that he had pressed up against the wall by his
throat.

“Yes,” Robert said as the son of a
bitch that wasn’t walking out of this tavern without a beating,
practically screamed, “No!”

Mr. Bridgett sent the mean old crone
that was apparently his sister a nervous glance only to find her
looking down her nose at him with a haughty sniff, making it clear,
at least to her brother, what she thought of the whole
mess.

“The bastard just attacked him for no
reason!” the asshole’s buddy argued, but didn’t dare come any
closer, Robert noted as he tightened his hold around the piece of
shit’s neck and squeezed just enough to get his meaning
across.

Struggling to take his next breath, the
asshole fumbled inside his coat and grabbed two-silver cases and
hand them over to Robert without another word. He didn’t bother to
ask about the money that had been with the cases, because he
already knew that had been the first to go and probably the reason
that this son of a bitch and his friends smelled like cheap ale and
even cheaper perfume. They’d spent his hard-earned money living it
up with booze and whores while his wife had worked her fingers to
the bone to make sure that he was cared for.

For that alone, Robert pulled back his
fast and let it fly, breaking the asshole’s nose. He dropped like a
sack of potatoes at Robert’s feet and although his friends appeared
to want to help him, the way Robert simply stepped away and calmly
placed the silver cases in his coat pocket said it all. He wasn’t
looking for a fight, but he wasn’t about to turn one down either,
not after finding out how truly fucked up this honeymoon was
turning out to be.