The Heiress of Winterwood (33 page)

Sulter refolded the note and passed it back to him. “Liverpool’s a big city, a lot of people coming and going. But George’s Dock—that’s our key.”

The glimmer in Sulter’s eyes sparked a flicker of hope in Graham. “I remember that place. Used to be big in the slave trade, if I recall correctly.”

“Aye, you do. Now it receives ships coming from the West Indies.”

The West Indies.
It wasn’t until Graham repeated Stephen’s words in his head that a thought formed. Weren’t Edward Littleton and George Barrett partners in a shipping business? Memories of the very first dinner at Winterwood Manor rushed his mind. Yes, Barrett had announced that Littleton was joining the family business.

Graham leaned in close to Sulter. “Have you heard of the Barrett Trading Company?”

Amelia clutched her cloak around her and surveyed the tiny room she was to share with Jane. Two slivers of afternoon light slid through the narrow windows flanking the fireplace.

Mary Sulter scurried around the bed, smoothing the bright blue quilt and fluffing the pillows. She looked up from her task when one of the Sulter sons entered the room with Jane and Amelia’s trunks. “Just put those over there, and then take your leave. Miss Barrett and Mrs. Hammond need to rest after their journey.”

Amelia opened her mouth to reassure her that she had no intention of resting until Lucy was secure in her arms once again. But before she could respond, Jane spoke. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Sulter.”

Amelia caught Jane’s pointed expression and swallowed her impatience. “Yes. Thank you.”

The sound of men’s voices floated from outside the window. The voices were near . . . and familiar. Amelia hurried to the window and looked down. On the cobbled street below, Graham,
Captain Sulter, and one of the Sulter sons were walking toward the small stable behind the church.

“Where are they going?”

Mary Sulter looked up from the bedding. “I imagine they are going to look for the child.”

Amelia propelled herself away from the window. She had not traveled all the way to Liverpool to sit and wait. “But I need to go, I need to—”

Jane reached for Amelia’s arm, stopping her midstep.

Mary hurried over. “Do not fret, my dear. My husband knows everything about everyone in Liverpool. You need to rest. The little one will need you to be strong when she returns. Am I right?”

Amelia pressed her lips together with such intensity they trembled. With both Jane and Mary next to her, she felt more like a young girl than a woman on the verge of marriage.

Mary’s warm brown eyes met hers. “Now, child, you and Mrs. Hammond here have had a trying day. I think it best, and I am sure Mrs. Hammond will agree, that the two of you rest after your journey. Mark my words, after you have had a cup of tea and a little time to freshen up, you will feel much better. Ah, and here is our Becky with some tea.”

The oldest Sulter girl maneuvered her way into the room with a tray of tea and biscuits and set it on the table next to the bed.

Jane spoke when Amelia could not. “Thank you, Mrs. Sulter. We will be down in a bit.”

Jane had barely latched the door behind their hostesses before Amelia marched back to the window. “I can’t believe he would leave without me. He knows how strongly I feel about this.”

Jane removed her cloak and hung it on the peg next to the door. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she joined Amelia next to the window. “I know you are upset, but I think you know the streets and docks of Liverpool are no place for you.”

Amelia swallowed. “Yes, but I—” She stopped. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted Graham to be out searching for Lucy. She was not so much upset with Graham as she was with herself for not knowing what to do.

She looked over at Jane, who had stretched out on the bed. The sleepless night and long journey had taken a toll on her older friend.

She decided to keep her thoughts to herself and let Jane sleep. She sat on a chair next to the fire and contemplated Jane’s words about losing years to sorrow. There was no way to tell what the outcome of this situation would be. Perhaps Graham would find Lucy before Sunday morning. Perhaps he would not, and they would exchange the money they’d brought for her at the docks. Or perhaps something would go wrong and—

There was nothing she could do except one thing.

She looked back at Jane, who now slumbered. She crossed over to her trunk, opened it, and pulled out her small book of Psalms, the same book Graham had returned to her with the note tucked inside that changed the course of her life. At the last minute she had tossed it in on top of her clothes. Now, after her talk with Jane, she was so glad she had.

She opened the little book at random, and the words drew her in, comforting her and compelling her to read further.

O God, be not far from me: O my God, make haste for my help. Let them be confounded and consumed that are adversaries to my soul; let them be covered with reproach and dishonour that seek my hurt. But I will hope continually, and will yet praise thee more and more.

G
raham sat at the table in the inn and leaned his elbows on the rough wooden table. His head hung low, but his eyes scanned the lively room, searching for anything that might be useful—a familiar face, a conspicuous character. He found nothing.

A roaring fire sputtered and hissed in a wide, open fireplace. Candles and wall sconces projected flickering light, but stale air dominated the tiny space. Strange faces, foreign voices, and the strong smell of ale surrounded him. Graham looked toward the door and spoke more to himself than Sulter. “I don’t think Kingston’s coming.”

Sulter straightened in the chair across from him. “Give him time. If Miller said he’d get Kingston here, he’ll be here.”

“You’re certain he’s trustworthy?”

“Aye. A year ago I might have spoken differently, but he’s well worth what you are willing to pay him.”

An entire evening scouring Liverpool’s streets and docks,
and he was no closer to finding Lucy than when he arrived. How arrogant he’d been when making his promise to Amelia. The expression on her face had wrenched his soul, and he would have done whatever was necessary to restore the smile to her face. But unless something changed soon, he would have nothing to offer her tonight but failure.

He stifled a mighty yawn, the result of the long ride and sleepless nights. His nerves were raw, and every emotion teetered just underneath the surface. He wanted to sleep, if only for a few hours, but the visions that met him there might prove even more gruesome than reality.

He slumped in his chair. If only this nightmare would end.

The ale taunted him. The old vice knew its strength and mocked his weakness. He had ordered it for show and would drink in moderation. But his desire was to drink it and as many more that it took to dull the pain of his past and present. He tapped his fingers on the rough wooden table before taking the mug in his hand. His scar, purple and tight, flashed before him.

“So are you going to tell me what happened with that hand, or are you to leave me to wonder?”

Graham drew a sharp breath. He’d tried to hide the scar since he arrived in Darbury. But how long could he pretend it wasn’t there? He propped his elbow on the table and held his damaged hand in the air, forcing himself to look at the disfigurement. He flexed his thumb. The purple scar pulled tight with the movement.

Sulter leaned forward to get a closer look, and Graham pulled back the cuff of his coat, giving Sulter a hint of his marred forearm. The physical pain had passed. But the real pain, the guilt that flashed into his mind every time he viewed the ruined flesh, raged with unmatched ferociousness. He let his cuff fall back.

Sulter shook his head and gave a low whistle. “That’s a scar, all right. Looks like it hurt.”

“It did.”

The memory of splintering burning wood slammed Graham’s awareness. If he thought about the accident in too great of detail, the unforgettable stench of burning flesh, sea air, and gunpowder turned his stomach. And if he dared blink, he could still see the terror on the sailor’s young face just before the spar crashed to the deck.

He kept his eyes open.

“Do you know what that is, Sulter?” Graham held up the scarred hand, then let it fall back to the table. His voice did not sound like his own. “It is a constant reminder of a grave lapse in judgment.”

Sulter settled back in his chair and tented his fingers. Graham grew uncomfortable under the man’s assessing stare and looked down. He wanted to avoid the questions in the man’s eyes . . . questions he was not prepared to answer.

Stephen filled in the gap. “Listen, Graham, it has been a long time since we talked, and I can’t pretend to know what has transpired these past few years. But I’m going to tell you what is on my mind—as your friend. I have followed your career, read about your conquests in the newspapers. News travels fast when you live in a town that rises and sleeps by the stories of the sea. I know now that you lost your wife and your daughter is missing. It would be tempting for anyone, God-fearing or not, to think that God has departed. And knowing you as I used to, I would guess that is where you are.”

Graham studied the table’s wood grain. His body grew very warm.

Somewhere behind him glass shattered, and the resulting roar of laughter tapped his tense nerves. He twitched, unable to separate the sounds from those of the battle’s ghosts beating on the door, scratching to get out. Would today be the day that he spoke the words aloud and released them from the prison of his mind?

Graham stopped thinking and started talking. “The weather was unlike anything I’d seen. The fog hung so thick we could barely make out each other’s faces, let alone a ship upon the horizon. That night the crew grew raucous, and like a fool, I indulged them.” He cast a glance down at his ale. “Indulged myself as well.”

After a nervous glance around the room, Graham leaned forward. “The next morning, just as dawn broke, we spotted the frigate off the starboard bow. It engaged us first, but we outgunned them. I thought it would be an easy victory. Then”—he paused and drew his sleeve over his forehead—“chaos ensued. The men were sluggish. Tempered by the ale from the previous night. Nine men died.” He paused, clenched his jaw, and released it. “I was responsible. It should have been me.”

Stephen leaned forward, one arm on the table. “Are you God that you should decide who lives and who dies?”

Graham huffed at the ridiculousness of the question. “I am in no mood for a philosophical discussion, sir.”

“But you take responsibility for their death?”

Graham grew impatient. “I was the commanding officer. I gave the orders. I made the decisions.”

Stephen shook his head. “War is a terrible thing. Men die during war. But in both war and peace, every man’s days are numbered by God. If God wanted those nine men with him, do you think any action by you would stop him?”

Graham tightened his fist around the mug. How could he make Sulter understand? “But it was a punishment. I knew better. I was—”

“You utilized poor judgment. Do you think you are the only man ever to have done so?”

“Poor judgment?” Graham released the mug and slammed his hand on the table. “Men are dead, and I am to blame.”

Sulter leaned closer, his eyes intent. “You have a choice. You can surrender to guilt and spend your days wrapped in its darkness, or you can repent and accept forgiveness.”

Graham studied the scar on his hand. God would forgive him, even though he’d failed. But could he forgive himself for the lack of discipline?

“You are a good man, Graham, a strong one. I believe God has a path for you, but how can you find it under the shadow of guilt? Instead of succumbing to guilt every time you look at that scar, you can be reminded of God’s forgiveness. When you’re tempted to dwell on past failures, you can pray. Ask God to continue to show you your path. He has one, I assure you.”

Graham could not meet his mentor’s eyes. He knew all of this. Indeed, he had asked for forgiveness many times. He had just been unwilling to accept it.