The Heiress of Winterwood (35 page)

Amelia barely heard his words over the erratic beating of her heart. She couldn’t look away.

“My years at sea have taught me—and I have been reminded tonight—that we cannot control everything around us. We all will answer for what we do, including this blackguard who has taken Lucy and Mrs. Dunne. But we control how we react. And I have chosen to react to this circumstance with reason and calm.” He paused before adding, “And prayer.”

Prayer? His comment caught her off guard, triggering more unanswered questions about this man. Did he share Katherine’s strong faith? Or was he like her, lost and desperate to find the truth?

“Do you put your faith in God?” she murmured.

He squeezed her fingers. “I didn’t when we departed Darbury. But now I am trying.”

S
terling, wake up. You have a visitor.”

Graham opened his eyes to narrow slits, just wide enough to see dawn’s faint light seeping through the windows. It took a moment for the words to register. “Is it Kingston?”

Sulter’s voice was hoarse. “No. Says he’s your brother.”

Graham bolted upright, uncertain he’d heard correctly. “My brother? William?”

“Says he’s here to help you find Lucy.”

Graham scratched his jawline, sat up, and looked around. He stretched the kink from his back and shook away his slumber, struggling to add this new piece to the puzzle. If his brother was involved with the kidnapping, would he dare show his face under the pretense of helping?

Sulter disappeared down the corridor, muttering something about privacy. With one determined step after the other, Graham exited the small parlor where he’d slept and moved to the main door. He straightened his rumpled waistcoat, still buttoned from
the previous night, smoothed his tousled hair, and pulled open the door.

William stood in the bright morning air, a wide grin plastered on his face. A beaver hat covered his sandy hair, and a leather satchel like Graham’s hung by its strap over his shoulder. Graham tugged at his sleeve and leaned across the door frame. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, that’s a fine greeting.” William looked past Graham’s shoulder into the house. “I heard about what happened, about Lucy, that is to say, and I’ve come to offer my assistance. Will you not invite me in?” Without waiting for an invitation, William pushed past Graham into the warmth of the Sulter home.

Graham closed the door behind him. “How did you find us?”

“Mr. Hammond. He rode out yesterday and told me about the kidnapping.” William’s smile faded. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t expect to see you after your drunken tirade at the vicarage.”

“About that.” William shifted uncomfortably and let the strap slip from his shoulder. “I got a bit carried away.”

“Carried away? Is that what you call it?” Graham looked over his shoulder to make sure Sulter was out of earshot, then stepped very close to William. At the very memory of the argument, the back of Graham’s neck began to grow hot. He fixed his eyes on his brother and held the stare, daring William to look away. His brother may be able to pretend it never happened, but it was an offense Graham could not overlook. “I’m going to ask you this once, and I expect a direct answer. Because if you lie to me . . .” He let his threat fade and grabbed William’s sleeve. “Did you have anything, anything at all, to do with Lucy’s kidnapping?”

The grin contorting William’s face faded. His eye twitched. “Do you jest?”

“Do not lie to me, William. Outside the vicarage you told me I
would regret not giving you money. Is this what you meant? Is this a—”

“Have you gone daft?” William’s eyes widened and he jerked his arm free. “No. No! Of course not. How could you think that I—”

“You told me yourself that you were desperate.”

“Desperate, yes. A criminal, no.” William’s already ruddy complexion reddened. “How can you even suggest that I would kidnap my own niece?”

“Desperate men take desperate action.”

“If I didn’t think you were delirious with grief, I’d be offended.” William swept his hat from his head and tossed it onto the side table next to Graham’s pistol. William eyed the weapon, picked it up, and turned it over in his hand. “So this is how it is?”

Graham stepped forward and held out his palm for his brother to hand over the piece.

William let the pistol drop into his brother’s hand. “I am going to forget you asked me such a ridiculous question and start over.” William gave a little bow. “Greetings, brother. I am glad to see you too, and I want to help you find your daughter. Now, tell me, have you been able to ascertain her whereabouts?”

Graham eyed his brother, assessing his trustworthiness. Surely he wouldn’t be here if he had anything to do with the kidnapping. But what if he was just covering his tracks? How could Graham be sure? His normally sharp senses, his keen eye of discernment, seemed muddled.

His candid talk with Sulter flashed in his mind. God had forgiven him for a much more grievous lapse in judgment. Could he not manage the same for his brother? He breathed an awkward prayer. Perhaps William’s return was the answer in disguise.

Graham folded his arms across his chest, his voice low. “The ransom note instructs us to meet at George’s Dock. I’ve engaged the services of a dockworker who has agreed to assist us as needed.”

“Well then, I am at your service as well. Give me a task. I saw Littleton last night at the inn, but he was headed in the opposite—”

“Wait.” Graham held up his hand to stop his brother. “Littleton, you say?”

William’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, Littleton. I saw him last night and I—”

“Where?”

William’s forehead furrowed. “He was outside the inn with a group of men. I assumed he— Wait, did he not journey to Liverpool with you?”

“No. You are certain it was him?”

“Certainly.” For once William appeared completely sober.

Graham would not waste time. “Show me exactly where you saw him.”

Amelia could not sit still. One more minute spent trapped amidst the silence of the Sulters’ parlor and the cage of her own fear and she’d most assuredly go mad. How she wanted to be a help in finding Lucy. To be useful. But here she sat. Waiting.

Next to her Jane mended her shawl, which she’d torn climbing down from the carriage at the Eagledale Inn. Amelia had tried to read but found concentrating impossible. How could Jane be so calm when such uncertainty swirled in the air?

The clock’s incessant ticking drove her to distraction.
Eleven o’clock in the morning.
Her toe tapped against the rough wood floor. She wanted Lucy in her arms. She wanted to become Graham Sterling’s wife. And she wanted it all now.

Noise in the hall caught Amelia’s attention, and she arched her neck to see through the low framed door. Becky, the Sulters’
oldest daughter, appeared in the narrow corridor, pulling a dark blue pelisse over her woolen dress.

Amelia straightened. “Are you leaving, Miss Sulter?”

Becky jerked her head up, as if surprised by the question, and nodded. “Indeed. Mother is sending me to the market.”

Amelia’s heart leaped. Finally, an opportunity! “You do not mind a bit of company, do you? I’m aching to be out of doors.”

Jane’s protest was immediate. “Captain Sterling asked you to stay here. I think you should respect his request.”

Amelia grabbed her cloak and flung it about her shoulders. “We’ll only be gone a short time. No harm will come from it, you will see. Please, Jane, I cannot just sit here and wait. I need to do something.”

Without waiting for a response, Amelia donned her own bonnet. She looped the gray satin ribbon into a bow beneath her chin, then hurried to open the front door. A stunned Becky grabbed a small basket from next to the door and followed Amelia down a narrow lane and out to the busy street.

Amelia looked around from side to side as they walked, soaking in the activity around her. Carts jostled over cobbled roads. Children in tattered coats of gray and brown darted to and fro. She sidestepped to miss crates and coils of rope. Men and women of every class bustled about, carrying packs or selling wares. So different this place was from quiet Darbury. She scanned the narrow row of shops. The answer to finding Lucy had to be here.

She paid little attention to Becky’s friendly chatter. Instead she searched each face as if it might possess a clue to finding Lucy. Elderly women, young men, soldiers and sailors in uniform—any one of them could know something that would help their efforts.

They reached the market, where Becky bought carrots and cabbage from a merchant’s cart. Amelia had never been in such a bustling place. Wares hung from an assortment of rickety carts outside
more permanent shops. Long leather leads tethered sheep and goats to makeshift fences. Shoppers jostled one another and stopped to haggle over merchandise. Horses and carriages rumbled by on the cobbled road, lined with tall warehouses, that wound toward the river. The wind carried scents of smoke and meat and river and sea.

When Becky stepped inside the butcher’s shop, Amelia opted to remain out of doors. She walked to the building’s edge and paced the length of the other shops, hoping to put some distance between her and the rank pile of rubbish outside the butcher’s unpresumptuous shop.

Suddenly something made her pause and take notice. She turned and peered back through the throng of people and horses at a figure that was eerily familiar.

Could it be?

Amelia drew closer to the shoddy brick wall, wishing to be invisible. A quiver tugged her lip. The gait, the build, the mannerisms—she was certain. Edward Littleton was in Liverpool.

She squinted to make him out in greater detail. He stood close to a woman cloaked in black, a dark blue bonnet obscuring her face. They appeared to be arguing. The sounds of the docks and people muted their words, but their tense stances and jerky movements suggested a heated debate.

Amelia lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun peering from behind wispy silver clouds. The cut of the woman’s cloak and the color of the bonnet looked familiar. Then the woman pivoted, and even from the distance there could be no mistake. The sun’s golden light fell on none other than Helena Barrett.

Amelia gasped and fell back against the wall, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Her first instinct was to run to Helena. Surely she was here to assist in Lucy’s rescue. But more rational thoughts prevailed. Helena was in Edward’s company. And no good could come from Edward Littleton’s presence in Liverpool.

By the time she gathered her wits and pushed away from the bricks, it was too late. Helena noticed her first, and her mouth fell open. Littleton, reacting to Helena’s sudden change in demeanor, followed her gaze. For a moment, nobody moved. Then Helena tried to break free from Edward’s grasp, and he turned and shouted over his shoulder.

Amelia forced foot in front of foot. She needed to reach the butcher’s shop. She had to get Becky Sulter, and they needed to find Graham—now.

Alarm increased her pulse but slowed her steps. Edward. And Helena! She tried to tear her eyes from Edward, but his gaze—his hot, angry stare—locked on hers. He pointed in her direction. Then the two large men who had appeared at his side began crossing the street.

Amelia bolted for the butcher’s door. Why had she left Becky? She hazarded a glance behind her as she ran. The men had disappeared. She slowed. But as she was about to reach the door, a thick arm cinched around her waist and a gloved hand clapped over her mouth. Before she could process what was happening, someone yanked her into the small alley next to the butcher shop.

She kicked, flailed, even tried to bite through the glove, but the arms around her were too strong. She tried to scream but managed only muffled squeaks. She looked around, disoriented. Above her, sky. To her left, bricks. In front of her, the street receded with each step her assailant took. She kicked again, even harder, but the arms lifted her off the ground.

“She’s biting me!”

“Can’t control a woman?”

“Shut up and give me a hand.”

A second pair of hands grabbed her legs, then someone tied a kerchief around her eyes. Its smell was putrid—sweat, tobacco, and gin.