Chapter Nineteen
Marcus strode into the Single Penny tavern with Steven behind him.
Marcus glanced back at his young companion.
They'd spent seven days on the road and the boy looked none the worse for wear.
No one would suspect he wasn't a regular in the establishment.
The deception went beyond the rough clothes he wore.
The metamorphosis from upper-class gentleman to the rough, bawdy character ready to yank his knife from its sheath and open the gullet of any man who looked in his direction was complete.
Steven certainly wasn't the typical wealthy American.
The boy's gaze rested for an instant on a table in the far corner of the room, then moved on.
Marcus glanced in the same direction and realized he had seen Justin sitting with another man.
Even in the shadows of the dimly lit room, Marcus understood what had snagged Steven's attention.
Despite the rough clothes Justin wore, the way his manicured fingers curled around the beer mug he drank from gave away the fact he wasn't a typical river rat.
Steven looked at Marcus. Marcus gave a small jerk of his head and Steven followed as he strode to the table. Justin set the mug of ale on the table and looked up at their approach. Marcus slid into the seat to his right. Steven circled the table and took the seat to Justin's left.
“Marcus,” Justin's cultured English accent remained evident despite the hoarse quality he injected into his voice.
“Justin,” Marcus greeted in a thick, Scottish brogue.
“Meet William Sheldon of the Boston police department,” Justin said.
“Shhh,” Sheldon hissed, ducking his head down.
“Mr Sheldon,” Justin said, “tell my friend what you told me.”
Mr Sheldon looked about. He sat back suddenly and Marcus would have urged him on, but a tavern maid approached the table, two ales in hand.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, setting an ale before Marcus, then going around William to place the other in front of Steven. She straightened, saying, “You have a choice of jackrabbit stew or roast pig.”
“Jackrabbit stew, my girl, all around,” Steven spoke up.
Marcus hid his surprise at hearing the guttural accent Steven employed and nodded to the girl in assent when she looked at him. She started for the bar at the back of the room and Marcus focused on William.
“Lad,” he said in low tones, “proceed with your tale, if ye please.”
William cast a nervous glance about the room, then leaned forward. “Your friend here,” he nodded toward Justin, “promised the remainder of the fee.”
“Aye,” Marcus said. “Whatever he agreed to, you'll get.”
“If you don't mind, sir,” William said, “I'll have my payment now.”
Justin pulled forth a small pouch and set it on the table. William reached for it, but Marcus laid a hand on his when it covered the pouch. “The money stays where it is until I've heard what you have to say.”
William nodded, and Marcus withdrew his hand. William released the pouch and placed his elbows on the table. “There's a place up north, a hundred and fifty miles or so, Bainbridge Hospital. A month ago, a man incarcerated his wife there because she believes she was Cleopatra in a past life.”
“And what makes ye think this woman is the one we are looking for?” Marcus asked.
“The description your friend here gave. The woman is dark haired, late twenties and slim of build. The man is much older and seems to fit your description. He's rich, sure enough.”
William sat back and Marcus saw the tavern maid approach again, tray in hand with four bowls of stew on it.
She set a bowl before each of them and looked at the men. “Anything else?”
“That'll be all,” Steven said, and hunched over his bowl. He began clinking the spoon loudly against the side of the bowl.
The woman turned as he took a hearty mouthful. William gulped a spoonful of stew. He chewed, his gaze following her until she was out of hearing range. He took one more bite of food as two men passed, headed for a nearby table.
William pushed the bowl forward. “As I was saying, the man is rich. He's left strict orders that no one is to visit his wife and she is to be kept under heavy sedation.”
Marcus's hand balled into a fist and, before realizing it, he started to push to his feet.
Justin grasped his shoulder and shoved him back into his seat. “Easy there, my fellow,” he said, his voice all amusement. “You would think it was your own wife there instead of—well”—Justin flashed a grin—”you know how it is, Mr Sheldon, when a woman cuckolds a man.”
William nodded. “Indeed, I do.”
“Seems the lady was burning both ends of the candle,” Justin said. “It's my guess her husband is teaching the wench a lesson far beyond that you could serve up, my boy.” He gave Marcus a hearty clap on the shoulder.
Marcus slumped back into his chair. “She didna' cuckold me,” he muttered in a sullen a voice, and looked at William. “'Tis no' enough to be sure she's the one.”
“She is the most likely one.”
Marcus exchanged a glance with Justin. “What do you mean 'the most likely one?'“
“There's another woman, but she doesn't seem a good fit. A raving lunatic. Has nightmares about a child who was poisoned—”
Marcus started. Justin straightened and Steven dropped his spoon into his nearly empty bowl. William looked from one man to the other.
“Where is this woman?” Marcus demanded.
“Twenty miles outside of Boston in Danvers Sanitarium.”
“Danvers?” Steven repeated in a loud voice.
Marcus shot him a warning look.
Steven lowered his voice. “That's an asylum for the criminally insane.”
Marcus felt the blood rush to his head.
“What are her circumstances?” Justin cut in.
“Her father brought her,” William replied. “She suffers from delusions that her child has returned from the dead.” William shivered. “Most of the men working there fear her. There's nothing like the fear of the devil to put the fear of God into a man.”
Or the fear of a courageous woman, Marcus silently added.
Minutes later, Marcus stepped from the tavern onto the dimly lit street between Justin and Steven. Once out of sight of the tavern, Marcus looked at Justin. “I am the spurned lover?”
Justin grinned. “You weren't anything until I thought you would do poor William in.”
“Who is this William?”
Justin gave a deprecating laugh. “A Boston law-enforcement officer.”
Marcus addressed Steven, “What do you know of Boston law enforcement?”
“I don't know William, but many Boston police officers are in a position to know information like what he told us.”
Marcus nodded. “Where does Landen Shipping hold its board meetings?”
“The Brill Building, downtown Boston,” Steven answered.
Justin said, “Ardsley will have to transport her from the sanitarium to the meeting,”
“Aye.” Marcus replied. “Only, we will meet him long before he reaches Boston.”
* * *
The sun peeked over the horizon. Not a single traveler had appeared on the road leading to Danvers Sanitarium while they lay hidden under the cover of darkness.
Marcus tapped Justin on the shoulder and signaled that he would return momentarily.
He slipped from the trees overlooking the road east of them, crept through tall grass, brambles, and bush up a hill.
The wildly growing foliage ended abruptly.
Across a vast manicured lawn, the view of the sprawling, ivy-covered, brick building—his first in the light of day—chilled him to the bone.
The pointed towers and peaked gables had lost the haunting look their silhouettes projected in the twilight hours and became, instead, the bared teeth of The Witches' Castle.
A shudder ran through him. What sort of twisted mind had built a sanitarium on the spot where John Hathorne, the most fanatical judge of the Salem witch trials, once lived?
Marcus's heart hardened at sight of the iron-barred windows.
He brought his gaze down to the stone steps of the front entrance.
Marked on both sides by wrought iron railing, they lead up to a circular, covered porch.
Columns supported the porch roof on either side.
He looked again at the windows, studying one, then another, of what seemed an endless array of cells.
Which of those tiny rooms held Elise prisoner?
So close. Marcus envisioned forcing his way past the attendants who fed off the brutality they inflicted upon the helpless inmates.
The image, however, was violently replaced by the realization that those men would hold him until Price arrived.
Then any power embodied in the information he held would become worthless—and Elise would be lost forever.
He closed his eyes in an effort to banish the thought but saw, instead, her frail form, lying on a thin pallet, hands crossed over her breasts in readiness for the coffin.
He shook off the vision, then turned from the menacing asylum.
He crept down the slope and returned to Justin and Steven.
Marcus scanned the empty road before whispering, “What has gone wrong?”
“Mayhap Ardsley took her out before we arrived?” Justin asked.
Steven shook his head. “No. You heard what our scout said when we arrived yesterday evening. Price hasn't been to the sanitarium.”
Marcus started to speak, but Steven cut him off. “The surrounding area is being watched. Had anyone ridden cross-country, we would have been alerted.”
“A single man could have slipped past your men,” Marcus said. “Does Ardsley ride?”
“Quite well,” Steven replied. “But he couldn't have approached the hospital without being spotted. As you have seen, Danvers is surrounded by open country.”
“He would need a carriage for Elise,” Justin said.
“Aye,” Marcus agreed, “but if he didn't plan on bringing her to the meeting today, he would have come by horseback.”
“If he doesn't need her at the meeting, he may not have come at all,” Justin added.
“He has no hope of swinging the vote without her,” Steven said. “He must bring her. Why keep her alive if he isn't going to present her?”
That was a question Marcus couldn't consider.
* * *