Chapter Twenty #2
“It's unlikely she will die. The only real thing wrong with her is malnutrition. That and the laudanum.”
“Is malnutrition the only thing wrong with Elise?”
“Elise is quite well.”
“Alive and well?” Marcus pressed, maintaining a firm grip on his fury.
“Very much alive.”
“Then let us speak with your guests. Steven will remain here.”
“Of course,” Price said, and opened the door for Marcus.
At nine o'clock that night, Marcus settled the woman impersonating his wife into the carriage, then assisted the maid, who would tend to her on the short ride to the Josephine, into the carriage.
He strode to his horse and took the reins from Steven.
They mounted, then urged their horses after the carriage.
They remained silent until long after leaving the estate.
“He has no intention of allowing you to return to the Josephine tomorrow evening,” Steven said in a low voice.
“Aye,” Marcus replied, and lapsed back into silence.
* * *
Elise started awake, her eyesight finding and fixing on the sliver of light that jabbed beneath her door into the darkness of her cell.
The stench of sweat, urine, and blood met her nostrils.
Hers, she realized with a clarity she hadn't experienced in weeks.
Memories washed over her in a tidal wave.
Scotland. The carriage careening down the road.
Shots fired. Price. Price was in Scotland!
No—he had been in Scotland—he—they—were now in America.
He had brought her back to Boston. He waylaid her coach.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Six—seven men murdered in cold blood.
And Mary—the memory of the girl's pleas for mercy as Price forced her into the carriage left Elise as cold now as they had then. Mary was the informer Marcus sought.
Marcus. Elise sobbed. He believed her dead. She ceased crying. She was dead. She had signed her death warrant when she signed over her shares in Landen Shipping. But the death of the unborn child he had used to coerce her now stirred something within her.
The child is dead! she mentally screamed. Price has no more hold over you.
He wanted her dead. Yet, his affirmation, when she demanded to know if he knew Robert had been poisoning Amelia, had shaken her in a way she hadn't thought possible. He had looked out through those expressionless eyes and answered “Of course” in that cool voice her mother had so loved.
The stirring flared into anger, and with anger came the realization her mind was free.
No one had come the previous night to administer another dose of laudanum.
She hesitated. Was this the next day? Perhaps two, three, or five days had passed.
She couldn't know. But she could think, could find out.
Was she strong enough to leave this place?
Her heart skipped a beat. Was she strong enough to even rise from this putrid pallet?
Elise took a deep breath, then pushed up to a sitting position.
Her pulse raced. The movement had been effortless.
Could she—she shoved to her feet. She tripped, one foot having landed on the floor, the other on the pallet, and she stumbled sideways, slamming into the wall. She slid to the floor, head swimming.
“Too fast,” she told herself between the gasps for breath she prayed was fear and not lasting effects of the laudanum.
Her pulse slowed and she, at last, rose. Her head remained clear, despite the lurch of her stomach with the first step. She halted, waited a moment, then, eyes fixed on the light, she edged forward until her fingers touched the cold steel of the door.
* * *
Marcus closed the door to Miss Lisa Poteck's cabin aboard the Josephine, then followed the narrow corridor to the captain's quarters.
With a perfunctory knock, he entered. Captain Garret sat at a large table, studying navigation maps that covered the large oak surface. He looked up as Marcus approached.
“How is Miss Poteck?” he asked in a refined English accent.
Marcus seated himself opposite him. “She will be fit enough for the meeting. All is in readiness?”
“It is, Lord Ashlund.”
A loud knock sounded at the door and Steven entered.
Marcus came to his feet when he recognized the man behind Steven as one of those hired to watch Danvers Hospital.
“Ardsley has gone to Danvers,” Steven said.
“When?”
The man answered, “I rode the moment he arrived. Less than two hours ago.”
Adrenaline coursed through Marcus.
Steven was already consulting his pocket watch. “It is twenty-five past one.” He stuffed the watch back into its pocket. “Price did just as you said he would.”
“Aye, lad. He had no choice.” Marcus turned to the messenger. “Wait for me on deck.”
The man nodded, then left.
Marcus waited for the door to shut, then faced Steven. “The board members are ready?”
“They're waiting at a nearby tavern.” He shook his head in obvious disbelief. “I thought you were wrong. Had I gone to Danvers as I wanted…”
His brother-in-law had no notion of the will it had taken Marcus to remain idle on the Josephine.
He, too, wanted nothing more than to catch Price Ardsley on the road to Danvers, but he couldn't chance Elise being hurt in the gunfight.
Justin would follow her. If worse came to worst, he would attack and take Elise from Price.
“Ardsley had to be sure you and I were aboard the Josephine,” Marcus said. “You can be sure he knows of our continued presence here.” Marcus faced the captain. “Captain Garret, please have your doctor prepare Miss Poteck.”
“As you say,” Garret replied crisply.
Marcus started for the door, Steven on his heels. Once in the corridor, Steven closed the door and called out to Marcus. He halted.
“Did you inform your cousin of your plan not to sail back to Scotland with Elise?”
“Instructions await him on the ship they are to sail on,” Marcus replied.
“He will not be pleased. As for Elise—”
“Elise will be well looked after. Justin knows what he's about.”
“And if you don't make your ship?”
“I will.”
* * *
Elise's hand shook as she pressed a palm against the iron door. She pushed gently. The door swung open. A cry of surprise rose in her throat before she could stifle the sound. Why was her door unlocked? They believed she was still in a stupor!
She stepped as far as the doorway and peeked into the hall.
The long corridor was empty. She stepped from the room and stopped two paces into the hallway.
A single light lit the hallway near where she stood.
Doors lined both sides of the corridor. She looked left, then right.
Both directions turned into what seemed yet another hallway.
Which way was out? Out—out to where? Where was she going? Marcus. No. She would not endanger him.
Blood roared through her veins; her head pounded. Panic rose. Which way? Choose a way, any way! She started forward. Her courage grew with each infinitesimal step forward. Near the end of the hallway, the tip of a banister extended out to where the hallway turned left. Stairs.
A scream shattered the silence. Elise bit back a shout and hugged the wall. Another cry, fainter this time but close, rent the air again. She peered in the direction she had been moving. A door stood three feet from her. She edged toward the room. The door stood slightly ajar and she peered inside.
“No!” a woman wailed in a low voice. “Please, Ramsey, not tonight, not tonight.” Her voice trailed off repeating the plea.
Elise jammed her eyes shut. Ramsey, the monster who had been watching her.
“No,” the woman cried again.
Elise entered the room. “Shhh,” she said.
The huddled form in the far corner jerked upright. “Who's there?” the woman said. “Sara? You're not Sara.”
“No,” Elise soothed. She stopped near the woman and knelt.
The woman shrank back. “Ramsey sent you. He wants to know if my monthly flux has passed. Tell him no! It will never pass. Tell him—”
“No,” Elise whispered. “Ramsey did not send me.”
“Liar,” the woman hissed. She jabbed a finger at Elise and Elise scrambled to her feet. The woman began weeping. “Never,” she repeated. “My flux will never pass. I won't spread my legs for him again.” She fell into a fit of loud wails.
Elise backed up. The poor soul was mad. Tears streamed down Elise's face. Ramsey. She couldn't remember his face—Price had drugged her before bringing her to the sanitarium—but she could imagine all too easily what he was like. How many other women had he abused? She turned and fled the room.
Ignoring the feel of the stiff, filthy fabric, she ran toward the stairs.
Her stomach roiled. Still she ran. A noise sounded behind her.
She jerked her head around to glance over her shoulder but saw nothing.
Another inmate of the many rooms? She faced forward again, slamming into what, at first, felt like a stone wall.
She recognized the fingers of steel that gripped her shoulders even before she looked up into the face of Ramsey.