25. Chapter 25
By the time Zane saw Muriel off in the family carriage, most of the guests had scattered into their own conveyances to make their way home after the fiasco of rampant rodents.
Mother had taken up residence on the fainting couch in the main parlor while Catherine Trimble sat dutifully at her side, patting her hand and assuring her that her reputation as a hostess was not utterly ruined.
"There you are." Max scuttled up to him, a teasing grin stretching his face. "I haven't had this much fun in ages. I think all musicales should end in a ferret finale."
Zane kept walking, scanning the room for Grandpa Clem. "Ferrets?" he asked absently.
"Yeah. I nearly caught one of the things before it bit my thumb and ran under Mrs. Underhill's skirts.
" Max kept pace with him. "That woman has a stronger constitution than I expected.
She didn't let out a single squeal. Just swept out of the room with that furball clinging to her garters as if nothing were amiss. "
"Everything's amiss," Zane muttered as he pushed through the door that led to the dining room.
"What?" Max's voice lost its jocularity, but Zane paid him little heed since he'd found Grandpa Clem, elbow deep in the almond macarons.
His grandfather waggled his eyebrows. "I thought I better guard the food from those wily critters." When Zane failed to smile, his own expression sobered. "What's wrong, son?"
He'd not told his grandpa much about Muriel's agreement with Mrs. Underhill since it wasn't his secret to tell, but Grandpa Clem had been at the dinner where everything came to a head with his father, so he'd probably filled in some of the blanks himself.
Mindful of Max's presence, Zane kept the details to a minimum. "Muriel's nephew has been abducted."
"What?" Max's vocabulary seemed to have shrunk to that single word, though his volume had increased rather dramatically.
Zane shot him a warning look, and Max covered his mouth with his hand.
"I don't have time to go into the details. I need help searching for Muriel's father and brother-in-law. She thinks they'll likely be scouring the rail yards and wharves for the boy."
Grandpa Clem nodded. "That's where most young men get taken and pressed into service on outbound ships. How old is he?"
"Only ten."
Grandpa Clem shook his head. "Lord, have mercy."
"I pray he will," Zane said. "Muriel's gone after him."
"On her own?" Grandpa Clem's eyebrows arched in shock.
Zane knew what his grandpa was thinking. What kind of man let his woman go after smugglers on her own?
The desperate kind.
"She has a lead on the boat and plans to swim out to where it's anchored while I make the exchange with the villain responsible for the abduction."
Max groped for the wall. "Whoa. What exchange? I feel like I came into the theatre during the third act and have no idea what's going on."
Zane clapped him on the shoulder. "You don't need to get involved, Max. It's likely dangerous. I'm sure your mother would prefer you take her home."
He straightened away from the wall, a scowl on his face. "Our driver can see Mama home. I'm not about to abandon my best friend in his time of need." He waved off the rebuttal that Zane tried to give. "You can explain things to me later. Just tell me what I can do to help."
The tension radiating through Zane's neck eased a bit, and he slapped his friend's back. "I can use more eyes searching for Muriel's kin."
"You got it."
Thank you, Lord.
"Grandpa Clem and I have both met them, so we'll split up. You and Grandpa Clem take the rail yard, and I'll search the wharves with my father."
Grandpa Clem's eyebrows shot up again. "Horace is comin'?"
Zane's mouth tightened. "Reluctantly, but yes, he's coming."
"'Bout time that boy of mine did somethin' worthwhile," Grandpa Clem muttered beneath his breath.
"We need to hurry." Zane headed for the door. "If they're going to help Muriel, we need to find them before eight o'clock."
Grandpa Clem checked his watch. "Best take the horses, then. Max can borrow your mama's mare."
Zane nodded. "Father should be heading to the stables now."
"I'll make our excuses to our mothers and meet you there," Max said before dipping out of the room.
Grandpa Clem's gaze narrowed. "Think I'll grab my old revolver. Best to be prepared so the worst don't get the upper hand."
A shiver ran over Zane's skin. Bullets were the last thing this night needed, but he wasn't so na?ve as to assume the other side would act with honor. He gave his grandpa a nod and headed to the stables.
The search took less time than Zane expected.
It seemed Patrick Quinn had mobilized his entire crew along the docks.
Dozens of men were out looking for Fletcher, and they all pointed Zane in the same direction—Labadies Wharf.
Smaller, darker, farther west. More likely to boast criminal types after dark.
A place no father or grandfather would ever wish to hunt for their child.
As Zane came around a warehouse, he spotted a large, well-muscled man with flowing white hair holding a thin man with a bottle in his hand up against the wall of a cargo shed. The thin man's feet dangled at least a foot above the dock.
"Mr. Quinn!" Zane nudged his mount into a trot and left his father by the warehouse. The horse's hooves made hollow-sounding clops on the timber beams extending over the bay.
Patrick Quinn turned toward Zane, his expression frightful. "He heard a pair of smugglers talkin' 'bout me grandson. I need to jar his memories loose."
Zane dismounted and touched the man's wide shoulder. "Muriel knows where Fletcher is. She's going after him now."
"Alone?" He roared the word and tossed the inebriated sailor to the side then spun to face Zane, grabbing him by the arms. "Ye let her go after smugglers alone?" The force of his grip felt as if he might snap Zane's arms like twigs.
"She needs me to meet Mrs. Underhill," Zane ground out. "I'm to keep the woman busy so Muriel can swim out to the smuggler's ship anchored offshore, west of the hotel. Muriel sent me to find you so you could row out to meet her. She intends to rescue Fletcher, but she needs our help."
All at once, the pressure on Zane's arms released and blood began flowing into his forearms and fingers again.
"The smugglers are on the other side of the island?" Quinn's tortured gaze matched the tightness in Zane's heart.
"Yes." Zane held out his reins. "Take my horse. I'll ride double with my father. If Liam was searching the train yard, Grandpa Clem should have found him by now and given him the news. I'll do everything I can to stall Mrs. Underhill and buy you time to help Muriel."
Quinn took the reins and pierced Zane with a deep look. "Ye love her, don't ye?"
"I do. And it's killing me that she's putting herself in danger.
But she's the stronger swimmer. And I wouldn't want her facing Mrs. Underhill and her hired thugs anyway.
She's safer in the water." Zane swallowed hard.
"She blames herself for Fletcher's kidnapping.
I worry she'll take risks to rescue him. Get to her fast, sir. Keep her safe."
"Only the Lord can keep that one safe," her father said, fondness softening his features for a moment. "But the Almighty gave me these arms fer a reason, and I aim to use 'em."
He placed his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle with an awkwardness that proved he was more at home on the water than on a horse, but the determined set of his mouth ensured no animal would get the best of him this night.
"Watch yer back, Erickson," he said. "If that woman would steal a child, she'll not hesitate to send ye to the undertaker."
Zane nodded, well aware of the danger that awaited him.
"I see the viper brought a couple friends." Zane's father's voice sounded as if it had been squeezed from a lemon. "Seems my despisal of the woman has not been misplaced. I still can't believe she actually arranged that child's abduction."
Zane lowered the spyglass he'd borrowed from Eddie after finding the carriage parked in the dunes.
No matter how hard he squinted through the lens, he couldn't see Muriel anywhere in the water.
He could see the boat well enough, even in the rapidly fading light, but the darkness of twilight hid all evidence of a slender swimmer making her way across the surface of the waves.
He prayed she was still on the surface. The sea was calm, but the same darkness that hid her hid other dangers.
Don't go down that road. Trust her to know her abilities. Trust God to watch over her. And her father.
Zane might not have spotted Muriel, but he had spotted the white planking of a large rowboat hitting the water west of the hotel. Patrick Quinn and Liam Doherty were on their way to assist. Two fathers rowing to save their children. They would make it. They had to.
And he had to deal with Mrs. Underhill. God help him.
"Did you hear me, Zane?" His father rounded the back of the carriage and smacked Zane's arm. "She's here."
"I know." His pulse had kicked from a jog into a full-blown sprint when the distant jangling of harness had met his ears a moment ago.
He lifted the spyglass to his eye again and aimed it inland. Octavia Underhill strolled across the dunes. A pair of rough-looking fellows assisted her, one at each elbow. The men also carried lanterns. Smugglers' lanterns. The type used to signal ships from shore.
Heaven help me. What do I know of clandestine meetings and bargaining with men of the criminal class? I'm an architect's apprentice, for pity's sake.
But there'd be no drawing himself out of this situation. Geometric calculations and ruled edges carried no weight with those who operated outside the lines of morality. Yet Muriel was counting on him. What if he failed her?
"Bury those thoughts, son." His father's clipped voice carried no derision, only instruction. "Doubts are deadly with this crowd. If they sense your fear, your feelings of inadequacy, they'll go for the jugular."
Zane lowered the spyglass and turned to his father, the tightness in his gut loosening just a little.
Horace Erickson lifted his chin and held his son's gaze with a penetrating stare. "Hold yourself as if you hold all the cards. As if Octavia and her minions are the ones in need of your approval. You are in control, and they are lucky you even agreed to this meet."
"I don't think I can."
Father narrowed his eyes. "Of course you can.
You're an Erickson." He sighed. "Look, Zane.
I know you don't approve of my business practices, and to be honest, after seeing all the ramifications of this journal debacle, I'm starting to question a few things myself.
But you've got to trust me. I know how that Underhill woman thinks.
How she operates. Perception of power is everything.
She's desperate. Use that against her. Plus, she doesn't know about the stunt your woman is pulling.
That means you have the upper hand. Don't give it away by letting her smell your fear. "
As much as Zane hated to admit it, his father might be right. He certainly had experience dealing with power-hungry businessmen and crafty cotton buyers and coming out on top. "I guess I can pretend to be you."
Father chuckled and slapped Zane's back. "That's the spirit."
Zane checked his watch. Three minutes 'til the designated meeting time. He snapped the lid closed and tucked the timepiece into his trouser pocket then extended his palm toward his father. "I'll take the journal now. It's time for me to keep my appointment."
Father quirked a sly grin. "Not a chance, son. I'm going with you."
A protest rose to Zane's lips, but then he saw it.
A flash of fear in his old man's eyes. For his son or his reputation?
As cynical as his opinion of his father had turned lately, Zane knew in his heart that at this moment, his sire cared more for his son than his business.
If there was to be any hope of salvaging their relationship moving forward, he couldn't push him away now.
So he nodded, handed the spyglass to Eddie, then headed off across the dunes, his father at his side.