Honour's Redemption Read online

  Lucian uncorked the bottle and raised it to Ruth in mock salute, then drank.

  The vicar took Ruth’s hand but kept his gaze on Lucian. “Hellfire Stranton’s heir has need of it I imagine.”

  Lucian almost choked on the bitter spirits. Over the brown bottle he saw informed sadness in the vicar’s eyes and gulped the rest. Closing his eyes, he sagged back against the thin padding and wished himself to perdition.

  An hour later the coach slowed as it passed the outer buildings of Whitby.

  “Can we see St. Cedds?” asked Marietta, her voice full of hope.

  Ruth smiled. “I don’t know. Perhaps, since St. Mary’s stands near the ruins of the Abbey of St. Hilda. May the vicar of St. Mary’s and his wife prove friends.

  Lucian’s mind whirred like an untried French lieutenant’s with a dozen men under attack by Spanish guerrillas. He couldn’t seem to settle on anything with certainty. But then his gaze lit on Ruth who pointed out the window and chatted with her sister.

  He drank in her face, the freckles, the hair that would always remind him of autumn and of her. Suddenly Lucian was certain of one thing. He was going to get as far away from her as fast as he could.

  The last one to leave the coach, Lucian was angered when Ruth awaited him. He met her gaze and pulled his lips into a sneer. “Think you can help me?” he spit at her. “Buy me a horse to get out of this hell hole and away from you.” One knee gave way and he stumbled.

  When Ruth reached to help him, Lucian shoved her back. She blurted out what she had been thinking during the long hours of the journey. “You’ve got to open your heart and mind to the truth of what happened—of why you drink.”

  He snorted and staggered away as fast as his unsteady feet would carry him. The pain in her eyes created a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d get a drink to wash it away and then put where ever he was behind him.

  * * *

  Whitby

  “Are you angry because I did not come?” Geary asked.

  Refusing to slow her pace, Peace gave a slight shake of her head. When he took hold of her elbow, she jerked away, her face contorted with anger. She lowered her clenched fists when he raised a hand in apology.

  Peace watched his eyes narrow, his features darken. She drew her shawl closer despite the warmth of the midday sun.

  Geary said, “You need never fear me.”

  With a nod, Peace strolled forward but at a slower pace. “Not even as a Riding Officer who must enforce all of the king’s laws, non?”

  “Not always.”

  “Bribes,” sneered Peace. “How faithless are men who take gold. My father bribed one of our servants to safely take me Le Havre. He paid even more for the man to see that I got safely to England.” She could not prevent her chin from trembling.

  “And yet you are here,” Geary said.

  “Do you want me to tell you how many men raped me on the way to Le Harve? Tell you what I had to do to gain a place in the bowels of a ship to England?” she spat again.

  “Would death have been better?”

  “How can you ask that?”

  “Because I have been there. When my father disowned me I went to France with friends. They went to the guillotine and I tried to escape to Calais,” he lied.

  “Your back?”

  “And more. Women are not the only ones violated when madness reigns.”

  Pearl’s eyes widened.

  “If I had died as I wished, indeed prayed, I would not have met you,” Geary added softly.

  “But why did you not join the army after you escaped? Why become a Preventive Officer?”

  “The rules of war demand gentlemanly behaviour. As a Riding Officer I oft work alone which can be very lucrative. Also I am free to treat my prisoners—English or French—as I wish.”

  “And I am French,” Peace whispered.

  Geary stepped very close. He put a finger beneath her chin and raised her gaze to his. “I wish to come to your bed, but not in that way.” His words startled Donatien. He had said them more than once but this time he feared he meant it.

  “Did you have me beaten to scare me off?” he asked. “Or was I supposed to die?”

  Peace met his gaze, her heart thudding against her ribs.

  “I saw one of the men you set on me knock on your door. It was a signal telling you what you had ordered was done.”

  The black eyes revealed nothing to Peace. Geary’s features held calm certainty, but she sensed a great tension in him.

  “Did you fear I would ask if you knew of your husband’s part in the smuggling? Of how he came to die? You know far more about both than you have said.”

  Apprehension deepened, she hoped it did not flicker in her eyes. Peace tucked her chin away from his hand. “Non, she whispered.

  “What changed your mind? Why did you not have the men complete their task?” he asked softly

  Peace remained silent.

  “The men act as if nothing happened,” Geary went on a moment later.

  “Mais oui,” Peace replied. “You have agreed to let the shipment pass unnoticed.” She raised her chin in challenge.

  * * *

  Donatien watching closely saw the fear behind Peace’s gaze. She had ordered his death. He may yet have to end her life. His heart twisted beneath the barriers guarding it but years of hard discipline carried him onward. “There is one more delivery expected before the shipment goes out?” he asked.

  “I believe so, oui. What do you mean to do about it?”

  “Nothing.” Geary smiled mirthlessly. “It has been made worth my while to turn a blind eye to it.” He offered his arm. When she accepted he asked in French, “May I dine with you this eve? We shall speak of the France we knew before the riffraff, the racaille, desecrated it.”

  Apprehension and wisdom forbade it but Peace could not resist the lure. “Oui, monsieur.”

  Chapter Eight

  Whitby, Yorkshire

  Ruth clenched the roll of notes as she watched Lucian stagger away. She raised her hand to throw it after him but halted when Jemmy ran to him. Her heart twisted as he roughly thrust the boy away and Jemmy fell to the ground. Stuffing the notes back in her pelisse’s pocket, she ran to the fallen lad.

  “Leave be,” Jemmy sniffled with a swipe of the back of his hand across his eyes. “He’s just sore headed ‘bout what those fellars in York did ta him,” he added when Ruth tisked at yet another tear in his ragged clothes.

  When the boy started after Lucian she grabbed his arm. Ahead of them two men approached Merristorm. They talked a moment and then walked away.

  “Jemmy,” Ruth said turning him towards her. She went down on one knee in front of him. “I need your help. Please.” She watched him as he looked back at Lucian’s retreating figure. “We’ll find him later.”

  The boy took her at her word but was dismayed by her frown as she watched Merristorm. “He ain’t a bad sort, Miss Ruth.”

  “I know that.” She stood up and held out her hand. When Jemmy took it she determinedly walked back to the coach without looking back. May our Lord watch over him. I cannot. If only he would open his heart and mind to God instead of looking for answers in a bottle. Ruth shook the thought away.

  “Stay with Father,” she told Marietta. “Jemmy and I will get our portmanteaux.” Ruth and the boy went to the back of the stage. When they had gathered the four portmanteaux she set Jemmy to watch them.

  “Sir,” Ruth waved to catch the guard’s attention. “Where shall I find Mr. Salter?”

  “Old John? Round ‘bout ta uder site.”

  Ruth puzzled over this. “Around the front on the other side of the coaching inn?”

  “Aye, thet’s wat I sed.”

  Ruth thanked him and then approached a woman who had ridden with them on the stage from Pickering. Ruth smiled. “Ma’am, can you give directions to St. Cedds? Is it within walking distance?”

  “Ye tell her naught,” growled a stout man.

  The woman bestowed a bell
igerent stare on him and then frowned worriedly at Ruth. “’Tis some distance. Too far fer yer father. But think ‘gain afore you go there. ‘Tis not the place fer ye.”

  A lanky man strode up and took the valise the guard held down for the woman. “Mam, we best get on.”

  “Thas here gel wants ta go ta St. Cedds,” she told him.

  “St. Cedds?” His eyes narrowed. “Why for?”

  “Her pap be the new vicar.”

  Before Ruth could say a word, the man grabbed his mother’s arm and stalked off with her in tow.

  Ruth shook away the chill that ran up her arms. She called for Marietta to come. After they collected the bags she took her father’s hand and led the way to Salter Transport.

  Old John Salter grumpily assured the family that their possessions were safely stored in the back of the building.

  “Why were they not taken to the vicarage?” At his look of surprise Ruth added, “St. Cedds, that is.”

  Salter’s demeanour chilled to a frost. “Didn’t think anyone were addled nuf to take St. Cedds. Can’t tak ‘em there fer a week ‘haps a month.”

  The bald-faced lie stunned Ruth. “Then I shall arrange to have it moved. Good day, sir.”

  Ruth had barely gotten everyone out of the door when a little girl of eight ran up to them and dipped into an awkward curtsy.

  “Sire, be ye really ta new vicar o’ St. Cedds?”

  “Bless you child, I am,” Sampson told her. “Shall I see you at services on Sunday?”

  Alarm and chagrin worried the girl’s features. “Ach, I don’no,” she said at last and dashed away.

  “How very odd,” Sampson commented when the little girl ran away.

  “We were told the parish has been without a vicar for some time,” Ruth told him. “You must be hungry and tired Father. Why don’t you and Jemmy find a pub and get a pint and a bite to eat. ” She sent a meaningful look on Jemmy.

  The lad winked. He took the vicar’s hand.

  “’Haps I best go meet the souls I shall serve,” Sampson told her. “But you and Marietta?”

  “We have arrangements to make. Meet us at Salter’s when you finish.” Ruth kissed his cheek, grateful for the glimmer of her father.

  Marietta turned to her as soon as the pair walked away. “I also am hungry,” she complained.

  “There is a grocer across the street,” Ruth said and took her arm. “We can get something to eat there.”

  They were barely across the street when a woman with grey hair, her face heavily lined by age and work accosted them.

  “Be ye ta vicar’s dau’ters?” she demanded smoothing down her apron. “Vicar at St. Cedds?”

  “Yes,” Ruth answered wondering what the disturbed woman could want.

  She released Ruth’s arm and covered her mouth with both hands. Muttering the woman turned in a circle three times. She stopped and picked up a clod of dirt and mumbled under her breath as she broke it and sifted the dirt through her fingers.

  Respect for the old woman’s age and obvious mental incapacity held Ruth in place. When the crone gave her a gape toothed smile she returned it. “Good day, ma’am.”

  “Ye ain’t rid of Sairy Jane. There’s them as says I be no good but ye’ll need me. Ye’ll not find another soul ta help ye and help ye’ll need and more than from the Lord.”

  This was said so fast Ruth couldn’t quite understand it. She feared the woman’s mind was touched.

  “I not be crazy,” Sairy Jane said softly.

  Ruth looked into the wise old eyes and saw a mixture of fear, compassion, and urgent need. “We shall need someone to help set the vicarage to rights,” she said slowly.

  Sairy Jane cackled, then clapped a hand to Ruth’s forearm. “What ye don’t know, ken be,” she looked up and down the street, and then whispered, “yer death.” The woman drew back her hand without meeting Ruth’s startled gaze.

  “Ye meant ta go in and buy fixin’s?”

  “Fixings? Why yes,” Ruth answered. “We also mean to ask where we can rent a horse and cart to take our things to the rectory.”

  “Old John said he couldn’t fer a long while, I’d say,” Sairy Jane knowingly.

  “Why yes. Do you know why?” asked Ruth.

  “None’ll rent ta ye,” the old woman said. She added conspiratorially, “I ken help ye buy a cart and horse.”

  “Purchase? I don’t know,” Ruth said and then thought of Lucian’s parting words. Perhaps she could give the horse to him and get a pony in its place.

  “No other way,” the old woman said. When Ruth nodded she flashed her gape toothed smile. “Let’s go inside and get ye a bite to eat. Then we’ll see ta it. Jest don’t say ye mean ta go ta St. Cedds.”

  * * *

  Doncaster South Yorkshire

  Sir Brandon Thornley entered the Angel Inn shortly after the stroke of one in the afternoon. His temper flared when he saw Burns, who he had hired in London, seated at a table with another of his ilk. Why wasn’t the man in York?

  Tugging off his gloves Thornley looked about the room. The unease that had grown steadily since his encounter with Halstrom swelled and then eased to a simmer when he saw no one likely to prove a threat to him. He stalked up to the table.

  His henchman looked up, recognized Thornley and said sulkily, “Yer pigeon’s safe ‘nuf.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “We saw the toff off jest like you ordered.” The man leaned forward. “Not good idea ta call others ta mind yer here.”

  Thornley reined in his temper as he drew out a chair and sat. “Do you know where Merristorm is at this time?”

  “Gettin’ carried off the coach at Whitby like as not,” Burns answered with a shrug. “Took a bit a persuadin’.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The toff wanted ta take a coach back ta Lunun. We poured some laud’num down his gullet after we quieted him down.” When Thornley’s intense gaze didn’t waver he added, “Paid a pair of Whitby chaps I met in York ta see he didn’t go nowheres.”

  “Then there were no problems?”

  Burns grimaced. “Could a done wit out thet vicar and his daughters on the coach wit’ Merristorm. Reckon the oldest took a shine ta yer toff. Tried ta keep ‘im from drinkin’.”

  “But he didn’t cotton ta thet,” the other man added eagerly.

  Pleased by this news Thornley sat back in his chair.

  “He were all ta pieces by Alconbury,” Burns told him.

  “Thet vicar’d best watch his charity basket. Merristorm’ll ‘ave ta turn basket scrambler after those lads in Whitby finish with him. If ‘is ‘ead e’er clears that is,” the other offered.

  Thornley savoured the image of a Merristorm that desperate. Could he wait a day or two to let the misery and humiliation sink into the man’s soul?

  “Have you heard of anyone asking about Merristorm?”

  “Nary a soul,” Burns claimed and the other nodded in agreement.

  Thornley shoved a guinea at Burns. “Get me a decent brandy and pints for you and your friend.” He sat back as the man did so. I was a fool to let Halstrom turn me skittish, he thought complacently. Hellfire pursues pleasure too diligently to hie to the wilds of Yorkshire.

  Thornley thought of Merristorm’s reaction to their encounter with the Marquess. Grinning, he accepted a glass from Burns and raised it. “To pleasure.”

  * * *

  Whitby Late Afternoon

  Ruth reined in the wiry horse harnessed to the rickety wagon when she heard Jemmy’s shouts. She had purchased both after Sairy Jane convinced the hostler he had to sell something to her. After several refusals Ruth was glad for even this gelding and wagon of indeterminate age and value. If only the old woman hadn’t disappeared before she could be thanked.

  Looking past the bed of the wagon and its load of baggage, the household goods shipped to Whitby earlier, and newly purchased foodstuffs Ruth saw Jemmy. He pounded toward her as fast as his thin legs could carry him.

&n
bsp; “Something has happened to Father,” Marietta gasped beside her.

  Ruth leaned down as Jemmy ploughed to a halt beside the front wagon wheel. “What is it?”

  “Ye’d best come, Miss Ruth. Yer father began actin’ forgetful like he’s a mind to do at times afore he finished his eats. He wouldn’t come away wit me. When I left him he were fratchin’ wit them bullies as were maulin’ Mr. Merristorm.”

  “Climb in and tell me the way,” Ruth told him. As soon as he was over the side she guided the horse into a slow turn. When they reached a long low building with a whitewashed owl hanging from it Jemmy told Ruth to halt. The boy was over the side before they reached a standstill.

  Thrusting the reins into Marietta’s hands, Ruth lifted her skirts and jumped down.

  “You cannot mean to go in there?” Marietta gasped.

  “Stay here and talk to no one,” Ruth said and ran to the door. Her hand to the knob, she halted, took a deep breath and then eased through the door.

  Ruth saw the overturned chairs first. An unruly babble from a huddle of people on the left side of the room drew her gaze. She saw her father’s white thatched head as he struggled with two men who held his arms. Merristorm was nowhere to be seen, not even on the floor.

  “Enough.”

  The cold hard voice sliced through the hubbub like a knife through warm butter. Ruth froze and saw that everyone else did likewise. Swallowing hard she looked to the source and shuddered at the look on the fellow’s face.

  “Unhand him. Now.”

  Though the tall lithe man in the dark blue frock coat almost whispered the words Ruth saw the men stumble back. Through them she saw a tiny blond immediately take her father’s hand and speak to him.

  With a last look at the commanding gentleman Ruth hurried to Sampson. She saw the vacant look that overtook him when he became overwrought. “Vicar,” Ruth said sharply and breathed a bit easier when her father met her gaze and stopped his restless movement. When she held out her hand he laid limp cold fingers in it. Gripping them firmly Ruth met the dark blonde’s gaze.