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PART IV
JANUARY, 1781
FRESH WHARF
LONDON, ENGLAND
CELIA SPENT THE next day quietly, alternately reading and watching Solomon and Milly help Suniyya move her crippled hands and feet. This was clearly a well-practiced exercise, as neither Solomon nor Milly spoke except to give low-voiced encouragement and gentle instruction to their patient.
Suniyya whimpered over the pain every time her fingers were stretched by Milly’s surprisingly knowledgeable hands. Celia did not begrudge her cousin this manifestation of pain, as they were, indeed, a gnarled mess even now, after weeks of such physicking. Though Celia could not discern any improvement, Milly had assured her they had made great strides.
And whilst Milly worked Suniyya’s hands, Solomon knelt at his wife’s feet to do the harder work there. His hands, those which had both taken and saved life, were large but gentle, rubbing frankincense oil into her skin.
It was when he bowed his head over her foot and Celia saw tears drip onto her smooth alabaster skin that her anger with him—ever mounting since they had left Algiers—vanished.
She would have done the same for Elliott.
“Her feet need broken and set again,” Celia murmured, breaking the relative silence, marred only by the usual sounds of a bawdy house.
All three of them started, though Solomon the least. Suniyya did not understand, for her English had fled long ago.
“Yes,” he murmured and returned to his task. “I will do that once you are with child and abed. Until then, we must keep them as supple as possible.”
“You speak as if Elliott will forgive me.”
Solomon grunted. “Men forgive the women they love, but in this case, there is nothing to forgive. He is not Rafael, so do not ascribe Rafael’s acts to him.”
“But—”
“Captain,” Milly interrupted softly, and Celia realized she had grown far less irritated by the girl over the months. In fact, now that an occupation had caught her attention and Papadakos had worked to settle her into a seafaring life, Celia found that she quite liked her sister-in-law. “He chose you over all the rest of us—his family who has always adored him.” She smiled sadly. “He had a title. Power. Wealth. Position.”
“Do not speak to me of the wealth he left behind, Camille,” Celia murmured, “for had he done so, marriage to me would have made him wealthy. But as it happens, he has my figurehead stuffed to her eyeballs in gold, and the carving itself is of a value he cannot imagine.”
She shrugged. “His duty, then, and we all know how precious that was to him.”
That did not signify, as his ultimate desire had been virgin land upon which to stake his independence. But Camille did not know he had offered to sacrifice that very goal in order to keep Celia.
If I must, I will give up—
No, she did not know that, but she had successfully made the point anyroad.
Comforted, Celia slowly nodded her thanks and returned to her novel, which kept her through supper, after which she commandeered the table to write in preparation for her solicitors’ arrival. It was business Celia should have carried out before they left in June, but in her haste to make Amsterdam before she lost the babe, she had not had time. She shrugged to herself as she wrote; perhaps it was God’s will, since she had not relished doing this by post.
The room was small, made smaller with the constant occupancy of four people and two beds, and shrank considerably once the three Dutchmen entered. There were hearty greetings and introductions of Solomon and “Miss Milly,” before Solomon and Suniyya were banished to continue their various occupations upon their beds, and Camille was sent to the kitchens for wine.
There was some question as to why Mary was not present, but Celia wryly explained that since her father had stolen her mother from her, she must now manage her own assets and trust they would not fleece her.
As it was evening, the raucous sounds of humans engaged in various acts of licentiousness grew louder, annoying the men, who were obliged to speak over it.
“Try sleeping over it,” Celia said dryly, without a speck of sympathy.
Yet they persevered through the cacophony until hours later, it was finished, and it was then Celia sent Milly to fetch Nonny, who, utterly exasperated, stood in the threshold dressed scantily in red satin with her fists on her hips, glaring at Celia.
“What now, Jack? I’ve a rowdy bunch of spoilt nobles’ sons. By God, if I could stab every one of them, I would, but they pay well enough and what’s left in their pockets is easily picked with no one the wiser.”
Indeed, there were angry shouts coming from the ground floor, but that was nothing unusual.
Celia smirked and her solicitors chuckled. “Come in and shut the door, Nonny.”
“See here. Just because you own the place—”
“And that is what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Nonny stilled, her hand on the doorknob. “Aye, it’s that way, is it?” she gritted.
“Good God, Nonny!” Celia burst out. “Have I ever dealt you false?”
Nonny slumped and turned to Celia with a sigh. “Nay. I simply cannot imagine—”
“I am giving you the Dovecote and the Coxcomb.”
The madam stood stock-still for quite a while, gaping at Celia, who returned her stare with amused expectation.
The party of loud nobles’ sons was making its way up the stairs to the second floor, which could be heard all the way to their chambers on the fourth. Celia would not be shocked to learn her cousin Edward amongst them, but as she was not leaving the room and the fourth floor was for the servants, it was of no matter.
Finally, Nonny lifted a trembling hand to her mouth and whispered, “Begorra, Jack. I … ”
“You have served me well, not to mention the country we share. You are a shrewd businesswoman and have been a far better steward than I, in my ignorance, would have chosen. With any luck, I will not return—although that is what I said six months ago, and here I am again. I meant to do this then, but had no opportunity. I am also settling an annual upon that little modiste who attired me so badly.” Celia pulled a piece of foolscap off the table and rolled it up, then handed it to her with a smile. “Be free, my friend.”
Nonny threw herself on Celia to sob, and Celia held her close, as it seemed the woman’s legs could not hold her.
“GODDAMMIT, WHERE IS THAT BOY? EDWARD!”
The shout—in an all-too-familiar voice, and at most two floors down from them—nearly made Celia cast up her accounts.
Celia shoved Nonny away so hard the woman fell on her arse, and whirled to frantically begin gathering her papers. Solomon and Milly also scrambled to gather every bit of evidence of their occupation.
“Jack! What—”
“Marquess Rathbone,” Celia gasped, which spurred her solicitors to begin shoving their things into their satchels.
Nonny sprang to her feet, bolted to a wall, and pressed some spots in a specific manner, which made the wall slide silently open. “Go. Now.”
“EDWARD!”
With that bellow, just below them, there came the sick thud of a door being kicked in, followed immediately by a scream.
“Solomon,” came Suniyya’s trembling voice, “is that my papa?”
“Yes, my love,” answered Solomon calmly. “He seeks your brother, as he often must.”
“We can see him now, then, and be on our way?”
Celia whirled and gaped at her cousin. “Do you not understand what is at stake, woman?” she hissed.
Her cousin blinked. “Are you not his friend?”
“God’s blood, she’s an utter imbecile. Solomon, if I am captured, I will hold you personally responsible.”
He nodded curtly, but would not look at her. “Suniyya, my sweet. Now is not the time. There will be time later.”
“But Solomon. I want to see my Papa and he is here.”
“No. Do not argue with me in this matter, Suniyya.”
“EDWARD!”
The screaming downstairs continued.
The Dutchmen had collected every last scrap of the documents they had labored over for hours and taken to the hidden stairs, but the way was steep and dark and the gentlemen old and cautious.
“’Tis Viscount Munro he’s after, aye?” Nonny demanded.
“Aye,” Celia answered as she ran about gathering more things that would betray her presence. “You did not tell me Edward frequented here.”
“He did,” Nonny barked. “For mayhap a fortnight. After you left. I barred him weeks ago for beating one of my girls. He’s been barred from half the bawdy houses in London, either by his own doings or on Rathbone’s threats, which was how he lit here.”
Milly was at the top of the stairs behind the old men, burdened with everyone’s things and waiting impatiently for them to move whilst Solomon soothed an increasingly demanding Suniyya, who would not leave and could not walk quickly enough to leave even if she were inclined to do so. She also could not be carried except over the shoulder because the stair was too narrow. But the ceiling was also short and Solomon could barely fit himself into the opening.
There was a small cry when one of the solicitors slipped, and Milly cursed. She ran to one of the beds and stuffed everything under it, then grabbed a candle. With it in hand, she squeezed her way down the stairs between the solicitors and the wall until she had taken the lead and an old man’s elbow.
Another bellow.
Another door.
Another scream.
Boots on wooden stairs.
“EDWARD, I WILL FIND YOU!”
“He’s coming up here!” Celia squeaked.
Nonny dashed out the door and Celia locked it, then began looking for a place to hide, as it was becoming likely she would not escape even if the rest of them managed to do so, and she could not kill the man—particularly not in Suniyya’s vicinity—or she would.
“MY LORD!” Nonny roared. “I will have you vacate the premises at once or my men will throw you out.”
“Clearly you know who I am!”
“Papa!” Suniyya called, but Solomon clapped his hand over her mouth and jerked her into his iron grasp.
“What was that, Madam?” Rathbone demanded. “I clearly heard a woman cry ‘Papa.’”
“If you do not know that particular perversion, my lord, then you are not as well traveled as I would have thought.”
“Am I not! ’Tis my son’s very one, and the evidence of his presence!”
“The viscount is not here and has not been here for weeks. Furthermore, these are the servants’ quarters!”
“I don’t believe that. EDWARD!”
Celia waited at the top of the stairs, but Suniyya was fighting against Solomon with a strength she had yet to display. He released her mouth with a curse when she bit him and screamed, “PAPA!”
“Goddammit,” Celia hissed, sliding the door closed behind Solomon and diving for a bed.
The room’s front doorknob rattled violently—
“EDWARD, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!”
—and Celia was struggling to get between a mattress and the bed ropes.
“EDWARD, YOU OPEN THIS GODDAMNED DOOR RIGHT NOW!”
The door broke open with one powerful kick.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you unlicked cub!”
And with that, a large, strong hand wrapped around Celia’s ankle and pulled.
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
Can you even call it revenge if simply cooking a meal in the kitchen is enough to end someone’s world and get them arrested for their stupidity?