"As is mine. If we ride hard, we should be able to beat them downriver, for the tide's not turned yet."
They bid the ladies goodbye, assuring them they would do everything in their power to rescue Cecilia.
Janine and Lady Meriton watched them ride off in the direction Sir Harry's carriage took, nearly causing an accident with a heavy traveling coach that was turning the corner. The driver pulled hard to the side, fighting to keep his startled horses from rearing and tangling the traces. He got them settled, though they still danced a bit, and drove them forward only to stop in front of Meriton House. A tall, angular figure with gray sideburns framing an ascetic face descended the coach step and looked up at the house. Lady Meriton squealed and ran down the steps.
"Meriton!" she exclaimed before throwing herself into his arms and bursting into tears.
* * *
Cecilia studiedthe face of the complacent gentleman seated across from her. Sunlight through the carriage windows caught the red-gold of his hair where it curled about his collar. It was odd, she thought in a detached manner, how a man moderately good-looking on the outside could be entirely cancerous and vile inside. He was unequivocally a facile and talented actor and decidedly correct when he claimed that if he'd been born a lesser man, he would have been a greater man. That certainty prevented her from berating herself too severely for her predicament. Though she was wrong—again—she felt no guilt, only a strange floating feeling of fatalism.
That detached feeling had overwhelmed her when the carriage turned south, away from Cheney House. She remembered Sir Harry studying her with a tense set to his posture. He was waiting for her to discover his lie and either grovel at his feet, begging for mercy or fight for her freedom. She did neither. She merely raised an eyebrow and praised him for his acting ability.
He had been for a moment surprised and taken back by her reaction. That pleased Cecilia, and she filed that knowledge away carefully in her brain. Recovering swiftly, he smiled at her in a manner she'd never seen him use. It was more of a leer and spoke volumes for the depth of his self-confidence. She filed that knowledge away as well.
In turn, he had praised her for her perspicacity, for which she demurred, saying if she had intuitive talents, she would not find herself in the carriage with him at that moment.
He disagreed. He assured her that she would have been right where she was because that is where he wished her to be. She begged that he accept that they were doomed to disagree, and the conversation slackened there.
Cecilia turned her head to look out the window and desultorily followed their journey through the changing landscape.
Now, with the smell of fish, timber, and tar redolent in the warm afternoon air, she knew they were approaching the river from a direction she'd never come. The carriage was slowing as it picked its way through narrow streets. She wondered if she dared try to bolt, then decided to husband her energy for a more auspicious time. Sir Harry, though now more relaxed, was waiting and watching for her to make a break. Besides, she didn't see how he could escape the net being cast for him by Bow Street and the government agent. To do anything untoward would likely result in her early demise or worse, an early induction into the trade he planned for her.
No, it was best to remain calm and clearheaded. Strong emotions would muddy her thinking. Furthermore, calmness on her behalf would likely disconcert him more and perhaps lead to errors on his part. One could only wait, hope, and fervently pray.
Elsdon glanced out the window then turned to address Cecilia. "You surprise me, Mrs. Waddley," he said, pulling a bottle out of his pocket. "You have exhibited none of the reactions I expected on the realization of your abduction. You have not fought and screamed, nor collapsed in a prostrate bundle of pathetic tears and pleas for mercy."
"Indeed, sir. I shall take that as a compliment."
"Nor, curiously, have you fainted or complained of bodily failings as so often society has been audience to."
"It has been my good fortune to have my health improving daily."
"If I were you, I would call it misfortune," he said, smiling evilly. He looked at the bottle of brownish liquid that he held. "Almost you convince me that this is not necessary."
She stared at the bottle and wished she'd fought him and tried to escape earlier. It was laudanum. He was going to drug her. She looked from the bottle to his grinning face, tensing her muscles.
"Almost—" he repeated in a soft murmur before his free hand shot out to grab her around the throat, choking, forcing her mouth open.
Cecilia bucked and flailed at him, twisting and turning against his weight as he leaned on her, using his body to anchor her while he guided the bottle to her lips. She jerked her head aside, only to feel his fingers cruelly digging into the soft white skin of her throat. She gouged his face with her nails drawing pinpricks of blood. He swore viciously and jammed the open bottle between her teeth. She gagged on the liquid, trying to spit it out, but she had no breath. It ran out the sides of her mouth. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. Her eyes blurred, and her head began to swim. Spots of gray-blackness danced at the edges of her vision then rushed to close against consciousness. She went limp.
Chapter 18
Cecilia regained consciousness slowly, her first awareness a fiery pain in her throat and the aching muscles of her neck. She moved fitfully as if to escape the relentless pain only to discover the slightest movement intensified her agony. A damp cloth touched her brow, her face, and then her neck. She relaxed and listened to the deep, husky murmur of a voice above her head that seemed to accompany the cloth's soothing progress. In the background, she heard soft crying, creaking wood, and the dim echoes of shouting from somewhere above.
She opened her eyes, then blinked as they grew accustomed to a gloomy world. A tangle of dark red curls slid into her field of vision. "Angel," she whispered in a thin, croaking thread of sound. She tried to smile but only managed a grimace. She swallowed painfully and parted her lips to speak again when a finger lightly pressed against them.
"Hush, don't try to speak yet," said Angel. "Have some water first. Here, let me help you sit up."
It was then Cecilia felt the unfamiliar cold weight about her wrists and heard the clank of chains. Iron manacles around each wrist were joined by a length of chain two feet long. She quickly struggled to sit up, ignoring the wave of dizziness that assailed her. Angel handed her a small jug of water. She drank some thankfully, the tepid liquid remarkably cooling to her battered throat. Each swallow was painful but less so than the last.
Handing the jug back to Angel, she took stock of their surroundings.
They were obviously below deck on some sailing vessel. Light came in through a small grated opening to the main deck that also let in the fresh air. The narrowness of the space convinced her they were not on a large ship. Still, it was a surprisingly roomy hold that would even allow an average-sized man to stand upright. It was empty of all cargo save for the human kind, for with her and Angel were some eighteen to twenty women.
Cecilia sucked in her breath as the reality of the scene filtered into her mind. She scrambled to her feet and, leaning on Angel, slowly picked her way past the straw-filled pallets on which they lay or sat and looked at each closely in turn. For the most part, the women were about sixteen years of age, all comely and, judging by their dress, predominantly of the middle class or better station. A few were no more than children, the youngest a flaxen blond child of perhaps nine years. It was from her that the crying came that she'd heard. The others were either drugged into a stupor or so frightened and cowed that they sat listless and silent. Accumulating horror robbed Cecilia of strength, and she sank back down on her pallet, Angel by her side.
She turned to Angel. Her mind overwhelmed with questions that she couldn't get past her battered throat. Angel nodded in understanding.
