"This—we are Elsdon's spice trade," she said softly, her voice a deep rumble in Cecilia's ear. "We're on a small ship that will take us downriver. Somewhere along the coast, we'll be transferred to a larger ship. Elsdon's coming along. He's leaving England: too many deaths, too many suspicions."
"Havelock?" Cecilia croaked out.
Bitterness etched Angel's features. "If I'd trusted him, I wouldn't be here now."
"Don't despair," she managed and swallowed painfully.
"If you mean Sir James and Bow Street, he's wise to them. The big ship's going out clean to fool them."
Suddenly the implications of being on a small ship percolated through to Cecilia, and the fear she'd previously held at bay swept through her. Her breathing grew rapid, and her eyes widened. She clutched Angel's arm.
"I know," Angel said grimly, "it hit me like that too."
Cecilia's frightened gaze swept the small hold. She looked from the blank faces to those turned toward her and Angel, looking at the two of them for comfort. She realized she and Angel were the oldest of the captives, and as such, the others would look to them for guidance. She couldn't crumble now. She had to be strong for them, no matter what the future held in store. She closed her eyes a moment, summoning Branstoke's face to her mind. She would draw strength and hope from that image she had of him. It wasn't over yet.
The strident squeal of protesting hinges followed by a flood of bright light preceded a ladder descending into the hold. The sight of immaculate top boots on the rungs followed by an elegantly attired male form warned them of Elsdon's visit.
Cecilia drew a little apart from Angel, not wishing to be seen leaning on another. A haughty mask descended over her dirt-streaked features. She lifted her head high, revealing deeply purpling bruises on the fair skin of her neck.
He walked toward her, a delighted smile on his face. "Ah, so the final item on our manifest has awoken. Excellent." He reached out one long finger to tilt her chin up. "Tsk, tsk, my dear, I do not like the sight of those bruises on your fair neck. Damaged goods bring lower prices, you know. We shall hope that they fade before we reach our destination."
She moved to bat his hand away, but the clang of the length of chain between her wrists warned him of her action, and he raised his hand out of reach.
He laughed. "Definitely not the flighty, sickly female. So much the better. Liveliness and fight also increase value. And, quite frankly, my dear, every advantage is necessary to boost the price at your age. Lovely though you are, you are past your prime in my market." He took a few steps toward the flaxen-haired child and crouched down before her, running a hand down her quivering form. "Now this one, on the other hand, will bring a pretty penny, a very pretty penny indeed."
The child flinched and scuttled back against the curving walls, whimpering.
"Leave her be," Cecilia croaked out, getting up. Behind her, Angel stood as well. A couple of women stirred, rising to their knees.
Elsdon turned toward Cecilia, his eyes narrowing. He rose smoothly, his hand delving deep into his pocket to bring out a pistol. He leveled it at Cecilia. The other women drew back.
"I have not that alacrity of spirit,
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have."
His voice was light yet rung with a power to reach the boxes had he stood on a stage.
A shiver traversed Cecilia's spine, yet she stood her ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angel grasp the chain between her hands, holding it taut so its links could not ring against one another. There was an unholy glint to the woman's pale eyes and a rigidity to her jaw. Cecilia's gaze fixed upon Elsdon, challenging him to break it.
"So, you would still play King Richard?" she whispered huskily, forcing the words harshly past her throat. They had ghostly cadence. "A doomed and defeated man? A curious choice for a mentor."
"Perhaps... But I have learned from him. In the end, despite his words:
Conscience is but a word cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong at awe
“He was troubled by his conscience. I shall not be. And I have learned what he did not. That gold buys a good many consciences."
"For a time."
"Ah, you are thinking of your brother. It is a sad fact that tools often become too worn for repair and therefore need replacing."
"And Havelock?"
"Yes, Havelock, my Buckingham. Almost he had me fooled. He could be nearly as great an actor as I if he weren't plagued with notions of honor and duty and the other artificial trappings of our so-called polite society."
"Not quite your Buckingham, for he is free and alive," she said, intent on keeping him talking. Angel was stepping carefully around to the side of him. Two other women had grabbed their chains in like manner and rose to their feet.
He waved her words aside. "I shall deal with him later, as I shall your Branstoke and Mr. Thornbridge. Tell me, how did you get those two to do your bidding? Have you been rehearsing for your new role, my dear?" The gun seemed to sink a little, his guard relaxing.
