Percy hadn’t seen it that way though. He’d given her one horrified look and made up an excuse that he needed to get back to the vicarage, and she hadn’t seen him since. She knew he was in London with the Duke’s family, but that was all.
Lizzy sighed. Percy Noon had gone from her life. In truth, he hadn’t ever really been in it. A glass of milk once a week hardly counted as a courtship, even if she had asked him to call her Lizzy.
Hope was a fickle thing. In truth, she was better off without it. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d been hoping–until she stopped.
Mayhap it was time to sell Charlie’s tooth, but she didn’t know who to take it to. There was no one in Blackmore who had the blunt. She looked outside at the rain, still hammering against the windows. Was it raining in London? More likely snowing or Reverend Shackleford would have returned home by now.
Leaning closer to the candlelight, she attempted to thread her needle, her mind still deep in thought. Her brother John would know where to sell the tooth. She couldn’t send it to him for him to sell though. She’d never see the bleeding coin if she did. But there must be plenty of places in London she could take it herself. All she needed was some names. Surely John wouldn’t begrudge her that?
She hadn’t seen her brother in ten years, not since she and Charlie came to Blackmore, but he sent her the occasional letter, and she knew his address. But how would she get there? A stagecoach would cost too much, and she wasn’t even sure it would be running in this weather. She’d have to get to Torquay first. Abruptly, her fingers stilled as she recalled a conversation with Mrs Higgins up at the big house the day before.
Lizzy had been taking back some napkins she’d darned when the cook had happened to mention that Jimmy Fowler was off to London to deliver some papers to the Duke. Apparently, Jimmy had been insufferable, bragging that the Duke needed him in Town. When did she say he was going? Putting down her needle, Lizzy thought back to the conversation. Tomorrow. Mrs Higgins had said he was going tomorrow.
In sudden reckless excitement, Lizzy climbed to her feet. Would he let her share the carriage? It wasn’t something usually done, but if she could persuade Jimmy of her need, then he might agree to let her accompany him. She’d be more than happy to share the box with the coachman. She didn’t think the Duke of Blackmore would object, but could she ready herself in time?
Hurrying into the small kitchen, Lizzy grabbed her cloak and bonnet. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she shoved the bonnet on her head, shrugged on the cloak and headed out into the rain.
Chapter Ten
30thJune 1798
When Christian Stanhope next woke, he could feel the movement of the ship underneath him. ThePhoenixwas obviously under sail. He was lying on the floor, a filthy blanket his only covering. Beside him, someone had placed a cup of brackish water. Lifting himself onto his elbow, he picked up the cup and drank greedily.
‘If you drink it too quickly, you’ll only bring it up,’ warned a voice from the shadows. Startled, Christian slopped the liquid onto the floor. ‘Who’s there?’ he questioned, his voice coming out as a whispered rasp.
A figure stepped forward. It was Nicholas Sinclair.
Stanhope struggled into a sitting position. He felt as weak as a kitten, but the agony in his head had reduced to a dull ache.
‘Why am I here?’ he croaked.
The First Lieutenant stepped towards the bars and eyed him in distaste. ‘You don’t remember murdering a man?’ he snapped.
Stanhope frowned. ‘Barnet,’ he said at length.
‘Aye,Barnet,’ Sinclair bit out. ‘What happened? Did he catch you stealing the bracelet?’
‘What bracelet? What the devil are you talking about?’ Christian answered, struggling to his feet.
‘The one we found in your pocket,’ Sinclair retorted. ‘Did you really think you’d get away with it?’ The First Lieutenant shook his head in disgust. ‘Enough that you were caught stealing, but tomurdera man to hide it. I thought you a better man that that, you craven bastard.’
Christian Stanhope simply stared wordlessly at the First Lieutenant, as he fought to understand exactly what had happened. Sinclair’s expression turned sickened as he spat out, ‘He was yourfriend.’ He turned away in disgust and strode towards the door.
‘I didn’t murder anybody,’ Stanhope rasped. ‘Barnet was dead when I arrived. And I didn’t steal a deuced bracelet–or anything else for that matter.’
Nicholas Sinclair paused as Stanhope continued, his voice an agonised whisper. ‘Youdoknow me, Nick. And you know I wouldn’t do this.’
The First Lieutenant shook his head but didn’t turn round. He rapped on the door to be let out.
‘Who is my accuser?’ Stanhope croaked harshly as the key turned in the lock. ‘Who witnessed my supposed crimes?’
For a second, he thought Sinclair wasn’t going to answer, then he turned back, his face a mask of anguish. ‘It was Witherspoon. Swore you stole the bracelet then killed Barnet to cover it up.’
‘So Witherspoon was there?’ Christian Stanhope growled angrily, gripping the bars. ‘Tell me this, Nick. Who would you trust with your life? Me or that lazy, good-for-nothing bastard?’
The First Lieutenant’s mouth tightened. ‘You know I would have chosen you every time Kit,’ he murmured hoarsely, but Fletcher claimed he saw you too.
‘They’re both lying,’ Stanhope bit out. ‘You’re going to string me up on the word of a couple of bloody loose screws?’
