"You're lying. You'll beat me."
I lost my patience. "Damn you, girl. Come here."
She put her hands to her face and wailed.
I clenched my teeth and tried to gentle my voice. "I haven't the strength to beat you, Nance, even if I wanted to. If you don't want to drown, you will untie me, and I will take you out of here."
Her hands came down. "How?" She sniffled.
"I will think of something. Please."
She watched me fearfully for a few moments, then she stumbled back to the bed. I rolled over to give her access to my hands.
It took a long time. Nancy picked at the tight knots and sobbed under her breath. Her tears dropped onto my bleeding hands, stinging them. She cried that she could not do it. I bullied her until she was incoherent with weeping.
At last the knots loosened. I tugged at the bonds until one broke, and I quickly unwound my hand. I tried to push myself up, but my fingers were wooden, lifeless, and would not support me. I heaved with my legs and shoulders to roll over again and finally raised myself to a sitting position.
I leaned against the wall and cradled my hands in my lap, closing my eyes as hot pins and needles spiked my flesh. I would have to wait until my fingers became deft enough to untie the cords that bound my ankles.
The act of sitting up had nearly drained my strength. I wondered how the devil I would get both myself and Nance off the boat and all the way to shore.
She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. "If you'd only took what I offered, we'd not be in this fix." Her eyes filled. "I'd not have chased you, and I'd not have believed them when they told me I could have you. You'd have been mine, and I'd have done you so good, you wouldn't have wanted to go to no one else." Her throat worked. "I'd have taken care of you and not complained when you knocked me about, and I wouldn't have gone to no other man unless you said I could." Tears spilled from her eyes. "I'd a done anything for you. Why don't you want me?"
I suppressed a sigh. She still could not understand that all this was about more than desire. But she was hurting, and afraid, and I was responsible for dragging her into this danger.
I gave the bed beside me a clumsy pat. "Nance. Come and sit here."
She shot me a distrustful look, but she shuffled to me and sat down. The bunk sagged, spilling my leg onto her thigh.
"I've told very few people this, Nance," I said. "Once, long ago, I had a daughter."
Nancy looked surprised. "Ya did?"
"Yes. When I was very young, I took a wife." The word choked in my throat, and I had to swallow and wait before I went on. "And we had a daughter. One day, my wife--she took my daughter, and went away."
I had not spoken much about it for fourteen years. And the words hurt. Oh God, they hurt.
Nancy stared. "She left you? The old cow. Was she mad?"
My temper heated to hear that white and gold girl from long ago called an "old cow," but I reminded myself that Nancy did not and could not understand. "She disliked the army and following me about. I don't blame her; it was a hard life, and she was of a delicate nature."
"So where is she now?" Nance asked, frowning. "And your little girl?"
"I don't know. They went to France, long, long ago, and I never was able to find them. I don't even know if my daughter is alive or dead. But if she is, she'd be, oh, about as old as you."
She stared at me, fascinated. "Did she have black hair, like me?"
"No. Her hair was fair as a field of buttercups. Like her mother's. When I last saw her, she was only two years old. She could barely say my name."
My heart wrenched, and the intensity of the wrench surprised me at little. I'd thought that all the years between had taken away the worst of the hurt. Perhaps the opium in my veins had broken down the shield I usually kept over that memory.
"You don't know even if she's alive?" Nance asked.
"I wonder sometimes, if she is. And whether she is safe, with friends who care for her. Or if she is . . ."
"Like me," Nance finished. "A game girl. Having to go with flats that are as likely to knock her about as pay her for kicking her heels to the ceiling."
I touched Nancy's matted black curls. "Yes. And when I look at you, I think of her. And wonder."
"If she's like me?"
"Yes."
"So poking me would be like poking your daughter? Some coves like that."
I pretended to ignore that revelation. "I want nothing to hurt you. You are so young, and yet, I've seen girls like you die when they're not much older than you. I want to keep you safe."
Silent tears spilled down Nancy's cheeks. "You can't keep me safe. If I don't go with flats, me dad whips me 'til I bleed."
"You have to let me try." I continued stroking her curls. "What color is your hair, really?"
Nance dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. "Brown."
"I'd like to see it. Let it grow back without dying it."
She snorted. "A right fool I'd look. With half of it a different color."
"Cut it off, then. Some ladies of fashion still lop off their curls."
She gave me a look that told me I was hopelessly old and likely insane. "Ain't much I can do about it here. How are we going to get away, then?"
She sounded a bit like her old self, and some of the feeling had returned to my hands. I leaned down and worked loose the bonds that held my feet. I rubbed my bare ankles, wincing as the blood flowed its way to my feet. This took a long time, and Nance fretted with impatience.
I doubted I could stand or walk or fight or swim. But I would not sit and tamely wait to be killed. The boat was quiet, but the occasional thump of footsteps on boards outside told us Denis's men still inhabited the decks.
I managed to stand at last, though my legs shook like new branches in a spring breeze. I refastened the buttons that Nancy had opened on my trousers, my fingers still clumsy. "Give me the candle," I said.
Nance retrieved it from the floor and handed it to me. The light was little more than a rag soaked in grease, twisted into a wick at the top. The feeble flame burned blue and did not give off much light. But the rag was soaked, enough for my purpose.
I hobbled to the rickety wooden door. My left leg buckled, pain throbbing through it, and I had to pause three times, easing my weight from it, before I could resume.
I rubbed my hands in the grease, and then onto the doorframe, near the latch. I repeated this several times, being careful not to douse the lamp, then I touched the flame to the wood.
The grimy doorframe sizzled, and a thin band of smoke rose and stung my eyes. I held the flame to it, rubbing on a little more grease. The wood grew warm. The grease melted. After a long time, the flame crawled up the damp wood, found fuel, and clung there.
"What are you doing?" Nance cried.
"Setting the door alight."
She sprang to her feet. "Are you mad? You'll kill us."
"I imagine Denis's men will not want to remain on a boat that is going up in flames."
"No, they ain't stupid. They'll light for shore."
"Not if they have no way to get there. They will not want to go down with us."
"Why don't we just duck out the skylight?"
"We will. But Denis's men are out there. And maybe you're right."
I tossed the candle to the bunk. The flame nearly went out, then it caught on the dirty sheet. The linen crackled and smoked.
Nance stared at me, round-eyed. "Right about what?"
"That I am mad. Up you go."
I caught her 'round the waist and boosted her toward the skylight. She pushed on it. "It's fastened."
"Pound on it, then. The wood's old."
"You should have done this before you set us on fire." She beat her fists against the frame, but to no avail.
I lowered her to the floor. I stripped off my coat and wadded it around my hands. While she hunkered in the corner farthest from the bunk, I reached up and slammed my hands, at the top reach of my arms, against the slats above.
>
The bunk was burning well now, and the wall behind it caught. Flame snaked up and down the doorframe, and smoke hung heavy in the air. I heard shouting. They'd seen. They were coming.
I pounded the boards. With a loud crack, they broke. I continued beating them, smashing the wooden slats away. Splinters rained down on me, and slivers cut through my jacket to tear my hands.
I flung the jacket aside and grabbed Nance. "Up you go."
She squealed. I shoved her through the broken skylight, pressing my hand on her backside. "Once you're out there, you run for the side and go over and cling to the boat. I'll be right behind you."
She wailed. "I can't swim."
"Damn you, I can. I am a strong swimmer. I'll tow you to shore."
I had no idea if I could walk across the deck, let alone get myself and one sobbing, wretched girl to the bank of the Thames, but I'd galvanized Nance. She wriggled herself upward and caught the edges of the skylight. Nancy cried out softly as the slivers cut her hands, then I pushed her through. She landed on her stomach and rolled away.
I couldn't follow. My leg made it impossible for me to jump, and the only piece of furniture I could have stood on, the bunk, was bolted to the wall and ablaze.
A splash of water hit the door. They were trying to put out the fire without entering the cabin. I smiled. Futile. Flames licked the roof, eating toward the skylight from which Nance had fled. This boat would burn.
I caught up my coat, wrapped it around my arm and shoulder, and charged the burning door. The wood, weak and smoldering, gave way at once, and I fell through. My bare foot slid on the wet deck, and I fell hard to my knees.
I scrambled to right myself. One of Denis's huge brutes charged me, and I ran, gritting my teeth on the pain. I wondered whether Nance had gotten away, and if so, where she had gone over the side.
In the shadow of the cabin a grappling hook bit into the planks of the deck. A taut rope drew a rowboat alongside. A bulky shadow of a man crouched in the stern, but in the bow, one foot on the gunwale, stood Lucius Grenville. Firelight glinted on his dark hair and his glittering eyes. In his hand he held a pistol, and he pointed it straight at me.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-One
I took one step back then dashed forward and flung myself over the side. Grenville shouted. The bitter cold water of the Thames took me, sliding greasily over my body. The cuts on my face stung as the grimy water closed over my head.
I kicked hard, and surfaced. Above me, Grenville fired. The spark flared in the night, and the roar deafened me. A thin spiral of smoke drifted upward, white against the darkness. On the deck, one of Denis's thugs fell, groaning.
A rope snaked across the space between me and the rowboat and slapped the water. I grabbed the line, wrapping it around my numb wrists. It tightened, dragging me toward the boat. I realized that the bulky figure behind Grenville, towing me to safety, was Aloysius Brandon.
I grabbed the side. Brandon reached down, seized me beneath the arms, and hauled me into the boat. I landed on the gunwale and rolled in, a crash of water following me. Grenville fired another pistol. Brandon abandoned me to slice the rope that bound us to Denis's boat.
"Wait." I climbed to my knees, my teeth chattering. "We must find Nance."
"What?"
"Nance. I told her I'd take her to shore. She can't swim."
"I can't make out what the devil you're saying, Lacey. Sit down. We're going."
"No," I choked.
Grenville swung around. "Are you talking about the girl? I saw her climb out of the cabin and go over the side. You came out just after."
My jaw shook with cold and reaction. "Where? Row 'round the boat."
Grenville dropped to the seat and grabbed the oars. I thought, hysterically, that I supposed I should take it as a compliment that he was ruining a pair of fine kid gloves to rescue me.
He competently pulled around the stern of Denis's boat. The cabin was completely ablaze now, and Denis's men had turned their efforts to dousing the fire. I expected any moment to see Nance clinging to the side, her black head above the water, but she did not appear. Grenville circled close, turning the boat on one oar.
I peered into the blackness, shading my eyes against the glare of the fire. "Nance!"
I heard nothing above the crackle of the flames. Other boats, attracted by the blaze, were moving toward us, coming to the aid of the ailing craft.
"Nance!"
My eyes stung, and my opium-fogged brain wanted to slip back to sleep. But the drug was wearing off enough for me to feel the wounds Denis's men had inflicted, along with the cuts from the skylight and the torn mess of my bare feet.
A pistol roared, and a ball whizzed by my head. Brandon ducked, cursing.
"Devil take it, Lacey, we have to go."
"I won't leave her."
Grenville rowed, breathing hard. I scanned the surface near the boat and the water beneath it. I saw nothing. We slid all the way back to our starting point.
"Go 'round again," I shouted.
Grenville bent over the oars. Brandon rose. "No. Leave it. Pull for shore."
"I'll not leave her!"
"We have to. There's no time."
My chest was hot, my belly clenched. "Go 'round again, Grenville. Do it."
"Damn you, Lacey. I'll make it an order if I have to."
I swung on Brandon. "I'm not leaving her here to rot, you bastard, like you left me. Grenville, row."
Another pistol shot whistled past us. Brandon seized me. "Do I need to knock you down?"
My rage came forth in a wash of madness. I hit him, hard, in the gut, and then in the jaw. Brandon cursed and spat blood. Then his head came up, and his eyes sparkled with all the fury and hatred he'd bottled up behind politeness for the last two years.
"Fuck you," he said.
I lunged for him. I beat him, the man I'd loved best in the world once upon a time, beat him with all the anger and rage and helplessness I'd felt when Denis's men had pummeled me. I beat him for Nance, drowning under the dark waters of the Thames, for Jane Thornton, who'd likely had gone to the same fate. I beat him for Aimee, broken and scarred by a monster, and for Louisa, who cared far too much for both of us. I beat him for myself and the ruin of my life.
Grenville grabbed me from behind. "Enough. Lacey, stop it. He's right. She's gone."
Brandon disentangled himself from me. Blood smeared his face and spattered his neckcloth.
The fight went out of me. Grenville held me for another moment or so until my rage washed away, and my legs buckled. I sank to the bottom of the boat and buried my head in my hands.
The other two fell silent. Brandon's breath gurgled in his throat. The fire on Denis's boat roared into the night.
Across the water came a muffled sobbing, quiet and soft, accompanied by faint splashing. I raised my head.
Grenville was on his feet, balancing against the pitch of the boat, sighting into the darkness. "There!" He pointed. I followed the line from his outstretched finger to a tiny patch of deeper darkness, bobbing in the current.
I got to my knees and grabbed an oar. Grenville dropped to the seat, snatched the oar from my grasp, and bent his back to turn the boat. Brandon half stumbled, half crawled to the tiller, seizing it as it began to slap against the water.
We slid across the current to the girl who floundered weakly in the shadow of Denis's boat, her cries growing fainter as we neared. I held the rope ready. Grenville competently turned to drift alongside Nance, just as her head went under.
I tossed away the rope, leaned hard over the side, and grabbed. Nancy's shoulder slipped from my grasp, but her hair tangled my wrist. I buried my fingers in it and hauled her upward. She came, all limp and heavy, and I got my hands under her arms and pulled her over the gunwale. Nance fell to the bottom with a wet slap, her skirt in shreds, her legs cut and bleeding.
Her eyes were closed, her skin cold and clammy. I rolled her onto her belly, and pressed hard on her ribs.
I pushed and pushed, while my opium haze receded and pain ground through me.
At last, Nancy groaned and vomited up the dark water of the Thames. I pulled her into my arms, holding her, rocking her, kissing her wet face. Tears spilled from her eyes, but she clung to me, kissing me back, her lips weak.
Grenville took up the oars again and rowed us away from the conflagration and the boats zigzagging through the river, and toward the shore.
*** *** ***
I awoke to warm sunshine, a sweet-smelling bed, and a cool hand on my brow.
"Louisa."
I caught her hand and gripped it, tight, tight. She returned the pressure, and our eyes met, and held.
I lay in a featherbed with cool sheets over me and lavender-scented pillows under my head. My body ached all over, my face stinging with healing cuts.
"Where am I?" I croaked. "This isn't your spare bedroom."
Louisa smiled. "No, it's Mr. Grenville's. He insisted you be brought here, and he sent for his own surgeon."
Damn good of him, but I felt a twinge of worry. "What about Nance? Where is she?"
"At my house, being fussed over by my cook and housemaid, hating every minute of it."
My face hurt too much for smiles. "She does not much like women."
"So I understand from her unfortunate language. Who is she?"
I let Louisa disentangle her hand from mine. "A street girl whose well-being I foolishly care about. Please don't cart her off to a workhouse. Or one of those horrible houses of reform."
"Don't worry. She may stay in my attics until you decide what's to be done for her."
"I hope you have a stout lock on your attic door."
A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "She has tried to run away twice. Until I told her you wished her to remain there. Since then, she's been curiously compliant. The things she says about you are--quite interesting."
I grunted. "Don't trust her."
Louisa smiled again, then she dropped her gaze, watching her hand smooth my sheet. "Aloysius wants to apologize to you. For something he said out on the river, I gather."
My head began to ache. "I am far too tired to face Aloysius."
"A moment only, Gabriel. Please."
I stared at her until she looked up and met my gaze. I wanted to tell her that I much preferred Aloysius's candid curses to that damned public politeness he hid behind while he hated me with his eyes. But I was not certain she'd understand. She wanted me to forgive him all his past sins, and I was not yet ready.