The Bartered Bride by Mary Jo Putney
Kyle had chosen well when he leased this building. Like all the London Dock warehouses, it was built over the famous wine vaults which stretched for acres, but the structure was spacious and secure, and being located right on the dock simplified the transfer of goods from ships to storage. The warehouse was almost full now, chests of tea stacked almost to the ceiling. The stock would gradually diminish until early next summer, when new shipments would begin to arrive.
Though the company offices directly overhead had only a faint fragrance of tea, the scent was powerful in the warehouse. Too strong for some, but Gavin didn’t mind. Tea had been very good to him. So had silk, spices, and porcelain. Each commodity had its section of the warehouse, but tea was the foundation of Elliott House.
After the London office was running smoothly under Peter Spears’s management, Gavin would launch something new—an elegant teahouse where busy people could stop and sample different brews and have light meals in pleasant surroundings. After that was a success, he’d open more. A place where ladies would be comfortable. He had his eye on a couple of possible locations in the fashionable West End. The teahouses would be called, naturally, Elliott House.
“Hoping the tea will speak to you?”
Suryo’s quiet voice pulled Gavin from his musings back to the present. Suryo’s office was on this level, and was the ultimate goal of Gavin’s warehouse wanderings. He turned to his friend. “I suppose so, but the tea isn’t being very helpful. You’ve heard that my wife and I were attacked in the street outside?”
Suryo nodded. “And that pentjak silat came to your aid.”
“If you hadn’t trained me so well I’d be dead, and perhaps Alex as well.” Gavin sighed. “But I didn’t intend to kill two of them.”
“You were protecting your wife. What man would do less?” Suryo’s gaze became distant. “Killing a man with one’s own hands is…disturbing. But they are no less dead when killed by cannon, as the Helena did to the pirates in the Indian Ocean.”
As always, Suryo’s calm sense helped put things in perspective. Gavin pulled the Maduri dice from his pocket and tossed them to his friend. “One of the attackers threw these at me. Any thoughts about who connected with Maduri wants me dead?”
Suryo caught the dice, expression grave. “Not Sultan Kasan, I think. The connection to Maduri might be important, or it might not. Though only you and I and your lady know the truth of what happened there, the fact that you visited Maduri and found her there is known. The dice could have been brought from the island by a member of the Helena’s crew and given to someone here, then used last night for misdirection.” He handed the dice back. “There are many possible explanations.”
Unfortunately true. Gavin considered the possibilities he’d suggested to Alex. Though he’d included her disappointed suitor, Major Colwell, hiring thugs seemed too complicated for a soldier. Colwell was the sort to try to force a duel. Philip Elliott was a more convincing prospect. He was clever enough, and still unreconciled to losing the Seabourne honors, but his disappointment didn’t seem homicidal.
“I’d love to trace the murder attempt back to Barton Pierce, but I can’t imagine a motive,” Gavin said. “Though he’s always disliked me, he’s sane enough, and he certainly has no reason to kill me. I’m no threat to him, and I can’t imagine him risking everything he’s built to kill a man unnecessarily.”
Suryo nodded agreement. “I shall listen in the taverns to see if there are any whispers about the attackers who escaped.”
“Thank you.” That reminded Gavin of what Alex had mentioned. “By the way, I understand you’ve been recruited as Alex’s chief investigator into illegal slaving. For God’s sake, be careful.”
“I am. You and your lady must be also.”
“I’m taking precautions.” From now on, he would always have his kris concealed on him, and when he went out he carried a swordstick. A pity he hadn’t had either the night before. “Do you think your investigations might have anything to do with the attack?”
Suryo considered, then shook his head. “I’m sure no one knows what I am doing, or it would have been my life that was threatened.”
Gavin nodded, having reached the same conclusion. “I’ve asked my wife not to come down here until the danger is past. She agreed to stay home today, but I foresee arguments ahead.”
Suryo gave his rare smile. “She is a lady of rare independence.”
And it was a mixed blessing.
Katie stared down at her embroidery. “Why must I learn to do needlework when I hate it, and you admit that you hate it, too?”
“Because doing things we hate is good discipline,” Alex said, only half in jest. “Also, a woman needs to have some basic skill with a needle. It could be worse. It hasn’t been that long since the lady of the house had to spin her own yarn and weave her own cloth. Some women still do.”
“Could I shear the sheep?” Katie asked hopefully. “I like sheep.”
Alex considered. “It takes a lot of strength to shear sheep, since they protest energetically. But next spring we can find some sheep that are being sheared and at least watch while it’s done.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” The colonel’s estate had sheep. Going for the spring shearing would be an excuse to visit. Alex quite liked watching sheep herself.
Daisy entered the small sitting room, saw Katie, and started to withdraw. Noticing the maid’s tense expression, Alex said, “Do you need to speak to me, Daisy?”
“Yes, ma’am, when you’re free.”
Alex said to her daughter, “Perhaps it’s time you checked the kitchen to see what’s being baked?”
“Oh, yes!” Rescued from further embroidery, Katie bounced from the room after giving Daisy a grateful smile.
When Katie was safely away, Daisy said, “I found my friend. He knows things that can help you.”
“Excellent! What does he say?”
Daisy stared at the floor. “He works in a tavern near the docks. Like me, he is American, a slave who escaped to Canada and then came here. He says he can name one of England’s greatest slavers—a man who is respectable on the surface, but operates several slave ships. My friend wants to expose the devil for what he is, but who would listen to a poor black man?”
“I will listen, and I know men who will listen to me.” Alex wondered if the “friend” was Daisy’s sweetheart. Perhaps. The girl never talked about her private life, or the time she’d spent as Frederica Pierce’s slave. Alex never pressed her. Daisy deserved, and needed, privacy.
“He says he’ll meet you this evening.” Daisy gave a quick darting glance. “Somewhere near the docks.”
“So soon?” Alex echoed, surprised.
Daisy moistened her lips nervously. “He is frightened and might change his mind if too much time passes.”
Alex could understand that, and she didn’t want to lose a potentially valuable informant. On the other hand, after the previous night’s attack she wasn’t going to set foot in a waterfront tavern. “Will he meet Seabourne and me at Elliott House?”
Daisy hesitated. “I think he would go there. It is not far from where he works. But you must be alone. He will not talk to a white man.”
“What about if I brought Suryo?” The Islander wasn’t African, but he was also not white, and his quiet presence was unthreatening.
“Mr. Suryo?” Daisy looked dismayed. “No, only you, and only because you…you helped me.” Her voice broke. “I will tell him to come early evening, after the office is closed, but before it is dark and the tavern gets busy.”
Making a quick decision, Alex said, “Very well, if he will come to the Elliott House office at six thirty this evening, I will be there alone.” She would have the younger groom drive her there in the small carriage, with orders to pick her up again at the door an hour later. Gavin wouldn’t like it, but he wouldn’t know until later—they’d probably pass each other coming and going. It should be safe enough.
And if it
Gavin cleared all his employees from the offices and the warehouse a little early, so they could leave in groups. Though he knew he was being overcautious, his instincts were itching. He’d alternated his day between planning security precautions and trying to imagine who might want to destroy him. The first question had been fairly straightforward, but the second still baffled him. All he could do was try to ensure that none of his family or employees became innocent victims of violence.
Yearning to talk to Alex, he rang for the butler and asked where she was as soon as he arrived home. Bard said, “Her ladyship has gone out, but she left you this note.”
Gavin opened it, wondering why she was out of the house at this hour. Dear Gavin—I shall be an hour or so late to dinner because I must meet a man at the Elliott House offices. He claims to have important information about slaving. Don’t worry, I’m not being the least bit reckless. I’ll explain it all when I get home. Love, Iskandra.
He swore with a sailor’s fluency as his vague forebodings crystallized. Bard looked shocked, never having seen any signs of temper from him before. “Tell the cook that dinner will be delayed indefinitely,” Gavin snapped. “I’m going to retrieve her ladyship.”
He spun on his heel and headed back to the stables. Riding would be faster than driving a carriage at this hour, so he ordered a horse saddled. He’d been riding regularly, so he no longer worried about controlling his mount on crowded city streets.
By the time he finished the long ride from Mayfair to the East End, his temper was simmering on the edge of explosion. The street in front of the warehouse was quiet but not deserted as it would be later. He beckoned to a loitering boy who didn’t look too larcenous. “Are you afraid of horses?”
“No, sir!” the boy said indignantly.
“Very good.” Gavin handed over a half crown and the reins. “There’s another half crown for you if you’ll hold my horse for a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Thank you. I’ll include a piece of advice for free. Don’t ever get married.”
Gavin tried the door to the warehouse, swearing when he found it unlocked. Why had he been fool enough to give Alex a key to the building?
Because she was his wife and he trusted her honesty. It was her judgment he had doubts about.
The staircase to the offices led up the left side of the building. He took the steps three at a time and strode into the offices, braced for an argument.
Dressed as demurely as a Quaker except for the Paisley shawl around her shoulders, Alex was quietly working at the junior clerk’s desk, which had a clear view of the door. She glanced up at his entrance. “You’re quick. I thought I’d be done before you could get here.”
Her calm acceptance threatened to push his temper over the edge. “For heaven’s sake, Alex, last night we were both nearly killed right outside on the street! What possessed you to come here alone?”
“I didn’t come alone—the second groom drove me here and will pick me up again in just under an hour. And if trouble shows up…” Suddenly she was holding an elegant but businesslike pocket pistol. “I came prepared.”
He blinked at the compact, two-barreled pistol, glad she knew guns well enough to automatically point it away from him. “At least you’re showing common sense, but what is so important that you feel you have to do this?”
“A friend of Daisy’s, a former slave, is coming in a few minutes. He says he can name one of Britain’s leading slave runners. Wouldn’t you take a risk to learn that?”
He hesitated. “I suppose I would. But if Katie did, would you stand by and not try to stop her?”
Alex was taken aback. “Of course not, but I’m not your child, Gavin. I’m your wife. I have the right to take a chance if the issue is important enough.”
“For me, nothing is more important than your life,” he said starkly.
Her expression softened. “No one could ask for a finer protector, Gavin. Ever since we’ve met, I’ve benefited from your strength and kindness and understanding. But at the moment, I need to act on my convictions more than I need protection. Perhaps Daisy’s friend won’t even come and I’ll have wasted a trip, but I must do this.” She glanced at a clock. “And you must leave right away. He’ll be here any moment and Daisy says he won’t talk in front of a white man. If you’re still here, he might turn around and never come back. So please, please, leave before he arrives.”
He hesitated, torn between his forebodings and Alex’s plea.
“You understand so much, Gavin,” she said softly. “Can’t you understand this?”
He studied his tall, strong, composed wife. She’d worked hard to regain her courage and her belief in herself. Most women would willingly defer to his judgment and accept his protection—but she wasn’t like most women, and that difference was what made her special.
Also maddening. “Very well, I’ll leave and wait at the livery stable,” he said reluctantly. “When your hour is up, the carriage and I will be back to take you home.”
Her smile was radiant. “Thank you for understanding, Gavin.”
“Just remember that I’ve lost one wife. I don’t think I could bear to lose another.” As he turned to go, he asked, “By the way, where did you get the pistol?”
“I borrowed it from Ashburton House. Now go.”
He obeyed, on the verge of turning back with every step. Outside he saw no sign of a black man. Maybe the fellow wouldn’t come. But if he did, and his information was sound, Alex had the chance to make a real difference in the illegal slave trade. He prayed that would happen, and justify his present anxiety.
When he paid the boy another half crown for watching his horse, the lad said cheekily, “Your wife didn’t listen?”
“Matters have been settled.” He swung onto his horse and started down the street, knowing that Alex would surely be fine and he was worrying unnecessarily.
But he still felt goose steps on his grave.
Chapter 32
DAISY’S FRIEND was almost half an hour late. Hoping he hadn’t seen Gavin and been frightened away, Alex continued to work and hope.
The footsteps were so quiet that she didn’t realize someone was coming until the office door swung open. She glanced up—and realized with sick certainty that Gavin’s fears had been justified when four men filed into the office, none of them an escaped slave. The first two were brutish, hard-bitten sailors. The third, a wiry man of the same type, was the attacker she’d kicked in the groin the night before.
The fourth was Sir Barton Pierce.
Though she’d met him only once, at the Ashburton ball, the fact that he was Gavin’s enemy had emblazoned him on her mind. Under cover of her papers she lifted the pistol and concealed it in the folds of her shawl as she rose to greet her visitors.
“What an unexpected surprise. If you’re looking for my husband, Sir Barton, he isn’t here.” She debated whether to say that Gavin and several servants would be arriving soon, then decided against it, since Pierce and his men might wait in ambush.
“I know he isn’t. I saw him leave a few minutes ago.” Pierce studied her critically. “You haven’t half the looks of my Frederica, but I suppose all your fancy relatives made you worth marrying. They’ll see that your husband doesn’t marry again after his wife disappears, so he’ll have no heir for his precious earldom.”
She felt an icy chill. “I have no plans to disappear.”
Pierce laughed as if this was a normal conversation. “You don’t get a choice. Don’t worry, you won’t be hurt. Just come along quietly.”
“There are always eyes watching in London.” She glanced contemptuously at his villainous companions. “You and your men were seen coming in, and will be seen taking me out against my will.”
“We didn’t come in the front,” Pierce said smugly. “I leased the warehouse next door under a false name. The buildings are connected, with only an old door nailed shut between the two sp
The wiry man growled, “I owe the bitch some rough handlin’.” Though he was no taller than Alex, the viciousness in his gaze made her skin crawl. A pity she hadn’t studied pentjak silat instead of wing chun. If she had, maybe she’d have broken his neck the evening before.
“Maybe later, Webb, there’s no time for it now.” Pierce glanced around the office. “Where is the cash kept? Be a pity to burn it up.”
Burn? Alex realized that the scent of smoke was beginning to overpower the pervasive odor of tea. Pierce must have men setting fires in the warehouse below. The business Gavin had worked so hard to establish here was going up in flames.
Her grip on the pistol tightened as she fought rising panic. She had two shots, but that wasn’t enough against four men who were experienced fighters.
Get one of them out of the room. “There’s a cashbox in Lord Seabourne’s desk.” She used the title deliberately and had the satisfaction of seeing Pierce scowl as he crossed the room to enter Gavin’s office. Since she’d lied about the cashbox, he’d be busy looking for several minutes.
Webb crossed the room toward Alex. “Sly, Ned, give me a hand tyin’ her up. The bitch fights dirty.”
Three to one—her odds would not get any better. Alex raised the pistol and fired at Sly, who was closest. Seeing her weapon, he shouted and dodged to one side, grabbing at his arm with a curse when she pulled the trigger. The report was ear-numbing in such close quarters.
One bullet left. She swung the pistol toward Webb and fired as he leaped at her. He gasped, a look of shock on his face. There was blood on his shirt and he swayed for a moment before lunging for her weapon.
He managed to grab the double barrel. Since the empty gun was useless to her, she let him have it. Darting around the desk and the wounded Webb, she raced for the door. If she could get to the stairs she had a chance….